DEJI
Deji felt like the woman sitting across from him was a stranger. He couldn’t believe how awkward they were in each other’s company. When had that happened? They’d been married for seven years now and somehow he felt like he didn’t know who she was, not really.
The date night was his idea. After the night he found her in Tolu’s room, talking and crying in her sleep, he had panicked.
His instinct in that moment had been to go to her, ask what she meant. When he did, and she’d failed to respond, that’s when he realized that she was asleep.
He knelt beside her, uncertain about what to do next. Let her sleep? Wake her? A part of him wanted to let her sleep because he was curious about what else she would say in her sleep. Would she reveal any buried secrets? It struck him then how sad it was that he was relying on his wife’s sleep to learn more about her. Why couldn’t they have those conversations in person? When they were both wide awake?
And so, the idea for a date night had sprung in his mind at 2 am that day. He sat beside her, not touching her, just waiting it out and somehow he felt more helpless and pathetic.
The sobbing had continued for five more minutes, with her repeating the phrase two more times, and he had almost wanted to shake her awake, to demand answers. What was she talking about? What was she dreaming about? Was it him? Was it them? These were the questions on his mind as he sat across from her in the new restaurant down their street that specialized in Asian cuisine. She looked gorgeous, not a strand of hair out of place. This was the woman he married, he thought. He had fallen for her because of her incredible composure. She wasn’t hysterical and emotional like other women he met, rather she oozed elegance in every way. Deji hadn’t known before then what he wanted in a wife until he met Ivie. She intimidated and excited him at the same time.
Tonight, she was wearing a simple maroon velvet dress that showed off her curves. She had lost all of the weight she’d gained from Tolu’s pregnancy two years ago. The only evidence of change in her body was her expanding hips. She was wearing a dark bob wig that framed her oval-shaped face and highlighted her graceful neck. She was wearing makeup, but Deji couldn’t tell because Ivie had mastered the art of subtlety.
He realized as he drank her features in, that it had been a long time since he looked at her, since he saw her as a woman, his woman. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she was.
“You look beautiful,” he said, peering at her over the menu. He felt like a teenager, sneaking peeks at a girl he had a crush on.
“Thanks,” she said. “You too. You look good.”
She managed a smile.
“Where did you…the dress…is it…?”
“Oh this? I’ve had it a couple of years, I just never had a reason to wear it.”
Her words were innocent enough, but Deji heard what she wasn’t saying. They hadn’t gone out on a solo date in two years. He hadn’t given her the opportunity to dress up.
He trained his eyes on the menu, unsure what to say to her.
“So…do you know what you want to have first? Appetizer?” Ivie asked. “I suggest the baked wings. I know you’re terrible at trying new foods.”
Her smile told him she was teasing. He smiled back, feeling the tension crack a little. She was right. Where Ivie had a large palate, mostly due to her travelling to multiple countries from childhood, Deji was more conservative with food. He stuck with what was familiar and easy to digest.
“Baked wings sound good,” he said. “Although, who knows, today might be the day I try something new.”
He attempted to laugh but it came out as a weird croak. For goodness sake, why was he acting like he was a teenage boy on a first date? The was his wife! His wife of seven years! The woman he loved.
“I love you, you know,” he blurted.
Ivie raised her eyes to meet his at the same time a waiter dressed in a branded apron showed up at their table to take their order.
“For appetizers, we would love the baked wings,” Ivie said, taking over. “For my main, I would like to try the sushi here. Is it good?”
“Absolutely,” the waiter plastered a smile on his face that told Deji that he had never tried the sushi. But of course, who would voluntarily eat raw fish? His wife, apparently.
“And you, sir?” the waiter turned his afro to him.
“Do you have any rice dish?” Deji asked. He hadn’t recognized anything on the menu.
“The Hainanese is a rice dish. Also, the Nasi Goreng is a rice dish. I would recommend the Nasi Goreng dish just because it reminds me of jollof rice,” a small smile tugged the waiter’s lips.
“Okay then, I’ll do that one. The jollof rice look-alike.”
As the waiter nodded and went away to get their orders, Ivie shook her head at him.
“I don’t know why you choose places like this when you’re not ready to explore.”
“You explore enough for both of us,” he said. “Besides, I choose places like this for you. I know how much you enjoy exploring food.”
