There are many ways Ejike and I differ. For instance, i don’t eat red meat, plus i am allergic to eggs and everything dairy. While for Ejike, it wasn’t food if those aren’t part of the meal. Then again, he hates sea-foods, while i love love love. Our solution was simple – well, simple for him, since he wasn’t the one cooking – i kept a bowl of fried meat in the fridge for him to add to his meals. On days that i absolutely has to have my favourity shrimps or prawn sauce, i made altenative arrangements to go with his rice-slash-potato-slash-spaghetti-slash-whatever we are eating the sauce with. Likewise, our different tastes in TV programs was easily solved with two television sets and a dual subscription to DSTV. Another area we disagreed was in fashion. Take away my casuals of faded jeans and tank-tops, my wardrobe comprised of ten shirts of several bright colours, two black skirts (one knee-length, the other ankle-length), two pairs of black trousers (straight and flared), and a pair of white baggy trousers. There were also the traditional attires for Fridays: four full-skirted gowns in Ankara, Wooden, Adire and Malian brocade. All these i wore with one large handbag fit enough to pocket a three years old child, and beige wedge sandals. But, that was in the era before i married Ejike. Before they were all deemed substandard. Ejike dressed for the world to see, and so much Ejike’s wife. He was all about quality and designer labels that said the right things about him. Now, i have 50 pieces of clothings, 5 handbags, and 8 pairs of stilettos that were suitably shrieking elegance about me. It was really nice to wear pretty stuff paid by someone else.

Then there were the things that always caused friction. Like his idea of a well spent leisure – clubs, road-side beer parlours or random parties someone he barely knew invited him to on a Friday evening at the eleventh hour. I was strictly a cinema-garden-beach gal, and couldn’t understand why Ejike dragged me along with him to the places he goes to. I’d rather go off on my own than have him yawn and moan of how bored he was getting, which was exactly what i did when i went out with him. But, Ejike didn’t like going out alone at night. He said he’d look like a lonely bachelor and an easy target for fast ladies. If that was the case, why couldn’t he just sit his butt at home? He could drink all the alcohol he wanted and smoke all the cigarettes he fancied and I wouldn’t care. Unfortunately, Ejike was a social drinker cum smoker: it wasn’t fun unless somebody else was doing it with him. I neither drank nor smoked, which was too bad for us. Maybe if i did, i would be more like him, a person who didn’t culture emotional alliances outside his home. I’d be content with having friends made of bottles, cigarette packs, lighters, sport shows and football buddies who don’t ask one another’s surnames or what one’s wife said to him last night. Maybe then, i wouldn’t see the need to seek out people to unburden my heart and thus be that spouse that told the whole world about her marital woes. But, I was sharing with people who had my best interest at heart. Why didn’t that make it okay?

Emem had been my confidant since growing up. She was the one I went to if I was mad, and I was mad often – with dad and everything he stood for, with mom and Phina for not being there (I lived everyday expecting them to walk in the door and announce that they’d been looking for me) and with dad’s wife for being so damn acquiescing. I could whine all day long, and still only feel half-heard. Emem sponged it all in, and held me when I cried. Then came Cheta, with her forcefulness. Cheta didn’t believe in being the silent listener that interjected “it”s okay’ “don”t cry’. Oh no. She liked to take on my emotions, be me. Most importantly, she didn’t stop at talking like I did. She put actions to her words. It used to be so relieving, because it took away the helplessness I felt towards the matters that troubled me. But times had changed now. Marriage is a lot more complex than adolescence, puppy-love dating, or worrying if you’d ever see your mom again. Emeh’s shallowness and all those “it”s well’ she insists on saying every five minutes wasn’t comforting anymore. In like manner, if I towed Cheta’s path, I might as well be signing up for divorce. One day, after I’d been complaining about Ejike to her, she came dangerously close to actually suggesting I did just that.

Because we had one car, Ejike devised an arrangement he claimed would give us quality time. In the mornings, Ejike would drive me to work at Ikeja and then drive back to Marina to his own office. After work, I’d take a cab to Marina, so we could go home together. Now, we lived more or less at the outskirt of Victoria Island. Honestly, I didn’t see how that drew us closer. I told him I wanted my own car, but he wouldn’t think it was necessary. He was willing to take me anywhere I wanted to go. And if I came to his office when he was neck-deep in a job, I was free to take the car home while he picks a cab whenever he was done. That wasn’t good enough for me. For the most part, there hadn’t been a day we left for home the moment I meet up with him at the office. He always has “just a little something to finish up, please give me a sec”. The shortest time a second had lasted so far was 30 minutes. I could bear waiting for an hour even but the evening it dragged on for an hour and forty minutes, and I was utterly out of patience. The internet was boring; none of the gossip sites had anything new to tell. Besides, I was quite sleepy and my body ached after a really hectic day’s work. I was in a bad mood; only a cold shower and a warm bed could remedy it.

“Baby, a minute please,” I called out to Ejike. He and Enyinna were crotched over some sheets of printed papers and charts, muttering and pushing their glasses up their noses.

“I’d be with you soon, Teeny,” Ejike replied over his shoulders, absentmindedly.

Thirty minutes later and totally irritable by then, I asked, “Just out of curiosity, exactly what time scale do you measure with?’

“Trinity, could you please SHUT UP!” exploded my husband, red with anger.

