Episode 7: Meeting His Mother
After that night, something changed between Daniel and me.
Not dramatically.
Not in the loud, movie-type way.
But softer.
Safer.
For the first time in weeks, I stopped treating every conversation like an investigation.
And Daniel stopped pushing the apartment conversation completely.
No hints.
No pressure.
No emotional manipulation.
Oddly enough, that made me think about it even more.
Because now the choice actually felt like mine.
One Wednesday afternoon after lectures, Daniel called me sounding unusually cheerful.
“My mum has landed.”
My stomach tightened instantly.
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“And you sound excited.”
“I am.”
I laughed nervously while packing my books.
“You’re not the one meeting Nigerian mothers.”
“My mother is not scary.”
“All Nigerian mothers are scary.”
“That’s propaganda.”
I could hear the smile in his voice.
Then he added:
“She wants to see you tomorrow.”
My heartbeat immediately doubled.
Tomorrow?
Why did I suddenly feel like I was going for job interview?
That night, Chioma and Amaka practically turned my hostel room into preparation headquarters.
“What are you wearing?” Chioma asked seriously.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Wear something decent. Not all these tiny tiny clothes you people call fashion now.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I dress fine.”
Amaka pointed at me dramatically.
“And don’t go there behaving too forward. Respectful but not too quiet. Smart but not arrogant. Friendly but not desperate.”
I stared at her.
“Am I going to meet his mother or attend WAEC oral exam?”
“Both,” Chioma replied immediately.
The next day, I changed outfits four different times before finally settling on a simple blue gown.
By the time Daniel arrived to pick me up, my nerves were already out of control.
“You look beautiful,” he said immediately.
“Please focus on the road.”
He laughed.
“Nervous?”
“No.”
“You’re literally squeezing your handbag like it owes you money.”
I looked away embarrassed.
The drive to his mother’s hotel felt too short.
Before I knew it, we were already standing outside the suite door.
Daniel knocked once.
Then suddenly, my heartbeat became violent.
The door opened.
And there she was.
Mrs. Adebayo.
Elegant.
Composed.
Beautiful in the way older women who truly carry themselves are beautiful.
She wore a simple wine-colored kaftan and glasses, but somehow still looked intimidating.
Then she smiled warmly.
“So this is Ada.”
Immediately, some of my tension disappeared.
“Yes ma,” I said politely.
She pulled me into a brief hug.
“You’re even prettier than the pictures.”
Pictures?
I turned sharply toward Daniel.
“You showed her my pictures?”
He looked unapologetic.
“Of course.”
Inside the suite, the atmosphere became surprisingly comfortable quickly.
His mother wasn’t what I expected at all.
She wasn’t rude.
Wasn’t overly intrusive.
Wasn’t trying to size me up like market goat.
Instead, she asked thoughtful questions about school, my family, and my plans after graduation.
At some point, she even started laughing at my stories about hostel life.
“You girls are suffering,” she said, shaking her head.
“Very badly, ma.”
Daniel sat quietly watching us both with this strange peaceful expression.
Like seeing us together mattered deeply to him.
Then his mother suddenly asked:
“So how did you two meet?”
Before I could answer, Daniel said proudly:
“She’s the best thing Amaka has ever contributed to society.”
I burst out laughing.
Even his mother laughed too.
“Daniel has always been dramatic,” she said affectionately.
“You have no idea,” I replied.
For the next hour, everything felt easy.
Natural.
Dangerously family-like.
Then his mother excused herself briefly to answer a call outside.
The moment she left, I turned to Daniel sharply.
“You didn’t tell me she was this nice.”
He smiled.
“I told you.”
“No, seriously. I prepared for interrogation.”
“She already likes you.”
My heart betrayed me again.
Stupid heart.
Then suddenly, his mother returned earlier than expected.
But this time…
Her expression had changed slightly.
Not angry.
Just serious.
She sat down slowly.
Then looked directly at Daniel.
“Vanessa called me.”
The entire room became still immediately.
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“Mum…”
“She’s crying.”
I froze.
Daniel rubbed his forehead tiredly.
“Please don’t start.”
Start what?
My chest immediately became uncomfortable again.
His mother sighed softly.
“She said you’re ignoring her completely.”
Daniel looked frustrated now.
“Mum, we’ve discussed this already.”
I sat there quietly feeling like I had accidentally entered family meeting.
Then unexpectedly, Mrs. Adebayo turned toward me gently.
“Ada, I hope this situation isn’t making you uncomfortable.”
I forced a small smile.
“It’s okay, ma.”
But honestly?
It wasn’t entirely okay.
Because hearing Vanessa’s name inside family conversations suddenly made her feel less distant.
Less finished.
Like someone still emotionally connected to this family somehow.
Daniel noticed my silence immediately.
Then his mother spoke again carefully.
“Vanessa went through a lot with Daniel during difficult years.”
There it was.
That history again.
That invisible relationship sitting between us without physically being present.
“She’s not a bad person,” his mother continued softly. “Things just didn’t work out.”
Daniel looked exhausted now.
“Mum, please.”
“I’m only saying this because pain can make people behave emotionally.”
I sat quietly, trying not to overthink every word.
But it was impossible.
Because suddenly I started wondering:
If his mother still spoke about Vanessa this gently…
If Vanessa still called her…
If everybody still sounded emotionally connected somehow…
Then had that chapter truly ended?
Or was I standing inside a relationship still haunted by unfinished emotions?
The drive back to school later that evening was quieter than usual.
Daniel finally sighed.
“I’m sorry about today.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
I looked out the window.
Streetlights blurred softly against the glass.
Then quietly, I asked:
“If Vanessa suddenly wanted you back seriously… would your family support it?”
Daniel’s grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
Then he answered firmly.
“I’m tired of answering questions about another woman while sitting beside the person I actually want.”
That answer should have reassured me completely.
But heartbreak stories usually start with reassurance too.
And for the first time since meeting his mother…
Fear returned again.
