My mom was the first person to wish me a happy birthday on my birthday, but on my 32nd birthday, she sent me a photo of a woman. She asked me, “Do you like her?” I asked, “Who is she?” She responded, “I asked a simple question. Do you like her or not?”

I thought someone had taken her phone and was playing a prank on me, so I called her. When she picked up, she asked the same question: “It’s a simple question I asked, so why are you calling me?”

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I asked her to send me more photos to make a decision. She told me, “That’s the only photo I have of her, and there’s nothing more you’ll see in another photo, so just give me an answer and let me go.”

She had never done that to me before, and at no point in our relationship had she ever suggested that I needed a girlfriend because I was growing old. I wanted to know where the whole thing would lead, so I said, “I like her.” She responded, “Good. That’s all I wanted to know.”

A week later, she sent me a number: “Her name is Rose. Call her and tell her it’s her mother who gave you the number.” I was confused. I asked, “Her mother? You have another daughter, and you want me to marry her?” She burst out laughing, and I laughed too. She told me Rose’s mother had been worried that her daughter didn’t have a boyfriend and had also told her she had a son who didn’t have a girlfriend, so the two of them decided to set us up.

I didn’t call her. Days later, she called to ask me why, and I told her I was thinking of what to say. That very day, I received a call. When I picked up, she said, “My name is Rose. Your mother gave me your number to call you.” I responded, “Oh, Rose, I was thinking of calling you. I’m sorry you had to do it in the end.”

The conversation was very awkward. After asking what she did for a living and hearing her answer, the conversation ceased.

The next day, when I called, she asked, “Do you think what our mothers are doing is fair?” I responded, “That’s what happens when we take too long to find a partner.” She asked, “So you support them?”

We talked the whole day. That night, when she was going to sleep, she texted, “I’m about to sleep. If you want us to talk, this is the time.”

The conversation lasted over three hours.

We met the next day. She asked me, “So what’s the end game?” I responded, “Let’s go and greet your mom. I’d like to see her.”

We got to her house, and my mom was already there with her woman, drinking and eating. As soon as they saw us, they got up and started dancing toward us. My mom took off her cloth, put it on the floor, and screamed, “Walk on it for me, my beautiful couple. Make it dirty. It’s mine—I’ll wash it.” So dramatic.

We joined them and talked for over an hour. Then they got serious. My mom told me, “Don’t raise my hopes up and let me down. I’ve known Rose since she was a kid. She was well raised.”

We left them there and ended up at my place. I proposed that day, and that very day, we started planning our marriage. It took us seven months. No sex, no kissing, no hugging. Nothing intimate. It was part of the plan.

The night before our wedding, around 12 a.m., I heard a knock on my door. When I opened it, it was Rose in her nightie. We were both lodged in the same hotel. I asked, “What’s wrong with you?” She answered, “Do you know tonight is the only night left for us to be unmarried? Let’s do something sinful. God will understand.”

We lasted the whole night. We didn’t want to let each other go. For the first time in our lives, we spent a night together. She left my room at 6 a.m. and dashed out like a thief in the night.

It started raining heavily before we could get to the church. When I got there, there were only three people, and later my family joined. Even our pastor was late. When Rose was ushered in, she was a little wet. She whispered, “God is punishing us. I told you not to do it.”

That moment when I laughed was captured in a photo that hangs on our wall.

We had our wedding in an almost empty room, but the reception was electric. It looked like the sky decided to clear just to give us a moment to be happy. I was looking at the two women who made it possible. Both of them had lost their husbands years ago. I could imagine them missing their better halves as they watched us walk the aisle. My mom kept drinking. Rose’s mom kept laughing.

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After our wedding, they came to live with us for over two months. When we had our baby, they came home together, fighting over whose name was better suited for the baby. I chose Rose’s mom’s name for our daughter, and my mom said, “The next one is mine.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t live long enough to see the next one. She was dead before we could get pregnant again. Another girl. We named her after her. Rose’s mom is with us. She never stops mentioning my mom’s name. She has missed a friend, and we could understand the weight on her shoulders.

—Emmanuel

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