FRED
The evening breeze was cool, brushing against my skin as I sank deeper into the lounge chair on my balcony. Lagos stretched before me like a restless canvas, traffic lights blinking in the distance, danfos honking somewhere below, and the murmur of nightlife already waking up. The city never really slept, but up here, it felt like I had Lagos at my feet.
I dressed simply in grey joggers, a white tee, and slides. The kind of outfit that said, today na relaxation day, abeg.
Beside me, Alexa softly poured out "Blxst's-Movie," it's mellow beat weaving into the night air. Two of my security men stood a respectful distance away, sharp-eyed, their silhouettes blending with the shadows near the glass railing.
I swirled the amber whisky in my glass, took a slow sip, and leaned forward to jot notes into my leather notepad. My handwriting moved quickly, filled with ideas of a new expansion in my telecommunications company. I could almost see the future of towering networks, broader coverage, and digital dominance. The whisky burned warmly down my throat, sharpening my focus.
I was mid-sentence when my phone buzzed. I frowned slightly because I wasn't expecting calls tonight. The screen lit up with a name I hadn't seen nor called in years.
Mama.
My heart skipped.
With a steady breath, I picked up.
"Hello, my son," came the warm, familiar voice, laced with that Parisian elegance but still carrying the rhythm of home.
"Fredrick, how are you? Guess what? I am in Lagos."
I sat up upright, shock mixed with joy. "Mommy? Lagos ke? You're joking!"
Her laughter spilled through the speaker. "Ah, this boy! So I cannot come home again? I just landed this evening. I want to see you, have dinner, and gist properly. I've missed you."
For a moment, I was silent, looking out at the glittering city. Memories of my university days—those lonely nights without her around, the endless futile calls across time zones rushed back.
And now she is here, in the same city.
I chuckled, robbing my forehead. "Mommy, you didn't even warn me. You just want to scatter my evening plans, abi?"
"Better scatter it," she teased. "After all these years, you must give me my own time. Get ready, I'll be at your place soon."
I grinned, closing my notepad. "No wahala. Tonight, na family time."
I ended the call, my chest lighter, my mind buzzing with a different kind of excitement. For the first time in a long while, it wasn't just about business or Lagos' skyline. Tonight, the city would shine brighter because mama is home.
Rising from my seat, stretching my shoulders, and with a last glance at the city skyline, I stepped back into the warm glow of my penthouse.
"Chuka!" I called out, my voice echoing down the hallway. Within moments, my chef appeared, wiping his hands on a clean apron.
"Yes, oga," He replied, standing at attention.
I smiled lightly, still carrying the surprise of my mom's phone call. "My mother is coming over tonight. She just landed from Paris. Make something light and sharp, nothing heavy, understood? Maybe seafood pepper soup. Small jollof with grilled fish and gizzard. Something tasty. I want her to feel at home."
Chuka's face lit up with understanding. "No problem, oga. By the time madam reaches here, the food is ready."
"Good," I said, nodding. "Make it special. It's been a long time."
With that settled, I made my way to my bedroom. The familiar scent of cedar-wood filled the air as I pushed the door open. I tossed my phone gently on the bedside table and sank into the softness of my bed, letting out a deep sigh.
The ceiling fan spun lazily above me, its hum mixing with faint notes of Blxst's music still drifting from the living room. My thoughts, however, weren't in the room anymore.
I drifted back to those years when my father died suddenly, leaving my mother broken but determined. I remembered the day she left for Paris, her voice steady but her eyes betraying the pain. "Fredrick, I have to hold everything together. Your father's businesses over there need me. I'll always be with you, even if it's over the phone."
At first, the calls had been constant late night check ins, encouragement before exams, prayers on Sundays. But as time passed and I grew into adulthood, the gap between us became something I carried quietly, like a shadow. I went through university mostly on my own, learning to be a man without her physical presence.
Now, years later, she is coming home. And not just a mother who left, but as a woman who had fought to keep mixed emotions—love, pride, and a small ache for the years we had lost.
I closed my eyes, letting the memories fade into the cool evening calm of my bedroom. For the first time in a long while, I wasn't thinking about boardrooms or investors. I was thinking about dinner with my mom, laughter at the table, and the chance to start again.
The smell hit me first when I came back out to the dining room, a blend of pepper soup spices, the tang of tomatoes, and the smoky aroma of grilled fish and gizzard. Chuka had truly outdone himself. The dining table was neatly set with crisp white napkins, two wine glasses, and candle flickering gently in their holders. It wasn't extravagant, but it was homely, and I smiled.
