Sunday Morning

Ranti stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Today was the thanksgiving service. A mutual friend of hers and Tunde’s was dedicating their twins at their church. Friends and well-wishers had agreed to gather early so they could all join the family in dancing to the altar for the children’s dedication. It had been a long wait for the couple, ten solid years. Who would have thought? Double for their trouble. 

Time was of the essence, but Ranti was not ready to let go of the argument from the night before. 

Tunde had let it go already. Cheerful, relaxed, whistling. There he was, perched at the edge of the bed, using his shoehorn to slide into his loafers as though life were perfectly aligned. 

Was he unaware she was still angry? Or was he pretending? 

Just thirty minutes earlier, he had woken her with a kiss and his usual, “Arise and shine, my darling!” 

She had grumbled a lazy “morning,” wiping sleep from her eyes, stretching slowly into the day. 

The aso-ebi had already been chosen. Everything had to be right. 

Now she stood before the mirror, slightly bent, working on her makeup, perfecting her brows. Suddenly, a smack. Her body jolted forward slightly. She froze, closed mouth and teeth clenched. 

Her husband casually exited the crime scene. “You look so beautiful, babe! We’re running late oh!” he sang, walking around, elated without a care in the world. 

When she finished her makeup, the next task was her outfit. Her custom-fitted aso-oke and damask combination, tailored to perfection. 

First, the nude steel-boned waist trainer. Easy. 

Then the dress. 

The zipper, however, had other plans. 

She reached for the back and pulled the zipper. It got stuck. She tried again, repeatedly. No luck. 

Heat rose up her spine. She switched on the air conditioner and the fan, tilting it toward herself, and tried her luck again with the zipper. 

Still nothing. 

“My goodness. Will I now speak to this man nau because of this silly zipper?” 

She squared her shoulders in the mirror and tried yet again. 

“You need any help?” Tunde asked, strolling in with two cups of coffee. He placed hers on the vanity table and sipped his. She shook her head. 

So he left. 

She sighed. “Should I just drop this dress and wear something else? I can tell Derin something happened to the fabric. I would rather die than speak to this man.” 

But then she thought of the effort, the tailoring, and how stunning she would look. It would also feel awkward standing among close-knit friends without the uniform look. 

She gave it one final attempt. 

This time, Tunde had come back and seen her struggling. Without asking, he stepped behind her and gently guided the zipper upward. 

Smooth. Click. She didn’t protest. Relief swallowed her pride. 

The moment the zipper settled into place, she walked off, letting him know there was an unresolved problem. 

“Babe, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?” he asked, genuinely confused. 

“Nothing. Did you do anything?” she snapped. 

Now she was trying on her gold necklace, the embellishments matching her dress. Again, without permission, Tunde reached over and fastened the clasp. Click. 

Easy and efficient. She briskly walked away again. 

He threw up his hands. “Hang on a minute. Are you still mad from yesterday? Whatever happened to ‘Do not let the sun set upon your anger,’ madam?” 

Ranti behaved as though the air itself had spoken. 

She slipped into her slingback block heels and walked to the mirror for a final inspection. 

“You look amazing,” Tunde said softly. “I’m looking at the most beautiful of God’s creation that will step into church today.” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Oya, sorry. Don’t be mad at me.” 

“But what are you sorry for?” she fired back. “Always saying sorry and doing the same thing again.” 

He moved closer. Wrapped his arms around her from behind and began kissing her neck. 

“I will spoil all that makeup if you don’t forgive me and smile.” 

“Stop! Stop nau! Stooooop. Tunde. Please stop.” 

But he continued. Her neck was her weakness and he knew it. 

Laughter burst out of her, full and uncontrollable, before she could stop it. 

“Oya, I’ve heard. You can stop now, babe.” 

He retreated to wipe makeup traces off his face with a wet paper towel. 

“How do I look, babe?” Ranti asked, striking a pose. 

He stood still. Gazing for seconds. 

“Talk nau,” she protested, stamping her right foot. 

He delayed a few more seconds for effect. “Marilyn Monroe and Halle Berry would be jealous. And God would be proud.” 

She blushed looking radiant. He stretched out his hand and she obliged. 

As they walked toward the door, she glanced at their reflection in the hallway mirror, beaming with pride. 

Two imperfect people, still choosing each other. 

“Now let’s go celebrate with our people.”