Celebrating Freedom

“Congratulations, darling,” Jessica squeals with delight and clinks her wine glass against mine. “Cheers to a new life!”

“Cheers to a new life,” I repeat with a wide grin to hide my inner unease.

I’m excited to be finally free of my 9-year marriage that recently turned into a nightmare. It feels good to be single again.

However, I can’t shake the feeling of uncertainty that ties my belly in a knot whenever I realize that I am now a single mom of 8-year-old twins who still don’t understand why their daddy can’t live with us anymore.

I am sitting with my four best friends in a classy restaurant, enjoying drinks and celebrating my “freedom” after my divorce from my ex-husband, Walter Francis, is officially finalized. These ladies have been my inner circle pals since we became friends at the university over a decade ago.

“Welcome to the singles corner,” Jessica continues with a giggle.

She is also divorced and runs a successful fashion business. Jessica single-handedly takes great care of her toddler daughter since her ex-husband ran off to another continent with his colleague mistress, with whom he had been cheating on Jessica since the beginning of their 4-year marriage.

Since her divorce, Jessica has dyed her natural brunette hair to a platinum blonde and styled it like Marilyn Monroe’s. She even has the signature red lipstick down pat plus a wardrobe full of figure-hugging dresses to flaunt her hourglass shape.

“I envy you two,” Hanifa gushes unabashedly and sips her drink. “I always fantasize about leaving Akeem,” she confesses.

“Are you kidding?” I ask her, genuinely surprised. “I thought you and Akeem were happy together?”

“I thought the same too,” Diana echoes.

Diana is a single lady living her best life, dating whomever she wants while making a tidy salary from her customer service job with Micom Network. She’s the natural red-haired bombshell in the group and a fit-fam enthusiast.

“Yes, we are happy,” Hanifa admits reluctantly. “But sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to be single again and be free to date anyone I wanted to date, you know. Like you guys.”

“The grass isn’t greener on the other side, darling,” Jessica drawls, and we all laugh.

“You’re probably right,” says Hanifa shyly. “I just wonder…”

I understand what Hanifa means. Just like me, she married the first real boyfriend she ever dated after uni. Now, she was a full-time housewife to a wealthy business tycoon who placed her on a generous monthly salary, made sure all her needs were met, and insisted that she stay at home to care for their 5-year-old triplets.

It didn’t matter that they had an army of nannies and domestic staff to tend to the children and the household; Akeem simply did not want Hanifa to work. I notice how she tugs nervously at her pastel headscarf now, indicating her discomfort with everyone’s reaction to her confession.

Hanifa’s Middle-Eastern olive skin reddened slightly with embarrassment. She’s such a beautiful, smart lady, but she has to live in the shadow of her husband as their custom requires.

“And that is exactly why you shouldn’t have allowed Akeem to talk you into quitting your law career to sit at home like some illiterate, primitive woman,” Diana says bitingly. “This is the 21^st century, for goodness sake!”

“Are you kidding?” Nina asks Diana. “If Damon and I get married today and he agrees to fund my account every month unfailingly, as long as I don’t lift a finger to work, you think I’ll say no? Babe, best believe I’ll jump on that offer and sit my skinny behind at home!”

We all laugh at Nina’s dramatic reaction. She’s the youngest in the group and a dark-skinned Barbie like me. But unlike me, she’s tall and wears her curly hair in a permanent low-cut style. We call her the TWA queen.

Nina and her fiancé have been engaged for nearly two years now. While she is eager to get married to him and become Mrs Olsen, Damon, on the other hand, isn’t in a hurry to tie the knot with her.

His car dealership business is already booming, and he wants to be 100% hands-on in running the business without ‘distractions’, as he always says. It’s a lame excuse, but Nina believes him.

“Why would I want to continue with my stressful retail banking job when I can sit at home all day, binge-watch N*****x, buy whatever I want, and just be pretty for my husband?” Nina continues. “That’s my dream life.”

Hanifa smiles. “It sounds like fun, but it gets boring eventually. It’s moments like these with you girls that keep me sane and in touch with the outside world.”

“You sound like you’re in prison,” Jessica comments dully.

“Maybe you should broach the subject of going back to work with him again,” Diana suggests. “He might change his stance and let you work again.”

“I doubt it,” says Hanifa with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Anyway, today isn’t about me. It’s about our lovely Eunice here. Congratulations once again, darling. Happiness looks good on you.”

I smile and feel little bits of my apprehension ebbing away. Being around my friends is always the best medicine to calm my nerves.

“Thanks, girls,” I say. “If it wasn’t for you all, I wouldn’t have made the bold move to leave Walter. I am so thankful for your support.”

“Aww… what are friends for?” Jessica asks playfully.

We continue drinking and chatting lightheartedly about work and upcoming events within our families. As the conversation continues, my mind zones out a bit. I catch myself wondering how to carry on with my life in this new phase.

