Rosemary33:
Please I just realized that the scene was unevenly cut, so a part of the middle was left out. The part she was dancing and was lusting after him. I have edited it now. So if you have read before, you'll want to go and re-read the second part again

Rosemary33:
. Eweeehhhh. Me that is here eating children's day Chin-chin and drinking Yogurt

Rosemary33:
I posted something earlier and was banned. Hopefully, it won't happen again. I pray

Rosemary33:
I posted something earlier and was banned. Hopefully, it won't happen again. I pray

Rosemary33:

Six
Ifenkili

“The more I look at you, the more I am convinced that you are the woman for me,” Preye said, offering me a glass of water and sitting beside me. He never told me he was taking me to his house. But...well...there we were. It was a beautiful mini duplex that was lavishly furnished—the sitting room at least.

That was the only place I’d seen.

The last time he wanted me to follow him home, I changed my mind at the parking lot of the restaurant where he took me out for dinner. I guess he didn’t want that to happen this time, so he tricked me. But I wasn't going to complain. I think it was rather swoon-worthy, he taking me to his house without first informing me.

“I want to start a family, Ifenkili. And I think my mom will like you. You’ll make a perfect daughter-in-law,” he said, shifting closer so his lap would touch mine.

“We’ll make a great couple. Our kids would have the best things in life...”

Hold on...hold on...as much as what he was saying was music to my ears, my brain had started letting off alert so loud and deafening.

This sounded like future faking.

In case you were wondering what future faking meant; imagine a scenario where you met someone who constantly talked about marriage, having children, and building a future together.

Now that was it. This person knew how badly you yearned for these things, and so he leveraged on it. He painted vivid pictures of a happy family life and promised commitment and stability. However, when the time came to take concrete steps towards these goals, he made excuses or created obstacles.

That was what Chizi did to me.

I met Chizi a year after Boma broke up with me.

It was on a rainy night and he was standing by the road with one Jehovah's Witness kind of bag. I gave him a lift. When I dropped him, he thanked me, hesitated for a few seconds then said, “Can I give you something?”

I was intrigued. I went through several emotions at once.

Was today the day? Have I met those good Samaritans who would see through people, identify their needs, and provide for them?
God, I needed a man and a job promotion. I also needed something bad to happen to my monstrous Head of Department. Would this angel in human form grant me those wishes?
He was still searching his bag for something.
Oh my God! Was Nollywood about to happen for real? Was he about to hand me a mysterious wrap that would catapult me to greater height?

Or was he going to give me a wad of cash? A check?

He was still searching.

Was it spiritual soap? Because yes, I would use it. How long would it take before marriageable men would start flocking around me?

I sat very comported, smiling in humility because finally, my kindness would bring me luck. How would I tell the story on social media? In fact, I would keep it to myself to avoid Ojukokoro and bad eyes.

After like fifteen minutes, he finally handed me a paper. A check? A damn check? God!
I hurriedly lifted it towards the direction of light reflection so I could see how much I’d be cashing from the bank the next day.

The first thing I saw was “Do you know where you will spend eternity”? I turned the back of the paper, maybe that was where my gift was. But I saw “Worship with us at…”

My heart went to sit in the backseat to cry tears of pain.

I flashed him a weak smile, murmured “Thank you” and zoomed off as soon as he stepped down.

“Do you know where you will spend eternity,” I had scuffed. But then, I blamed myself for expecting something else from someone who was dressed like an antiquated evangelist.

But that wasn’t the end of us.

A month later, I met him at an Alive with God bible seminar I attended at Eneka. He was one of the teachers. I didn’t recognize him at first. Probably because he was dressed better than last time, and the funny bag was gone too.

Amazingly, for the whole four days of that program, we bonded, and by the time we were ready to pack up and return to our bases, we had exchanged numbers and made promises.

A month into our rather too-quick relationship, Chizi wan choke me with love. He love-bombed me so much that I forgot how to live and breathe. Two months later, he started pressurizing me for marriage, with heavy scriptural references.

And because marriage was what I wanted also, I fell rolling on the floor for his lies. It took me a long time to notice something off about him, his reluctance to introduce me to his family, and his agitation whenever I picked up his phone. My friend, Ale, made me get even more suspicious about him with her, “Are you sure he’s not married? Okay, not married but engaged? What if he was dead somewhere and showed up here to have a second life?”

I didn’t believe all that because...come on, he was a believer! Someone that asked me to follow him to the mountain to pray on his birthday.

Anyway, I went digging sha. At least to clear Ale’s doubts. My brethren my sistren, I stumbled on his wife's page, only to see full traditional wedding pictures of our Bro in Aso Ebi. From my calculation, their marriage was a few months before we met!

When I screenshot the photos and sent them to him, he claimed the wedding was his friend’s and he was only one of the groom's men. But I insisted on the truth. Seeing my seriousness, he admitted the lady was his wife who was studying nursing at the Rivers State College of Health Science. Breaking down in tears, he started begging me, saying it was the devil.

