Plot Summary
New Year's Eve Silence
On New Year's Eve, Eve Ezenwa-Morrow's world shatters when she discovers her beloved husband Quentin has died by suicide. The shock is immediate and total; she finds him, and the trauma is seared into her memory. Quentin was the center of her universe, and his sudden, inexplicable death leaves her suspended in disbelief. The silence in their home is deafening, and Eve's mind loops through the last moments, searching for signs she missed. The permanence of death, the impossibility of reconciliation, and the absence of answers become the new reality she must face. Her grief is raw, visceral, and isolating, setting the stage for a journey through the darkest corridors of loss.
The Weight of Absence
In the immediate aftermath, Eve is immobilized by sorrow. Her family surrounds her, but their presence is both comfort and burden. She cannot eat, sleep, or speak; her body aches with the effort of simply existing. The house is filled with reminders of Quentin—his scent, his clothes, his favorite films. Eve's family tries to coax her back to life, but she resists, lost in memories and what-ifs. The guilt of not seeing Quentin's pain gnaws at her, and irrational hope flickers—maybe he'll walk through the door, maybe this is a mistake. But reality is relentless, and Eve is forced to confront the permanence of her loss, the unending ache of missing someone who will never return.
Family in the Aftermath
Eve's Nigerian-British family rallies around her, each member coping in their own way. Her mother turns to prayer, her father dispenses medication and calm, her siblings—Gloria and Nate—alternate between tough love and gentle support. The family's cultural expectations of resilience and stoicism clash with the messy, unpredictable nature of grief. Eve's pain frightens them, and their attempts to help sometimes backfire, deepening her sense of isolation. The house becomes a fortress, visitors are turned away, and the family closes ranks. Yet, beneath the surface, old wounds and sibling dynamics resurface, complicating the process of mourning and healing.
Ghosts and Guilt
Quentin's absence is a living presence in the house. Eve is haunted by his ghost—his laughter, his habits, the life they built together. She replays their last days, searching for clues, blaming herself for not saving him. Aspen, Quentin's mother, arrives with accusations, deepening Eve's guilt and sense of failure. Aspen's grief is sharp, weaponized, and she blames Eve for Quentin's death. The lack of a suicide note leaves both women adrift, desperate for answers. Eve's guilt becomes a second skin, and she withdraws further, unable to forgive herself or find solace in the well-meaning words of others.
Love's Origin Story
Through flashbacks, Eve recalls meeting Quentin at university—a chance encounter that blossomed into an all-consuming love. Their relationship is marked by cultural differences, family skepticism, and the intoxicating certainty of young love. Quentin, the golden boy from a wealthy, complicated family, is drawn to Eve's warmth and intelligence. Their courtship is swift, passionate, and defiant. They marry young, blending Nigerian and British traditions, and build a life filled with laughter, inside jokes, and shared dreams. Yet, even in happiness, there are undercurrents of insecurity, cultural tension, and the shadow of Quentin's troubled relationship with his mother.
Aspen's Accusations
Aspen, Quentin's formidable mother, becomes a central antagonist in Eve's grief. She refuses to believe Quentin would take his own life, blaming Eve for his death and for "stealing" him from his family. Aspen's grief is expressed through control—demanding explanations, possessions, and eventually, legal action. Her relationship with Eve is fraught, marked by microaggressions, class and racial tension, and a refusal to accept Eve as family. Aspen's inability to process her own loss leads her to lash out, making Eve's mourning even more complicated and painful.
Siblings and Survival
Eve's siblings, Gloria and Nate, become her lifelines and her mirrors. Gloria, the eldest, is a force of nature—protective, pragmatic, and sometimes overbearing. Nate, the youngest, offers quiet, steadfast support. Their shared history—schoolyard battles, family expectations, and the navigation of British-Nigerian identity—shapes their responses to tragedy. Old patterns resurface: Gloria tries to fix everything, Nate offers silent presence, and Eve struggles to accept help. Their love is fierce but imperfect, and the strain of Quentin's death tests the bonds that have always held them together.
