ESTHER
“I’m taking it, there was never a question about that,” Esther said. She was careful with her tone; she didn’t want to sound emotional.
“So, I don’t get a say in it?” Kunle asked.
It was the first time in a long time that they were having a conversation that didn’t revolve around Dara. It was the first time they were having a real conversation in a while. Period.
It was pathetic and she wouldn’t admit it, but she missed her husband. She missed the man who cared about her, the man who made her laugh, the man who was content sitting with her and talking about nothing.
“You get to say I’m proud of you, babe,” she said now.
It was nearly midnight, and Dara was asleep. She’d waited to have the conversation when he wasn’t awake to distract them.
“It’s not like you’re saving the world. It’s literally making a video,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t work in a fancy office like you. At least I don’t use my job as an excuse to be an absent parent.”
“No, you just exploit your role as a parent.”
Esther turned on him, pushing to her feet. “Don’t you dare criticize my parenting, Kunle. Don’t you dare. You have absolutely no right.”
“Go on, scream. Wake the baby,” Kunle said.
“It’s none of your business. You’ve been minding your business pretty well, so keep doing that while I do my thing.”
“You can’t speak to me like that, Esther. I won’t have it. Just because we’re abroad doesn’t mean you get to disrespect me.”
“Oh, give me a break about respect. Respect is earned. And I’m sorry, but you’ve done absolutely nothing to have that respect.”
Esther felt her pulse rising and her fingertips tingling the way they did when she was getting excited. She’d always been good at this. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed arguments. She’d been in the debate club for three years consecutively, and had represented her school in debate competitions around Nigeria. She’d been good, one of the top three students in her region.
And when she wanted to study at the university, she’d picked Law, had ended up with Political science, and then worked her way from Junior Marketing Executive to Head of Marketing in five years at the GoldLeaf firm.
Esther sometimes forgot that she was that girl, and she thought Kunle also forgot. Yes, he was the one currently bringing in the big bucks in their family, but once upon a time, she’d been a high-flyer too. And Kunle, despite how brilliant he was, had never been a match for her with words. It was why she enjoyed content creation; it was an opportunity to play god, to present the narrative she wanted people to have.
“What do you want from me, Esther? I work my ass off every day just to give you and Dara everything you need, and that’s not enough?” Kunle said, his voice sounded deflated.
“I don’t want your money. I don’t want you to work hard and give us everything, you are everything we need, and yet the one thing we can’t seem to have. Do you even notice your son? Do you know his latest milestone? Do you know what his favourite thing to do is?”
Kunle was silent.
“Being a father is much more than providing us with money. I need you to be present, to take initiative, to be a dad, to love your son, to love me.”
“You know I love you and Dara.”
“When you love someone, you make their lives easier. I cook, clean, do the laundry, and take care of Dara by myself.”
“I hold him sometimes.”
“And you immediately hand him to me the moment he breathes a cry. You don’t try to soothe him or just learn him. Kunle, Dara is your son. He needs you. I can’t be mother and father to him. I am not a single mum.” Esther sniffed angrily, disgusted by the tears rolling down her face.
She hated crying, she was not one for theatrics, and she knew that emotions weakened one’s point of view in an argument. But she couldn’t stop the tears that were coming, and so she let them flow.
“Babe…” Kunle moved towards her. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just do better. Be the man I married. Be the father Dara deserves.”
She turned away from him, pulling the covers over her.
“What if…what if I don’t know how?” Kunle’s voice was small in the darkness.
Esther sat up.
“It’s just…you seem to know the right thing to do every time, and I’m clueless. I…there’s no handbook for fatherhood. I don’t know how people just…father. I thought it would be easy, that it’ll come naturally…but I…it’s been a struggle. That’s why I focus on work. It’s the one thing I’m good at, it’s the one way I’m sure I can take care of you both.”
Esther released the breath she’d been holding.