That he wished he met me before his wife.
I left his place too weak to even get angry. I had only laughed at myself for being such a desperate fool. For allowing him to keep me tethered with the hope that I was about to become a bride sooner than I thought, while he maintained control and avoided true commitment.

Sitting here like a very good church girl with a sprinkle of baddieness, while Preye flashed the marriage and making a family card again, I thought, “I’m not gonna fall for that again. But let’s see how it goes.” because once bitten, twice ‘I go bite you back. You and who dey do ‘Twice shy?’

If this man ever made promises, got me hooked so much that I started testing out wedding gowns in my head, and then he ghosted me...ah, I would shackle him to a pole and make him recite wedding vows under duress.

The evening went by slowly but nicely. We ordered pizza and ice cream.

“The next time you’ll be coming, I’ll want you to cook,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you money to buy things.”

Okay...

“I want you to be free with me. Like you are my wife already. That way, I can also study you.”

But...but...how was it possible that we were having ‘being a wife already’ and ‘studying you’ in the same conversation?

We talked about us; School attended, family—he was the last child I was the first, church denomination—I was an Anglican while he attends one of these new generational Pentecostal churches. We argued about the best place to wed a woman; her church or her man’s church.

“The man’s church, of course,” he said.

“The woman’s church,” I countered.

“Why?”

“It’s her day.”

“It’s the man’s day too.”

“It’s a sign of respect. Let her church honor her one last time.”

“Did the church pay her bride price? Are they the people sponsoring the wedding? The man calls the shot because he is spending the money,” he said, giving me a stern look. “If we are going to get married. You must agree with me on basic things like this or it’s not going to work.”

The statement struck a string inside my head. Where had I read that kind of thing before...Yes, the Nigerian side of the X app. And their basis for arguing this kind of thing always stood on rusty crutches.

“How old are you?” he asked out of the blue.

Another shocker. I wasn’t expecting that.

“You know,” he continued without giving me the chance to reply. “I don’t want to have anything serious with a thirty-plus woman.”

The chicken in the pizza ran in the wrong direction in my throat and I coughed. “Why?” I asked.

“I’m thirty-three. In my peak. I am supposed to be considering girls in their twenties, not a grandma who has wasted all her peak value on different men. It’s crazy.”

The pizza stuck in the wrong side of my throat had refused to come out. In fact, I had tears in my eyes while trying to suppress bouts of cough. And in that condition, my brain was ticking...tik, tik, tik, and I was thinking whether this wasn’t part of this whole movie where I got up, grabbed my bag, and left.

“So how old are you?” he asked again.

“Wait...let me guess. 24—at most 26.”

W-What? Did I look twentyish to him? I would have felt insulted by such age degradation but at that moment, I didn’t even know what to feel.

“I’m correct, right?”

I finally let out full bouts of cough, picked up the bottle of water on the table and drank generously, nodded when he offered a thousand ‘sorries’ while stroking my back.

“So, tell me if I’m correct. You are between 24 and 26.”

I gazed at him for a while. What would he do If I told him that this twentyish-looking lady was actually thirty-two? Call off this thing we had brewing even though we were just at the talking and visiting stage? Would it hurt me so much if he did? He seemed promising even with his stupid ideas about women and his little narcissism which I knew could change with time if we hit this thing off properly.

He wanted marriage.

Chizi also promised marriage.

But he wasn’t Chizi and I wasn’t going to rush things this time like I did with Chizi. I would take my time and mold this one.

Yet, I felt telling him a lie about my age wasn’t going to help. What the heck if he decided I wasn’t good for him?

“I, ehm, I’m actually, ehm,” I lowered my head. “I’m 32.”

I waited for him to react; maybe with a disappointing comment, a snigger, laughter. But when none came, I looked up. He was looking at me with his mouth slacked.

“Thirty-two?” he asked in disbelief.

“Mm-hm.”

“Wow,” he said. Blinking and shaking his head. “Wow. You look...you look nice. Like, so young.”

I am young, I wanted to say but held my tongue. I’ve never considered thirty-two an unmarriable age. Aside from my mother, nothing and no one had ever made me feel that way. Not until now.

“See,” he shifted closer. “About what I said earlier, forget it. I was only joking.” taking my hands, he pulled me up and gave me a look over. “You are beautiful. I mean it. And I will not let you go. Ever.” He spun me, caught me, and laughed. “Look at you. So pretty, more than every other woman I’ve dated.”

Pulling me into his arms, he made me rest my head on his chest, and even though I didn’t want to—yet, I melted in. What? Don’t blame me! He smelt delicious.

“I am so sorry, please. I didn’t mean any of those things I said.”

A man who apologized when he was wrong. Hmmm. Okay. Agreed, accepted. Now come here, you fine red flag.

Rosemary33:

I have finished this story o. It is with my editor now and will be published in a few months

I thought no one was reading it here o