The Shape of Grief
As days turn to weeks, Eve's grief evolves. She cycles through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and fleeting moments of acceptance. The world moves on, but she remains stuck, unable to imagine a future without Quentin. Well-meaning friends and family urge her to "move forward," but the pressure to recover feels suffocating. Eve's pain is compounded by the expectations of her culture, her family, and herself. She resists the narrative of "resilience," insisting on the right to grieve messily, loudly, and on her own terms. The process is nonlinear, marked by setbacks, small victories, and the slow, painful work of healing.
Friends Who Stay
Bee, Eve's best friend, becomes a crucial anchor. Fierce, funny, and unafraid to challenge Eve, Bee offers both tough love and unconditional support. Their friendship is a lifeline—Bee cooks, cajoles, and sits with Eve in silence. Other friends, like Jackson (Quentin's best friend), struggle with their own grief and guilt, but their presence reminds Eve she is not alone. The support of friends—old and new—helps Eve begin to reengage with the world, even as she resists the idea of "moving on." These relationships, forged in the crucible of loss, become the foundation for Eve's eventual recovery.
The Funeral That Wasn't
Planning Quentin's funeral becomes a battleground—between Eve and Aspen, between tradition and personal meaning, between the need for closure and the impossibility of saying goodbye. Aspen wants a family plot; Eve insists on honoring Quentin's wishes, even improvising a Viking ship casket to reflect his quirky desires. The funeral is both cathartic and devastating, a public performance of grief that leaves Eve feeling exposed and empty. The rituals of mourning—cleaning out Quentin's things, deactivating his social media, scattering his ashes—are fraught with conflict, memory, and the ache of unfinished business.
The House That Held Us
The house Eve and Quentin shared becomes a character in its own right—a repository of memories, arguments, and dreams. Every room is haunted by their life together, and Eve struggles to inhabit the space without him. Aspen's legal threats—over possessions, ashes, and even the house itself—turn home into a site of anxiety and defense. Eve's attempts to reclaim the house, to make it her own, mirror her efforts to rebuild her life. The process is slow, painful, and marked by setbacks, but the house ultimately becomes a symbol of survival and adaptation.
Aspen's War
Aspen escalates her campaign against Eve, enlisting lawyers to demand family heirlooms, Quentin's ashes, and even access to Eve's unborn child. The legal threats are both absurd and terrifying, forcing Eve to rely on her sister Gloria's legal expertise and her own reserves of strength. Aspen's actions are driven by grief, guilt, and a need for control, but they also expose the limits of family, the wounds of class and race, and the impossibility of closure. The war with Aspen becomes a crucible in which Eve must define her boundaries, assert her rights, and ultimately, let go of the need for Aspen's approval.
The Unbearable Everyday
Grief is not just about the big moments—it's in the everyday: shopping for groceries, watching TV, waking up alone. Eve is ambushed by memories at every turn, and the world's indifference to her pain feels like a betrayal. The pressure to "get better," to return to work, to be "normal" again is relentless. Eve's attempts to rejoin the world—returning to her job at Circle, attending family gatherings, even laughing for the first time—are fraught with guilt and ambivalence. The ordinary becomes extraordinary in its difficulty, and healing is measured in tiny, hard-won increments.
The Art of Coping
Unable to face traditional therapy or support groups, Eve stumbles into a life drawing class. There, she meets Luisa and Drew, two strangers who become unexpected friends. Art becomes a form of therapy—a way to process pain, express emotion, and reconnect with the world. The act of creation, the discipline of observation, and the camaraderie of the class offer Eve a new language for her grief. Through art, she begins to see herself—and her loss—differently, finding moments of peace and even joy amid the sorrow.
Pregnancy and Panic
A bike accident reveals that Eve is pregnant with Quentin's child—a discovery that brings both hope and terror. The pregnancy is complicated by guilt (over her drinking and pill use), fear (of motherhood, of repeating past mistakes), and the looming threat of Aspen's interference. Eve's ambivalence about the baby mirrors her ambivalence about the future. The pregnancy becomes a catalyst for change, forcing Eve to confront her grief, her relationships, and her own capacity for survival. The prospect of new life is both a burden and a blessing, a reminder that healing is possible, but never simple.
