The next morning, Mirabel woke up feeling light and free—today was her day off, and she planned to spend it unwinding. After a busy week of dealing with customers, she craved a quiet escape. Dressing casually in a fitted black top and comfortable jeans, she grabbed her purse and headed out to one of her favorite shopping spots. A bit of browsing, some window shopping, maybe even a coffee and pastry—she was ready for a relaxing day.
As she was admiring a stunning pair of leather boots in a store display, her phone rang. The screen flashed "Mom" in bold letters, and a sigh escaped her lips. Mirabel knew these calls rarely went well. Her mother's voice always seemed to bring with it a cloud of pressure and expectation. Still, she braced herself, swiping to answer and pressing the phone to her ear.
"Mirabel," came her mother's crisp voice, cutting through any potential for small talk. "Good, you picked up. I was just thinking of you."
Mirabel forced a polite smile, though her mother couldn't see it. "Good morning, Mom."
"Morning," her mother replied, already shifting into a stern tone. "Mirabel, have you thought about the things we discussed last time?"
The "things" her mother referred to were always the same: Mirabel's career, her independence, and—most persistently—her lack of a partner. Mrs. Ruth Adejoro was not one to mince words, and her wealth only amplified her directness. Her life revolved around maintaining a certain social image, and having a daughter still single at Mirabel's age was, in her eyes, a glaring flaw.
"Yes, Mom," Mirabel replied cautiously. She didn't want to encourage a long lecture, but it seemed inevitable.
"Mirabel," her mother continued, her tone growing sharper. "I don't understand. You have two degrees—a first-class in Economics and a prestigious MBA. You've achieved all this academically, yet you can't seem to attract a respectable man?"
Mirabel gritted her teeth, her patience slipping. "Mom, I'm not just looking for any man. I want someone who values me for who I am, not just for my credentials or our family's wealth."
Her mother scoffed softly. "Values? Mirabel, you need to be practical. In our world, love is secondary. It's about building a life with someone who can enhance your position and provide stability. Waiting around for 'the one' is foolish."
Mirabel exhaled, willing herself to stay calm. "I know what I'm looking for, Mom. And I believe that when the time is right, it will happen."
"You think you have all the time in the world?" her mother pressed, her voice a mix of frustration and disbelief. "You're getting older, Mirabel, and every year you stay single, the fewer suitable options will be left. I don't want you ending up alone just because you're too picky."
Mirabel closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her mother's words pressing down on her. Her mother always seemed so certain that Mirabel's standards were too high, that her refusal to settle was a form of stubbornness rather than a genuine desire for happiness and respect. But despite her mother's sharp criticisms, Mirabel knew what mattered to her.
"Mom," Mirabel said, her voice steady but calm, "I'd rather wait for something real than rush into something just to satisfy expectations. You might not agree, but this is my life. I want to share it with someone who truly respects me and shares my values."
Her mother sighed heavily on the other end. "You're wasting your potential, Mirabel. I only want the best for you, but you seem set on making things harder for yourself. Just remember, time waits for no one."
The silence hung heavy between them, and Mirabel felt both drained and relieved as her mother finally ended the call with a terse, "Think about what I said."
With a soft exhale, Mirabel placed her phone back in her bag, her mood slightly dampened. Yet as she looked around the bustling shopping street, the sun shining through the storefront windows, she reminded herself of her own beliefs. Her mother's words weighed on her, but Mirabel felt a renewed sense of resolve rising up within her.
After ending the draining call with her mom, Mirabel stepped into the small boutique and picked up a pair of brown platform slides she thought would suit her work uniform. She didn't have the energy for any further shopping after her mother's remarks, so she decided to wrap up her trip early and head home. Clutching her small bag, she made her way down the crowded street, weaving between vendors and shoppers as she looked for a taxi.
Walking through the bustling heart of Yenagoa, she felt the familiar stares of passersby, some smiling as if in admiration or awe. She was used to this by now—the appreciative glances, the occasional compliment, and even the polite nods from strangers. Her natural beauty and radiant skin had always drawn attention, and while she appreciated the kindness, sometimes it felt as if people only saw her looks.
As she continued down the street, Mirabel's mind wandered back to her mother's words. How could she ever find someone who loved her for who she truly was? Someone who valued her heart, her dreams, her faith—not just the beauty that everyone else seemed captivated by? She bit her lip thoughtfully, brushing aside these doubts as she approached the line of yellow coaster buses waiting to pick up passengers.
Just as she struggled to climb into one of the crowded buses, a man in a dirty, ripped pair of jeans and a faded brown T-shirt stepped forward. "Madam, abeg give me your shoe make I hold am for you, so you fit enter sharp sharp," (please Ma, hand me your shoes to hold for you , so you could enter quickly) he offered, holding out his hand as if to help.
Mirabel shot him a wary look, her expression twisting in annoyance. "Make I give you wetin ehn? You think say I no know una type?"( I should give you what? You think I don't know your type?) She rolled her eyes, squeezing past him. "Abeg, free me jare."( please let me be).
The man's face soured as he crossed his arms. "I pity your husband, nonsense woman," he muttered under his breath, watching her settle herself onto the back seat.
Mirabel took a deep breath, trying to shake off the irritation. She turned her gaze toward the window, letting the street scenes blur before her as her mind drifted back to her mother's words once again. The voices of bustling shoppers faded into the background, leaving her lost in thought.