Derin’s P.O.V:
Lunch with her mother was never casual. It was scheduled. Efficient. Strategic.
They always met at a quiet business restaurant in Victoria Island — the kind with linen napkins and controlled lighting.
Her mother was already seated when Derin arrived.
Of course she was.
Tailored blouse.
Minimal jewelry.
Structured handbag placed precisely beside her chair.
Adesuwa Adebayo did not drift through life. She moved with intent. Every attire was perfectly chosen. Every piece of jewellry carefully placed. Every word, clearly spoken.
“You’re on time,” her mother said, checking her watch anyway.
“Yes.”
They exchanged a brief hug.
It was not cold. It was not overly sentimental. It was just contained. It was nothing like the hug Folarin shared with his mum.
They ordered quickly. Her mother did not believe in lingering over menus.
“How is work?” she asked.
“Demanding.”
“Good. Demand means relevance.”
Derin nodded.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
Then— “Are you seeing someone?”
Direct. Always direct.
Derin didn’t tense.
“Yes.”
Her mother paused, just slightly.
“Oh.”
“He’s in finance.”
“Stable.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Is he serious?” her mother asked.
“Yes.”
“About you?”
“Yes.”
Her mother leaned back slightly.
Studying her.
“You look softer, that is why I asked”
Derin blinked.
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
Another pause.
Then calmly— “Derin, I don’t think I need to remind you.”
Derin exhaled quietly. She knew what was coming.
“Remind me of what?”
“That men are seasonal.”
No venom. Just fact. At least in Adesuwa’s world, this was philosophy.
“They are attentive in pursuit,” her mother continued. “Less attentive in permanence.”
“He’s not like that.”
Her mother gave the faintest smile.
“They never are.”
The waiter refilled water.
Neither woman acknowledged him.
“Have you…?,” her mother asked, tone neutral.
“No” Derin answered without looking up.
“So you are still… celibate?”
“Yes.”
“You are putting too much stock in that.”
Derin’s fork paused.
“It’s discipline.”
“It’s a tell,” her mother corrected. “The fact that you think it’s important enough to chose who and when it happens, tells me it means something to you. You are worshipping your virginity Aderinsola.”
Derin felt a small flicker of irritation.
“I’m not worshipping it.”
“You are building an identity around it.”
Silence.
Her mother leaned forward slightly.
“That aside, you do not owe a man untouched access to your life. Especially not one who may leave.”
“He’s not planning to leave.”
“No man plans to leave,” her mother replied evenly. “They simply do when staying becomes inconvenient.”
That sentence landed heavier than it should have.
Her father’s absence always hovered in these conversations without being named.
“If you want a child one day,” her mother continued calmly, cutting her chicken with precision, “choose well.”
Derin frowned slightly.
“Choose what?”
“The gene pool.”
Derin blinked.
“I’m serious,” her mother said. “If this Folarin is intelligent, stable, and healthy — then he is a viable option.”
Derin stared at her.
“Option for what?”
“For motherhood.”
Silence.
“You can give birth,” her mother continued. “When the time is right. With a suitable man. And then excise him from your life.”
The word was surgical.
Excise.
Like removing a tumor.
Derin felt her stomach tighten.
“That’s cold.”
“That’s efficient.”
“Marriage exists.”
“For what?” her mother asked calmly.
“Companionship.”
Her mother’s eyes softened — but not in agreement.
“Companionship is negotiable. Stability is not.”
“He wants something serious,” Derin said quietly.
“Serious for now.”
“Why are you like this?”
Her mother didn’t flinch.
“I built my life from nothing when your father left.”
There it was. Not bitterness. History.
“I will not watch you build your life around a man who may do the same.”
Derin swallowed.
“He’s consistent.”
Her mother’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“They are always consistent in the beginning.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I don’t need to.”
Silence stretched.
“Listen to me carefully,” her mother said finally. “Success is protection. Independence is insurance. Men are optional.”
The finality in her voice felt like inheritance.
And Derin hated how familiar it sounded.
“You can enjoy him,” her mother added calmly. “But do not integrate him.”
That word hit.
Integrate.
Because that was exactly what she had begun doing. Meeting his family. Softening. Leaning.
Her mother dabbed her mouth with a napkin.
“You are too intelligent to gamble.”
Derin nodded slowly.
But something inside her resisted.
Not rebellion.
Discomfort.
Because for the first time— Her mother’s advice didn’t feel like protection.
It felt like prevention.
And she wasn’t sure which one she wanted.
Folarin’s P.O.V:
I noticed it by accident. Or at least that’s what I told myself.
We were on my couch. She was replying to emails. I was pretending not to watch her think. Her laptop was open between us. Calendar view. Color-coded. Precise. Structured. Every block intentional.
And there it was.
Wednesday. 1pm–3pm.
Blocked.
No description. Just a grey bar. I didn’t think much of it. Until I noticed the pattern.
Every week.
Same time.
Same grey block.
No details.
“Secret society?” I asked lightly.
She didn’t look up.
“Excuse me?”
“Every Wednesday. Two-hour blackout. Should I be concerned?”
She glanced at the screen.
Then back at me.
“It’s family. My mother. Leave it alone”
That was all she said.
I nodded.
“Ah. Classified.”
“Yes.”
I grinned.
“When do I get to meet the woman who built you?”
That made her pause.
Small.
But I saw it.
“You don’t,” she said.
There was no anger in her eyes. There was no edge in her tone. He voice was just firm.
I laughed.
“Why are you acting like your mum is CIA?”
She closed the laptop.
“That’s not funny.”
It was subtle. But something in her posture shifted. Guard up.
I leaned back.
“Relax. I’m joking.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“So?” I tried again. “You met my entire extended ecosystem.”
“That was your choice.”
“And you won’t give me the same courtesy?”
“It’s not about courtesy.”
“Then what is it about?”
She held my gaze.
“It’s separate. She’s separate.”
Separate.
That word landed heavier than it should have.
“Separate from what?” I asked lightly.
“From this.”
She said it calmly.
But it felt like a boundary line drawn in permanent ink.
I smiled. Because that’s what I do when I don’t like something.
“Okay,” I said casually. Too casually “Just let me know when clearance is approved.”
She didn’t smile back. And for the first time— Her reticence bothered me. It felt like exclusion. And I didn’t like to be excluded.
**********
I brought it up again. Different tone. Less joking.
We were walking after dinner.
“Why can’t I meet your mum?” I asked.
She didn’t hesitate.
“Because I don’t want you to.”
That stung.
“You think I can’t handle her?”
“It’s not about handling.”
“Then what?”
She stopped walking and looked at me.
“It complicates things.”
“How?”
“It just does.”
That answer. That non-answer. I hated it. I felt something tighten in my chest.
“I introduced you to my mum,” I said.
“That was your decision.”
“Do you plan to keep me compartmentalized? Am I not important enough to bring into the most intimate aspect of your life?”
Her eyes hardened slightly.
“Don’t dramatize.”
I laughed once.
Short.
“I’m not dramatizing. I’m asking.”
“It’s not necessary.”
Necessary. It was not necessary for me to meet her mother. Like I was optional infrastructure.
I nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
She turned and continued walking.
And for the first time since I met her— I felt outside.
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