Running from London
Overwhelmed by grief, legal threats, and family pressure, Eve flees to the Isle of Man—a place filled with memories of happier times with Quentin. There, she confronts her pain in solitude, haunted by the past but also finding moments of clarity. The island becomes a liminal space—a place to grieve, to remember, and to begin letting go. Visits from friends and family, and the kindness of strangers, remind Eve that she is not as alone as she feels. The journey is both literal and metaphorical—a necessary step in the long process of healing.
Isle of Man Reckoning
On the Isle, Eve attends a photography retreat where Quentin was meant to speak. Seeing his work through the eyes of strangers, she is forced to confront the reality of his pain, the limits of her knowledge, and the impossibility of saving him. The retreat becomes a turning point—Eve realizes that closure may never come, that some questions will remain unanswered. She returns to London, changed but not healed, ready to face the unfinished business of her life: Aspen, her family, her unborn child, and the work of living after loss.
Letters, Lawsuits, Letting Go
Back in London, Eve faces Aspen one final time, asserting her right to grieve, to mother, and to move forward. Legal battles are resolved, relationships are mended, and Eve begins to reclaim her life. The birth of her daughter, Quinn, is both an ending and a beginning—a testament to survival, love, and the possibility of hope after devastation. Surrounded by family and friends, Eve scatters Quentin's ashes on the Isle of Man, honoring his memory and embracing the future. The story ends not with closure, but with acceptance—a recognition that grief is ongoing, but so is life.
Analysis
A modern meditation on grief, love, and survivalSomeday, Maybe is a powerful exploration of what it means to lose the person you love most—and to find a way to keep living in the aftermath. Onyi Nwabineli's novel refuses easy answers or tidy resolutions; instead, it insists on the messiness of grief, the complexity of family, and the necessity of community. Through Eve's journey, the book interrogates the expectations placed on women, the weight of cultural identity, and the ways love can both save and destroy us. The novel's nonlinear structure, rich characterization, and unflinching honesty make it a standout meditation on loss. Its ultimate message is one of hope—not the facile hope of "moving on," but the hard-won hope of surviving, adapting, and finding meaning in the ruins. In a world that often demands resilience without acknowledging pain, Someday, Maybe offers a bracing, compassionate reminder that healing is possible, but never simple—and that love, even when lost, leaves a mark that endures.
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Characters
Eve Ezenwa-Morrow
Eve is the heart of the novel—a Nigerian-British woman whose life is upended by her husband's suicide. Intelligent, sensitive, and fiercely loyal, she is both deeply loved and deeply wounded. Her relationships—with her family, her friends, and Quentin—are complex, shaped by culture, history, and the weight of expectation. Eve's grief is raw and unfiltered; she resists easy narratives of resilience, insisting on the right to mourn messily and on her own terms. Her journey is one of survival, adaptation, and ultimately, acceptance. Through art, friendship, and the birth of her daughter, she begins to find meaning in the aftermath of loss.
Quentin Morrow
Quentin is both presence and absence—a charismatic, talented photographer whose inner pain remains hidden until it is too late. Born into wealth and privilege, he is haunted by family trauma, a difficult relationship with his mother, and the pressure to be extraordinary. Quentin's love for Eve is genuine and transformative, but his inability to share his struggles leads to tragedy. In death, he becomes a mystery to be solved, a wound that cannot heal, and a memory that shapes the lives of those he leaves behind.
Aspen Bowes-Morrow
Aspen is Quentin's formidable mother—a woman of wealth, power, and unyielding will. Her grief is expressed through control, blame, and legal warfare. Unable to accept Quentin's death or Eve's place in his life, Aspen becomes both adversary and mirror, her pain reflecting and amplifying Eve's own. Aspen's actions are driven by love, guilt, and a desperate need for meaning, but her inability to let go causes harm to herself and others. She embodies the dangers of unresolved grief and the limits of family loyalty.
Gloria Ezenwa-Okorie
Gloria is Eve's older sister—a lawyer, mother, and force of nature. She is fiercely protective, pragmatic, and sometimes overbearing. Gloria's love is expressed through action—organizing, defending, and, when necessary, confronting. Her relationship with Eve is both anchor and battleground, shaped by shared history and the pressures of family expectation. Gloria's own struggles—with work, motherhood, and the limits of her ability to fix everything—add depth to her character and complexity to her bond with Eve.
