3.1 | Undead

2

February 14, 2020.

Le Food Court, Lagos, Nigeria.

My attention went from Lara to the white man standing before me. His skin was pale, cheeks dotted with freckles. His lips slightly red and his figure seemed frail to me. Yet, he held his head up like he was the one with more power amongst the three of us.

  "I do," I told him stiffly, pulling out my phone—it hadn't broken—and tapping on the screen to search for my table number. When I found it, I held it up to his face. "Table number 112."

  After scanning the screen with a pair of squinted eyes, he leaned back, and raised his nose in the air. "Our finest table." He moved aside. "Right this way sir."

  He led us to our table, and after a small "thank you" from Lara, he was on his way, leaving behind a promise to send our waiter. I shifted in my seat and grabbed a menu but it was snatched out of my hands before I could even read it.

  "What?" I questioned Lara.

  "Why were you unnecessarily rude to the man?"

  I laughed sarcastically. "He was being unnecessarily rude to me. I don't like him."

  "Since when don't you like people? I thought you were a people person." She raised her shoulders.

  I leaned forward. "I am, I just don't like him."

  "Really?"

  "Drop it."

  "Whatever," she gave in, opening my menu and reading through it. With an exhale, I grabbed hers and took a look.

  "There's no soup on the menu," she suddenly complained, slapping her menu back on the table. "Why is there no soup on the menu, aren't these people supposed to serve everything?"

  I laughed, putting my own menu down. "This is a French restaurant babe, you don't expect them to serve all the Nigerian dishes."

  Lara didn't want to hear it. Even when the waiter arrived, she complained about the lack of Ewedu on the menu. All I could do was sit back, watch and laugh at the waiter's flustered expression.

  Eventually, after the long banter, she settled for rice and cooked peas because it was the food that was most closest to home.

  At one point, I finished my dinner and was watching her play with her peas. She dropped the from onto the plate, unbothered about the clank sound it made, and huffed.

  "I want some real food."

  I couldn't hold back m laughter, and it earned me some glares from the neighboring tables. "I thought you loved this place."

  "I did, but that was before I knew they had literally nothing on the menu," she hissed.

  I shook my head at her. "It's okay, we could stop by another restaurant on our way home."

  "I can't wait," she replied and pushed her plate away. She intertwined her fingers on the table and put her chin there, staring straight at me.