The wedding day came, and the silence, which preceded it, was too oppressive to Lagos.
Ayo was standing before the window of his childish room and was watching yellow buses dragging along like weary insects.
It smelled of rain and fried akara of the woman below. His tie lay loose on the bed. His telephone rang, then was silent once more. He did not check it.
Sade was sitting, with a very still expression, in a little salon down the street, ornamented with mirrors and a generator rattling at full blast, as a coiffeur nailed her veil.
Her hands were cold. Her phone was on her lap, and she was lying down with the face to the phone, the phone that might be talking without her consent.
It was three weeks since they had said anything to each other.
It began with an incomplete sentence.
Three weeks ago they were sitting in the car owned by Ayo in front of the office of Sade. The light in the evening fell upon the buildings in an orange hue. Ayo continued to give the steering wheel a tap.
“My uncle called today,” he said. “About Canada.”
Sade smiled, then stopped. “Canada?”
“Just talk,” Ayo said quickly. “Nothing serious.”
She waited. He did not continue.
“So… what did he say?” she asked.
Ayo looked at the road. “We’ll talk later.”
Later never came. Rather it was crowded with little things. Missed calls. Short replies. Long pauses. Each pause grew teeth.
Sade explained to her sister, Funke, that he had something in mind, and he does not trust me to tell him.
Ayo informed his friend, "Kunle, that she believes I am trying to leave her. She didn’t even ask me.”
“But did you explain?” Kunle asked.
Ayo shrugged. “She already decided.”
Silence was a wall that they both feigned to not notice.
This time, during the morning of the wedding, the mother of Sade was fitting her gele and smiled a little too much. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, ma,” Sade said.
Her father coughed. “Is Ayo on his way?”
Yes, sir, Funke said, before Sade could reply.
At the church, Ayo was standing in the altar with clasped hands.
The pews were full. Fans turned slowly. Someone coughed.
He envisioned Sade entering, envisioned her not looking at him, envisioned the words he was yet to utter.
The music began.
Each step was heeded as Sade walked down the aisle. As she approached the front she at last looked at Ayo. His smile was unsure. Her chest tightened.
The pastor spoke. Love words flew past them like clouds which they never touched.
Why not, said the pastor, gentle why not, these two should not be separated?
Silence. A fan clicked. A baby cried somewhere.
Sade’s hand shook. She amazed herself and moved forward.
Then I must say something, she said.
There was a buzzing in the church.
Ayo turned to her, eyes wide. “Sade—”
She faced him.
Her voice was regular, and her eyes were moist. Three weeks ago you mentioned Canada and shut the door. I waited for you to talk.
You never did. I was as though I was knocking at the outside of your life.
Ayo swallowed. “I didn’t want to worry about you.”
But by not saying you gave me the jitters, I said, you had to worry me. I then began to imagine that you were about to abandon me.
He shook his head. “No. Never.”
“Then say it,” she said. “Say what you didn’t say.”
The church felt very small.
Ayo took a breath. My uncle told us that he would help us submit a joint application. Together. I had something to offer at the conclusion of the wedding.
I wanted it to be good news. But as you stopped talking I became frightened. I felt that you desired not that life.
Sade stared at him. “Together?”
“Yes,” he said. “I should have said it that day.”
With a laugh breaking into a sob she laughed. “I should have asked.”
Both of them were there, confronting each other, words approaching eventually.
The pastor coughed. “Shall we continue?”
Sade wiped her face. “Yes.”
Ayo reached for her hand. She let him.
At the vows they took them in a soft kind of tone, slow, word by word, as though they were important now. The church breathed out when they kissed.
Kunle later slapped Ayo on the back at the reception. “You almost became a headline.”
Ayo smiled. “Almost.”
Funke hugged Sade. “You scared me.”
Sade laughed. “Me too.”
Later in the evening, Ayo and Sade were sitting next to each other with no thought of their plates. The music softened. It had started to rain, and soft on the roof.
Ayo leaned closer. “Next time, we talk.”
Sade nodded. “Next time, we talk.”
They had much to say to each other. But the silence was like a rest, as never before in weeks, it was like a distance.