Nate Ezenwa
Nate is the youngest sibling—a gentle, laid-back presence who offers silent strength. His love for Eve is unwavering, expressed through small acts of care and loyalty. Nate's own struggles—with work, relationships, and the expectations of masculinity—are understated but significant. He is both witness and participant in Eve's journey, reminding her (and the reader) that healing is a collective effort, not a solitary one.
Bee (Belinda Contois)
Bee is Eve's best friend—a sharp-tongued, big-hearted art director who refuses to let Eve disappear into grief. She is both challenger and comforter, unafraid to call Eve out but always present when needed. Bee's own vulnerabilities—her struggles with love, work, and self-worth—mirror Eve's, and their friendship is a model of chosen family. Bee's loyalty, humor, and refusal to give up on Eve are crucial to the story's emotional arc.
Jackson
Jackson is a charismatic, adventurous soul whose grief for Quentin is as deep as Eve's. He struggles with guilt, regret, and the limits of friendship—wondering if he could have saved Quentin, if he missed the signs. Jackson's relationship with Eve is complicated by shared loss, mutual support, and the challenge of moving forward. His presence is a reminder that grief is not solitary, and that healing often requires the company of those who understand.
Luisa
Luisa is a fellow student in Eve's life drawing class—a blunt, no-nonsense woman with her own history of pain and resilience. She becomes an unlikely friend and confidante, offering both practical support and tough love. Luisa's presence in Eve's life signals the possibility of new connections, new ways of coping, and the importance of community beyond family and old friends.
Drew
Drew is another member of the life drawing class—a single father whose warmth and humor offer Eve a glimpse of life beyond grief. His friendship, along with Luisa's, helps Eve reengage with the world, find joy in small things, and imagine a future that includes new relationships and new beginnings.
Quinn
Quinn is Eve and Quentin's daughter, born after Quentin's death. She is both a reminder of loss and a promise of renewal—a living link to the past and a reason to keep moving forward. Through Quinn, Eve finds new purpose, new fears, and new joys. Her birth marks the beginning of a new chapter, one shaped by love, memory, and the ongoing work of healing.
Plot Devices
Nonlinear Narrative and Flashbacks
The novel moves fluidly between past and present, using flashbacks to reveal the depth of Eve and Quentin's relationship, the complexities of family, and the roots of grief. This nonlinear structure mirrors the experience of mourning—where time collapses, memories intrude, and the past is always present. The use of flashbacks allows the reader to understand the full weight of loss, the beauty of what was, and the pain of what can never be again.
Epistolary and Legal Intrusions
Aspen's legal threats, letters from lawyers, and the paperwork of death (wills, funeral arrangements, trust funds) serve as both plot drivers and symbols of the ways grief is mediated by institutions, power, and control. These documents intrude on the personal, turning mourning into a battleground and forcing Eve to confront not just her emotions, but the practical realities of loss.
Symbolism of Home and Objects
Physical spaces and objects—Eve and Quentin's house, the engagement ring, the urn of ashes—are imbued with emotional significance. They become battlegrounds for memory, identity, and belonging. The struggle over these objects mirrors the struggle for meaning, closure, and the right to define one's own grief.
Art as Healing
The life drawing class, Eve's return to art, and the friendships formed there are central to her recovery. Art becomes both metaphor and method—a way to process pain, express emotion, and reconnect with the world. The act of creation is contrasted with the destruction of loss, offering a path forward that is neither easy nor linear, but possible.
Intergenerational and Cultural Tension
The novel explores the complexities of cultural identity, intergenerational trauma, and the expectations placed on women, wives, and daughters. Eve's Nigerian heritage shapes her experience of grief, her relationships with family, and her sense of duty. The tension between tradition and modernity, between resilience and vulnerability, is a constant undercurrent, adding depth and nuance to the story.
Absence of Closure
The lack of a suicide note, the impossibility of fully understanding Quentin's pain, and the unresolved conflicts with Aspen all underscore the novel's central truth: closure is a myth. Healing is ongoing, nonlinear, and incomplete. The story ends not with resolution, but with acceptance—a recognition that grief is a companion, not an enemy to be vanquished.
