SUNNY WEDNESDAYS: IVIE (VI)

As Osaze eased his sleek black Mustang through the gates of Cakes & Coffee Restaurant, the scent of warm pastries and roasted beans met him halfway, a familiar comfort. The restaurant stood like a quiet gem in the heart of Ojota, where rustic street corners met the slow encroachment of modernity. It was the kind of place that married two worlds with grace, where a market woman could enjoy puff-puff and coffee beside a banker relishing her red velvet cheesecake.

Cakes & Coffee wasn’t just a business; it was a bridge, soft jazz played through the outdoor speakers, lilting over the mixed chatter of customers. Families, students, couples, it welcomed them all. The chalkboard menu, hand-drawn and colorful, changed with the seasons. And the air always smelled of hope, butter, and ambition. 

Leaning against the wooden arch at the entrance, Emmanuel waited for his cousin, arms crossed, eyes squinting from the sun. His apron was dusted with flour, a badge of honor in the heat of mid-morning hustle. “How did it go, guy?” he asked, already bracing for the answer.

Osaze stepped out of the car, unbuttoning the top of his shirt like someone who had just narrowly escaped a mental war. “I fumbled oh. I went there and started forming rude guy.”

Emmanuel blinked, then burst into disbelief. “You did what, guy? After we spent all night building that speech together? The one that took sweat, midnight coffee, and the patience of Job?”

The cousins slipped through the backdoor, past the buzz of baristas and soft hum of machines. Staff nodded in greeting but knew better than to interrupt. Emmanuel was still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “I know, I know,” Osaze sighed. “I just… I don’t even know what came over me.”

“Ego. That’s what came over you. You let your pride walk into that office and do all the talking,” Emmanuel said, shaking his head. 

He wiped his hands and grabbed two chilled bottles from the fridge. The label read O.A.R—Osaze and Adeoti Refresh. Their latest creation: a lush, smooth blend of pineapple, avocado, and lime. Surprisingly addictive. Handing one over, he continued, “You came in like you were still the Osaze of old, expecting Ivie to raise her voice or throw something. But she didn’t, did she?”

Osaze took a sip and winced at the tang. It was good. Clean. Refreshing. “No, she didn’t. That’s what got me. She was calm. Too calm. She just sat there, all… graceful. It was like watching someone I used to know, only… healed.”

“Or watching someone you broke finally choosing peace,” Emmanuel added, not unkindly. “You made her that way. The least you can do is not ruin the new version of her.”

They sat at the small wooden tasting table in the kitchen corner, a space that had witnessed so many trial flavors, laughter, and heated cousin debates. Osaze ran his hand through his hair and exhaled, leaning back. Eighteen months in business with Emmanuel had changed him, softened edges, sharpened focus. He had traded late-night parties for sunrise baking sessions, empty relationships for entrepreneurial fulfillment. He looked around at the walls, framed with photos of happy customers and hand-scribbled notes of gratitude. Emmanuel had built more than a restaurant; he had built a sanctuary.

“Oh, I was invited to a movie night,” Osaze added casually, watching his cousin’s brow furrow.

“Ivie invited you?” Emmanuel asked, half skeptical.

Osaze laughed. “Obviously not. Her assistant. That lady is fire. I was sure she was going to slap me at some point, but instead, she handed me a pamphlet. Can you imagine? A pamphlet.”

Emmanuel chuckled, reaching for a mango tart to nibble on. “Na Holy Spirit hold her.”

They both laughed. Osaze’s gaze drifted to his desk, where a photo frame sat. Ivie’s face, frozen mid-laughter, dripping with water. He remembered that day vividly, the resort, the way the water clung to her curls, how her laugh echoed against the pool tiles. She had insisted they use the hotel pool.

“What’s the point of booking a vacation if we won’t even enjoy the facilities?” she had teased.

He had only agreed on the condition that he could take photos. That photo was his favorite.

He exhaled deeply, heart weighing heavier than the laughter in his chest. “I want my wife back,” he said finally, barely above a whisper.

Emmanuel looked at him, really looked this time. Past the bravado, past the well-cut suit and branded drink in hand. He saw the man who had once built castles in the sky with a woman named Ivie. And now stood on the ground, unsure how to climb back up. “You’ll have to want more than your wife back, bro. You’ll have to become the man she prayed for, before she ever met you.”

Osaze nodded slowly. The words hit like cold water.