“Yes,” there was nostalgia in her eyes. “I do miss travelling.”
One of the things that Deji had worried about when he first got together with Ivie was the difference in their upbringing. Ivie came from money and as an only child, she had everything she needed at her disposal. Her parents had done their best to show her the world as a child and her exposure had intimidated Deji who was a small-town boy living a small-town life where his father had controlled everything. Most of his knowledge came from books he read and TV shows he saw whereas Ivie had visited some of those countries.
But when they were dating, Ivie made it clear that she wasn’t asking for the world. She was not going to compare her previous luxurious lifestyle with his, rather she was ready to meet him where he was and build with him. It was a good thing that Deji had been working in a reputable architecture firm at the time and had managed to save up money to afford a reasonable lifestyle.
“We should take a trip soon,” he said. “Where would you like to go, if you could pick any place in the world?”
“Hmmmm,” she tilted her chin up. “It would be somewhere in Europe. I think, France.”
“France? Why France?”
“It’s the one place I’m able to pretend to be someone else,” she said. “Being among those speaking French, just pretending I’m French, that would make my whole month.”
Yes, Ivie could speak French. It was a language her parents had thought important for her to learn.
“Why, though?” Deji asked.
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to pretend to be someone else? Don’t you like your life? Our life?” Deji ignored the tremble in his guts. This was why they had come here. To have honest conversations about their life, to ask and answer the hard questions.
“I…I don’t know,” Ivie said.
And somehow to Deji, that was a worse answer than ‘no’. His sister always made fun of him saying he was a glass-half-empty kind of guy, and perhaps he was, because right now, Ivie’s ‘I don’t know’ was like a knife to his heart.
“The other night you were crying in your sleep,” he began, “you were crying and you said you couldn’t do this anymore. Do you remember?”
“No.”
It was the way the no came out, abrupt and without hesitation, that told Deji that she was lying.
At that moment, the waiter returned with their baked wings served on a wooden platter and placed it in the middle of their table.
Deji had lost his appetite.
“What can’t you do anymore?” he asked. This wasn’t his usual style. Deji was nonconfrontational and would rather pretend he didn’t hear something than confront the person who said it. Life was easier for him that way. There were rare occasions when he stood his ground and refused to budge, and even when he and Ivie used to argue, it was because she, not him, decided to address an issue.
“I said I don’t remember,” she replied. “I was sleeping, like you said.”
“Ivie, I’ve been married to you for seven years, you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”
She ignored him, picked up a chicken wing, dipped it in the milky-coloured dip and took a crunchy bite.
“You can’t do this anymore? What? Us?”
She looked at him then, still chewing slowly.
“You’re so tired of this marriage that you’re now talking about it in your dreams?” Deji wasn’t sure if it was anger or despair pulling the words out of him.
“Wow,” Ivie said. “So, all it takes is a dream for you to finally see me? Talk to me? Take me out on a date? Because that’s what this whole evening is about, right? That’s why you arranged to have Vera watch the kids tonight and bring me here so you could interrogate me? And here I was…thinking it was because you missed me, missed us.”
“Ivie…”
“Did you notice when you switched from calling me honey to calling me Ivie again? I did. You stopped calling me any endearing names after Tolu was born, nearly three years ago. It’s as if you stopped seeing me as your wife and began to see me as a functional part of your life. I am the one supposed to take care of the house, the children and myself, keeping everything perfect for you.”
“And all of that with bottles of wine to keep you company,” the words were out before he could stop them. It was a malicious comment, one intended to hurt because he was hurt.
Ivie didn’t flinch, instead, she took another piece of chicken and went through her ritual of eating.
“I’m sorry,” Deji said. He didn’t mean it, but this was the first time in years they were talking honestly to each other and he didn’t want to shut that door with thoughtless comments.
“Don’t be. You’re right. I do need the wine.”
It was his turn to be quiet.
“Hear what I’m saying, Deji, I need it even when I don’t want it.”
“I thought you stopped. I thought you were okay, after you know…therapy.”
“That was years ago, and that’s your problem, you only ever think and assume, you never ask.”
“What? I always ask.”
“Deji, you say you love me, but you’ve never asked me.”
“Asked you what?”
“Asked me why.”
