A Good Woman
By Jendella Benson
On a scale of one to ten, Michelle would score this wedding at a generous five. Because, first of all, the centrepieces were tacky. She could see what they were trying to achieve with the puff of white ostrich feathers in vases weighted down by silver glass pebbles, but if anyone were to ask her, she would say it looked cheap. Secondly, even for a Nigerian wedding, there were far too many guests for there to be only one buffet station, and while its length suggested that the menu would be extensive, the whole setup was a disaster waiting to happen. She could see it now, there would be people lingering, greedily trying to fill up two or three plates for “friends” waiting at tables, and someone bloated with self-importance was sure to cut back in for seconds on tilapia or ayamaṣe.
As she looked around the enormous banqueting suite filled with impatient chatter, Michelle made a mental note not to go past 200 guests at her own wedding. You had to be strict about these things. Whatever seating plan that Louisa and Yomi, the bride and groom, had painstakingly constructed was irrelevant now, she was sure of that. She watched a woman her mother’s age peer at the hand-calligraphed place cards on a table, before swiping them all to the side and beckoning her cohorts to take up residence. This was also the problem with having wedding receptions so close to the centre of London: easy access for the uninvited. Michelle’s venue of choice would be out in the countryside somewhere – Essex, Hertfordshire or maybe even down in Sussex.
Michelle’s table was empty, but safe from the swarm due to the fact that she was seated with the bridal party. Not even the widest auntie with the biggest gèlè fanning out behind her head would have the gall to try and turf the bridesmaids and groomsmen from their rightful seats. However, the fact that she was not actually a bridesmaid was all the more obvious as she sat waiting at the table for ten, alone.
Her absence from the bridal party was not an oversight: it was a conscious and deliberate conclusion. She could have worked her way back into the inner circle, but in the months leading up to the wedding her pride had not allowed it. But now her pride would not allow her to sip her bottle of room-temperature water in peace. She tried to survey the low-level chaos around her with nonchalance, offering polite smiles to people across the room, but the air felt hot and empty. Finally, the audio system squealed and the master of ceremonies took to the mic.
“My dear ladies and esteemed gentlemen, please clear the aisles in order to make space for our auspicious and most honorable celebrants this evening.”
The congregants in the room began to follow his instructions, some reaching into pockets and bags for cameras and smartphones. As the shuffling and conversations died down, the MC cleared his throat and began.
“First!” He paused for dramatic effect. “Let us welcome the parents of the groom!”
The DJ pressed play on an Ebenezer Obey track and the far doors of the celebration hall flung open. As the groom’s parents danced into the gathering, a throng of women shifting in lace and damask swooped in behind them, their gèlès shimmering under the spotlights like peacocks’ tails. They escorted the couple through the gaps between the tightly-packed tables, and guests whooped and hollered as the groom’s mother broke off into the middle of the dancefloor for a solo performance. Her friends circled her, a few prematurely pressing crisp dollar bills to her forehead, before she tired and swung her hips towards her seat at the high table with her husband at her side. The throng danced back to their own seats, before the track abruptly cut and the hall was filled with guest chatter once again.
“Now, second only in entrance, but by no means second in stature–” the MC paused to inhale, “–please welcome the mother of our blushing, beautiful bride!”
Michelle thought it was bad form that the groom’s parents had gone first. It was only a small slight, but it would not go unnoticed amongst those that liked to dissect the anatomy and politics of weddings – people like her. In her defence, this was just research for her own wedding day. She subconsciously flexed her left hand, rubbing her thumb across the space where her engagement ring, a single solitaire princess cut diamond set on a smooth band of white gold, would one day sit. She had shown Ade, her boyfriend, a picture of this ring once. It was not long after Louisa and Yomi had announced their engagement with a coordinated Instagram post; the captions read “She said YES!” (for Yomi) and “Of course I said yes!” (for Louisa). Ade had glanced from his phone to hers and said, “Mmmm, looks alright – a bit ‘Real Housewives’ though, innit?”. Michelle had taken the comment as a dig, but when she asked him what exactly he meant by that, Ade had shrugged, his finger scrolling impatiently through someone’s Snapchat story.
