Jumoke

2: Forgetting him

Jumoke

PUDGY ARMS GENTLY shook me awake and my eyelids fluttered open to see Emeka on the bed with a tray containing a cup of tea and two slices of buttered bread. Moving to the window, he drew the curtains open, letting the sunlight bath the room in natural light.

"Boobae, what is it? Do you need anything?" He was troubled by my indifference towards him, at the food in front of me that remained untouched.

"No," I shook my head and almost immediately I added, "stop calling me boobae!"

He shook his head, fingers fixing the strand of hairs that escaped from my bun while I pulled the blankets up to cover my nakedness so I could sit up.

"No, Boobae. I can't. You are my boo and my bae all wrapped in one." He said with a smile, like he had just said a very funny thing.

The urge to strangle him was strong but my hands reached for the single pack of Trident chewing gum instead, popping it into my mouth to keep from speaking.

Someone pounded on the door and the head of a lady poked slightly from the half-opened doors. Ignoring the glare on my face for entering without permission, she pushed the doors wider, the click clack of her high heels scratching my eardrums.

"I told you I didn't want to be disturbed," his tone wasn't harsh nor scolding and she raised her head slowly to bestow a shy, almost innocent smile on him which he reciprocated.

Her outfit fitted like a glove, a second skin that left little or nothing to the imagination; her short flay skirt billowed from the force of the overhead fan, exposing thick thighs that many men would swiftly give up their pillows for. The black lace up top was a tad bit tight for her voluptuous breasts which bounced with every move she made.

"It's Amaka, she says it's an emergency and you are not picking your calls," she responded; Amaka was his PA, we got acquainted a few days ago, alongside his other staffs.

"Why are you dressed like this?" I was the one who asked, a sharp tone to my voice; all the maids had a uniform and this wasn't it.

"My shift is up, I was about leaving before Amaka came in," she responded with that same smile that I wanted to turn upside down.

When we made no move to question her further, she stepped out, followed by Emeka who jumped up in panic after several swipes on his phone's screen.

Welcoming the silence, I looked around our cream, coloured room: it was lush, comfortable, double the size of my parent's living room and spoke volumes of Emeka's wealth. By the window were two single seat sofas placed side by side with a small end table which held a bouquet of plastic flowers. The king-sized bed could accommodate four more people and the golden long bedroom stool at the foot of the bed only added to the intricacies of the room.

But there was still something missing, a person. The room lacked the presence of Kunle - his chiselled face and reddish lips, that aura of masculinity that exuded from him, his firm thighs and bulgy arm muscles.

Letting my thoughts drift to that cramped room of Kunle which was built in the popular face me, I face you style that was located in Owode, a less expensive part of Ibadan, I pictured him sitting near his small window, playing his guitar with his forehead furrowing when he missed a note.

Emeka returned shortly, a sorry look on his feature; his wealth had chipped off a decade from his face but had failed to do the same for his body.

"Boobae, we can't go to Obudu cattle ranch for our honeymoon. I have a business emergency . . ."

The plea rang loud and I was aware that if I said no, he would budge, he was willing to do anything to please me.

"It's fine. Some other time." I exhaled, it was a good thing because I wasn't ready to be seen with a man I didn't love, a man I was forever comparing to my Kunle.