DEJI

Courage was finally admitting that you had been lying to yourself. 

It was one thing to pretend that something wasn’t happening, to look away each time the subject came up. It was like putting wallpaper over a damaged wall rather than fixing it. That’s what Deji had been doing, but since Lara’s question three days ago, “Daddy, are you and Mummy fighting?”, he couldn’t help feeling the guilt well up in his chest.

How had they gotten here? To a relationship so fractured that even their five-year-old daughter noticed? It reminded him of the day he and Benjy had walked in on their parents in the middle of a fight. It would have been normal, after all every couple experienced conflict, in fact, he and Benjy were known for their bickering and endless arguments. However, watching his parents from the slit in the kitchen door, Deji immediately knew that there was something very different about this scenario.  The air in the kitchen felt different somehow - dark and foreboding. And the look on their mother’s face as she edged toward the counter away from their father. Her body language wasn’t that of someone actively involved in a conflict but more of someone afraid, someone trying to escape something.

Deji remembered the mixture of fear and rage as he watched the scene unfolding. He heard his father’s words and saw him act out,  and shame filled Deji because he realized that the man he considered a hero, someone to impress, was nothing but a bully. A part of him had wanted to rush in there, grab his father by the neck, and do what he could to protect their mother. But he was just a boy and from what he knew about his father, tact was the only way to get him to back off. His father was a smart man and looking back now, Deji could tell that only a smart person could have kept his abusive nature hidden from his family for so long.

  As a child becoming an adolescent, when he realised that marriage and a family were things he wanted, he had always sworn that he would not become like his parents. He hated that as a teenager, he could feel the tension in the air whenever he returned from school even while his mother smiled through her teeth, pretending that all was well.

But now as he thought about it, he wondered; was he doing the same thing his father had done? Hiding from the truth? Pretending that all was well? Putting up a front for the world, for himself?

He felt so alone, so tired. He was weary to his bones and wished he had someone he could talk to. His mind drifted to his brother - Benjy - when last had they spoken? They weren’t close in the way Deji wished they would be. Somehow, they had lost their closeness as children and Deji couldn’t pinpoint when that had changed. 

What would Benjy say about his situation? Even if he wanted to finally open up about his marital troubles, where would he start? Was Benjy the right person to talk to considering that he wasn’t married himself? Would he understand the complications that come with marriage? On the one hand, Benjy was one of the smartest people he knew and Deji had an underlying admiration for his brother but it was this same smartness that made him a least likely candidate for a tete-a-tete about marriage. He would more likely choose logic over emotions when giving advice. 

The one person he needed to talk to, he realized, was the one person he was scared of.

Ivie.

And he knew that the time had come to face his demons head-on.

*

It was nearly midnight and they had just put Tolu to bed half an hour ago. Deji had stayed downstairs to finish up some work on his computer but also to avoid having the conversation he needed to have. 

He thought that by the time he retired to their bedroom, Ivie would be asleep. She was usually knocked out by this time especially if she had been drinking throughout the day.

He was surprised to see her still up, reading a book, the covers pulled up against her chest.

It had been a while since he saw her reading something. Looking at her at that moment, he remembered that in one of their very first conversations, she had mentioned that she loved to read. 

“Still up? What are you reading?” he asked, settling on the bed beside her, trying to ease into a conversation.

She shut the book and turned the cover page towards Deji indicating that he read it himself.

“Born a Crime. Trevor Noah. Hmmm. Is it good?”

She shrugged, returning to her book.

This was the general modus operandi of their conversations these days. She was either responding with gestures or monosyllables.

“Can we talk?” Deji eventually summoned the courage to ask.

Ivie sighed and slipped a bookmark in the book before shutting it and placing it on the nightstand. 

“I’m listening,” she said.

“Lara asked if we are fighting,” he began. “Are we?”

“You tell me.”

“Listen, I know we said a lot of things to each other during our…date and I feel like we haven’t…moved past it…”

“Oh, you mean the date night where you practically told me you were tired of this marriage?”

Deji sighed. “I don’t think I said that in those exact words.”