Kunle’s vulnerability was heartwarming, and she welcomed it. And yet, there was a part of her that was scared. What if he wasn’t built to be the man she needed as a father to her son? What choice did she have?
She wanted to put an arm around him and tell him everything was going to be alright, that he would learn, that she was there to teach him, but she didn’t have it in her to utter what she knew were lies.
“For a start, I’ll be going out on Mother’s Day. You can watch Dara,” she said, instead.
“But…”
“Kunle, you’re a man, not a child. I’m sure you can figure out how to keep your son alive for a few hours on Sunday.”
This time, when she turned away, she meant it.
**
Finally, it was Mother’s Day, and for some reason, Esther felt like it was her birthday. She’d tossed and turned in bed the night before, her mind flooded with pictures of the restaurant Tara had suggested to check out. It wasn’t the thought of food that excited her; it was the fact that she was going to leave the house alone for the first time in months. No baby attached, no diaper bag, no breastfeeding-friendly outfits, she was going to be free!
That morning, Kunle had woken before her, which was unusual for a Sunday. She lay in bed with Dara curled up against her body. She didn’t often admit it, but these were some of her favourite moments; she enjoyed the way he molded his body into hers, like they were one. Nights always ended this way: Dara would start in his crib but, after a midnight feed, end up pressed against her chest, his breath soft against her collarbone.
No one had told her that once you had a baby, you needed to get a bigger bed, or a second one. That no matter how comfortable your baby’s crib was, your bed would always be where they aspire to be.
“Thank you, God, for my first Mother’s Day,” she whispered under her breath.
She stopped going to church a long time ago, probably as soon as she turned twenty and went off to the university. Before her mother passed, they were regular church goers– her parents were the kind who sat in the front row, and listened intently to the sermon, lifting hands in holy wonder. She’d followed suit, doing all the things because she didn’t know different.
Then her mother had died in such a horrific manner, and Esther had found herself raw with grief, questioning God and His love. She sat in the living room with her siblings and dad, while family and friends came to pay condolence visits, mouthing platitudes like God knows best, It is well, all things work together for good…
And Esther had found herself screaming in her head…for good? How could this possibly be good? Her mother was good. She didn’t deserve to be snatched from them like that. It was unfair. Life was unfair. God was unfair.
And so began her downward spiral, her slow unravelling, her steady shifting away from what her mother had believed until she became this person who was afraid to believe in anything lest she be disappointed. It was interesting how grief hit people in different ways. Where she had divorced herself from anything that had to do with God, her older sister had clung steadfastly to God. Esther had let go, arms wide open, letting the tide pull her wherever it pleased. She hadn’t understood her sister’s choice back then; she had even mocked it silently, but now, years later, she was starting to think maybe her sister had chosen the better path. And maybe that was how she’d ended up with Kunle, because he didn’t talk about God, didn’t try to link every decision to prayer or divine purpose. He liked how focused she was, how she poured herself entirely into something once she set her mind on it. That single-mindedness was a gift from her mother, but also a coping mechanism, her way of staying in control when life felt wildly unpredictable.
But ever since she had Dara (actually since she got pregnant), something in her began to stir. There were moments during her pregnancy (like when she was diagnosed with gestational diabetes), when she felt fear wrap itself around her ribs, when she’d worried that something was wrong with her and therefore wrong with her baby, she’d closed her eyes and prayed in the darkness of their bedroom. It was the first time in a long time she’d said a prayer, and she was shocked she still knew how–the words had come tumbling out of her mouth like an actor reading a familiar script.
Lord, please save me and my baby.
And then, when her contractions had intensified and she thought surely no one survived this pain, she’d cried out through clenched teeth, God, please make it stop. Let my baby come safely.
Had He answered? Had He heard her? She believed so, because not up to two hours after, the nurses came back to confirm that yes, she was dilating faster than before and her labour was progressing, and Dara came soon after.
Since then Esther had caught herself saying small prayers here and there. In the moments when she felt gratitude, she said Thank you, God. In the moments she felt abandoned, she said nothing. She didn’t have any expectations from God, not like her sister did. She couldn’t afford to be disappointed again.
