The Dice #46

Tade was less than thrilled about the birthday dinner his mother had planned. Since when did she start organising dinners for his birthday, especially now that he was an adult? The only reason he’d shown up was because he had nothing better to do. Three days earlier, he’d tried booking a flight to the U.S., but their travel agent couldn’t seem to find one. She’d muttered something vague about unavailable flights, but it didn’t make sense to him.

This was the first birthday he and Tide would spend apart. Not even when she was heavily pregnant with the twins had they skipped celebrating together. Somehow, they always found a way to connect.

The venue was Roisaree, one of Ikoyi’s more upscale restaurants. While other restaurants were moving into Lekki and beyond. Roisaree had stationed itself in Ikoyi, near the affluent Banana Island neighbourhood. It was owned by a mixed-race Lebanese-Israeli woman from the famous Lawani family of Lagos Island, who married into the prominent Kusimo dynasty of Isale Eko. She had done well for herself, and the restaurant rivalled any other on the Island. After much pressure, she opened two additional branches, one in Ikeja on the Mainland and another in Asokoro, Abuja.

His mother was already seated when he arrived, dressed in a flowing white guinea bou-bou embroidered with teal thread. Her long, texturised hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and her caramel skin glowed, almost defiant in its radiance. It was hard to believe she was over fifty, let alone a grandmother.

Tade greeted her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and took his seat.

“Have you ordered anything?” he asked, pausing to take in the softly lit room. It wasn’t too crowded, which he appreciated.

“You didn’t book the whole place?” he teased. Molade was known not to do anything in half measures.

“Just half,” she replied without missing a beat.

He managed a small smile. “And here I was thinking you were softening. Losing your edge.”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint,” she said. Her voice carried a faint sadness, but her gaze remained steady and unyielding, the way he remembered.

Their relationship had never fully recovered after she disapproved of Solape. Even after Solape’s death and despite her repeated olive branches, things remained distant. Still, he knew she was there for him, and she adored his daughter, her only granddaughter, unconditionally.

“What?” Tade’s face lit up as he saw Tide approaching. Dressed in a fitted teal-blue knee-length gown that subtly echoed their mother’s teal embroidery, and white Michael Kors wedge sandals that gave her an extra four inches of height, she placed her teal clutch on the table. Hugging their mother first, before making her way to her twin.

“I should’ve known you had a hand in this dinner,” he said, teasing but visibly pleased.

“I could see your scowl from thirty yards out,” she quipped. “What’s got you all twisted up like you’re sitting on pins?”

“Please ask him,” their mother chimed in dryly.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Being kidnapped for dinner when I’d rather be at home eating fish pepper soup made by Chef Rita and a bottle of champagne, wishing myself a happy birthday while throwing a wish your way since you refused to pick up my call.”

“You know, try sha, why were you looking for tickets three days before and not earlier?”

“I was waiting for your plan, meet me in Seychelles, Maldives or Cape Verde or whatever weird place you intend to choose this year.”

For the last decade and more, they had hopped to very unpopular destinations, long before they became a Lagos outbound destination.  Tide did all the groundwork and just announced, expecting him to drop everything he was doing and be there, which he always did. It was a mystery that Efosa allowed her to do her thing. It was an unwritten rule that their birthday was theirs alone. Solape, ingeniously, chose to celebrate his birthday a week earlier.

Tide placed her order, Linguine ai Frutti di Mare. Fresh linguine pasta delicately tossed with wild-caught tiger prawns, tender calamari, Scottish diver scallops, and Mediterranean mussels, all simmered in a white wine, cherry tomato, and garlic infused broth. The dish was finished with a touch of Calabrian chilli, a hint of lemon zest, and a drizzle of cold-pressed Sicilian olive oil. She thanked the waiter and joined the conversation.

They had a great time catching up. It was lovely to be all together in one place after a long time, but they did not fail to notice their mothers’ quietness as the evening went on.

“Mom, is the food not okay?” Tide asked, her tone laced with concern. She and Tade exchanged a glance. They’d both noticed their mother picking at her meal.

“I try new dishes… and struggle to enjoy them,” Molade said with a soft shrug.

“Want to order something else?” Tade offered, already motioning for the waiter.

“No, I’m fine,” she said, then paused. “But there’s something I need to share. And I am afraid it’ll shock you. I’ve had a few weeks to process it, but it’s still… big.”

“Are you sick?” Tade asked quickly, concern etching his features. It was the kind of expression Molade wished she could frame. It was a glimpse of the son who, somewhere deep down, still loved her as he had before Solape came into their lives.

For the next ten minutes, Tade and Tide listened in stunned silence as their mother recounted how she’d found Dr. Lanre Braitwaite listed as the doctor who took delivery of Dunni Adesida.

“Mom!” Tade objected, getting frustrated with his mother’s insistent need for background checks.

“You are still doing this, your FBI moves.” The girl does not want to have anything to do with me, so you can rest now. I hope you are happy.”

Tide gestured to him to calm down. “Let’s hear what mum has to say.”

Molade told them about her visit to his office and how, by sheer coincidence and shock, she had met him there.

“Mom, who is he?” Tide asked, her brow furrowed.

“He’s your father,” Molade said quietly, the words dropping like a bomb between them. “I didn’t know he was alive. It was not until I saw the birth certificate, dated well after his supposed death. I was told he’d died, but it turns out that wasn’t true.”

She took a shaky breath. “I went to see him, but… the meeting didn’t go well.”

“Why didn’t he ever contact us?” Tide asked, her voice a whisper.

“Because he never knew you existed,” Molade replied. “When he met Tade, he got curious about your name, which is his middle name, and the surname… it all clicked, especially when he found out I was your mother. He’s been out of the country most of the time, doing medical outreach programs, but he’s back now.”

Tade and Tide sat frozen. It was too much to absorb all at once. How were they supposed to process the fact that their father wasn’t dead—had never been dead—and they were only finding out in their thirties?

“When can we see him?” Tide finally asked.

“He’s here,” Molade said softly, gesturing toward a man seated at another table.

The man stood and walked over to their table at Molade’s gesture. Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t just have one child. He had two grown ones. And grandchildren.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, voice trembling. “If I’d looked for your mother… if I’d even tried… I would’ve found you. I can’t give you back the years we lost, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to be part of the years ahead.”

Tide was crying now. Tade, still stunned, only nodded. The realisation hit him slowly—the man he had randomly met weeks ago, who had reacted so strangely upon hearing Molade’s name, was his father. There were so many questions, so much to catch up on.

Anyone watching might have thought it was just an intimate family dinner. They would never have guessed it was a reunion of life after death, of a family finding its way back to itself.