As I continue to brood about my life, my eyes land on a man sitting at a table across from ours. He is formally dressed in a suit and tie. He appears to be having a business meeting with the fellow sitting in front of him, whose back is turned towards me.

I take this man’s appearance; his skin is dark, darker than mine, and he’s built like a recently retired bodybuilder. He looks to be in his early thirties, and his skin glows with health.

His chiseled face is set rigidly as he listens intently to what his companion is saying. The young man’s layered haircut looks fresh, and his hard jawline is clean-shaven. He’s definitely eye candy and the type of guy Diana would call ‘delicious’.

As if sensing that someone is looking at him, the man looks up, and his eyes meet mine. We hold each other’s gaze for a full 10 seconds before I realize what I am doing and look away.

I feel embarrassed to have been caught staring, so I pick up my wine glass and finish its contents, just to give me something to do. I know the man is still staring at me, but I dare not look in his direction again. That will be way too awkward.

“Our meals should be ready by now. I’m famished!” Nina groans.

“I’m sure they’ll bring them over in a few minutes,” Hanifa assures her. “Besides, you’ve been drinking. You shouldn’t be so hungry.”

“And that’s exactly the problem. Drinking makes me hungry,” Nina complains.

“Be patient,” I tell her with a laugh. “You’re such a foodie.”

“Aren’t we all?” Diana chips in.

We start chatting again, but this time, we are going in hard on the latest celebrity gossip on social media. I’m barely participating in this conversation because all I want to do is look across the room to see if the handsome stranger is still looking at me.

It’s taking all of my willpower not to look at him. It also doesn’t help that I can still feel him staring at me. How stressful!

“Excuse me, ladies, I need to visit the restroom,” I announce abruptly and get on my feet.

My friends barely acknowledge my exit because they’re now having a mini argument about a rumored celebrity breakup. As much as I enjoy hanging out with my girlfriends, I get bored when the topic of discussion becomes the intimate lives of total strangers.

I hurry across the room, careful not to glance in the direction of the hot guy. In truth, I don’t need to use the restroom; I just want to get away from the man across the room who I know is still looking at me.

I may be exaggerating, but having his eyes on me for so long is making me uncomfortable. I need my composure intact to enjoy the rest of my party.

“Hello, excuse me. Where is the ladies’ room?” I ask a waiter who is passing by.

“Go through the lobby and turn left,” he replies with a smile.

“Thank you,” I say and hurry off.

This is my first time in this classy restaurant. It’s one of the most expensive places to eat in San Francisco, and it took Jessica’s connection to get us a reservation this evening.

Even though it’s a weekday, the place is packed full of diners. Never mind that the food and drinks cost an arm and a leg.

I follow the waiter’s description and locate the ladies’ room. It is empty when I get in, and the silence inside is welcoming.

Since I am not really pressed, I decide to touch up my makeup before returning to the table to rejoin my friends. I look at my reflection in the mirror, and my round face stares back at me.

Cute has always been the word that people describe me with, thanks to my full cheeks, big brown eyes, small nose, and pouty lips on a petite 5 ft 4 inches frame. For the longest time, ‘Baby’ was my nickname because of my cherubic looks.

I finally outgrew that moniker in university, when I shed a little weight and started to look more ladylike. That was when I met my ex-husband, Walter.

He was my real first boyfriend, and he swept me off my feet with his compliments and his admiration for my academic intelligence. He was my dream man; tall, dark, ruggedly handsome with a great sense of humor.

It had seemed natural that we get married after graduation, and that was exactly what we did. Back then, I thought we were going to live happily ever after, just like in all those romance novels I used to read as a teenager.

Someone walks into the restroom, jolting me out of my daydream. I smile at her through the mirror.

She smiles back and says, “Hi,” before disappearing into one of the empty toilet stalls behind me. I try not to listen to her doing her business in there.

I powder my face lightly, then apply a thin layer of lip gloss on my lips before finally stepping out of the restroom. I can’t hide in here forever, can I?

As I make my way towards the lobby leading to the restaurant floor, I see a man walking towards me. He’s very tall and smartly dressed in a formal suit, and he –

I gasp when I recognize him. He’s the man in the restaurant whom I made eye contact with earlier!

What is he doing here? Did he follow me here or am I overthinking this? Should I just walk past him and pretend like I don’t recognize him? Why am I so nervous?

“I was hoping I’d run into you,” he says with a bright grin.

His voice is a deep baritone that seems to reverberate across the walls of the lobby. It’s the kind of voice you’d hear over a whiskey ad on TV, a manly man’s voice.

He looks familiar, but I’m sure I have never met him before. He’s too strikingly handsome for me not to remember him if we’ve met before. His brown eyes sweep over me appreciatively.

I look around me to check if he is speaking to someone beside or behind me, but it is just him and me in the lobby. Great!

“Are you talking to me?” I ask him, just to be sure.

“Of course,” he replies, his grin widening. “It’s just the two of us here, just as I’d hoped.”