Say YES To The Best Man Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Man Who Owed a Kitchen Kemi's phone rang while she had a spoon of vanilla sponge in her mouth, and that was how she knew the day was ruined. It was Sunday morning, a little after ten. The bakery was small and warm and smelled of butter. Six tiny cakes sat on a white plate in front of Funmi, each with a paper flag stuck on the top. Funmi was holding two of them, one in each hand, like a judge who could not decide between her children. "Pineapple coconut or red velvet?" she asked. "Whichever one you like," said Tobi, and he smiled behind his sunglasses. Emeka had been there before any of them. He was sitting in the corner with his notebook, drinking water, looking very pleased with himself. When Kemi walked in at nine forty-eight, he held up his wrist without a word. She had rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. Now the phone buzzed again on the table. The name on the screen was Chef Bola's Kitchen. "Excuse me," Kemi said, and swallowed the cake in one painful lump. She stepped outside. Chef Bola did not waste time. Her voice was soft and ashamed. A big politician's family had offered her a huge contract for the same weekend in December, three events in one, and she had said yes. She had already sent the deposit back. She was very sorry. She could not cook for six hundred people and also for a senator's daughter. "But we have a signed agreement," Kemi said. Her voice sounded perfectly calm. It was a skill. "Madam, it is not even three weeks since we signed." "I know. I know, my dear. I'm sorry." The line went dead. Kemi stood on the pavement with the phone against her ear for a while after the call ended. A okada rider zipped past, honking at nobody. A child across the road was selling groundnuts out of a basin. Thirteen weeks. No caterer. Six hundred guests in December, the busiest month in the whole of Lagos, when every good kitchen had been booked since June. Rule one, she told herself. Never cry at a wedding. It was not a wedding yet, her mind pointed out. So technically the rule did not apply. She went around the side of the building, where nobody could see her, and pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. She counted to ten. Then she counted to ten again. "Kemi?" She spun around. Emeka was standing by the bakery's back door with a paper napkin in one hand and a very careful face. "Funmi said you went out to take a call. You've been gone for twelve minutes. I thought, maybe I should check." He glanced at her. "You are not fine." "I am perfectly fine." "You are holding your phone like it owes you money." She almost laughed. The almost-laugh turned into something else halfway out, and she looked at the wall instead of at him. "The caterer cancelled." "Which one?" "The only one. Chef Bola. She took a bigger job. She has just sent the money back, like it is a gift." Emeka did not say anything clever. He did not say, "Things change," or "I told you so," or any of the things she was braced for. He only nodded slowly and put the napkin in his pocket. "Does Funmi know?" "No. And she will not know until I have a replacement. I cannot walk in there and say the caterer left. She is smiling at a cupcake." "Okay." He rubbed his jaw. "Give me until this evening." "You can't fix this." "I can make a phone call." "Emeka, it is December. Nobody has a free kitchen for six hundred people." "I know one person who might." He was already walking toward the door. "Go back in, and eat the cake. Tell Funmi pineapple coconut. It's obviously pineapple coconut." "How do you know?" "I watched her face when she bit it." Kemi stared at him, and he disappeared inside. When she followed a minute later, he was already telling Funmi that the planner had a small problem with a delivery, nothing serious, and that he personally thought the pineapple was a work of art. Funmi squealed and agreed. Kemi sat down and ate a whole piece of cake she could not taste. * * * Ladi's Table was a restaurant in Ebute Metta with plastic chairs outside, loud music inside, and a smoke cloud that rose from the back like a fragrant rumour. It was already half full at seven in the evening. A big man in a white apron came out of the kitchen, saw Emeka, and opened both arms. "Oga Emeka! The man himself!" "Ladi." They hugged like old soldiers. Kemi stood behind them with her folder and her tired smile and wondered if she had lost her mind. "And this must be the madam in trouble," Chef Ladi said, turning to her. He had a laugh that shook the plates. "Come, come. Sit. You will eat first. We talk after." "Chef, with respect, I have a very serious problem. Six