Chapter 2 Lingering Confessions

Marian tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, glancing down the hallway where Jide's snores rumbled through the partially open bedroom door. The sound reminded her of the life they shared, sometimes comforting, other times exasperating, but always there. Clarence sat next to her, his shoulder a breath away, his demeanor attentive in a way she had rarely experienced with anyone besides her husband, at least, not for quite some time.

They had both fallen silent after their last exchange, the night air filling the gaps between them. Marian could almost feel the electricity of unspoken thoughts. The overhead lamp in the parlor cast soft shadows on the wall, highlighting the subtle lines of tension in her posture. Sensing that Clarence was still watching her, she mustered a smile and tried to steady her breathing.

"Thank you for listening," she began, her voice still hushed. "You're right. Sometimes I just need someone to talk to."

Clarence nodded, his gaze level and warm. "Anytime," he said softly. "You seemed like you had a lot on your mind. About Jide, about life."

Marian shifted, running her fingers over the faded pattern of the couch fabric. A million stories and worries churned in her mind, her marriage, her family background, the weight of expectations she'd carried for so long. A part of her wanted to hold it all in; after all, this was her husband's colleague. But there was another part, tired, yearning for release, longing to be heard that propelled her forward.

"Where do I start?" she murmured, letting out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "My family, everyone looks at Jide and me as this perfect couple. But the truth is, we've had our share of problems. My parents, especially my mom, well... she always made marriage seem like the ultimate measure of a woman's worth. She used to say, 'Marian, if you find a good man, you make it work no matter what.' She meant well, but I guess I took it too literally."

She paused, noticing how Clarence's expression softened with empathy.

"As for my father," she continued, "he was the strong, silent type. He worked odd jobs to keep us afloat, but he never really told me he loved me or anything like that. I suppose that's why I'm so desperate for Jide to open up. I don't want that silence repeating itself in my own marriage."

Clarence let out a quiet hum. "That must've been hard. Did you grow up here in the city?"

She shook her head. "No, in a small town, about three hours from here. My parents still live there. They're... old-fashioned. And when I got married to Jide, who's from a more modern, urban background, they weren't entirely sure what to think of him at first. But they came around, eventually."

Marian sighed, reminiscing about her wedding day. That swirl of laughter, dancing, relatives pressing bright naira notes against her forehead as they welcomed her to a new life. She had been so hopeful then.

"So many responsibilities came with getting married," she continued, her voice softer. "Not just the house and finances, but the sheer weight of being everything: a supportive wife, a caregiver, even a sounding board for all his problems. Lately, though, it feels like Jide stopped confiding in me. And I suppose that's why it hurts so much when he starts leaning on the wrong things, like drinking too much at office parties, when he should be leaning on me."

Clarence nodded, his jaw tensing slightly as though he too felt that burden. "He's under pressure at work," he offered, "but that doesn't excuse shutting you out."

"I know." She glanced at the kitchen, remembering the pot of stew simmering on the stove. She'd turned the heat to low, though now she couldn't recall if she'd switched it off entirely. She was too engrossed in the tension that filled the room. "I guess I'm just...lonely. My family's not around, and Jide's so busy he might as well be living in another world sometimes."

Silence again. Long enough for Marian to hear the clock ticking on the far wall, the fan's gentle whir, and the slightly ragged cadence of her own breath. The words were at the tip of her tongue, the admission she'd never dared speak to anyone but had been swirling in her thoughts for months: I'm unfulfilled. I'm frustrated. I want more than what I have.

She swallowed hard. "I-I shouldn't be telling you all of this," she stammered, cheeks flushing. "You're his colleague and a guest in our house."

Clarence reached out, gently touching her elbow. "Marian, I want you to feel like you can talk to me. I promise...I won't judge. If anything, I just want to help, if I can."

His earnestness made her heart twist. She tried to form a grateful smile. Then the dam inside her broke a little further. "I haven't really had an outlet," she said, her voice wavering, "for all of this tension. Not just emotional, either. It's... physical too."

Her face warmed, and she wanted to look away. But Clarence's expression was patient, intent. She forced herself to continue, her voice trembling as she confessed the part of her marriage she'd been too ashamed to share with anyone else.

"I love Jide," she said hastily, "but we....our physical relationship, it's changed. He's either too tired or too distant most nights. It's as if we're drifting apart in every way. We used to..." She broke off, biting her lower lip. "I guess this isn't appropriate to say out loud."

But now that the words were flowing, she couldn't stop. It was such a relief to voice what had felt like a taboo. "I feel like I'm starving for affection," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "It's not that I don't understand his stress, but, sometimes I miss how it was when we first got married. We were so in sync, so hungry for each other."