“Happy Mother’s Day, my love,” Kunle’s voice was a whisper as he opened the bedroom door. “Is he still sleeping?”
Esther nodded, intrigued. Kunle was holding a tray, and for a second, she blinked in surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him do anything remotely domestic.
Since their conversation three nights ago, things had been…awkward, like they were learning each other again. He hovered now, eager but clumsy, asking “What can I help with?” multiple times a day while missing the obvious things right in front of him. He made a show of wanting to help, but also was not taking initiative, so Esther had to give instructions like she was talking to a kindergartener, and even then, he didn’t quite do it right. For example, he’d offered to do laundry, and he’d tossed their clothes and Dara’s into the washing machine and used the Heavy wash option. It was when she’d gone to move the clothes into the dryer because he was on a Zoom call, that she’d spotted the error and she’d been exasperated. When had they ever washed Dara’s clothes alongside theirs? And with heavy wash?
He hadn’t even used the detergent she’d bought specifically for Dara’s clothes. She’d heaved a sigh, irritated and yet careful not to sound ungrateful.
He was trying, and that’s what she wanted, right?
“I made breakfast in bed,” he said, with a proud grin, placing the tray on the bedside stand.
Esther surveyed his handwork – a single rose lay across the Mother’s Day card. Then there was a plate covered with one of those microwave covers.
She picked up the rose and smelled it. It smelled like nothing –she was not a flower girl, but she liked to pretend she was because it made her seem more sophisticated.
“Thank you, babe,” she said, her eyes scanning the words he’d penned on the card: Thank you for being our superhero. You do it so well, and we’re lucky to have you.
Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she needed someone to tell her she was doing okay.
“Won’t you open the food?” Kunle asked.
Esther lifted the lid of the plate and suppressed a laugh. He’d made pancakes, eggs, and sausages. It truly was a feast, but…
“I don’t know how you make your pancakes look so round and nice. Mine looks like an amoeba,” he said sheepishly, taking the words right out of her mouth.
“I’ll show you one day. Thanks, honey,” she leaned forward and kissed his lips, just as Dara began to stir.
It’s the thought that counts, she thought as she quickly snapped a photo of the tray in bed, with the single rose beside it and the Happy Mother’s Day card, and posted on her social media: Sometimes love is in the little things, even if it’s not perfect. Happy Mother’s Day to the superheroes!
“Hey, cutie,” she leaned over to cuddle Dara, whose eyes were now wide open, staring at her in that way that caused butterflies in her belly.
He cooed in response, giggles erupting as she blew raspberries in his tummy.
“Do you want to hold him?” she glanced up. Kunle was now sitting at the edge of the bed, watching them both.
“Erm…it’s okay. I’ll just go…clean up the kitchen,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Babe,” Esther called gently. She felt herself soften as she remembered that he had, after all, made breakfast. “You remember I have my lunch date today, right?”
“Yes, um…about that…”
“What?” Esther looked up sharply.
“Um…can we…tag along? Just you know…make it a…family thing?”
“Excuse me?” Esther felt all her good feelings from the morning evaporate.
“Babe, it’s not…I’m not. I mean, I will obviously hold Dara while you enjoy your lunch! We’ll just be…we’ll be flies on the wall, I promise.”
The laughter started in her belly, uncontrollable and sharp. She didn’t know why it came or why she couldn’t stop, but it rolled out of her like thunder.
“Babe. Babe?” Kunle’s voice echoed like it was coming from inside a drum.
Esther wanted to stop laughing; she really did. But the sound didn’t want to stop coming; her belly was beginning to tighten as she laughed. Her body shook, and her eyes blurred.
“Babe? Babe!”
It wasn’t until he screamed, alarmed, that Esther realised there were big rolls of tears cascading down her face and that she was gripping Dara so tightly he was beginning to cry.
And even then, she couldn’t stop.