I braced myself for impact but a hand grabbed onto my coat, effectively stopping me from landing on my ass in front of the whole street. I stabilized myself and adjusted my coat.
“When you’re walking, you should at least look up to make sure no one is in your way. That is the decent thing to do.”
I looked up at the man who had just spoken, his head was buried in his phone. I resisted the urge to scoff.
“If you spent more than five seconds off your phone, maybe you would actually use your eyes and not have to bump into people.” He was silent for a second, but then he put his phone away and finally met my eyes.
“Touché,” His voice was like sin and I couldn’t help but discreetly run my eyes down his frame and damn.
He was tall, tall enough that I had to crane my neck to look at him, and I’m not exactly short; I’m 5’8. He was lean and toned in all the right places.
He was wearing a white button up shirt but I could see the way it gripped his biceps. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and he had perfectly trimmed light brown hair with really intense grey eyes; Eyes that seemed to be boring a hole into me right now.
I realized I had been staring for so long. I cleared my throat.
“Try not to bump into any more strangers, will you?” I said as I made my way to my car, “Dry cleaning is not cheap.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
I gave him one last lingering look before getting into my car.
A call came in just as I sat in my car. I answered without checking thinking it was Marissa but I cursed under my breath as soon as the person spoke.
“Emiade,” my dad’s voice held a lot of disapproval and I cringed inwardly.
“Good afternoon sir,” I kept my tone light and respectful. “How are you?”
“Kilomue ti o gbe ipe mimo? Or has your phone spoiled and you cannot call again?” that’s my dad alright, he goes straight to the point. No time to waste on pleasantries.
“I’m sorry sir, I’ve been really busy. I barely even check my phone anymore.”
“That’s your excuse? You are always with your phone but whenever we call, you are busy.” He chuckled humorlessly, “Okay o, when are you coming to the house?”
“I’m not sure, I-,”
“Let me correct myself; you are coming to the house today.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and pointer finger, “I can’t, I’m sorry sir.”
He made a noise of disbelief and started speaking in Yoruba. I patiently waited for him to finish because I didn't understand what he’s saying.
When he is upset, he switched to Yoruba. He knows I don’t understand it very well so he uses it to let out his frustrations before switching back to English when he wants to speak to me.
Not learning Yoruba was one of my biggest regrets. I was a kid trying to fit in so I decided not to learn it. I thought it would make me more like the kids in school. By the time I realized that I wanted to stand out instead of fitting in, it was too late and all I could learn were the simple phrases to get me through the beginning of the conversation.
“Adira,” he said finally and I sighed.
“Sir.”
“Whenever you are free; come to the house.” He sounded defeated and a bit fed up with me, “We have not properly seen you in almost three weeks. You can even come with Joseph.”
“Joseph and I broke up.”
My dad went completely silent. I would have thought he hung up the call if not for his light breathing on the other side.
“What do you mean by you broke up? How did it happen?”
“It just wasn’t working out, so we decided to end things.” I pointedly ignored the last part of the question. I wasn’t ready to voice that out yet.
