Butter Honey Pig Bread. Francesca Ekwuyasi

asked if they would pick her up on their way.

      Habiba and Kareema drove up in a black Jeep with tinted windows and greeted Taiye with glossy lips and wide white smiles. They sparkled, not with any kind of inner light necessarily; they literally sparkled. Their pin-straight weave-ons shone in the glinting street lights, their bracelets and earrings clinked and shimmered, their lips, their bright eyes. They were perfectly lovely, but Taiye wasn’t in a terribly talkative mood. They eyed her as she settled into the back seat.

      “Nice to meet you, Taiye,” Habiba said, smiling from the driver’s seat. “Aunty Folake said you just moved back from Canada?”

      “Yes,” Taiye said. “Good to meet you, too. Thank you for picking me up.”

      “Welcome back home.” Kareema smiled. “Where in Canada? I have some friends in Toronto.”

      “Halifax.”

      “Oh, I don’t think I know anybody in Halifax. Where is that?”

      “It’s farther north than Toronto. There’s a lot of Nigerians there, but we’re everywhere, so that’s not saying much.” Taiye laughed; the girls laughed. “It’s small, but it’s right on the ocean, like the Island,” she added.

      “How long were you there for?”

      “Like two and a half years.”

      “Really? Aunty Folake said you and your sister had been gone for a while.”

      “Yeah, I was in London for a bit before I moved to Halifax.”

      “Oh, okay. How about your sister?”

      “She’s still in Canada. Montreal.” Taiye adjusted the neckline of her kaftan; the stiff opalescent embroidery fell in a deep V down her sternum, revealing the beginnings of a tattoo. She had small breasts that forgave her choice to go without a bra; still, she felt exposed in the cold gusts of air rushing out of the A/C.

      “I like your kaftan dress thing,” Kareema said, turning her shiny head to flash Taiye a toothy grin. Endearing.

      “Thank you.” Taiye smiled back. “How about you girls? You’re in school?”

      “Habiba just graduated from Covenant, pharmacy degree. I’m still there, engineering, one more year. I want to go to Canada for my master’s. Toronto, though.”

      “Congrats, Habiba.” Taiye said. “And you, too, Kareema, in advance.”

      Besides the pulsing rhythms blaring from the speakers, the rest of the car ride passed in smooth silence. There was some traffic in Obalende, but it eased up when they climbed onto the Ring Road bridge. At Freedom Park, Habiba slid the car deftly into the last remaining spot in the crowded lot. They starting walking toward the main stage, where a dense crowd had already formed. Excitement bounced around like an eager contagion. Taiye smiled wide, more to herself than anyone in particular, suddenly grateful for a night out: a desire to become enveloped by the crowd, dance as if she were alone, maybe get a little fucked up. She told the girls she’d meet them by the stage and headed toward what she assumed was the bar. A gin and tonic—maybe three, no ice, mostly gin—would ensure the desired mellow buzz.

      Several white plastic chairs were spread out by the open-air bar, all turned to face the stage, mostly occupied. Taiye wove past them. She didn’t recognize anyone, but there was a light-skinned woman perched, legs crossed, on a stool by the bar, her heart-shaped face haloed by a short Afro. And she was staring right at Taiye, her eyes widening.

      “Taiye Sokky Adejide, is that you?” Isabella asked, a green bottle of Heineken paused midway to her mouth.

      Without skipping a beat, as if she’d been expecting to see her childhood friend, Taiye said, “Isa, long time! How far?”

      She felt the familiar rush and laughed at herself. She wanted Isabella on sight; that hadn’t changed.

      “Look at you!” Isabella exclaimed, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol dancing on her breath.

      “You look great!” Taiye said, taking in the looping curls, the black V-neck shirt stretched tight, the jeans cinched high on her waist with a leather belt.

      “So do you!” Isabella exclaimed. Her mannerisms were oversized, her voice loud. Taiye thought she might be drunk.

      “Thank you.”

      “When did you get back?”

      “About two weeks now. How about you?”

      “I’ve been here, o! I was in the UK for, like, two years, at Reading for my master’s, but I’ve been here since.”

      They looked at each other in silence for a moment. A breeze flapped Taiye’s kaftan around her.

      Isabella gestured for Taiye to sit on the empty stool beside her. “Are you here on your own?”

      “No.” Taiye pointed toward the stage, where Habiba and Kareema clutched their purses and swung their hips. From that distance, they looked identical. “You?”

      “My people are dancing as well. I’ll introduce you later. But we have a lot of catching up to do! How far your sister?”

      “She’s in Montreal. She’ll be here later in the year, actually. Around September, I think.”

      “Wow, so you guys are moving back for good?”

      “I am. I’m not sure about Kehinde. She’s coming with her husband, so I guess they’ll decide, I don’t think so sha.”

      “Ah! Kehinde is married!” Isabella clapped. “Eyah, to who?”

      “This guy named Farouq.”

      “Muslim?”

      “I think so. I’m not sure.”

      “Nigerian?”

      “No.”

      “Oyimbo?”

      “I think, partly maybe. I’ve seen pictures, he’s brown.”

      “You haven’t met him?”

      “Nope.”

      “Na wa for una sha, I don’t know sisters that don’t talk like you people.”

      “We’re special like that.” Taiye shrugged. “How about you?”

      “Well,” Isabella stretched out her left hand to display a solitaire engagement ring, a delicate silver band with large round-cut diamond, “I’m engaged!”

      “Congrats! To who?”

      Isabella laughed. “You remember Toki?”

      “Of course I remember Toki!”

      “We went to UNILAG together, been together since third year.”

      “Congratulations, Isa, really, God bless. When is the wedding?”

      “We’re thinking next April, in Dubai.”

      “Good for you.” Taiye wondered whether it was dishonest to express a bit more excitement than she felt.

      “What about you?”

      “What about me?”

      “Ah ahn, how about you, jare? Are you seeing anyone?”

      “No.” Taiye smiled and looked down at her sandalled feet.

      “No one before you came home?” Isabella pressed.

      “No, I haven’t been lucky like you.” It was only a half lie.

      “Na lie! I know you.” Isa raised an eyebrow to suggest something that Taiye couldn’t immediately identify. “I know of you.”

      Taiye sucked her teeth and feigned amusement. “My life is boring. There’s nothing to know.”

      “I know for