SUNNY WEDNESDAYS: IVIE (II)

     

           

Rita could feel the tension in the air as she watched Ivie, her boss, rub her foot absentmindedly, the weight of the decision she'd been carrying for days heavy in her posture. With a reluctant sigh, Ivie lifted her feet off the cool terrace floor, the rough tiles beneath her now feeling too real, too grounding. The terrace was her little retreat, her private sanctuary from the sterile, minimalist furnishings of the rest of the office. It was the only corner of the company that felt like a personal space, with a few more touches of comfort than the basic ambiance that defined the rest of the company’s utilitarian design.

She was grateful, though, for Rita. Her assistant had proven to be more than just a diligent worker. After witnessing the storm that had brewed between Ivie and her husband, Rita had shown a rare, tender kind of empathy. Despite the chaos Ivie had been living through, Rita had not forced the issue, had not pried into the drama that had unfolded that fateful day. Instead, all she had given Ivie was the quiet consistent support of a message, simple words of God’s love, sent to her WhatsApp just three days ago.

Ivie leaned back into the plush sofa that symbolized her position as the CEO. The luxurious fabric of the seat contrasted with the chaotic mess in her heart. The sofa was her throne, the space where she carried the weight of leadership, but today, it was less about authority and more about the woman she had become, a woman on the edge of making a life-altering decision.

"I hope I didn’t rush you," Ivie said, her voice softening as she sank further into the sofa’s deep cushions, eyes focused on Rita, who was busy jotting down notes on her tablet. "Relax, take your time."

"No, Ma, not at all. I got it all jotted down." Rita’s tone was steady, unwavering as always, though there was a softness in her words, an understanding that hinted at the deeper layers of Ivie’s turmoil.

"Good," Ivie replied with a nod, her voice still betraying a hint of vulnerability.

A long, pregnant pause filled the room. The kind of pause that carried the weight of unsaid things. Ivie’s gaze wandered to the window, her thoughts veering off course as she considered her next words. She was tired, too tired of pretending, too tired of suppressing the tidal wave of emotions inside. The decision had already been made, but it was a decision she had never vocalized, a choice she had never admitted, even to herself.

Rita adjusted a strand of her newly installed wig, the delicate strand finding its way to her lips, making her momentarily distracted as she brushed it aside. Her fingers paused, but then returned to the task at hand, typing swiftly into her tablet, not rushing to speak, giving Ivie the space she needed. She knew something was coming, something Ivie had been holding onto for far too long.

And then, it came.

"I’m leaving him. For good this time."

The words hung in the air like a heavy breath that had been waiting to be released. Ivie’s voice, once firm and authoritative, now cracked under the pressure of the truth she had been hiding. The admission felt like a weight lifted from her chest, but it was also a sharp, raw pain that bled into the room, filling every corner with the gravity of its truth.

Rita’s smile softened, her eyes warm with understanding. "Can we pray about it?"

The offer was simple, unassuming, but for Ivie, it felt like an anchor in the storm. Still, her resolve crumbled. The tears she had been holding back, tears of frustration, hurt, and relief, finally broke free, falling down her cheeks in hot, unrelenting streams. She shook her head, her world unraveling in a flood of emotion. "I—" she tried to speak, but her words were lost to sobs that racked her body.

Rita, without hesitation, crossed the small barrier of the office table and wrapped Ivie in her arms. The gray blazer Rita wore, soft and comforting, folded around Ivie like a shield, a gentle, protective cocoon. Ivie buried her face into Rita's shoulder, her body shaking with sobs that seemed to come from a place deeper than words could reach.

"Let it out, let it out," Rita whispered, her voice a soothing balm to Ivie’s open wound. She held her close, letting Ivie cry, knowing that this moment, this vulnerability, was a gift. It wasn’t just about the pain; it was about the release, the catharsis that came with finally confronting what had been hidden away for so long.

Muffled by the fabric of Rita’s blazer, Ivie cried her heart out. Every tear was a prayer, a release of all the hurt and fear she had carried in silence. And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet understanding of someone who didn’t need to say a word to offer comfort, Ivie found a small, fragile piece of peace in the storm of her life.

Many years ago

“Osa babe, where are we heading to tonight?” she quickly typed into her phone, trying to send the message before the lecturer could turn in her direction.

Her fingers flew across the screen, the anticipation of the night ahead making her heart race. She smiled mischievously as the professor cast a quick, sharp glance her way, his suspicion obvious. She pouted in response, holding her breath as she waited for her phone to vibrate on her lap. A moment later, the soft buzz of Osa babe's reply sent a thrill through her.

Fighting the urge to glance at her phone and check the latest hangout spot, she forced herself to refocus. She had to get through this class, even if the relevance of Post-Colonial African Personalities to her Marketing degree felt like a distant concept.

The second the class ended, the freedom was palpable. She barely contained her excitement as she grabbed her bag, practically running toward the door, ready to meet Osa babe and escape the confines of the lecture hall. 

ππππππ

She could already picture how the night would unfold, the music, the laughter, the pulsating energy of the crowd. The beat of the party promised an escape from the weight of her thoughts, a freedom she craved. The room would be alive, with people moving to the rhythm of the sound, lights flashing in time with the music. But before she could fully immerse herself in the anticipation, her senses were suddenly overtaken by the sharp, intoxicating taste of flavored tobacco. The thick, rich smoke curled around her like a cloud, the heady mix of molasses and fruit dancing on her tongue, its sweetness heavy and almost sickly.

