More Than Pretend - Chapter 4

TABLE OF CONTENTS

• CHAPTER ONE

• CHAPTER TWO

• CHAPTER THREE

• CHAPTER FOUR 👇🏾

Trigger Warning:
This scene contains discussions of grief, death of a spouse, cancer (specifically ovarian cancer), emotional trauma, and societal pressure related to mourning and masculinity. It may be distressing for readers who have experienced loss, infertility, or illness-related trauma. Please proceed with care and take breaks if needed.

Chapter Four

Nimi

My wife was gone and there was nothing I could do about it.

As people say, death is a tragedy when you're young and a rite of passage for the old, bringing different ways of mourning. But how was I supposed to mourn when I lost her after five years of marriage?

I looked out the tinted window, seeing the people I served as governor waltz in and out of the park. If I couldn’t be strong for myself, I needed to be for them and their children—Rivers State deserved the best, and so far, I was the one for the job.

“Your support for a second term is going down the drain, Nimi!” Aunty Enitan shouted over the phone, nudging me back to the call.

I took a deep breath. “Aunty, it shouldn’t be a problem. We can…”

“We can’t handle it, Nimi Alabo Smith. It would be best if you had a wife. Ah ah!” She paused for a few seconds before giving me the speech. “Your wife died two years ago! And her death wasn’t your fault, so there is no need for the solemn attitude. But we all know she’d want you to move on, especially if your political career depends on it. You don’t see me being so downcast, do you? Even in her old age, your mother isn’t down like you are. What’s all this?”

She was right; it had been two years—but I wasn’t ready to take another woman—mentally and emotionally. But as a man, everyone expected me to suck it up and put on my big pants. Ovarian cancer took her away while we were trying to have children, and I wouldn’t put another woman through that stress. What if I were the one causing it?

“Nimi, are you hearing me?” Aunty Enitan said. “You and I know what that girl your brother arranged for you did? So this time around, I’ll be the one to set you up.”

Not again. The lady Tein had introduced me to, who almost ruined my life, was still doing so despite being stubborn. The ex, as I called her, claimed to love me in a week but was miraculously with another man, gallivanting around town. I didn’t even bother to confront her or my brother, but the news, spreading all over social media, was gaining negative attention and doing more harm to my re-election campaign.

“Or do you want to have a press conference? At least explain….”

“Explain what?” I took a deep breath before spitting out the words. “Do I have to explain why I don’t want a woman by my side? That is ridiculous, Aunty. When did it become a must for a man to be in a relationship? Ok, maybe we should call Tein’s friend and see what she says.”

“Over my dead body. Tufiakwa. I will not let that woman come and claim what’s not hers. Your brother didn’t know what was on his mind when he introduced her to you.”

At least, that was something we agreed on. “Then let’s stop talking about this.”

“But a new woman won’t be a bad idea, o!”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and tried hard to hold myself from hanging up the call. “We are done with this.”

“I have heard you, but I hope you’re coming to the house next weekend. We need to go over a few things before you give speeches on campaign grounds. I don’t want to hear stories that touch.”

“Yes. We will talk later. I need to go check out the park.”

She sighed. “You and this park… You know what? Bye-bye.”

Whenever I mentioned I was at the park, it was like the elephant in the room that nobody felt the need to touch, and that’s how I wanted it. Before my wife’s passing, the Pleasure Park was already under construction, and one thing she’d asked for was a bole festival to be held at least once a year. Bole, roasted plantain, and fish with peppered sauce, was and still is my favorite. She felt it was the perfect event to showcase my love for the dish to locals and visitors. It was the one event I felt like myself, and I made it my duty to show up every time they hosted one.

When I headed out of the car into the park, the Port Harcourt sun hit me, causing my eyes to sting. My bodyguard handed me my sunglasses and face cap to hide my face. Since I didn’t want my entire entourage coming along, I had to disguise myself to avoid attention.

“Anything else, sir?” Sam asked.

“Not at all. Let us see what the park has for us today.”

He nodded and walked behind me. As I pushed the small gates open, my eyes followed everyone, and I couldn’t keep up. The sun shone brightly over the green expanse of the park, casting a warm glow on the bustling food festival. They scattered booths and stalls throughout the park, offering a unique array of local delights. As people walked through, the enticing smells of food filled the air, drawing them closer to the colorful displays of mouth-watering dishes. Some sat at the tables, chatting and enjoying the food and company of their friends, while others walked around, sampling different dishes and drinks.