And maybe… just maybe… he’d go for that movie night after all.

ππππππ

Rita stood at the far end of the church auditorium, her gaze sweeping slowly across the dimming room as warm hues from the ceiling lights faded into a cinematic glow. The air buzzed softly with quiet chatter and rustling snack wrappers, the gentle hum of a community settling in for a night of shared stories and reflection.

Tonight wasn’t a regular Sunday service. It was movie night, and the media team had transformed the sanctuary into something intimate and inviting rows of cushioned chairs angled perfectly toward the large screen, warm lighting tapering off into shadows, and the gentle aroma of buttered popcorn wafting through the aisles like incense.

They had chosen The Forge, a powerful American Christian drama directed by Alex Kendrick, co-written by his brother Stephen Kendrick. Rita had watched the trailer earlier in the week and felt an ache in her chest. It was a story about purpose, identity, and the refining fire of God, a timely reminder for many in the congregation, including herself.

“Our popcorn is here,” Tunde whispered beside her, his voice laced with excitement as he held up two paper cones overflowing with the golden delight.

Rita smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Tunde had always loved movie nights. It was one of his childlike quirks, the way his face lit up, the boyish gleam in his eyes, like a schoolboy who had found a comic book hidden in a math textbook.

She gently took her popcorn and settled beside him, watching as he adjusted his seat, already immersed before the movie even began.

ππππππ

Osaze and Emmanuel stepped cautiously into the church hall, the heavy doors closing gently behind them with a muffled thud. Darkness met them like a thick curtain, save for the soft flicker of the large screen ahead, casting an ethereal glow across the room. The opening credits rolled slowly, accompanied by a low hum of music that seemed to reach into the chest and still the noise of the world.

The ambient light from the screen painted soft silhouettes across the seated congregation. Osaze’s steps slowed instinctively, and for a moment, he felt like an intruder walking in on something sacred.

“Guy, come,” Emmanuel whispered, tugging gently at his shirt sleeve. “Let's sit somewhere near the back.” Osaze nodded, his eyes still adjusting as they moved along the edge of the aisle. The glow from the screen danced across rows of focused faces. No one turned. No one whispered. There was a reverent hush that blanketed the room, as if everyone had entered into something more than just a film.

The title of the movie, The Forge, emerged boldly on the screen, and a sharp swell of music filled the hall. Osaze quickened his pace, the sound urging him forward. He wasn't sure what exactly he was walking into, but something told him this would be more than a movie. They found two empty seats at the back. Emmanuel settled in quickly, while Osaze remained still for a second longer, his eyes drawn to the sheer stillness of the room.

As he sat, the leather seat creaked softly beneath him, grounding him. The faint scent of popcorn drifted over, mingling with hints of body spray and the warmth of community. Ahead of him, a sea of heads remained fixed on the screen.

The story had begun.

ππππππ

Ivie smiled softly, her hand resting gently on her rounded belly as she watched the young boy on screen, Isaiah Wright, launch into another teenage tantrum. His furrowed brows, the dramatic toss of his backpack, and the way he huffed down the hallway reminded her just how much of a journey parenting truly was.

The movie had only just begun, but already, it was pulling at something tender inside her. She knew all too well now that raising a child, boy or girl, was far beyond the miracle of birth. It was pruning, planting, shaping. It was holy, deliberate work.

Her fingers unconsciously traced slow circles over the soft fabric of her dress, as if soothing both herself and the life she carried. Her due month was near, and with it had come nights of breathless anxiety and quiet tears. Panic attacks had crept in like uninvited guests, reminding her how unprepared she sometimes felt. She had never imagined doing this alone, navigating baby product lists, hospital visits, and meetings with lawyers. She had wanted a home. A full one. A safe one. But even in the ache of that unmet dream, God had sent her glimmers of hope.

The Adedejis had stepped in like a balm, covering her in grace, offering support with no strings attached. Rita had even started accompanying her to the doctor’s office, sitting beside her during ultrasounds and asking the right questions when Ivie couldn’t find the words. They had become more than friends; they were family. And that truth settled like a warm blanket over her heart.

A gentle sound broke into her thoughts, a whisper just beside her ear. She flinched slightly, turning her head.

“Is there space here?” the voice was low, careful, yet somehow familiar. For a second, her heart stuttered. No, it couldn’t be. She must be imagining things. Hormones maybe.

She nodded slowly, her voice quiet. “Yes.”