The One Who Holds Me (Sovereign Love #4)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

FIVE MONTHS LATER

S ometimes I think Nigerians use every single excuse to throw a party, but there’s no better reason to celebrate than welcoming not one, but two bundles of joy into this world. So when Amara invited Manny, Heather and me to the dedication ceremony of their twin girls, I couldn’t say no. Of course, Alex is my plus one and Dad tagged along since he now has all the free time in the world.

After the service at church, we proceeded to the reception venue. The purple and white decor at the venue blends beautifully with the gold centerpieces and I’m already taking photos for the Wedding Inspo album on my phone. I need to ask Amara for the name of the decorator because I’m a huge fan.

Alex and I are at the same table as Dad, Manny, Heather, Teeyana, Jayden—Teeyana’s husband, and Zion, their two-year-old son. The master of the ceremony just announced that Amara, Raymond, and the twins will do their entrance into the hall in five minutes. Heather, Teeyana, and I use those five minutes to catch up because every second counts.

“So, is this the Alex everyone has been talking about?” Teeyana says over the Nigerian high praise music playing in the background.

Heat flashes to my cheeks as I drive my elbow into Teeyana’s side and she chuckles. “Shh!! Way to be subtle.” I glance at Alex, who is smiling and pretending to be lost in the music. Of course he heard that.

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to hide anything. Heather already filled Amara and I in on all the details,” Teeyana says as we both glance at Heather, who is bouncing Ayannah on her lap and hiding her smile.

I squint at Heather. “Of course she has.” We all chuckle and I turn to Teeyana again. “Yes, that’s my boo.”

“Aww, I’m so happy for you,” Teeyana says as Zion reaches for her necklace and plays with the heart pendant.

“I’m so glad it all worked out for you, Olanna.” Heather hugs me. “God can be trusted, right?”

“Indeed, He can,” I respond and hug the girls as the gray-suited MC calls for everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen. God has been so good and now we have the pleasure of welcoming Dr. and Mrs. Raymond and Amara Aderinto and their beautiful twin girls.”

Everyone rises to their feet with rounds of applause as the doors to the venue open. Raymond and Amara dance to the beats of a fast-paced Nigerian gospel song, each of them carrying one of the girls dressed in pink sequin dresses and matching bow headbands.

The couple’s outfit is made of beautiful purple lace, with Raymond wearing an agbada and Amara wearing a beautiful dress with sequins–like her daughters—and a matching gele . Her train swoops at the back as she sways to the rhythm of the music, but Raymond steals the show with his dance moves.

Amara’s mom and dad dance behind the couple together with Raymond’s mom, who I heard flew all the way from Nigeria to celebrate with them. The joy on their faces warms my heart. I can’t wait to share this with Alex someday.

As if he heard my thoughts, Alex wraps his arm around my shoulder and plants a kiss on my temple before whispering in my ear. “That’ll be us soon, baby. God willing.”

“Amen to that.” I chuckle.

When the procession ends and the music dies down, we sit down while the couple share their testimony and the labor and delivery story. Amara went through so many complications with gestational diabetes and hypertension during the pregnancy, so in the end, she had to be induced when they couldn’t bring down her blood pressure. One twin was breached, and they almost had to do a C-section. In the end, God came through and both babies and parents are well.

Everyone claps as the pastor takes the mic and starts speaking encouraging words to the crowd. Then he explains that because close friends and family couldn’t make it to the naming ceremony because it was during the holidays, Amara and Raymond have requested that they announce the names of the children again and pray for them.

The pastor takes the oldest twin from her dad and reads out her names from an A4 sheet of paper in his hands. “This is Grace Adaego Taiwo Oluwadarasimi Omolade Oluremi Joy Blossom Shola Aderinto.”

“Whoa, are all those names going on her birth certificate?” Alex asks, and I laugh at the shock on his face.

The pastor takes the second twin and does the same. “Faith Adaeze Kehinde…”

“No, they won’t all be on their birth certificates,” I respond. “Raymond is from the Yoruba tribe in Nigeria and in their culture, different people in the family usually give names to the child. A lot of those names—especially the latter ones—were probably given by family members.”