The horns from Midnight Crew’s ‘Igwe’ blared through the speakers and Louisa’s mother appeared. A gaggle of her friends quickly gathered around her, their head ties dipping and bobbing as they ushered her through the crowd. She didn’t care for the theatrics of Yomi’s mum, her lips curled downwards in that cold smirk that Nigerian mothers seemed to master at a certain age. Maybe she was pissed off at entering after the groom’s parents, because Michelle was sure her own mum would have been. The mother of the bride gave an obligatory dip and wiggle in the centre of the room before continuing her trajectory to her seat. Her friends dispersed, the music cut out once again, and Michelle rose in anticipation for the next entrance.
“Last but by no means least, accompanied by their resplendent bridal party, make some noooise for the newest couple in town, Mr and Mrs Abayomi Adekoya!”
The intro to a Mr Eazi track pealed from the speakers and the room filled with the scattered drum pattern of afro-pop. A cheer went up as the bridesmaids and groomsmen burst through the banquet room doors, rolling their hips and shoulders as they filed past the spectators. The bridal party’s friends were raucous, calling out commentary – “Go on, Tobi!”, “Oi, is that you Matthew?!” – whooping, hollering and cackling as the group made their way through the hall. When Ade drew near, Michelle tried to catch his eye, but he was executing a jerky shokki, his tongue held between his teeth in concentration as he raised his palms to the sky and beads of sweat collected at his temples. When the bridesmaids and groomsmen reached the dancefloor they separated into two sharp lines facing each other and danced in place. The soundtrack then cut from Mr Eazi to Tiwa Savage and finally the couple of the moment made their entrance.
Louisa had abandoned her bouquet in order to gather up the train of her dress. She cocked out her backside and wiggled her waist in tight circles while her new husband fanned her with his hands as he met her rhythm with his own hips. The couple made their way through the thicket of friends cheering until they were between the two rows of bridesmaids and groomsmen. The lines curved to encircle Louisa and Yomi, and the energy from the dancing group radiated out into the hall, drawing the couple’s friends to the dancefloor. Those too timid to join the tangle of arms and hips watched from the edge, joy spread across their faces as they filmed the frantic ensemble for social media. Michelle stayed on the sidelines, smoothing the tight bands of her bodycon dress over her stomach. Eventually the couple emerged from the knot of sweating limbs and joined the high table. The music faded and the crowd of revellers dissolved, wiping their faces and adjusting collars and dress straps.
“Dear ladies and respected gentlemen, please return to your tables and the delectable wedding feast will be served shortly.”
Michelle made her way back to her own seat to wait for Ade. Christiana and Jumoke soon joined her, heads pressed together, giggling as they fanned themselves with the skirts of their chiffon bridesmaid dresses.
“Hey, ladies,” Michelle said with her arms extended outwards. “You look beautiful!”
“Thanks babe, so do you.” Christiana’s face was kind, but she ignored Michelle’s proposed embrace and blew kisses from a distance. Jumoke looked away.
The two sat almost directly across the table from her, a gulf of white linen and folded napkins between them. Michelle leant forward slightly, trying to assess the situation while she wracked her brain for something worthwhile to say. She watched Jumoke run her fingers along the edge of the round table.
“Your nails look really nice, Jumoke,” she offered across the void. “Is the colour from Barry M?”
The other woman paused, as if considering whether to answer.
“It’s a gel colour. We all went to get our nails done yesterday.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Yes, it really was.” Jumoke finally made eye contact, a dry smile stretching across her face before she turned away again.
Michelle felt her ears burn as she sat back and busied herself with her phone while Christiana and Jumoke whispered back and forth. When the navy shadow of a groomsman approached, all three of them looked up. It was not Ade. Matthew bent to whisper in Jumoke’s ear before she stood and pulled Christiana with her. They left the table without a backward glance, and Michelle watched them float away. Once again, she was alone.
