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I swallow. My pulse stutters. ‘You’re going to have to be specific if you’re gonna ask messed-up questions like that, Kai.’

Malakai’s eyes blaze into mine and steal an exhalation from me. He looks like he’s about to speak when a knock splits through the air, the music, the Unsaids, the possibility of grace. ‘Kiki? It’s me! Can I come in?’

Aminah’s been distraught. Malakai’s left to give us privacy, and now she sits on the sofa next to me, squeezing my hands with eyes that glisten. ‘Oh my God, Keeks, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know she didn’t know!’ I hate seeing Aminah upset, so the sight of her takes the edge off my irritation–and for her to risk ruining professionally applied make-up is true proof of her devastation.

I shake my head. ‘No, you couldn’t have–maybe I should have mentioned it to you. It was dumb of me to lie about it anyway.’

‘No, no, I totally get why you would! You didn’t want her to think you were doing a nepotism or whatever, I get it! Even though Malakai is no Tracee Ellis Ross. Was she pissed?’

I shake my head. ‘Nah. She got it. I just. . .’ I pick my words carefully, venturing into new ground with watchful steps. ‘Meenz, why would you say all of that shit? About how down bad I was after the break-up? Infrontof him?’

Aminah groans, a hand flying to her face. ‘Honestly, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. I’m so, so sorry, Kiki. I just said the first thing that came to my mind. I wasn’t thinking, and I’ve been drinking—’

‘Yeah, and you got an early start with that, I noticed. Why?’

Aminah blinks in confusion. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was a big deal. I just thought it would be a fun pre-bachelorette thing—’

‘Sure, but, Aminah, this is myjob,you know?’

Aminah bristles a little, saying slowly, ‘Yeees, and it’s important to me too. Obviously.’ I mean, is it obvious? ‘But, if Taré had known about you and Malakai, what I said wouldn’t have been a big deal. That doesn’t have anything to do with my drinking. Literally nobody but you could tell—’

I’m unsettled now by how little Aminah is seeing my point, by how jarringly out of sync we are, unable to hear me over her defences. ‘Aminah, isn’t that enough, though?’

Aminah’s stung, blinking in a flurry like I’ve slapped her. ‘Well, I would hope that you knew that a little of your dad’s Chapman isn’t enough to make me move mad, especially in a professional setting. Why don’t you act like you know me? I’ve been stressed, OK. And if you hadn’t missed hanging out for the last couple of weeks you would know why—’

‘Um.’ I can barely believe I’m having this conversation. ‘I’ve been missing it because I’ve been working, Aminah—’

‘Right, right. Like the time you and Malakai went to a sexy celebrity party and you missed the venue viewing.’ I stare at her, trying to detect when and how my best friend had morphed into a Bridezilla. I had been toying with the idea of telling her about Malakai and I sleeping together, but now it’s reified the idea that this would, in fact, be the worst idea possible at this moment. If she’s already blaming my job, my situation with Malakai is fair game.

‘I have been to all the things I needed to be at, Aminah. Fittings, even tastings that Kofi couldn’t make it for! I havetried, but I’m so sorry I can’t be there physically to smell flowers with you–pictures will be fine—’

‘Pictures don’t convey texture!’

I pause. There is something crazed in her eye. We are prepped to go on a holiday together in a week, so I don’t ask her if she needs help locating her mind. I just about manage to refrain from saying that I don’t understand what she means bytexturesince as far as I know all petals feel the same.

‘All right. You know what, Aminah? I’m sorry for snapping. Of course I know you wouldn’t be messy on purpose. I’m just. . .I’m embarrassed.’

Aminah’s eyes are drained of annoyance, and my best friend seems to kick out the bitchy spirit that was using her body as a host. ‘I’m sorry too, Keeks. For exposing you out there, like that. Honestly, I feel so shitty about it, but only two people should be embarrassed and you’re not one of them. The first is me, for letting the proximity of couture excite me to the point that it messed with my ability to eat, which then affected my usually impressive capacity to handle liquor.’ Her eyes are serious as she recounts her sin, and I can’t help the smile that kicks up on my face. Damn it, I love her.

She picks up my hand. ‘And the second is Malakai Korede, for fumbling you.’

‘Well, that’s sweet, Meenz, but a fumble kind of hints at clumsiness. I think Malakai deliberately wanted to let me go. And that’s OK.’

The End

(Three and a half years ago)

After our argument, dinner happened without further hitch; we were ourselves, laughing, flirting, undressing each other with our eyes, sometimes with our words. Malakai asked if we should get a cab, and when I surprised him with the hotel room he had picked me up and spun me, kissed me so soft and deep my mind went missing. We were good, so good, as we played music in the room, as we had a very serious unserious dancing competition, popping and locking like we were in a straight to videoStep Upsequel, as Malakai playacted Magic Mike and stripped for me, as he skimmed his hand across the smooth material of my dress, a teasing ghost touch, as he whispered, ‘You’re so fucking sexy, Scotch.’ He kissed my neck as he said, ‘Beautiful,’ and then my mouth as he said, ‘Everything. You’re everything,’ as his hand slipped down my back to cup my cheeks, to squeeze, growling as he slapped, and he reawakened a sleeping hunger in me because this, this was what I had been waiting for, him wanting me, voraciously, like before. His thumb stroked my mouth and it opened for him. Closing my eyes, my tongue met his touch, tasting his tenderness. I sucked lightly, instinctively, and my eyes fluttered open to see an electrical storm of both pain and hunger on Malakai’s face, gaze a black crystal flame.

‘I love you, Kiki.’

My eyes sprang with water, because he was still in there; he was just fighting to get out under all the hurt, all the grief. He was doing what he could. The first few months were hard, harder than anything I’ve experienced– when my mum was ill I could self-soothe, console myself, hope. What’s to hope for when the person is no longer here? Everything felt futile. Still, I tried. Malakai focused everything on funeral planning and then being there for his mum and brother, and then sorting out will and estate issues, going to Lagos once to sort out land disputes, feeling guilty at his own inheritance, recognising the cost. I was there in every way I could be, going with him to every meeting that was appropriate, my parents supplying them with meals from the restaurant every day for as long as they needed, and giving him space when he asked for it. Still, he never talked about his own loss. The only thing he spoke about was logistics, planning, his mum, Muyiwa. Then when everything had settled he poured himself into work, doing late nights, weekends, anything to avoid being alone with himself, and by extension me. I used to feel guilty whenever I’d feel lonely, isolated, like I was making his grief about me. So I pushed it to the back of my mind, to the back of us. Who was I to tell him what I wanted when he was dealing with the world as he knew it ending?

But this ‘I love you’ fell on me like rain in a drought, and my spirit lapped it up, greedily. I smiled, cupped his face.

‘I love you too, baby.’

And then his phone buzzed. He’d thrown it on the bed, and it flashed. Jade.I’m so sorry about tonight, it said. I’m so embarrassed, it said. I hope this doesn’t make things awkward, it said.