“So now we discuss semantics? Listen Deji, if this is how you intend for this conversation to go tonight, then I’m sorry I do not have the time nor energy for it.”

“I just…I’m tired of fighting, Ivie. How did we get here?”

Ivie shrugged. 

“I know I haven’t been fair to you. With the…the…drinking and all. But I think we need to figure out a way to find our way back to each other. It’s… this whole thing, is affecting our family.”

“With the drinking?” Ivie scoffed. “You think that our problems are because I indulge in a drink now and then?”

Deji rolled his eyes; “Ivie, indulging now and then would not look like what it looks like. If we can’t be honest with each other, then what are we doing?”

“Don’t you lecture me on honesty. You, you who can’t even look me in the face and have an honest conversation with me? Come on…”

“But I’m having the conversation with you now, doesn’t that count?”

“No, because you are saying a lot but saying nothing at all.”

Deji sighed. Ivie was obviously not going to make this easy for him.

“Here’s some honesty for you: yes, I drink more than the average person but that doesn’t make me an incompetent wife or mum.”

“And that’s only because I choose to look the other way. Because I have chosen to trust your decision whether or not I think the alcohol impairs it.”

It was true and they both knew it. It wasn’t until Ivie had gotten into an accident with the kids after drinking, that he had placed a restriction on her.

His initial response was to ban her for weeks from picking the kids up from school but that hadn’t been sustainable because leaving the office and going to pick the kids up daily, drop them off at home and drive back to the office, became a hassle for him. So he had gone ahead to reinstate Ivie back as designated driver but had warned her to never drink and drive the kids ever again.

Their unspoken agreement to not mention her drinking frequently, was another demonstration of his leniency. Or maybe it was a demonstration of his cowardice.

Why was he okay searching out empty bottles of alcohol rather than directly having a conversation about it?

In his mind, he had felt like he was doing her a favour, saving her the shame or embarrassment of facing her problems, but in reality, he was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if he threw stones and thereby broke the glass house they were living in.

“So you don’t think I’m a competent mum?” Ivie’s voice broke as she spoke. 

Deji noticed that she had dropped the ‘wife’ in her question.

“It’s not about what I think,” he said, aiming for honesty. “If we go to anyone, a judge, a pastor, anyone…they will question your mothering skills without hesitation simply because of the…your drinking habits. I think you deserve better. I think the kids deserve better. I think we deserve better, Ivie.”

“I think you care about what people think more than you care about what’s actually going on with me,” Ivie said. “And that makes me sad because that is not the man I married. So, say whatever you want about my drinking, I know that it is a symptom and not the cause of our problems.”

Deji held back a smile. It had been a while since he’d seen this fiesty side of his wife. Her ability to use words to break down her thoughts was something that had always intrigued him.

But he realised that in recent years, her fire kept getting lesser and lesser, so much so that it seemed like there was no spark in her anymore.

His thoughts settled on her words: he was no longer the man she married. They had both changed, he agreed. One didn’t stay married for six, nearly seven years without changing. Change was inevitable and it was supposed to be good. 

He had always been someone who cared about appearances, and as ashamed as he was to admit that, it wasn’t something he could run away from anymore. Perhaps it was a first born syndrome, this need for perfection and to keep up appearances. 

Yes, he cared about what people thought when they looked at him. He cared about what his father thought of him even though he didn’t particularly like the man. He cared that when his fellow church members at church looked at his family, they saw a wholesomeness rather than the cracks they were trying to hide.

“Once upon a time you cared what people thought of you,” he eventually responded. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong in caring what people think of you. We all need some form of accountability.”

“Even from people you don’t know? Caring what others think over my well-being, is the problem.”

“Ivie,” he sighed. “Can we please just…can we call a truce? Look for a way forward?”

Finally there was a long pause, one that made Deji think she had given up on the conversation. 

“What do you suggest?” she asked and for the first time in a long time, Deji heard the vulnerability in his wife’s voice. 

His response was instant. It was one he had been thinking about, it was the only way out, he believed. 

They were drowning and they needed someone with a life jacket to lend them a hand. 

“Therapy. Couple’s counselling. Whatever it is, I think we need external help.”