She opened up the social media apps on her phone one by one, stalking Ade’s profiles for clues to his whereabouts. His last post was hours ago and featured him and the other groomsmen in b-boy poses, jacketless with collars upturned. Michelle flicked from him to the rest of their friends’ feeds. Christiana, Jumoke and the other bridesmaids posed for selfies in front of the church and someone else had videoed the bridesmaids and groomsmen as they had made their grand entrance to the reception hall. Michelle scrolled past white teeth, pressed shirts and faces laughing into the middle distance. She, on the other hand, hadn’t posted anything all day.
Michelle swiped open the front-facing camera on her smartphone, lifted the device and angled it down towards her face. She pouted into the lens and took a few shots before dropping her arm and scrutinising each frame. She looked fine, but the pictures felt empty with no boyfriend by her side or friends pulling faces behind her. She deleted all of the images and put her phone face down on the table.
Across the hall laughter erupted from a group gathered around the bride and groom. In the centre of the cluster Louisa glowed, the lights reflecting off her white gown seeming to create a halo around her. Michelle averted her eyes and scanned the rest of the room, visually sweeping for something to distract her. Eventually she rested on a man, who was a little wider and much older than she remembered, but still recognisable as Chuks Okeke.
After a spectacular year of bad behaviour and poor academic performance, Chuks had been ‘shipped back’ to Nigeria when they were teenagers. He had sent her sullen emails for a while, bemoaning the rigour and dust of his boarding school, before they had fallen out of touch. Recent grapevine gossip informed her that he was now a Lagos Big Boy, with the government contract and society paper spreads that justified the title. Michelle could see that his full face and sharply-groomed features confirmed a quality of life to be coveted. With Ade still AWOL, she stood up, adjusted her dress and strode over to him. Chuks was deep in conversation with a heavily pregnant woman to his left, her yellow dress stretched tight over her stomach like a second skin. The woman shifted in her seat and Chuks adjusted a cushion wedged at the base of her back. They both looked up as Michelle approached, and she plastered on an animated smile.
“Oh my God, Chuks! It’s been ages!” Michelle landed a gentle slap on his arm.
“Michelle, it’s good to see you.” He smiled, but he didn't rise to greet her.
He had filled out nicely. The lankiness of his adolescence had matured into a barrel chest and broad shoulders. He now looked like the kind of man who could lift his woman up with one solid arm wrapped around her waist and pin her to a wall. If only she had known that then.
“Michelle, this is my wife, Ngozi. Ngozi, Michelle is my former...classmate.” Chuks wrapped his arm around the shoulders of the woman.
“It’s a pleasure,” Ngozi said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She purred the last syllable of “pleasure” in the affected way that Lagosian babes did. Her accent hovered somewhere between Nigerian, upper class British, and sorority-girl American.
“Oh – wife? Congratulations! And congrats on your pending arrival,” Michelle said gesturing to Ngozi’s heaving bump. “You’re so big! You look like you are about to pop any day now!”
Ngozi blinked slowly with a gracious smile. She had the air of pedigree, and even with the swollen features of late pregnancy, she was very beautiful, and she knew it.
“Thank you,” Chuks replied. “Yes, just a few weeks to go, but it still feels very surreal.”
“I can only imagine!” Michelle was trying to sound light and breezy. “I don’t see my dear friend for years, and then you turn up with a wife and baby – it’s really been too long!”
Michelle let her hand rest again on Chuks’ upper arm. Ngozi didn’t look at Michelle now, but she didn’t need to. Chuks adjusted his posture, pressing himself closer to his wife.
“So, what about you? What’s new in your world?”
“Well, no children – yet. But my fiancé and I can’t wait for that chapter.” She discreetly folded her hands behind her back.
“Oh, congratulations,” Ngozi turned back towards her. “When is the big day?”
“Well, no date yet, but we’re thinking late next year.” The lie flowed easily, as if it had been sitting on Michelle’s tongue waiting for this moment. She felt a thrill as it left her lips. “But so good to see you! Are you based here now?”