“Ah, I see. That makes sense.”

The pastor lists out the names again the second time and asks everyone in the crowd to repeat each name after him. Then he prays for the children and hands them back to the parents. The pastor also prays over the food and the music resumes.

Alex and I walk over to greet Raymond and Amara when they pass the baby to their parents.

“Congratulations to the newest parents in town,” I say to them, and Amara squeals and pulls me in for a hug.

“Guys, meet Alex, my boyfriend.”

“Welcome, Alex. It’s so great to finally meet you,” Amara says with a wide grin and they both shake Alex’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you both, too,” Alex responds. “Olanna has told me so much about you two. Congratulations on your twins and I was just saying you have a long list of names to remember now.”

Raymond laughs. “ Omo, I can already see myself getting confused.” He scratches his head. “For the first few months, we had to put different colored ribbons around their wrists to differentiate them. It wasn’t easy.”

“But you can do all things through Christ,” Alex adds.

“Amen. Thank you so much for coming, my brother. We should all hang out sometime,” Raymond says and I nod.

“Yeah, don’t worry, me and the girls are already planning something,” I say and we talk for a few more minutes before Alex and I leave them to greet their other guests.

Holding hands, we walk over to get food from a selection of pepper soup, jollof rice, fried rice, gizdodo , ayamase , white rice, egusi soup, eforiro , pounded yam, yam porridge, peppered fish, moin moin , assorted meat and salad. Alex goes for jollof rice and peppered fish, while I choose the ayamase and white rice with a side of gizdodo and moin moin.

“So, Alex, I hear there’s still some beef between Ghana and Nigeria about who has the best jollof rice?” Teeyana asks, and everyone’s gaze flies to him.

“Wow, girl, you just go’n put my man on the spot like that?”

“Yeah, actually. I’d like to hear his opinion,” Dad concurs as he sips on his pepper soup.

“Come on, Dad, not you too. Whose side are you on?”

“The side of victory, my dear, and you know Naija no dey carry last .”

“Bro, you gotta choose your answer wisely, because you’re at a Nigerian party, after all,” Manny says and I shake my head at him.

“Don’t let them pressure you, Alex,” Jayden chimes in.

“Thank you, Jayden. You’re the only other man at this table not annoying me right now.” I send him an air hug.

Alex exhales slowly, and then, with his entire chest, he responds. “I’m sorry, guys. It’s Ghanaian jollof all the way.”

Voices roar at his response, talking over each other, trying to convince Alex he’s wrong, but he just carries on eating his food, smiling at them all.

“ You go, babe.” I wink at him. “ No gree for anybody .”

“What was that, babe?”

“Never mind.” I pat him on the back.

“Don’t worry. When you taste Olanna’s authentic jollof , you’ll change your mind,” Dad says, refusing to give up the fight.

“Yeah, Olanna taught me how to cook jollof rice. She does it so well,” Heather adds. “Maybe you will change your mind.”

“Maybe,” Alex says before looking into my eyes. “Until that day, Ghanaian jollof all the way.”

The voices at the table fade to the background and all I can see are those big brown eyes I love.

“What?” I push his arm as I lick peppered sauce off my fingers. “You know my insides melt when you look at me like that. Are you trying to embarrass me?”

“Never.” He chuckles. “I would never do anything to embarrass my queen. I still can’t believe God gave us a second chance.”

“He’s so good, isn’t He?” I wipe my hand on a napkin and lean into him, lost in his gaze and choosing to ignore Mr. Chijioke Madu’s eyes on us.

Even if there are aunties watching us right now, waiting to use our story as the topic of their next gossip session, I couldn’t care less. I’m exactly where God wants me to be, and that’s all that matters.

“You can say that again.” Alex closes the gap between us and kisses me, my heart warming and skipping around in my chest, but also thanking God, who kept us, held us, and worked this all out for our good.