Clarence's gaze flickered, an emotion she couldn't quite read crossing his face. "Marian..." he began, his tone low and careful. She realized her breath had become shallow, as if she were standing on the edge of a tall cliff.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, hugging a couch cushion to her chest. "I shouldn't be talking about this with you. It's just... it slipped out."

A moment passed where neither of them knew quite what to say. Jide's snoring suddenly filled the hush again, grounding them in the reality that Marian's husband was in the next room. The sound reminded her of how precarious this moment was, there she was, alone late at night with another man, sharing intimate details she'd never voiced elsewhere. Shame warred with relief inside her.

But when she met Clarence's eyes, she didn't see judgment, only compassion. Something else lingered, too, a spark she sensed was just as dangerous as it was comforting. She tried not to stare at the curve of his jaw, the slight stubble that had formed over the long day. She tried not to notice how close his hand was to hers on the couch cushion.

"You don't have to apologize," Clarence said, his voice now a gentle hush. "I'm here because I care about both of you. But I won't pretend I haven't noticed...you feeling alone. I see it in your eyes at the company events, even before Jide gets too drunk. You look like you're carrying the weight of the world."

Marian felt her chest tighten. "I just don't know how to fix it. I've tried talking to him, but he shuts down or changes the subject. And, well... a woman has needs, too. Emotional, physical. It's like... I'm not getting any of them met lately."

Clarence swallowed, and she could hear the slightest catch in his breath. For a moment, she wondered if she'd gone too far, if he'd recoil, politely excuse himself, and vow never to come back to this house again. But to her disconcerting relief, he stayed there, warm and solid next to her.

He reached out and let his hand hover just above hers. A single inch away, maybe less. She felt the heat radiating from his palm. "Marian, I-I'm no expert on marriage, but... I do know what it's like to feel alone." He looked away, as though picking his words carefully. "Sometimes you just need someone to-" He paused, then turned his eyes back to hers. "-to hold you, remind you that you matter."

A tremor ran through Marian at those words. She realized how dangerously close they were to crossing an invisible line. The moment felt steeped in possibility and confusion all at once. She swallowed. Am I about to do something I'll regret? The question zinged through her head, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. Part of her wanted that closeness, that comforting human contact she'd been denied.

Jide's snoring rose to a crescendo, echoing from the bedroom with comedic timing that almost made Marian want to laugh...if the situation weren't so tense. She glanced at the hallway again, half expecting Jide to appear in the doorway, bleary-eyed and disoriented. But the snoring continued uninterrupted. That knowledge sent guilt cascading through her, followed by a reckless thrill that stirred deep in her chest.

She looked back at Clarence, his expression hesitant, as though he was weighing every micro-movement. She realized that she was doing the same, hearts racing in tandem, as if they were caught in some gravity pulling them together.

"I-" she began, not even sure what to say next. That she was grateful? That she was terrified? That she was drawn to him in a way that complicated everything she knew? The words wouldn't form, and the silence between them grew thick.

He gently laid his hand over hers, and she felt herself exhale in a ragged sigh. Her pulse hammered in her ears. She was so aware of him, and of how easily she could tilt her head, bridge the minimal distance, and press her lips to his. The thought ignited a flame in her stomach and terrified her at the same time.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, hearing the thrumming of her heart. This was the juncture, a precarious line where the next step could unravel her marriage, her identity, everything she held dear. Yet in that sliver of a moment, what she felt most was the acute absence of her husband's warmth and the heady presence of the man beside her.

"Clarence," she breathed, "I-"

That's when Jide's snoring abruptly stopped for a second, replaced by a rustle of movement in the bedroom. Marian's eyes snapped open, the trance broken. Clarence pulled his hand back ever so slightly, both of them going stock-still. They held their breath, waiting to see if Jide would walk out or call for Marian. Seconds passed like hours until the snores resumed, less rhythmic than before but still steady enough to signal he was asleep.

Marian's heart pounded against her ribs. She glanced at Clarence, who looked equally caught between relief and the lingering haze of what might have been. Her throat felt dry.

"There's so much I need to sort out," she managed to whisper, biting back the wave of conflicted emotion. "physically..."

Clarence nodded slowly, his breath just as unsteady. But the look in his eyes said more than words could. . The air around them was thick with tension, with that question of whether lines had already been crossed simply by acknowledging their mutual need.

As Jide's snores continued in fits and starts, Marian and Clarence shared a weighted glance in the dimly lit parlor. The truth lay between them like a shimmering thread, waiting to be tugged. Even as guilt and common sense battled in her mind, Marian couldn't deny the flicker of anticipation that had ignited, and neither, it seemed, could Clarence.