Chapter Thirty-Two
After leaving Michael's office, Amara spent the rest of her time in her apartment cutting the material for his mother's dress and sewing it.
While she was cutting the material, Emma called her, but she ignored the call since she didn't want to waste any time picking up the phone. She knew if she picked up the call, she wouldn't have the heart to tell him she was busy and couldn't talk, and then they might talk for a long time, or he might say he wanted to visit her.
She'd rather text him tomorrow to let him know she had been busy rather than pick up the call.
As she worked, she thought about Michael's reaction to the food and laughed. She had given him the remaining rice in the pot, even though that was what she had planned to eat that night and the next morning.
She didn't mind. She was just delighted that he had enjoyed the food she cooked that much.
She glanced at the time on her phone screen, and when she saw it was past 9 pm already, she rose to see if they had locked the pharmacy or if Michael had left.
She sighed softly when she saw his car still parked in front of the pharmacy. Knowing he was downstairs made her feel safe in a way.
Did he always stay back this late?
It was her first night in the apartment, and somehow she felt a little anxious about being there alone after they closed for the night.
Although she was still busy with the dress, she contemplated going downstairs, maybe to have a word or two with Michael before he went home.
She needed to stretch a little anyway. She had been sitting down for the past couple of hours, and she was going to sit there again after now until she completed the dress.
But what will she say? Maybe she should just sit down outside, or she should go and buy paracetamol.
Deciding that was the best thing to do, she picked up money from her purse and headed downstairs.
Walking into the pharmacy, she saw Michael attending to a customer. The rest of the staff had left, and he was alone.
"I thought you were busy. I heard the machine as you were sewing," he said as he gave the customer his change, glad she had come out.
"Oh! Sorry. I didn't know it was disturbing…"
"No need to apologize. We are used to the noise. The former occupant was a tailor like you after all," he said, and she shook her head.
"No o. I'm not a tailor, abeg. I'm a fashion designer. Tailor is too local," she corrected, and he laughed.
"I don't think so," he said, taking out his phone to ask AI the difference between the two.
When the response came up, he handed the phone to her, and she eyed it as she read it. Michael watched with a chuckle as she frowned.
"AI doesn't know everything, jor. The Nigerian meaning of tailor is different from this one. I'm an upcoming fashion designer. I'm not a tailor," she muttered, and Michael laughed.
"Okay o, upcoming fashion designer," he teased.
"Thank you." Amara wondered if he knew he was being friendly and playful now, unlike before.
"Are you done with the dress?" He asked, and she sighed deeply.
"Done ke. Not yet. I just wanted to stretch my body a little because I've been sitting for a long time. When I saw that the light was still on and your car was parked outside, I decided to come and check. When do you usually close?" she asked, opting for the truth instead of hiding behind paracetamol as an excuse.
"By ten. I close the pharmacy on Mondays and Wednesdays. On Tuesdays, Loveth stays back, on Thursday, Christy stays back, and then on Friday, Onos stays back. Saturday and Sundays, we close by 8pm," he explained, and she nodded thoughtfully.
"Are you not the oga? Why are you doing two days? Why are you even staying till that time when you can tell them to stay so you can go home?" Amara asked, sitting down as Michael sat down.
Michael laughed, "Like you said, it's my pharmacy, abi? It's my business, not theirs. If not for weekly activities and occasional vigils I attend, I would stay back every day and observe things myself. If you want something done right, you do it yourself."
Amara nodded thoughtfully. "But I don't think it's safe for you to be moving around late at night sha."
"My safety is in the Lord. He only is my rock and salvation. He is my defense. I shall not be greatly moved," he quoted the Bible.
Amara rolled her eyes. "Psalm 62 verses 2 and 6. Nuh vex. I almost forgot you're a pastor."
Michael raised a brow, surprised she knew where he quoted from, "Bible scholar!" He teased, glad that she at least knew her Bible.
