Chapter 8: Amala and Confessions

For private room, I order food like say na party. This place cost o. Normally, na only when salary drop me and Kemi dey come here. Fisayo no chop much, sometimes just dey pick meat give me.

I talk with tension, “MD, abeg chop, no worry about me.”

He pause, spoon hang for air: “Work don finish. Just call me my name.”

I just keep quiet, e dey awkward. Six months now, sometimes we go chop together. But na always in-between—you know na. To sit down chop real food together, na first time be this. E just dey somehow. I bury my face for food, make I no show my awkwardness.

After food, rain start for outside. Fisayo jingle him car key: “Make I drive you go house.”

I pull out my phone, open ride app: “I go just find cab.”

See as people plenty for queue.

Fisayo: “Rain dey fall, cab no dey. Enter motor, make I drop you.”

I enter Fisayo Benz. I open back door.

He raise eyebrow: “So I be your driver now?”

How I go try am?

I waka go front: “Make I drive.”

Fisayo just laugh.

“Enter front seat jare.”

For road, my mind just dey think. To start this bedmate thing with Fisayo na the boldest thing wey I don ever do. I like to keep work and private life separate. Fisayo only know me as person. Nothing more. So I dey always free with am. But now, na my boss e be. I fit still dey free with am like before? If colleagues catch us nko? I no like wahala.

Before I come down, I gather liver, look Fisayo: “MD, abeg, make we end our relationship here.”

“No need to dey see each other for weekend again.”

Fisayo look me like say e no understand: “Why? Because I be your boss?”

I no fit talk that one. After all, na under am I still dey work.

“Just because I wan stop. This thing no get future.”

E face just change. My hand dey shake as I dey talk. I dey look window, dey count raindrops, dey pray make this thing easy. I quick remove seatbelt, rush comot from car. To talk true, I feel empty small. I shake head, tell myself make I no think too much. Maybe na just him body dey sweet me.

My hand dey shake small as I close the car door, and for my heart, I dey beg God make this decision strong. For this Lagos, you no dey know when body go use you do mumu. But I tell myself, ‘Guy, no carry wahala play for office, make dem no use you do gist for canteen.’