Meeting His Parents

ABOUT US - Episode 6

We were at his house baking banana bread the day before I was to meet his parents. I was the one doing the actual baking. He was the one pretending to help, licking the spoon and trying to steal from the batter and chocolate chips.

“Are you sure two bananas are enough?” he asked, stealing from the bowl. I side-eyed him. “yes, two is fine. We’re not trying to make plantain cake.”

He laughed. That deep, easy laugh of his. He always sounded so relaxed, like nothing in the world ever truly alarmed him. Like meeting his parents wasn’t a big deal.

“You do know this is for both of us, right?” I said, narrowing my eyes as he tried to sneak another piece of chocolate chips

“Relax,” he said, grinning. “I’m quality control.” I shook my head and went back to mixing. Honestly yeah, I had been nervous since morning. He leaned beside me, eyes on the batter, but his tone was gentle. “You’ve been quiet.” I shrugged. “Just tired.” I was in my feelings and my thoughts were over the place.

He came closer and wiped a smudge of flour from my cheek, his thumb grazing my skin. “You’re overthinking again.” I didn’t respond. I just turned back to the batter and started pouring it into the pan.

He walked past me and turned on the oven, then reached for the timer. “We’ll set this for thirty minutes. By then, you’ll have calmed down.”

I smiled. He made me break character “You’re annoying.” “But you like it.” I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to. He knew.

He leaned beside me, arms crossed now, just watching. Then, in that calm voice of his, he said, “You do know they’ve been looking forward to this for weeks?” I glanced at him. “I know.” “They already love you.” “I know.”

“You’re scared.” he said with concern in his voice. I sighed. “Yes.”

He reached for my hand and played with my fingers. “You don’t have to try so hard. You being you is already enough. Always has been.” I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. My chest was tight in the way it gets when someone is too kind and you're not sure if you deserve it.

I leaned against the counter, watching him as he washed his hands. “I want to get them something. I know you said it’s not a big deal but…it matters to me.” He dried his hands slowly, nodding. “Okay. Then let’s figure it out together.”

And maybe that should have been enough but I’ve never gotten this far in any relationship. Meeting parents? It felt too real. Too close. And I wanted it to go right.

I had carefully chosen a classic body mist Olamide once told me his mum liked, a set of patterned ties for his dad, and a mini makeup kit for his younger sister, who was learning to do makeup. I wanted to be thoughtful, so I went for it.

We got to his parent's house and one could tell he grew up having everything he wanted but he never acted like it.

Before we could even knock, his mother came rushing out of the house, arms wide. “Ah! Finally!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug. I didn’t see it coming. My brain froze for a second. Then, just like that, the anxiety melted away. She smelt like so nice and something warm, like pepper soup on a rainy day. She held me by the shoulders and said, “I’ve been expecting you, my dear.”

His dad welcomed me with a smile and a deep “You’re welcome, my daughter,” like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like I’d always belonged. They didn’t even let me carry anything. Olamide quietly handed the gifts to his sister on my behalf, and she smiled knowingly.

They led us inside, and I was met with something I didn’t expect. A fully set-up dining room with painting kits, fruits, pastries, and music playing softly in the background.

“Sip and paint?” I whispered to Olamide. He looked just as surprised. “I swear I didn’t plan this.”

I chuckled. Maybe painting ran in the family. We all sat down. His parents beside each other, his sister in the master chair at the edge of the table, and of course, Olamide right next to me. His mother kept smiling at me like I was a painting myself. She called me beautiful. She asked about my work. My family. My interests. And every time I answered, she listened like she was storing every word in a special place in her heart.

At some point, I realized the conversation had been centered on me for so long, Olamide and his sister had barely spoken. But I wasn’t uncomfortable. I was… seen.

And then she asked, “So how many children are you planning to give us?” I choked. Literally. I was sipping water, and it went the other side. Olamide’s sister burst into laughter. “Mummy, calm down!”

Even Olamide looked stunned. “Mum, don’t make her uncomfortable,” he said, trying not to laugh. I touched his hand gently under the table. It was my way of saying, “It’s fine.” His mother apologized, saying she was just excited. That she’d been thinking about grandkids for years.

I understood. I truly did. She didn’t mean to scare me. It was just… a lot.

The rest of the afternoon felt like a warm dream. We painted, joked, and shared stories. His parents made small portraits of each other. His sister made something abstract we still don’t understand. And Olamide? He painted me. Me, with hair and laughter and peace in my eyes. I was almost shy when I saw it.

When it was time to leave, his mum called me aside to the kitchen. I followed, unsure of what was going on.

She opened the fridge and began pulling out containers. “I cooked your favorites,” she said. “ I asked Olamide and he told me what you liked. I wanted you to take something home.” I just stood there, speechless. Then she handed me an envelope. An envelope of money of course.

“It’s from his father,” she said. “He’s shy, that man. He didn’t want to hand it to you directly. Said he didn’t want you to feel anxious.” I laughed softly, tears welling in my eyes. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to feel chosen.

She held my hand and said, “You’re a good woman. Olamide talks about you all the time and how wonderful you've been to him. I feel so happy and blessed and I want you to always feel welcome here.”

I didn’t know when I hugged her. It just happened. She hugged me back, tightly. Like a mother. Like I was already hers.

On the ride back, I sat quietly, overwhelmed in the best way. Olamide as he drove, I could feel him looking at me.

“Was it too much?” he asked. “No,” I said, still looking out the window. “It was everything I didn’t know I needed.”