But it gladdened my heart to see the look on their faces as they took pictures beside the water fountains, on the benches, and some laid down on their picnic cloth over the bright green grass. The playground on the other end, filled with children, basked in the warm sunlight as if it were the heart of the event.

As I moved further down to the bole stands, my eyes wandered and landed on a curvy lady with box braids packed in a bun, dressed in fitted blue jeans and a sleeveless Ankara top. She was arguing with one of the bole hosts because her voice was raised as she pointed to the roasted fish, and everyone looked in her direction but wouldn’t step in to help. No one knew I would be at this event, and avoiding the crowd was best, but the lady looked like she needed help. I kept walking until I was at least ten feet away from her, and I knew I’d seen her somewhere.

Ava.

She turned in my direction, and her eyes widened.

Before I could get to her, Sam walked right in front of me and whispered into his earpiece. “Standby. Approaching an unknown subject.”

“Sam, step away.”

“Mr. Governor, we didn’t plan to stop at the booths today.”

“I said step away,” I said again, more sternly.

I would not let my security detail cause a scene here, not today.

---

Ava

Luchi had left me alone ten minutes ago, even after she’d promised we’d have a bole-filled day together. And now there was no one even to have a simple conversation with — it’s like I was once again left to sulk in my bubble. My phone vibrated, and when I looked at it, I saw that the notifications were all from my followers, who had left comments about my recent tour of Port Harcourt city.

“Wait till you all see this festival,” I said, smiling.

As I weaved through the colorful chaos of the Bole Festival, my eyes were in constant motion, darting from one vibrant stall to the next—the aroma of grilled fish mixed with the earthy scent of roasted plantains. People buzzed around, caught up in the electric atmosphere, their laughter a melody of its own.

When I finally reached a stall and ordered a plate of bole, I asked the lady to make sure the plantain she gave me was half-ripe and not overripe. And the yams were at least five pieces and nothing more. But she looked at me like I had made a ridiculous request and didn’t bother to attend to me after serving me four plates of ripe plantains without yams.

When I looked around to see if there was something else I could get or another bole stall to eat from, I spotted a young man walking in my direction. Before he could walk any further, a muscled guy flew right in front of him.

“What is going on?” I shouted and looked around to see if everyone walked as fast as he did, but I saw nothing. I could see his lips move, but I couldn’t understand what he said.

The young, less muscled man, his face covered with sunshades and a cap, walked towards me, causing my heart to beat like a talking drum. As my eyes roamed over him, I was drawn to his well-fitted dark jeans that hugged his thighs, complementing the Gucci thong sandals that adorned his feet. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt showcased his forearms. And all I could think of was how much I wanted to touch them. The way he carried himself, with a confident stride and a captivating smile, made it hard to take my eyes off him.

I know that smile, it’s Nimi. My heart did a woozy dance this time.

One of my weaknesses with men was muscled forearms; to this day, I couldn’t tell why. “Do you need help with anything?” he asked.

Meanwhile, the husky man behind him was trying to interrupt. “Mr. Go…”

Nimi held up his hand, and I could feel his eyes staring directly into mine, even though I couldn’t see them.

“Look who it is! The mysterious man who closes restaurants just to get a date,” I said, chuckling.

Nimi laughed, the sound as soothing as a melody. “Ava, the woman who steals all the spotlight. What, tired of five-star dining and now slumming it with the commoners for some bole?”

“Hey, I might be a bookstagrammer, but I’m a bole enthusiast first,” I shot back, playfully rolling my eyes.

His laugh filled the air again, complementing the buzz of the festival. “So, on a scale from one to ‘I’ve written a three-paragraph review,’ how much do you love bole?”

“You kidding? I’ve got an entire essay in my drafts. Just waiting to hit ‘publish.’”

He grinned, leaning in a little closer than necessary. “A woman who loves it as much as I do. Nice. I’m looking forward to reading that. As enlightening as one of Chimamanda’s novels, I presume?”

“Ha! Well, it might not win a Booker Prize, but it’ll make you hungry. Promise,” I quipped.

The effortless banter flowed, punctuated by bursts of laughter and stolen glances. Our earlier chemistry hadn’t been a fluke; it felt even more visible now.