Not long after, the sound of a car pulling into the private driveway reached my ears. I straightened my shirt quickly, heart thumping with anticipation. The doorbell rang, and I hurried over.
When I opened the door, there she was—my mother, radiant even after the long flight. She wore a simple but elegant Ankara gown, her hair wrapped neatly, her smile wide enough to light up the entire penthouse.
"Fredrick!" She exclaimed, her voice warm, almost musical.
"Mummy!" I responded, wrapping her in a long, tight hug. For a moment, neither of us moved. The years apart melted away in that embrace.
Pulling back, she looked at me over, pride shimmering in her eyes.
"Ah ah! Just see my son. Fine boy! You look just like your father."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Mummy, abeg, don't start. Come inside, Jor."
As we walked to the dining room, she inhaled deeply. "Hmm, I can already smell home. Pepper soup? Jollof? You know I have missed Nigerian food!"
I grinned. "Exactly why I told Chuka, my chef, to prepare it. Tonight, we will eat small.
We sat at the table, steaming bowls set before us. I poured a bit of wine into her glass before my own. She raised hers.
"To home," she said softly, her eyes glistening.
"To home," I echoed, clicking glasses.
The first spoonful of pepper soup made her sigh dramatically.
"Ehn! This is it. Paris can never understand pepper soup. They don't know it's medicine for the soul."
I laughed. "Mummy, you and food."
But as the laughter faded, silence hung for a brief moment. She set her spoon down and looked at me.
"Fredrick, I know I was not here for you the way I should have been. Those years... they were hard. Losing your father broke me. Paris needed me, the businesses needed me, but you needed me more."
I looked at her, the boy in me remembering all those lonely days, but the man I'd become now understood. I reached across the table, covering her hand with mine.
"Mummy, I know. And I won't lie, it wasn't easy. But you still found a way to be present, even if it was just over the phone. You gave me strength when I needed it most. That's why I am where I am today."
Her eyes softened, tears threatening. "You've become such a strong man, Fredrick. Your father would be so proud."
I squeezed her hand gently, smiling. "And now you're here. That's what matters."
The mood lightened again as we returned to our food, teasing each other about my lack of cooking skills, debating whether Lagos suya was better than Paris steak, and laughing like we hadn't missed a single year.
As the meal wound down, She leaned back in her chair, swirling the last of her wine into her glass. Her eyes, sharp and playful, studied me with that motherly gaze that could still make me feel like a boy again.
"Fredrick," she said slowly, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, "all this fine penthouse, all this big man lifestyle, and all this your grammar... is there no woman in your life?"
I froze mid-bite, the fork hovering just before my mouth. I laughed nervously, scratching the back of my neck.
"Mummy, ah! You've come again o. Always jumping to the topic of women."
She chuckled. "Don't tell me you are still single. By now, I should be hearing wedding bells. I want to carry my grandchildren before I become an old mama."
Setting the fork down gently, my smile fading into something softer, almost vulnerable. I exhaled. "Honestly, mummy... there's no one. Not now."
Her brows lifted in surprise. "Ehn? With all the beautiful ladies in Lagos? What do you even mean no one?"
I leaned back, my eyes drifting toward the window where the city lights glittered. My voice was lower now, almost wistful.
"There was someone, back in my university days. I saw her multiple times... from my hostel window, but never met her once. She was just... different. I don't even know why, but something about her captured me those times. I never forgot her. I've searched, mummy. I've tried, but... she's gone. Like a shadow I can't catch."
Her smile softened, her earlier teasing replaced with concern. "My son..."
My hands tightened slightly around my wine glass. "Mummy, I loved her. Still do. It sounds crazy, right?
But I know what I felt. Every other woman I meet just... doesn't compare. It's like she walked into my heart once and never left. And I want her back. Badly. I just don't know how to find her."
For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. She reached across the table, resting her hand on mine.
"My Fredrick... love is stubborn. When it's true, it doesn't go away. Maybe God is just keeping her for the right time. Don't lose hope. But promise me you won't close your heart because of one lost chance. You deserve happiness, and if she is truly meant to be yours, the universe will find a way to bring her back."
I blinked away the heaviness in my chest, a small smile forming. "You always know how to talk sense, mummy."
She patted my hand, then teased again with a grin, "of course! I am your mother. But meanwhile, open your eyes well. Lagos girls will not wait forever o!"
We both laughed, the tension melting, though in my heart the image of that mysterious woman lingered clearer than ever, and impossible to forget.