hundred guests, December sixth, and..." "After," Chef Ladi repeated. "Business is for people with full stomachs." The food came in waves. First the small chops, still crackling from the oil. Then peppered snail. Then a bowl of party jollof with a smoky edge to the rice that made Kemi close her eyes. After that came asun, goat meat so spicy her ears warmed, followed by moin moin soft as a pillow, and finally a pot of ofada stew that she knew, from the first bite, was going to haunt her in her dreams. She ate everything. She did not remember deciding to. "This is the best jollof I have ever had," she said at last, and meant it with her whole heart. "I know," Chef Ladi said happily. They talked numbers over a table sticky with stew. His team of seventy could cook for six hundred without difficulty. He would bring his own generator, his own tents, and his own rice, which he refused to buy from anyone but one old woman in Mushin. The price was fair. It was more than fair. Kemi counted it twice in her head, and it still came out lower than Chef Bola's. "What is the catch?" she asked suspiciously. Chef Ladi glanced at Emeka. Emeka shook his head, very slightly. "What?" Kemi looked from one man to the other. "He did not tell you?" Chef Ladi asked. "Ladi, don't." "He made me promise not to say." The big man folded his arms and looked delighted. "Seven years ago, I had this restaurant, but the kitchen was a death trap. The ceiling was falling in. The gas pipes were old. A man came to me, a small boy engineer, just out of university, and he said, 'Oga, you will kill somebody.' I told him I had no money. He said, 'Then I will do it for free.'" Chef Ladi spread his hands. "He drew the whole plan himself. He came every weekend for four months, carrying cement. He brought his own friends. He would not let me pay him one naira." "It was not that dramatic," Emeka muttered. "It was a miracle. This kitchen you are eating from? It is his kitchen. I have owed this man a favour for seven years, and now he calls me and says, 'Ladi, there is a girl who needs help.'" He beamed at Kemi. "So that is the catch. The catch is that Emeka Obi is a very stubborn man." The restaurant was loud, but suddenly Kemi could not hear any of it. She looked at Emeka. He was staring at the table, pushing a grain of rice around with his finger, the way a schoolboy does when the teacher praises him in front of the class. "You could have said something," she told him. "It was a kitchen. It was a long time ago." "You could have walked in this afternoon and said, 'I saved you, Kemi.' Anyone else would have." "Credit is not food," he said simply. "You needed a caterer. Now you have one. That is the whole story." She did not know what to say to that. She had spent most of her life around people who made a speech whenever they did a small kindness, and who sent a bill for the speech afterwards. She was not sure what to do with a man who gave a thing away and then tried to hide the receipt. * * * The drive back was long and slow, with taillights stretched across the Third Mainland Bridge like a string of red beads. Emeka kept both hands on the wheel. Kemi kept her eyes on the lagoon. "Thank you," she said finally. "You're welcome." "I mean it." "I know you mean it. You said it with your whole face. It was terrifying." She laughed in spite of herself, and then the laugh turned quiet. "I'm not good at this," she said. "Asking for help. I told you I was good at asking, that day in the restaurant. It was a lie. I am good at asking questions. I am terrible at asking for help." "Noted." "That's all? Noted?" "What do you want me to say? That I'm also terrible at it? That's true. We can be terrible together." He glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth lifted. "We will form a club." "A very small club." "The best clubs are." Her phone buzzed against her knee. It was a message from Funmi, with seven heart emojis. Thank you for today, Kemi! You are so calm and amazing. Emeka says you are a genius. I told Tobi we are so lucky to have you!! Kemi read it, then looked up at the man driving. His eyes were fixed on the road, and he was working very hard at not having heard anything. "You told her I'm a genius?" she said. "I said you were good. She exaggerated." "Funmi does not exaggerate. Funmi cries at advertisements." "Fine. I may have said genius." The bridge rolled on beneath them, long and dark and glittering. Kemi leaned her head back against the seat and let the city slide by outside the window. She was supposed to dislike him. That was the plan. It had been a very good plan. Somewhere around Adekunle, she realised that she had stopped following it.