“Mum, Dad, I’m going for a sleepover at Tunrayo’s place.” Deola says, a hand holding her elbow as she stands before the Television, facing her parents who sat in a cuddling position on the settee, watching the laptop on Richard’s lap.
“Sleepover?” Deola’s mum says, frowning slightly behind her glasses, her head on the shoulder of her husband, Richard, in her brown linen gown.
“Yes, Mum.” Deola leans forward in her yellow spaghetti top and black joggers, her eyes pleading, while holding a see through white gown and white tennis short. “Sleepover. Nothing More.”
“Good.” Came Tunrayo’s voice from Deola’s earpod in her left hair which is hidden by the draping woollen pink headwarmer.
“You don’t go for sleepovers ever. And today is Friday. In a few hours it will be time for the Weekly Prayer Vigil and none of us is missing it.” Deola’s mum’s eyes flashes.
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