Breakfast with Mom

Breakfast with Mom

I woke Mom up earlier than usual, and she looked at me with surprise. I could tell she wasn’t expecting me to be up so early, and to be honest, I wasn’t either. It wasn’t like me to wake up at this time, especially not with this kind of energy. But the strangest part? I didn’t feel that familiar wave of fear—the one that had haunted me every morning since I learned about the swimming competition.

Mom and I made breakfast together before heading to bathe. We decided on scrambled eggs, paired with slices of bread and a steaming cup of tea. After getting ready, I still had plenty of time left before breakfast. I didn’t want to wait for Mom, though. She was still in front of the mirror, applying her makeup, so I went ahead and took my seat at the dining table.

She noticed how fast I was moving and gave me a curious look.

"Damian, what's going on at school today?" she asked. "I don’t understand this sudden change in behavior."

I knew she was wondering why I was in such a hurry, but the answer was simple—I wanted to be ready before Cynthia for once.

"Mom, it’s nothing," I replied quickly. "I just don’t want Cynthia to wait for me today. I want to be the one waiting for her for a change."

Mom nodded approvingly, seeming to think it was a good idea. After finishing my tea, I rushed to the kitchen to boil water. I made enough for two cups, just in case, and when the water was ready, I carried it back to the dining table and prepared my tea.

By the time Mom finally emerged, I was already done eating. It was just a few minutes past six, and I was heading inside to grab my bag from my room when she spoke again.

"Hmm… My sweet heartbreak, I still suspect something is behind your energy today," she teased.

I just laughed and walked past her, grabbing my bag. On my way out, I kissed her cheek repeatedly, making her laugh.

"Take care of yourself, my soldier," she called after me. "And take care of Cynthia too!"

With that, I took off, running toward Cynthia’s house.

Waiting for Cynthia

Cynthia’s house wasn’t far from ours—just a few blocks away—so it didn’t take long to get there. We lived close enough that she could drop by whenever she wanted. But when I arrived at her house, I quickly realized I was too early. Cynthia wasn’t even awake yet.

I strolled past the beautiful flowers in front of their house, running my fingers along their damp petals. They were still wet from the night’s dew. The scent of fresh earth and blooming petals filled the air, adding to the quiet stillness of the early morning.

Reaching the front door, I rang the bell. The chime echoed inside, and then, a deep, gruff voice responded from within.

"Who is there?"

My heart skipped a beat. That voice belonged to Cynthia’s father.

Since moving to Abuja, I had never actually met her dad. Aunty Paula—Cynthia’s mom—sometimes mentioned him in passing, but I had never seen him in person. That morning, a strange nervousness crept up my spine. I had never had a father figure in my life—not yet, at least. And from what I’d seen in Nollywood movies, dads could be strict, intimidating, and sometimes outright scary.

And just my luck—he was still home.

"I said, who is there?" His voice was sharper this time.

I swallowed hard. "It’s me, sir," I managed to say.

"You, who?"

"Damian, sir. I’m Cynthia’s friend."

I could hear the silence stretch for what felt like forever before the door finally creaked open. It wasn’t Cynthia’s father standing there, though—it was Aunty Paula.

"You’re already dressed for school?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "And that lazy daughter of mine is still sleeping."

She shook her head as she stepped aside, letting me in. "Come inside. Let me go wake her up."

I hesitated for a second before stepping in. That’s when I saw him—Cynthia’s father.

He was much younger than I had imagined. Not too tall, not too short. Not bad-looking either. He was already dressed for work, standing near the dining table as he finished his breakfast.

He turned to me with a small smirk. "So, you’re the famous Damian?" he said, eyeing me. "Well, it’s a pleasure to inform you that you’re notoriously and infamously known in this house for your… handsome traits."

At first, my brain fixated on the words notorious and infamous. I thought he was about to insult me, but the playful smile on his face told me otherwise. It was actually a compliment. And, honestly, I had never heard anyone use those words positively before. It was creative, and for the first time, I found myself liking him—even though we had just met.

"Babe, I’m leaving," he said to Aunty Paula, grabbing his car keys and file bag. "Send my kisses to my girl when she wakes up."

With that, he was gone.

Cynthia’s Entrance

A few minutes later, Cynthia appeared, still in her pajamas.

And damn… she looked breathtaking.

She didn’t have any makeup on, her hair was slightly messy, and her face was fresh from sleep—but somehow, that only made her more attractive. And then there were her pajamas—thin, almost see-through. My eyes caught the way the fabric hugged her curves, the way the morning light made the outline of her body more pronounced.

She walked toward me, placing a hand on the table beside me. The movement was slow, deliberate. The slight bend in her posture, the subtle tilt of her head—it all felt intentional. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Hmm…" she mused, her voice low and teasing. "You’re up early. I thought you’d still be in bed, holding onto those lucky pillows of yours."

I chuckled. "Am I supposed to sit at home until noon?"

She sighed dramatically. "Oh! You’re competing today. What’s wrong with me? You’ve kissed away my common sense, sweet heartbreak."

Before I could respond, she leaned in and pecked my cheek before disappearing into her room.

As soon as she left, Aunty Paula came back out, carrying a tray. On it was a plate of pancakes and a steaming cup of tea.

"Here, Damian," she said, placing it in front of me.

"Oh, but Ma, I already had breakfast," I protested.

She gave me a knowing look. "Did I ask whether you ate or not?" she teased. "Just eat up while you wait for that lazy angel."

She patted my back gently before walking away.

So, I sat there, picking at the pancakes one by one. They were soft, warm, and had just the right amount of sweetness. By the time I was down to my last one, Cynthia reappeared—now fully dressed in her school uniform.

"You have to wait for me to eat like you did before we leave," she said, pecking my cheek again before heading to the kitchen.

At that moment, I felt something strange.

I didn’t grow up around a father, so I didn’t know what it truly felt like to be a husband. But right now, sitting at this table, watching Cynthia move around the kitchen while I waited for her—it felt close enough.

I watched her wiggle her hips as she walked away, my mind involuntarily grabbing hold of that image over and over again.

She returned quickly, settling at the table with her own pancakes.

"Pardon me, but I won’t call you ‘sweet heartbreak’ again if you don’t wait for me next time," she said playfully before digging into her food.

Minutes later, she was done. She went inside to let her mom know we were about to leave, and when she came back out, Aunty Paula followed.

She handed us both five hundred naira each for breakfast.

"Thank you, Ma," we chorused.

"Be good, both of you," she said, smiling.

And with that, we set off for school together.