Amara laughed, "Nuh carry me play o," she joked, laughing. "I used to represent my church in Bible quiz when I was small. It's funny that Psalm 62 repeated that line in verses 6 and 2. You get? 62, then 2 and 6. Very convenient to memorize. Verse 6 said I shall not be moved, and verse 2 said I shall not be greatly moved. So, that year when we do Bible recitation contest, I will recite the two separately," she laughed.
Michael laughed as he watched her. He admitted to himself that she was a very interesting person.
Amara looked around the store and sighed softly. "I want to buy paracetamol," she said, handing him the five-hundred-naira note she had taken from her purse.
He ignored the money as he looked at her with concern. "Are you having a headache?"
"No. I'm just buying it down in case I need it in the future. Plus, I promised you I would patronize you, remember? I want to fulfil my promise," she said with a small smile.
Michael shook his head with disapproval. "You're planning to have a headache in the future?"
"Everyone gets a headache. It's normal…"
"There is nothing normal about it. Don't normalize ill health…"
"Abeg abeg. Don't preach about divine healing. You that is a pastor and opened a pharmacy nkor? Why sell medicine? Just stand here and pray for sick people to get well," she said dryly, and Michael laughed.
"Amara…"
"I'm not here as your church member. I'm just here as your neighbor and friend. If you want to preach, tell me so I can go back and continue what I'm sewing," she cut him off again.
"Okay. I won't preach." Michael laughed and shook his head as he glanced at the wall clock. It was almost ten now.
Amara followed his gaze and saw the time. "It's time for you to go home," she said, standing up.
Although Michael would have stayed longer chatting with her, he didn't want his mother to start wondering why he had stayed so late today of all days when Amara had just moved in. And he also knew she needed to get back to her sewing.
"You're going to church with me tomorrow evening, right?" He asked, and she nodded.
"Yeah. Greet Mummy when you get home. And don't tell her about the dress I'm making," she warned, and he nodded.
"You didn't sell paracetamol for me again," she said as Michael started turning off the lights inside his office.
"Call me if you have a headache. I will pray for you. And if it's during the day, I will pray and give you medicine if you want," he said, and she rolled her eyes.
"You're turning away your customer. You are spoiling your business," she said, making him laugh.
"By the way, how is your leg? Have the cuts healed?" He asked, looking down at her legs as they headed for the door.
"Yeah, thank you. It wasn't that serious," she assured him, feeling self-conscious as he looked down at her leg. "Ehen, you didn't give me the Netflix login again."
Michael turned to look at her. He couldn't believe that he had forgotten about it. That was what he would have sent last night when he was thinking of a WhatsApp message to send to her?
"It slipped my mind. I will send it to you on WhatsApp when I get home," he promised, happy that he had an excuse to text her now.
Amara escorted him to his car and watched as he got in. "Good night, Pastor Michael."
Michael looked at her before he shut the door, "My friends don't call me Pastor," he said, wanting to set the pace for their future relationship and make sure she didn't get too used to referring to him as pastor.
The last thing he wanted was a wife who would be calling him pastor at home.
"Everybody I've seen calls you pastor," Amara pointed out.
"Because everybody you have seen is not my friend. They're either my staff, just my neighbors, or church members," he said, and she grinned.
"So, should I call you Tega?" She asked, sticking out her tongue playfully.
"Don't try it," he said with a chuckle, and she laughed.
"I can't call your name without adding the pastor. It will feel somehow to me like I don't respect you. What of brother Michael?"
Michael sighed inwardly. "No." His tone was flat.
"It will look somehow if I call you Michael when everyone else is calling you Pastor Michael," Amara said, and then sighed. "Okay. When other people are there, I will call you pastor Michael, but when we are alone, I will call you Mike. Mike was what you told me when I first met you, and I didn't even know you were a pastor."
Michael smiled. She had a good memory. "Okay. Let's do it like that. Good night, Amara," he said, shutting the door. "Lock your door well."
Amara nodded as she stepped away from the car. She smiled as she watched him drive away, and then she returned inside.
As she sat down to resume sewing, she shook her head and laughed when she realized that she had ignored brother Emma's call because she was very busy yet had spent so much time talking to Michael.