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I slowly shake my head, my smile wry. ‘Daddy, I’ve told you to stop giving him the pounded-yam-and-Guinness combo before 6 p.m. It’s fine. I promise. I’ve got, um, work to do anyway. Research. For an article,’ and by this I mean emailing every single media contact I have with a cursory ‘Hey! Long time! Up for a coffee?’ hoping the scent of desperation is light.

He bends to kiss my forehead. ‘??é?m?mi. I’ll see you later. Enjoy the Chapman, girls. It’s my special-edition recipe, since you all are celebrating Aminah’s engagement. And, Kikiola, when you talk to that small sister of yours tell her that just because she’s away at university doesn’t mean she can skip out on going to church.’

I assure my dad that I will make sure Kayefi is still working on her salvation, before he waves goodbye to my friends and makes his way out through the back.

‘His special-edition recipe for Chapman is rum, just by the way,’ I say, pouring out glasses for everyone.

Shanti cackles, ‘No disrespect to your mum, because I adore her, but would your dad take me as a second wife? I’m done with the streets, and I think I’m leaning towards older men these days.’

I toss a napkin at her and roll my eyes. ‘Piss off, Shanti.’

‘Yeah, Shanti, please. Have some class,’ Aminah says, picking up her drink. ‘Theoretically, if anyone’s second-wife material, it’s me. Not in relation to Kiki’s dad, because, gross. He’s like my dad. I just mean generally. I think I have the sort ofjoie de vivrenecessary for that role. And so much less pressure, you know?’

Chioma hums thoughtfully. ‘It’s not really a role, though– it’s apartnership.When I was in that polycycle with the drummer in that free jazz band and that lawyer—’

I stifle a laugh. ‘OK, my disgust at the fact that this conversation started in reference to my literaldadaside–’ I have to address this quickly– ‘I don’t think that was a polycule, babes.’

Shanti smirks in agreement. ‘Yeah, lowkey the lawyer was a link you had while you were dating the drummer—’

‘But they knew about each other!’ Chioma protests, indignant at the suggestion of her conventionality.

Aminah waves her hand. ‘Sis, stop trying to force this thing. Your little drummer boy was in my DMs crying, asking how he can win you back.’

I laugh. ‘Begging to be the only one to have access to yourpa rum pa pum pum.’

A gust of laughter ripples Shanti’s drink as she sips. ‘Yeah, Chi, your free-love era was a trip. You were like pre-Kiki–Malakai in uni.’

Shanti immediately seizes, her smile dropping like lead. The air around the table seems to still at the seeming slip of tongue, as it always does when someone inadvertently mentions my ex. Aminah’s eyes widen, and Chioma is inspecting her moin-moin as if searching for meat product. Into the gap slips Patrice Rushen’s ‘Forget Me Nots’, blooming into the quiet, ridiculously.

I choke out a rigid laugh, its edges scraping my throat. ‘Guys, you’re allowed to say his name, you know. Stop being weird about it.’

Shanti visibly relaxes with a slight huff of relief. ‘OK, cool. So that means I can ask if you’ve thought about whether your issues with Bakari have anything to do with the fact that Malakai’s coming back from the States for Minah’s engagement party—’

Aminah raises a denim leg and taps her Gucci Princetowns against Shanti’s YSL slingbacks in a way that I guess she thinks I don’t see.

Heat flares through my body and my stomach makes moves that make it seem like Simone Biles can only do cartwheels. I push out a laugh that manages to squeeze its way past the heart (mine, incidentally) that’s currently chilling in my throat.

‘Um. . .’ I focus on pouring some more Chapman into my glass as my nasal cavity prickles with panic. ‘He’s coming back for the engagement party? That’s in two months?’ I sip my drink, hoping it will aid me in appearing nonchalant. I’ve clearly forgotten my dad’s heavy-handed pours of rum because I cough heartily, and in the process add to my chalants rather than ridding myself of them.

Aminah looks nervous. ‘Are you OK, babe?’

I raise a finger as an errant splutter escapes. ‘I’m great. Like,sogreat. I just thought that Malakai wasn’t going to be able to come because of work. You said he was going to come closer to the wedding. Which is in, like, ten. . . months.’ That sounded like I was still holding on to a few chalants. ‘Not that it matters, obviously.’ I hope this addition brushes them away.

Aminah nods and scratches the side of her neck with the edge of a sharp nail, a habit evidencing her discomfort and her lying tell. The last time she did this we were playing Never Have I Ever and instead of backing a double tequila, she asserted that she’d never had sex in a communal space, as if Malakai and I hadn’t once walked in on her and Kofi on the sofa in the villa we’d shared in Crete. They were doing things I immediately sought to erase from my memory via ouzo.

Aminah clears her throat. ‘Right. I did say that, but Kofi told me last week that Malakai has some meeting in London that’s around the time of the engagement party. . .’

I raise a brow. Aminah and I don’t keep things from each other, ever. We know every white lie, every secret, every kink in our truths, every hurt behind a razor-edged comment and every swear word behind a smile, and so it’s bewildering to me that she would keep the fact that in a month’s time my ex would be in the same city as me for the first time in two-and-a-half years.

‘You know what, guys,’ I say brightly after a moment of silence that Shanti and Chioma respect like kids observing their parents in a silent disagreement at the dining table, ‘let’s just lay this all out there. Yes, the ex I haven’t spoken to in two and a half years is the best man at my best friend’s wedding. It’s not a big deal! We’re adults!! Who used to have sex! We can co-exist and work together! Sophia Bush did fine working with Chad Michael Murray onOne Tree Hill!’

Shanti raises a brow. ‘Is that another one of your American white-people shows?’

‘Yes,’ says Aminah gravely. ‘Keeks, your voice just went very Mariah whistle-note high. You sure you’re OK?’

I lower my voice. ‘I’m fine. I’mfine.One thing I know for sure is that we. . .’ I amend. We are not aweany more. ‘He and I love you and Kofi lots. So there’s no reason for all this tiptoeing, because it’s not about us. We’re irrelevant in this all, actually.’

Aminah’s bright eyes shine through me as if I’m glass, and it makes me hyperaware of the fact that I am feeling fragile, like I could shatter with the (in)correct amount of force right now.