Shamed into reacting sorely on impulse, I yelled back at him, “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

And the room froze . . . then it thawed as Enyinna hurriedly left, till it heated up as Ejike followed suit and I overheard him pleading with Enyinna to “excuse his wife”. Excuse his wife? Excuse his wife! I was the wronged one!

“Was that necessary, Trinity?” Ejike attacked me the instant he walked back into the office.

“Which bit? I hope to God you are talking about the bit where you humiliated me before Enyinna, and that you are about to apologise for it.”

“Honestly, Trinity, what do you think I am doing here? Playing? You think you long to be at home more than I do? I am here because I need to work. I don’t pick money from the road. I spend hours and hours and hours digging up ideas and perfecting on it to convince someone to spend millions buying into it. Could you at least appreciate that? Could you?”

“You forget that I work too, Ejikeme Obi,” I retorted, glaring at him.

“Of course you do. And guess how much you make,” he taunted in return. “Where are you going to? I’m still talking to you. Don’t you know it’s rude to walk out on someone?”

“Not nearly as much as you deserve,” I snapped, taking the car keys from his desk.

At the parking lot, there were few vehicles still present. Ours, Enyinna’s and three others, most probably belonging to Ejike’s staffs. It was 8:39pm for heaven’s sake. Hadn’t they all worked enough for one day! Haven’t we all earned our rest, to prepare for tomorrow’s work? Was that too much to ask? Was it a crime? That he should see cause to scream at me? In front of Enyinna!

“Tee? Is that you, Tee?” an alarmed Emem demanded. Needing someone to help me make sense of Ejike’s actions, I had dialled her. But, I was sobbing so hard, she couldn’t make out who was calling or what I was saying.

“Yes, it’s me. Emem, he shouted at me. Ejike shouted at me, can you believe it?”

“I can’t hear you properly, Tee.” Her girls were playing at the background, and they were really loud. “These children, will you lower your voices. I’m talking to your Aunty Tee. Lord! My dear, please talk to me. I’m moving over to the corridor. What happened? Is it Ejike? Is he hurt?”

“No, he shouted at me. He did in his office, his partner was there!”

“Wait oh, I want to be sure I heard you well. He shouted at you?”

“YES!!! What do you think I’ve been saying since?” Emem was exasperating me out of my tears. There was a hint of incredulousness in her question, as though she was wondering how her nice evening wound up being interrupted by such a trivial matter as a husband yelling on his wife.

“It’s all right, dear. Stop crying. At least, he didn’t beat you. So, we thank God. Just take it easy, okay. It’s well. Men can be funny at times, but God gives us strength to stay with them.”

That was the lamest consolation ever! If God was giving me strength, it better be to whup the crap out of Ejike. So, I called Cheta, someone I knew would be all too glad to hold Ejike down while I did it. I told her about calling Emem too.

“You know what, Tee, that your Sister Holiness friend is full of it. I’m sorry to say this, but I can bet you now that her husband beats her. To her, you are making a mountain out of a molehill. After all, na ordinary shout dem shout at you. No be like say Ejike beat, and you are there disturbing her life.”

Sure I felt the same thing, but hearing it come out Cheta’s mouth, it sounded too mean a thing to think about a friend. Not that Cheta and Emem were exactly friends. Actually, Emem imagined they were, but Cheta could never consider herself a friend to anyone she pronounced pretentious. And Emem, as far as Cheta was concerned, was the living example of the word.

“Akan isn’t that sort of man,” I said, in Emem’s defence. Akan was fifteen years older than his wife, he wasn’t a kid. Maybe he shut her up on a regular basis, but physical abuse wasn’t a thing I saw him doing.

Cheta chuckled, probably at my naivety. “E no dey show for face. But, that’s by the way. We need to do something about this Ejike thing so it doesn’t repeat itself in the future. You know what I’m thinking, why don’t you come to Abuja and stay with me for the weekend. You can call in sick tomorrow Friday and get on the first flight coming out here. While I’m at work, you’d rest in my apartment. You’d be all alone – complete peace. Lucky you, I got some recent movies and the complete series of Desperate Housewives! Saturday and Sunday, I’d take you around the city. Sunday evening, you are back in Lagos and to your husband who hopefully has come back to his senses. You guys need this time apart. Since he came back from UK, you haven’t been a minute apart. You need fresh air! Lord knows, you two might be suffering from a temporary case of claustrophobia and it’s showing itself through all the bickering you engage in every nano-second.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t leave. Thanks for the offer all the same.” I was disappointed in Cheta for her insensitivity. Whoever told a woman to abandon her husband just because they had an argument?

“I am not asking him to divorce him. I mean, I would if I thought I had any chance of getting through you. I still don’t understand why you married him, but let’s not go there. The deed has been done. All I’m suggesting is a vacation. You are not joined to Ejike’s hips, Tee. When will you realise that?” Cheta rattled on, not picking up on my change of tone.

That was when I blurted, “Cheta, we are married. We are not dating. When will you realise that?”

There an awkward silence. I had done it again: I’d chosen Ejike over Cheta.

“Happy married life, then. Wish you all the best.” And she hung up the phone.

The weekend that followed after saw Ejike deciding that a little friendly visit to our neighbours wouldn’t hurt. Apt timing, that’s all I can say. Lamide was the perfect friend for the stage of life I was in. Emem and Cheta had become inadequate.