Hello Dead Lover

The restaurant was a 5-star ++, no doubt and anyone would be impressed.

I sat across the table and listened to him tell me about himself and his background. His mom was from one of those old-money families, and his dad was a big politician in the city. He was a benefit boy that had been pampered and spoiled all his life. From some of the best ivy league schools in the world to working amongst the top big 5s.

He was a top deal to be reckoned with, and would make any girl roll her eyes in envy, but not me.

I was barely impressed.

He spoke about his achievements like it was enough to discard any other topic of the reason that did not center around why he was flying across the country every other week.

I took a look at his nails and noticed how slick and neat they looked. Every edge was beautifully cut and manicured like he had never had to touch grit in his life.

I hid my nails instinctively as I stared at his. My hands would pale instinctively when placed side by side with his beautifully manicured fingers.

He was made for the spotlight, no doubt. A mannequin too beautiful and perfect to be fully human.

“Are you even human?” I asked, my mind racing as I bit down on my lips for being too obvious with my sarcasm. He could see that I was not buying into his sales pitch of himself, or couldn’t he?

“Oh, please darling!” He remarked almost immediately without stopping to process the question. “Durrrling I know!!” His purr reminded me of a more manly version of one of those social media wannabe pseudo-ladies acting like men on mainstream media.

“Oh Gosh!” I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. Could this get any worse?

“Of course dauurrlinnggg!!” I know right?!!

Why was a millennial acting like Gen Z version 2.0?

What in God’s name was this guy, and what was I doing here? Good, God! I wondered to myself.

The dude continued to blubber on. “I am not only human, but I am also of the 1 percent of the most alluded to of the human species. I am indeed that special,” he smirked with pride. Saying something special funnily like those teenagers did on TikTok these days. “Sppppppecialll”.

I rolled my eyes. He didn’t get the sarcasm, yet he was the one who attended a top ivy league school.

Good Lord!

It was true what they said. Quality is usually always not found at the top.

“Hmm interesting”, I muttered, as I bit into my steak, my face, emotionless. I turned away from him and tried to process what was up with this weird guy.

“You know, I get that question a lot.” He continued with so much enthusiasm.

“You do?” I asked, rolling my eyes for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, I do!” People are usually so enamored by my charisma, beauty, and accomplishments, that they usually cannot help but wonder if I’m real!

“Are you?” I muttered, sarcasm slicing through my tongue as I stared at his oddly irritating pink suit and manicured fingers. The dude was giving Cardi B vibes plus James Brown together in one body.

“You look like something that fell out of a premature cartoon series,” I mumbled quietly to myself as I sipped down on the glass of wine.

“Of course darling, I am.” He answered without knowing.

I was starting to get bored, and I began to think of the numerous ways and excuses I could give to end this inappropriate dinner. Several scenarios continued to slice through my mind. The next left me more confused than the former.

As I watched him blab on and on, I realized that I just couldn’t walk away from the dinner. I had to stay for 30 more minutes or else I would lose the bet to Tola, and pay the sum of 100,000 in fine. Which would be a lot for me to handle right now with my current financial situation. If only the idiot would make me enjoy this date even for a little bit.

I bet Tola saw this coming. She definitely did!

That witch of a friend. Tola had been on my neck to go out on a date with someone new. The first chance she got, she pitched me an arranged blind date with this dude.

Then placed an N100,000 bet if I stayed through till the end of the date.

And here, because of Tola’s obviously bad decision, I was stuck with this cartoon-like human who was practically obsessed with himself.

“So superhuman, can you tell me a little about your future aspirations? Where do you see yourself in the next few years? What are your plans?”

“Sweetheeearart. I think I’ve bagged it all already. I only just need a wife to complete me. As you can see, I am complete in every sense. And you my darling seem to fit the bill just perfectly.”

My mind began to splutter words together in aghast shock. Was this dude just stating that I become his wife most outrageously?

How loathful!

I stared at him with eyes that wanted to prick out his brain and chew some sense into it.

“What?!!!” I stuttered, trying to process what he was saying. Did he think he was so impressive because he had affluence that I would want to become his wife?

How ridiculous!

I looked around the dining hall and noticed how everyone else was minding their business staring into their date’s eyes, and smiling from ear to ear.

Why was I so unlucky with dates?

Why did I always end up with the wrongest choice of them all?

I looked down at my phone and wished for the time to hurry along quickly. I needed to catch my breath.

I looked at him and smiled as he continued to talk about building a house for our small cozy family in the Caribbeans, and how his little tidy fingers would manicure the garden, and trim the lawns.

“Girl! You’re too prim and proper to pick some thorns. Don’t wanna hear you cry and yell for your momma. ” I continued my inner monologue to myself.

Men were always like this. Give them a little access to money and wealth, and their egos would skyrocket to the moon and back. They’d think they would win any girl over with their rich pockets and fat stock portfolio.

“Are you not going to ask me what I want in this supposed setup relationship?” I asked, trying to break through his drone of innumerable achievements.

“Scuse you darling! Of course not! I know you want what I want! Who wouldn’t?” He exclaimed like he had just proclaimed the world’s greatest wisdom. Chuckling his way through his steak, he tore into it.

He waved his hand dismissively and continued. “You would do great as my wife. I’m certain of it.”

“And why is that?”, I questioned again, trying to hide the fact that I was losing my patience, and failing at hiding my frustration. “How come you’re so certain I would want to marry you, you’re not even that impressive!”

