The Easter Weekend
Ajayi sat on a soft pale-grey modular sofa in the penthouse. Before him stretched a sweeping view of the city skyline at dawn. This was where he retreated for the weekend whenever business deals, speaking engagements and other commitments did not require his presence elsewhere. He loved being at home. More specifically, he loved the solitude of the penthouse.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the vast swimming pool below. Beyond it, a wide expanse of water stretched towards a long pier that reached into the distance, with high-rise buildings rising beyond it beneath a clear sky fading from deep blue to a golden-orange horizon.
On an Eko Prime Cuisine-branded ceramic saucer sat a small, measured handful of dry-roasted pistachios, alongside a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a bottle of water. This was Ajayi’s preferred form of stress relief.
He reclined, chewing quietly, his eyes closed and his hands resting loosely over his midsection. His feet were propped on a rectangular coffee table with a reflective patterned surface. Carefully arranged books sat on one side and his glasses lay beside them.
He hummed along to Barry White’s Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe, occasionally shaking his head and snapping his fingers to the rhythm. The music was not loud enough to suggest a club. It was at exactly the right level for a man looking to decompress into the weekend.
“Babe!”
The interruption came. But it was one he welcomed. It was his wife, Ìrètí. She had come up to join him.
“I just finished talking to the boys. I miss them. May I spend the Easter weekend with them?”
Ajayi pointed the remote at the Bang & Olufsen system and lowered the volume. She sat beside him and poured a few more pistachios onto the saucer and took a handful.
“You mean tomorrow? We’re already in the Easter weekend,” Ajayi replied.
She nodded like a child waiting for approval. Ajayi shook his head and laughed softly.
“I’d be back on Wednesday.”
“Have you booked your flight?”
She shook her head.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
She immediately stood and picked up his MacBook from beside the books. Then she returned and settled against Ajayi’s chest as she searched for flights to California.
“Only thing is, I really don’t like it when you decide to pay them surprise visits. It’s not fair. They aren’t babies anymore.”
“They are my babies,” she said, rolling her eyes as she tapped away at the keyboard. “If they don’t like it, they should choose another mother in their next lifetime. They have bought market with this mum.”
“Errrr… I’m checking morning flight. Business class is all taken. Only a couple of first-class options left.”
She looked up at her husband. He shrugged and hummed along to the next song, Teddy Pendergrass’s When Somebody Loves You Back.
She smiled and continued her search.
“There! I need to be at the airport by at least 7:45 a.m.”
She shut the MacBook, placed it on the table and settled back against her husband. Ajayi wrapped his arms around her.
“Your parents would be so proud of what you’ve achieved, Ajayi.”
He nodded.
“Especially your father.”
“Thank you, AJ, for insisting we mend fences. I would have really regretted it if he had died and we had never made up. Thanks, babe.”
She grabbed his arm and squeezed it. He squeezed hers in return.
“I should be the one thanking you for coming into my life. I would never have dreamed this big if it hadn’t been for you. Our parents would have been very proud. At least Mama is still here to enjoy the fruits of her labour.”
Then there was a brief silence.
“Before you go, I need you to call Keji and tell her that I must see her tomorrow. And she must stay in this house until the Easter holidays are over. She can’t keep staying in uni during the holidays like she’s some orphan.”
Ìrètí looked up at her husband.
“Okay,” she said. Then she pulled a face.
“But why am I the one delivering this message to your Keji?”
Ajayi nodded towards her.
“Just tell her I told you so.”
She smiled, then giggled.
“You don’t want to use a harsh voice with her, so you turn to me, abi? You think I haven’t caught your scope.”
Ajayi opened his mouth. Ìrètí already understood the assignment. She popped a few more pistachios into his mouth.
“By the way, are you aware that A Mourning Love Story, the novel about us, will be officially released on Amazon on Wednesday, 23 September? The US, Europe and Australia audience will be able to get it then. The Nigerian and Ghana pre-order campaign has started and closes 10th October. That campaign launches on 4 November. Media houses have been saying they would cover everything from when we met at uni to our success story.”
Ajayi shifted in his seat.
“The interesting part is that the book won’t just stop where we are now. It will go beyond our current situation. I wonder what the author has written about us and our future.”
“Interesting. I’ll be looking forward to it. Let’s plan to pre-order copies to include as corporate gifts for clients. I’ll notify Temisan,” Ajayi said.
“Absolutely. Good idea, babe.”
She sprang to her feet.
“Now, let’s get you ready for your flight tomorrow morning.”
He needed the perfect distraction. Something that would give him enough time to text his twin boys and tell them that their mother would be at their door tomorrow evening.