Osa babe, with his usual smirk, held out the cigarette between his fingers. The dark, almost seductive gleam in his eyes made her stomach flutter as he leaned in closer, the slight curl of his lips teasing her. The air around them seemed to thicken with the mixture of tobacco smoke and his intoxicating presence, a subtle invitation to let go, to surrender to the night's promises.

She took a deep inhale, the smoke wrapping around her lungs, a momentary escape from the mundane. The party was alive, buzzing with laughter and music that throbbed in her chest. The slit in her purple sequin halter neck dress gave Osa babe easy access to her legs as he leaned in, his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

The music pulsed in the background, but it was his words, soft and sweet, that captivated her next. “I’m gonna marry you,” he whispered in her left ear, his voice thick with a promise she hadn’t quite understood yet.

She felt her cheeks flush but quickly hid her smile, pretending not to hear him as she leaned closer to his face. “Uhn? What did you say?” she teased, trying to mask the warmth spreading through her.

Osa babe’s laughter echoed in her ear, and before she could react, his hands were on her, pulling her close, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that left her breathless.

The night blurred into a haze of neon lights and laughter.

The Morning After

The world came back to her slowly, as though she were underwater. The first thing she felt was the pounding headache that had taken residence in her skull, and her body ached in places she couldn’t quite place. She blinked against the sunlight streaming through the blinds and slowly opened her eyes, taking in the sight of the room, scattered clothing, half-empty bottles, a few still-smoking cigarettes in ashtrays. The room smelled like a mix of alcohol, sweat, and regret. She tried to sit up, but her arm protested painfully, the memory of an IV tube still lingering in her mind.

As she moved to remove the tube tied to her arm, her vision blurred again. Her thoughts swirled with the remnants of last night’s escapades, but the details were fuzzy, clouded by too much alcohol and too little memory. She winced as a stabbing headache made its presence known. She pushed the thoughts away for the moment, unwilling to face them just yet.

She shuffled through the room, picking up her scattered items, a shoe here, a bag there, and slowly made her way out. As she stepped into the living room, her heart sank. There, in front of her, was Osa babe, his lips intertwined with another girl she recognized from her class. Her stomach dropped.

The pain was sharp, sudden, like a slap to the face. She turned on her heel and fled, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she ran out of the flat, her face sticky with the remnants of both makeup and tears. Her heart ached as she processed the reality of what she had just witnessed. It was over, but she couldn’t bear to admit it yet.

Back in the Present

Later that evening, after her third trip to the bathroom to throw up, Ivie collapsed into her king-sized bed, the weight of the day pressing down on her. Her head throbbed, and she couldn’t shake the ache in her chest, the lingering memory of Osaze’s betrayal hanging like a cloud over her.

“Take this, Ma,” Rita said gently, breaking the silence as she moved toward Ivie’s bed. Rita’s hands were careful, tender as she shifted a strand of Ivie’s braided hair into the oversized hairnet she had brought. Rita’s movements were smooth, practiced. She then dipped a cloth into a bowl of warm water on the dresser and placed it gently on Ivie’s forehead.

Ivie exhaled in relief as the warmth from the cloth eased some of the tension in her temples. She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

Rita couldn’t help but feel a sense of fulfillment as she stood by Ivie’s side, caring for her like a sister. It wasn’t just that Ivie had asked for help; it was that, in a strange way, she had become part of Ivie’s quiet support system, a steady presence in the chaos of Ivie’s life.

“I’m so glad you called me,” Rita whispered, brushing the last strand of Ivie’s hair into place.

 She tiptoed out of the room, moving quietly into the parlor, where the soft hum of luxury surrounded her. The living room was a testament to Ivie’s success, plush, opulent, and impeccably designed.

 Velvet cushions in rich jewel tones lined the cream-colored sectional sofa, while a shimmering chandelier hung above, casting a soft, golden glow on the polished marble floors. The walls were adorned with tasteful art pieces, their vibrant colors adding warmth to the otherwise muted elegance of the space.

 A large, glass coffee table sat at the center, cluttered with high-end magazines and untouched wine glasses from last night’s gathering. Rita moved around with practiced grace, picking up stray cushions and gently placing them in perfect alignment, her fingers tracing over the smooth surface of the furniture. Carefully, she picked up the scattered takeout containers from the night before, her footsteps light against the elegant marble floor. The mini gas cooker in the corner hummed softly, still idle.

 As she disposed of the trash, she hummed a worship song under her breath, her movements steady and calm as she tidied the room “I bless Your name, Lord, for the life of Mrs. Ivie Osato. Thank You for the triplets growing within her, and for how You’ve comforted her during this season of her life. Lord, strengthen her, help her to depend on You. Help her know that You are with her always.”

Her prayers continued, flowing like a river of faith as she moved around the room. “Lord, help me to speak as You direct, to be a sister in love to her, to love her as You want me to. Thank You for dwelling with us and in us, in Jesus’ name, Amen.”

 “Amen.”

Ivie’s gaze met Rita’s, and in that moment, something in Rita’s eyes gave Ivie a sense of calm. The quiet strength there offered her a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed, a reminder that she didn’t have to carry the burden alone. It was a subtle reassurance, like a silent promise of support in a time when she needed it most.