“We’re still in Lagos, but Ngozi will give birth in America,” Chuks said, while Ngozi ran a slender hand over her stomach.
“Oh, America?” Michelle wished she didn’t sound so impressed.
“Yes, we leave in a few days, but we just stopped over for Louisa and Yomi’s nuptials.”
Michelle smiled as she nodded, but behind her teeth the inside of her mouth felt like cotton.
“So good that you could make it, though,” she felt her throat close around the words as she pushed them out. “Well, I need to go and find Ade, but it’s good to see you, Chuks – and nice to meet you, Ngozi.”
The couple nodded and smiled at her. As she walked away she could feel the heat of someone’s gaze on her back and turned back to look at Ngozi, who smiled again before turning to speak to her husband.
Now out of her seat, Michelle decided that she might as well greet the newlyweds. She pulled herself tall, each swing of the hip punctuated by the click of a heel as she walked across the dancefloor. Her eyes were narrow, still searching for Ade, but when she reached the high table, she reapplied her smile.
“Louisa! Yomi! Congratulations!” Michelle threw her arms up and reached across to hug the bride. “You both look wonderful, the ceremony was beautiful, I’m so happy for you guys!”
“Thank you, Michelle,” Louisa smiled and kissed the space next to Michelle’s cheeks. “You enjoying yourself?”
“Mmm, lovely day – Yomi, have you seen your best man?”
“The last I saw he was tearing up the dance floor!” Yomi laughed.
“Yeah, he disappeared after that, but it’s OK, I’ll find him eventually.” Michelle tossed her head and watched Louisa fan herself with a table napkin. “It’s warm isn’t it? You must be so hot under all of that makeup, babe.”
Louisa’s eyes flickered over Michelle, then past her to smile at someone in the distance. Michelle stared for a moment at the diamanté tiara pinned to her friend’s crown. The stones danced under the low lights, winking at her, and a volt of resentment shot through her bones.
“Anyway!” Michelle snapped out of her trance and began to back away. “When I find Ade we’ll come and take a photo with you guys, enjoy the rest of your day!” She turned on her heel before Louisa could respond and headed back to the empty table.
“Where are you???” Michelle fired off a message to Ade and looked around again. On the buffet table she could see the light reflecting off the water in the containers that would hold the food, but the paraffin burners that sat beneath each steel rectangle were not yet lit. Food wasn’t even close to being served. Music played quietly beneath the bubble of chatter and at intervals various portions of the hall were briefly lit up by the pop of the photographer’s flashbulb. Michelle needed something to do, to look busy – needed. She would have made an exceptional chief bridesmaid and she would bet money that Louisa was regretting her rash decision. Yes, they had had their ups and downs, but didn’t all friendships that spanned a decade or more? Weddings were so political.
The falling out had been silly, really, a wayward comment released in the heat of the moment. If Louisa was happy to accept a proposal a couple of months after being cheated on, that was completely up to her; Michelle had just been looking out for her friend when she brought it up. Personally, Michelle would rather remain the girlfriend of a faithful man, than be the fiancée of a cheater who could easily be proposing out of guilt, and she said as much. Louisa had looked at her strangely, before asking, “Who do you think Yomi was with when it happened?” Michelle had forced down a mouthful of wine and ignored her. Of course Louisa would deflect, she reasoned to herself, but Ade had nothing to do with this. Nothing. She did not want to feed the gnawing thoughts that had ignited arguments between her and Ade in the past, and she had gone to great lengths to push aside the questions that sprouted in her mind when she had first found out about Yomi’s indiscretions on their lads’ trip to Amsterdam. She couldnʼt let her friendʼs shaky relationship undermine all the good that she had. She had to trust her man.
The following day, Louisa had sent a message. Michelle skimmed the line breaks until she got to the crux of it: “If you can’t be happy and supportive for me, there’s no point being in my bridal train. But if you feel differently now, let’s talk xx”. They didn’t talk, not for two weeks, but when Michelle showed up to the engagement party, she was the bigger person and acted as if nothing had happened. Maybe their friendship would never be the same, but as always, Michelle’s pride remained intact. Water off a duck’s back.
