chapter 1: THE BET
Daniel
Lagos traffic has a way of making a man reflect on his life choices, and by the time we turned off Third Mainland Bridge, I had reflected on every single one of them and forgiven myself for none.
"Oga, na jam be this," Sunday muttered from the front seat, tapping the wheel as it owed him money.
"I can see, Sunday. I have eyes."
"Just dey talk am for morale, sir."
I almost smiled. I didn't have the energy for it. My father's voice was still sitting in my chest from that morning, heavy and unbothered.
You've never finished anything longer than a season, Daniel. Football. School clubs. That radio show idea. Even your last relationship. You start with fire, and you end with an excuse.
He hadn't even looked up from his newspaper when he said it.
My phone buzzed against my thigh.
TOBY: Guy, where are you? everyone don land already
TOBY: bros if you no come I'm telling them say you dey fear
DANIEL: I'm in traffic like a normal human being. Relax.
TOBY: normal human beings no dey drive range rover abeg
I turned the phone face down and looked out at the bridge, at the lagoon catching the last orange light of the evening. Somewhere out there my father was probably still waiting for his only son to prove he could be trusted with something that mattered.
I had no way of knowing that the thing my father meant, and the thing I was about to actually be tested on, were going to turn out to be two very different things.
By the time I got to the lounge, the boys were already three rounds deep into an argument about a football match none of them had watched properly. Toby saw me first and stood halfway out of his seat, arms wide like I'd just returned from war.
"The man himself. Daniel Adigwe. Prince of lateness."
"Sit down, Toby."
"You kept us waiting one hour for what? Traffic? We all use the same road."
"Some of us have actual jobs," Bode said, not looking up from his phone.
"I have a job," I said, dropping into the booth. "I go to an office. I sit in meetings. I nod at things."
"That's not a job, that's a hobby with a salary," Toby said, and the table laughed, and for a second the weight in my chest eased.
This was the part I was good at. Being the one who made a room lighter just by walking into it. I'd built an entire personality on it, ever since I noticed jokes traveled faster through a house than feelings did. My parents hadn't fought loudly after the business thing with the Chukwumas fell apart. They'd gone quiet instead. I'd learned early that if I could make my mother laugh at dinner, the silence didn't last as long.
I didn't think about that often. I definitely wasn't thinking about it now, not with a chilled Guinness in front of me and Toby already three drinks deep.
"Guy, I need to tell you something," Toby said, leaning in. "You know David Chukwuma."
My jaw tightened without my permission. "I know the name."
"His sister just started some fashioning. Small studio, growing sha. She's doing well for herself."
"And I care because."
"Because," Toby said, grinning, "she's fine. Seriously fine. And she doesn't play with anybody. Cold like harmattan morning."
"Toby."
"I'm just saying. If anybody could get a girl like that to fall, properly fall, that would be something."
"Why does it sound like you're setting me up for something?"
Toby's smile didn't move, but his eyes did something else entirely. "Because I am. Bet you can't do it. Toast her, make her actually like you, by December. If you win, I clear that thing you owe your father's account for the car repairs after you wrote off the Benz last year. If you lose."
"There's no if I lose, because I'm not doing it."
"If you lose," Toby continued like I hadn't spoken, "you hand me the Range Rover keys for a full year, and you stand up at Chidi's wedding and tell everyone, your father included, that you got played by a tailor from a family he can't stand to be in the same room with."
The table went quiet in that specific way it does when a joke has accidentally found a nerve.
I laughed, because that was easier than examining why my stomach had tightened at the mention of the Chu Kwuma name.
"You're actually deranged," I said.
"So is that a yes."
I should have said no. Later, lying awake in a room that smelled faintly like her perfume even though she'd never been in it, I would think about this exact moment and wonder what would have happened if I'd just said no.
But my father's voice was still sitting in my chest, and Toby was watching me with that particular look cousins give each other when they already know which button to press, and I had never once been able to resist an audience.
"Fine," I said, lifting my glass. "But when I win, you're the one explaining to my father why his account suddenly balances out."
The table erupted. Toby laughed loud enough that two women at the next booth turned to look, and nobody noticed that his smile had a shape to it that wasn't quite as easy as his laugh.
I didn't notice either. I was already thinking about the sentence I'd say when I ran into her, already forgetting that some games cost more than the person playing them expects to pay.
My phone buzzed once more. My father again.
DAD: We should talk properly this weekend. About the company. About your future.
I slid the phone into my pocket without replying, and turned back to the table, back to the noise, back to the version of myself that never had to sit still with anything for too long.
