Obsession Chapter 2 Part 3
CHAPTER 2 · PART THREE
Obsession
“Is this what you’re wearing to the date?” I asked, eyeing Betty.
She wore her favorite pink sweater—oversized, fluffy, with threads hanging loosely in every direction—paired with her most worn-out boyfriend jeans. Comfort clothes.
“That’s not the reason I came here. I didn’t come for your interrogation, Mom,” she shot back, rolling her eyes.
“I know you didn’t come here to get policed, but seriously, Betty. Not this. You wear it everywhere. I could give you a dress—something nicer.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She plopped down on my bed. “Stop being a biatch.”
“And stop fretting over everything. I promise you, your Grandma won’t care about what we’re wearing.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
She was right. It wasn’t worth arguing over clothes. I had just met my grandmother for the first time in my entire twenty years of life, and today was about reconnecting.
Silence settled between us as I sifted through my wardrobe, searching for the perfect dress—not too short, not too long, not too flashy, and not dull.
Betty watched me closely, her thumb buried in her mouth as she chewed noisily on her nails.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s gonna make your eyes pop,” she said mischievously.
“Betty, seriously?”
She held up her phone. “Elizabeth Maria Jack is the tenth richest person on the planet and the second richest woman currently.”
I froze. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
My heart skipped. “So that means…”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Mom can stop being a maid. I can take my WAEC exams without worrying about fees. And you—” she smirked, “you’ll live your classic rich-girl life.”
“Living the classic rich-girl life,” I repeated, smiling.
It was surreal. If life hadn’t been so cruel—if I hadn’t lost ties with my father and Grandma—everything would’ve been different.
But life wasn’t fair. Still, it wasn’t too late to move forward.
“Let’s go,” I said, settling on a simple but elegant dress.
Betty grinned. “Let’s go meet your Grandma.”
Outside, the driver was already waiting. This time, it was a sleek black jeep—shiny, intimidating, expensive.
The driver was different too—thinner, shorter, kind-looking. His head bobbed to the music, moving in a way that reminded me of lizards mating.
I found myself nodding along.
Betty laughed as we jammed to a 90s Fela Kuti song. For once, everything felt right. Alive. Hopeful.
“We’re here,” the driver announced.
“That was fast,” I murmured.
The restaurant was one of the poshest in town. Fresh herbs and sizzling food hit us immediately, and I felt underdressed.
A server led us to the VIP section. Grandma was already seated, beaming.
“Sara, my love—you look stunning. Both of you.”
Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating her deep blue designer dress. Elegant. Perfect.
“You look astonishing,” I said, stepping into her embrace.
“What food do you girls want?” Grandma asked, eyes fixed on me.
She was nervous—the second richest woman in the world—because of me.
Betty and I ordered Jollof rice and pepper soup. Grandma ordered Chinese rice.
“I should’ve had Jollof too, but it’s spicy,” she chuckled.
Suddenly, it made sense why I wasn’t a fan of spicy food either.