“It’s quite simple!” He said dismissively with a hiss like he could not understand why I was so slow. Why I could not comprehend this simple reason.

“It’s in your face!”

“What’s in my face?” I asked, trying to reach out, and hold down my skin and hair like there was a bug somewhere.

“No, darling! Your face! It’s quite simple. With that face of yours, and with this face of mine, we would make the loveliest children that would make the entire world sigh in envy.”

“What?!” I looked at him in shock as I wondered how anyone could be so dimwitted.

That was the reason why he wanted to make a family with me. Because he thought my nose would match his nose and give him prim and proper elite children?

Goodness gracious!

Some men would shame you, and shame their generation.

Seeing the expression on my face, he began to laugh like he believed I was impressed by his supposed high standards.

I wasn’t. If for anything, I was repulsed.

Without thinking any further, or damning the consequences of the bet with Tola, I immediately stood up and walked out of the table, leaving him without an explanation. Let his ivy league brain figure it out.

I walked out of the restaurant and started towards my car aggressively.

This was all Tola’s fault.

Ever since I lost Tony three years ago, my lover, and best friend, it seemed impossible to be impressed by any guy, let alone to fall in love again.

Tola had set me up on several dates, and each episode had gone from bad to worse.

This one was just the height of it all. It made me wonder if I would ever get some peace, and comfort, away from the nagging ears of my parents, friends, and families, imploring me to move on, stop mourning, forget the past, or give other men a chance.

Well, truth is, I had tried to genuinely open up myself to find love again. But it seemed like the streets were filled with only boys and not men.

Boys were self-conceited and had no idea what to do with a real woman when they saw one.

Today was just the height of it all. Of all the things I could offer to this man, as a woman, the only thing he deemed appropriate to mention was my face, like I was someone who had no value and worth.

Sometimes I missed Tony. Heck, I missed him every day, every night. I missed him every time I wanted to complain about something or someone, I missed him every time I needed a shoulder to lean on.

Tony was my everything, my life, my rock, my man, and my favourite human in the world.

Somehow, I always ended up comparing all the other men who came close to me to him, and they fell short in everything else, completely.

Maybe that was the problem. I needed to stop comparing the living to the dead. Tony was irreplaceable, and that was some truth I had to accept, however bitter.

I walked into my car and stepped into the driver’s seat. Tony had gotten this for me on my 23rd birthday. He said I deserved everything good, and a car would only fall short in comparison to my value. Gosh, that man had the sweetest words on his lips.

I sat down, dropped my bag in the passenger’s seat, and buckled up my seat belt to drive back home.

Tola would receive her N100,000. I had lost the bet.

As I prepared to drive away, I stared into the mirror and looked at my face, I saw that I had aged a little, and fine lines were beginning to appear near my eyes.

I thought of the day that I had received the call that Tony had been involved in an accident. His car and body had been burnt beyond recognition.

There had been no body, no identification, just a burnt car whose plate number had been identified as Tony’s.

I had been devastated beyond words. It had been a few weeks to our wedding when the tragic incident happened.

It had been the darkest year of my life.

I flipped the mirror and squeezed my eyes shut as tears threatened to pour down my face again.

God would I ever heal from Tony’s death? Tony, why did you desert me in this wicked and cruel world?

Why?!

I thought of how if I had the opportunity to make a life wish, it’d be to meet Tony. To see him again, to touch him, and to see him smile down at me again.

If wishes were horses, I would bring him back to life to be with me again!

I shook my head, opened my eyes, sighed, and started the engine.

I had to hurry home to prepare for my presentation. I had a work proposal to pitch to clients in a few hours, and I needed to have all my wits about me, to make sure I brought my “A” game.

As I started to revise in the tight parking lot, I wondered where the traffickers were. Did they all go home for the day already? I tried to navigate against the cars that were parked, and immediately I heard the trunk of my car bash into something loud.

I felt my heart somersault into a million pieces.

“Dear God, did I just hit someone?” I exclaimed as I bounded out of the driver’s seat to check out what had happened.

There was a man bent on the floor trying to pick up the littered items that I had bumped into inside the trolley.

“Oh, God, thank you!” I exclaimed, glad it was just a shopping cart I had bumped into, and it was not a person.

The man had on a face cap and was bent strangely over the goods, trying to fix things up. I tried to squint in the dark to take a look at him, but his cap covered his face completely.

I bent down, attempting to help him pick up his things.

“I’m so sorry sir, this is all my fault,” I apologized without stopping, trying to help him fix his cart.

“I’m sorry I bumped into your cart, please let me help you sort these out.”

The man quickly held my hands to stop me, and I felt the chills run down my spine. Those hands. Those fingers. I would know them even in the afterlife.

Was it? Dear God! No!

“Don’t worry, miss, I’ve got it covered. It’s fine, I was being clumsy as well.” He replied, still picking up the loose goods sprawled on the floor.

God, was I dreaming? What kind of dream was this? I muttered to myself, as I tried to see his face. Those hands, that voice. There’s no way I could be mistaken. This was not a coincidence.

He raised his face to look at me for the first time, and I felt tears wash through my eyes as my heart slammed and my brain went into a dramatic chaos in 10 million ways all at once.

Those eyes, God. Those eyes.

That smile.

“Tony?” I asked

“Tony is that you,” I asked tears streaming down my cheeks.

Dear God, do wishes really come through?

All images are sourced at unsplash.com