Michelle took another gulp of water and swallowed, trying to avoid looking over in Louisaʼs direction. Diverting her gaze desperately around the room, she had the misfortune to lock eyes with the cat-faced Patience, who was scoping the hall out for herself. Patience smiled tightly at Michelle, who returned the gesture in kind, but, to Michelleʼs horror, Patience left her seat and made her way towards the empty table.
“Hi, Funmi. How are you?” Patience took a perverse form of satisfaction in toting this private family name in public.
“Fine,” Michelle said through a clenched smile, “I’m fine, how are you doing?”
So began the useless small talk. They inquired after each other’s parents, their work, and complimented the other woman on her outfit. Patience looked good, much to Michelle’s irritation, and Michelle slipped quick glances downwards, trying to see if she could make out the bumps and ridges of a waist-training corset beneath Patience’s svelte silhouette.
Michelle wondered what Patienceʼs bum looked like. She hadnʼt thought to pay attention when the other woman walked over, but a Brazilian Butt Lift was all the rage these days and you could get one for only three grand if you flew to Turkey. Or maybe Patience was the kind of woman to have a rich sugar daddy financing her body and her lifestyle. No wonder she was sitting across from Michelle, smiling so hard her makeup was caking in the lines around her mouth. The audacity.
“I saw Ade really enjoying himself on the dancefloor!”
“Yes, he sure loves to dance.”
“I know, I remember in college he was always dancing, and Yomi and the other boys used to take the piss because back then he couldn’t dance – he’s better now, thankfully – but back then, oh my God…”
And she carried on. Always finding the need to remind Michelle that she knew Ade first, as if it was some kind of competition. “Hmph, jea-lou-sy!” Michelle’s mother responded if ever Patience’s name was brought up at home. “Like mother, like daughter! It is bitterness that runs in that family’s blood.” Michelle wasn’t exactly sure of the circumstances of their mothers’ dispute, but filial duty required Michelle to hold Patience at an arm's length. She focused once again on the laugh lines around Patience’s mouth.
“Where is Ade anyway?”
“He’s just handling some best man business,” Michelle shrugged.
“Well, be careful, you know how weddings make single girls feel...”
“No, I wouldn’t actually,” Michelle laughed lightly. “When you’ve been with someone for so long, you forget what being single is like!”
Patience smiled in a way that Michelle couldn't quite read, and she felt the need to tell her that she trusted Ade, but she swallowed the statement and let the moment pass.
“I know it’s none of my business,” Patience said after a while, “but I’m surprised you’re not in Louisa’s bridal train – is everything OK between you two?”
Michelle reached for the crumpled bottle of water in front of her and unscrewed the cap with a rough jerk.
“Yeah, we’re fine.” Patience’s eyes followed her. “Long story, but we’re good now. Water under a bridge, y’know?”
She returned the cap to the bottle without drinking from it and set the bottle down on the table. Silence stretched between them. Patience straightened out the skirt of her dress, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Michelle looked into her lap, turning her hands back and forth. For some reason she could feel tears biting the back of her eyes. She sniffed and checked her phone. The single grey tick let her know that Ade hadn’t even received her message and her stomach twisted. She had that feeling again.
“Feelings, ko? You and your feelings!” She heard her mother snort in her mind. “No man is perfect, abi? But Ade is a good man, and you need to focus on being a good woman instead of your feelings. Or do you want to feel yourself right out of a proposal?” She heard her mother scoff in her mind. She needed to find Ade.
“My dear ladies and noble gentlemen. We will begin serving this sumptuous spread very soon. I know you are waiting with baited breath and rumbling stomach, but I assure you it will be worth the wait!” The MC rumbled over the sound system.
Michelle cleared her throat. “Let me go and use the ladies’ before they begin serving the food.”
Patience nodded and Michelle took a deep breath, pulled herself up and walked out of the hall with a purposeful stride.