“So what’s the problem here?” he tilted his head in the bole stall’s direction.

“Ah, yes.” I raised my hand, frustrated. “I’m trying to figure out which stall to buy from because that one over there thinks it doesn’t matter if the plantain is half ripe or overripe. However, I also wanted to try it first before buying, but they all said no. When I requested a specific number of yams and sauce on the side, that also seemed to be a problem.”

He turned around to the husky dude. “I’ll handle it from here.”

The deep baritone that escaped this man’s lips could send one to sleep with dreams full of him just talking to you. “I’m so sorry if I caused you any trouble. Luchi was supposed to show me around, but she’d run off somewhere saying she needed to attend to a client.”

“Luchi?”

“My sister. We came here to see the park and have some food, but now I have to figure it out myself.” Did he just smile?

“Oh, that’s ok. One question I didn’t ask when we first met. How long have you been out of the country?” He asked and put his hands in his pockets.

I smiled. “Ten years.”

He nodded and smiled. This time, I was sure when he flashed his white teeth. “It is good to see you again.”

“Nice to see you again, too. So do you work here or…”

Nimi nodded and said nothing, and then there was silence between us.

I didn’t know how to break it because his presence alone caused sweat streaks on my forehead. “I better be going now. Also, I need to find my sister.”

“You don’t want to have your bole?”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble. Thank you.” Honestly, I wanted to have some because it had been a while since I had it, and the one I ate when I got home from the airport wasn’t enough.

He showcased his million-dollar smile again and said, “Let me help you get some. Trust me, you won’t find any better bole spot than this.”

The smile alone tugged my heartstrings, and it was difficult to say no. “You’re sure no one will harass you for the special treatment?”

He crossed his heart. “Nobody.”

I looked back and forth. “Do you own the park?”

He shrugged and still had the same smile. “Ready?”

“I guess so.”

When we got the bole, we strolled in search of a good corner to sit and eat.

“So, do we say a prayer to the Bole gods before we sit and eat?” Nimi teased, holding his fork aloft like a magic wand.

I joined the act, raising my fork. “Dear gods of Bole, bless this meal and make it Instagrammable.”

Our laughter filled the air.

“You know, this is my comfort food,” Nimi said, breaking the momentary laughter-induced silence. “Whenever work gets too intense, I dream of bole and fish, right from the streets.”

“Really?” I smiled. “It’s incredible how street food can be so grounding.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “it keeps me connected to who I am amidst all the…chaos.” He paused, as if treading cautiously on personal terrain. “I manage projects, you see, and it can get pretty stressful.”

“Managing projects, huh? Sounds challenging but rewarding,” I mused, intrigued by the guarded revelation.

“It is.”

As we walked, we found a black bench to sit on. It was in a quiet corner of the festival where the noise softened into a background murmur, allowing for intimate conversation. The comfort of it was warm from the steady sun and a place to eat our food and absorb the park’s beauty, taking in every whiff of home I’d missed.

When we sat down, Nimi took his shades off, revealing those eyes as brown as the richest rain-soaked earth. The muscular man following us, whose name I found out to be Sam, gave him some wipes to clean his hand. We had forks to use, but as the typical Rivers man, Nimi said he was, he put them aside and dug into the food with his fingers. He delicately broke each piece of roasted plantain before putting it in his mouth.

He licked the peppered sauce off his fingers. Then his pink tongue darted out, wrapping around the fish in his hand before sticking back inside. His eyes shut in bliss as my hand mistakenly pushed our soda to the ground.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I told him and picked up the soda, brushing off my sexual thoughts of someone eating. For god’s sake, it’s just eating, Ava. I had more to worry about.

His right eyebrow shot up. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I nodded and continued eating.

As we tucked into our plates of bole and fish, the conversation flowed like a gentle river. The bole was divine—spicy, smoky, with a tangy hit from the fish that made my taste buds dance.

“So, when you’re not indulging in Bole delicacies, what’s your day-to-day like?” Nimi ventured, a playful curiosity twinkling in his eyes.

“In between trying to make book covers that the world needs to see, I’m wrestling with whether or not to send the graphics I have to this global design competition,” I admitted, forking a piece of fish as if contemplating my life choices.

“Wait, why are you wrestling with it? Sounds like an incredible opportunity!”