In the corridor the thin point of her stiletto heels sunk into the carpet pile and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Out of sight from friends and detractors, she allowed herself to hobble down the hallway towards the toilets. As she approached the passageway that lead to the bathrooms, she heard laughter. She inhaled once again, regained her composure, and hit the turn with a confident swagger.
Further into the corridor she could see three bridesmaids, a groomsman… and Ade. Seeing her approach, the other groomsman nudged her boyfriend sharply in the ribs, who pulled away from one of the bridesmaids, his face split by a grin which stiffened when he saw Michelle approach. His hand was still resting on the waist of the bridesmaid who continued to laugh as she played with his corsage. The girl followed his gaze and turned around. It was Jumoke.
“Ade, where have you been?” Michelle didn’t miss a beat as she marched towards the group. She inserted herself in the gap Ade made as he pulled away from Jumoke, turning her back squarely to the other woman as she kissed him full on the lips.
“Did you not get my message, babe?”
“Ah, sorry– my phone– the reception–” he stuttered, patting his pockets.
“I’m sorry, guys, I need to borrow the best man for a moment,” Michelle turned to Christiana, Tobi and Matthew with a saccharine smile, studiously ignoring Jumoke who was still behind her. She pulled Ade from them, marching back towards the main hall. They turned the corner and continued in silence for a few moments, Michelle’s grip still wrapped around Ade’s arm.
Eventually he cleared his throat.
“Mich–”
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Sorry, I know, we had to– erm, y’know how weddings are...”
“You could have at least responded on WhatsApp.”
“Oh! My phone!” He patted his pockets once again. “Oh, shit. I left it in Ju–, in one of the bridesmaids’ bags.”
“Jumoke’s?”
“Maybe? I can’t remember. I’ll just go back and get it.” He turned but Michelle tugged him back towards her.
“Why were you talking to her?”
“To who? Jumoke?” Michelle’s steel gaze held him for a moment. “She’s a bridesmaid, of course we have to talk. You’d be a bridesmaid too if–”
“You know she’s a witch, right?”
“A witch?!” Ade laughed. “Michelle, just because you don’t like someone, doesn’t mean–”
“This place is full of witches today, even Patience is here!” Michelle hissed and jerked her head in the direction of the main hall. “But anyway, can’t you spend some time with me?” Ade’s laugh was uneasy.
“We don’t have to go and sit down if you don’t want to–” she pulled him into her, putting her lips to his ear, “–I’m sure we can find somewhere to have a bit of fun.”
Ade let her suggestion linger then straightened up, pulling at the sleeves of his jacket.
“I’m best man, I can’t be going missing like that, Michelle.” She pouted, running her hand down the length of his arm.
“Listen,” she sighed. “I know I’m just being paranoid, but there are so many desperate girls here, and you know how fine you look?” He laughed and pulled her roughly into an embrace. He wound his arms around her and took two handfuls of her bottom, squeezing until her stomach tingled.
“Babes, everyone knows I’m with you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He kissed her, then lightly bit into the plump flesh of her bottom lip. Her stomach flipped over. “I really do need to get my phone though, OK?”
“OK,” she conceded, wiping smudges of her lipstick from around his mouth. “Just come back to me afterwards, please? I don’t want to be sitting alone.”
“I will, I promise.” His smile lit up the hallway, then he released her and walked back towards the bathrooms.
Michelle savoured the sensation left by the pressure of his teeth against her skin as she walked back towards the hall. When she reached the large double doors, she pulled out her phone and checked her makeup in the mirrored back of its protective case. Then she adjusted the straps of her heels, tugged down the hem of her dress, and ran her fingers through her hair.
“OK, I’m ready,” she said to no one in particular.
Rolling her shoulders back and fixing a camera-ready smile in place, Michelle pushed open the doors and stepped into the crowded hall.
Jendella Benson (@JENDELLA) is a British-Nigerian author and the Head of Editorial at Black Ballad. Her debut novel, Hope & Glory, will be published in February 2022 and is available for pre-order now.
All rights to this story remain with the author. Please do not repost or reproduce this material without permission.