“It is,” I sighed. “But to apply, you need a portfolio, and the software I need isn’t on my iPad, but on my iMac, which I couldn’t bring here. It’s frustrating. I have the ideas, but not all the tools.”

Nimi paused, stared at me, and set his fork down. “Ava, you can’t let a hiccup like that keep you from going for something that could change your life.”

His words, straightforward yet sincere, hit me square in the heart.

“I know it sounds cliché, but where there’s a will, there’s almost always a way. You’re too talented not to take the chance,” he continued.

“But what if I fall flat on my face?” I said, suddenly aware that I was sharing my insecurities with someone I’d met twice, yet felt oddly comfortable with.

“Then you get up,” he said simply, smiling warmly. “You learn and you go at it again.”

His words lifted me, as if he’d just wrapped my doubts in a balloon and released them into the sky. Was he always this encouraging? Or was there something about this setting, this meal, this candid conversation that made him feel like a spontaneous cheerleader in my life?

“Okay, Mr. Project Manager slash motivational speaker. I might just give it a shot,” I said, chuckling at the new blend of audacity and optimism that was stirring within me.

“You know, you sound like someone who has her life all figured out. Do you have a master plan or something?”

Funny, he should mention it. “Oh, you have no idea,” I grinned. “I’ve got spreadsheets for days. I plan everything—my week, my month, and get this—my five-year goals.”

“You plan your life with spreadsheets?” He laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that blended with the festival’s distant music, adding another layer to the symphony of the moment. “That’s like taking life-hacking to a new level!”

“I know, right? Every task, every goal, has its own cell and formula. I even color-code them for priority,” I added, feeling like I’d just disclosed a secret identity.

“So, does your spreadsheet account for the unpredictability of life, or like meeting random people at food festivals?” His eyes were dancing, clearly enjoying the revelation.

I leaned back, contemplating his playful challenge. “Well, spontaneity has its own tab, under the ‘Miscellaneous’ category. It’s color-coded in vibrant orange, you know, to keep the balance,” I said, half-joking.

He erupted into another fit of laughter. “You’re one of a kind, Ava. How did I get so lucky to meet the queen of spreadsheets and book covers?”

“Same way I got lucky to meet someone who thinks life’s hiccups shouldn’t stop me,” I returned, realizing that the chemistry we felt the first time was not an anomaly. It was a pattern, a rhythm we both understood and enjoyed.

“And for the record,” I continued, “if I decide to enter the competition, I’m creating a whole new spreadsheet, just for that.”

“And I’ll be rooting for you, ‘Cell A1’ to ‘Cell Z100’,” he quipped, lifting his soda as if to toast to our newfound companionship.

His words, coupled with the casual ease of the moment, felt like an unspoken promise—whatever this was, it had the potential for more rows, more columns, more… data.

As the festival wound down, I felt an odd combination of satisfaction and reluctance. Nimi must’ve sensed it too, because he paused. His eyes scanned my face as if looking for clues.

“Hey, do you mind if I borrow your phone for a sec?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Uh, sure,” I replied, unlocking my phone and handing it over. With a few quick taps, he returned it to me. I looked down to see a new contact saved as “Nimi - Life Goals Mentor.”

Laughing, I looked up at him. “Very funny. Life Goals Mentor, really?”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Well, you can call me anytime you feel like adding a row or a column to your colorful life-spreadsheet.”

His words were light, but the intent behind them felt loaded with promise. I couldn’t help but smile at how he was fitting into my thoughts—both the one in my head and the very real one unfolding in front of me.

“And you know,” he continued, “if you want a guided tour of Port Harcourt, from the marketplaces to the hidden gems, I’m your guy.”

His words hung in the air, a verbal ellipsis leaving room for so much more to be written. For the first time, I felt the thrill of leaving a cell in my spreadsheet empty, uncertain but inviting.

“Deal,” I said, matching his casual tone but feeling the weight of a moment that felt like a bookmark in a novel, a pause, not an ending.

His smile deepened, offering a glimpse into endless possibilities. “Good. Then this isn’t a goodbye, it’s more like a ‘to be continued…’”

My heart did a little somersault. Yeah, definitely not a period, more like a comma in a very long and increasingly interesting sentence. And I was more than ready for the next paragraph.

QOTD: How are you enjoying Nimi and Ava’s relationship so far?