Chapter 15 #3
For some reason, that admission landed hard – like a slap I didn’t see coming.
It was the first time he’d mentioned seeing another client in front of me since I’d asked about it a few weeks ago.
The way he said it felt intentional, almost like he wanted a reaction – as if he was trying to make me jealous.
But instead of stirring up any kind of desire, it just turned me off completely.
If anything, it gave me the ick.
‘OK …? Well, I hope your next appointment goes smoothly, I guess,’ I said in response, covering my body with my duvet. ‘I suppose I’ll see you another time?’
Theo finished getting dressed, walked over to the bed, and pressed a light kiss to my forehead.
As he walked towards the door, I could see that he was clenching his jaw.
Was he really upset? Was he … expecting things to develop into something more serious?
No. I couldn’t allow myself to assume that.
Not when he was still seeing other clients.
‘Sure. You know what to do. Have a great rest of the day.’
And just like that, he turned on his heel and left.
I sat there in silence, more agitated than anything. I could understand that he probably felt a little bruised by the rejection – he didn’t exactly strike me as someone who was used to hearing ‘no’. But the way he had left, so abruptly and coldly, left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Still, I didn’t want to throw away the connection we’d built. The chemistry was undeniable, and he was, objectively, a phenomenal lover. So yeah, I figured I’d probably book him again when the mood struck – hopefully by then, his ego would’ve made a full recovery.
‘You’re actually a witch, you know?’ Sade blasted at me on the phone after I let her know everything that had gone down between Theo and me earlier.
‘WHY ON EARTH would you say that to him? You literally were on the cusp of potentially dating this fine-ass younger man who’s been dicking you down several times a week, only to fuck it all up, for what reason? Have I taught you nothing, child?’
I had been expecting this reaction; and if I had had the guts to look at this situation externally, I’d probably be mad at myself too.
‘Oh, Sade please, I kinda feel bad enough as it is. Imagine I take him to my parents and they start probing him with questions? I wouldn’t want him to lie about what he did.
Also, what if someone recognised him from the website?
And another thing, he’s still sleeping with his clients alongside me, so it’s like …
it was never really set up to last on a deeper level, was it? ’
‘Oh my God, you’re acting as if you guys were about to get married. Why would you be introducing him to your parents already? It wouldn’t have needed to even go that far! But I didn’t know he was still sleeping with the other women – you sure he’s been using protection, yeah?’
I paused at that last question – I genuinely didn’t know. I guess I’d just assumed he was a responsible adult and took the same precautions with his other clients as he did with me. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to question it.
‘One. Yes, I think he is using protection with the others, and two, I was more so thinking about my mum’s wedding in a couple of months.
The thought quickly crossed my mind about inviting him as my plus one.
You know what my parents are like; all the questions and stuff.
And besides, as long as he’s still active on OuiMeet doing what he’s currently doing, there couldn’t be any prospect of a relationship anyway. I’m a monogamous babe.’
Sade groaned. I changed the call to ‘loudspeaker mode’ as I flipped through the notifications on Instagram. I’d seen that he’d left a trail of ‘likes’ on some of my most recent photos. I sighed. Bless his heart.
As Sade continued her lecture about how I’d apparently sabotaged a good thing with Theo, I distracted myself by scrolling through my socials – LinkedIn being the final stop.
Much as I enjoyed my job, I liked to keep one eye on the horizon.
A little career window-shopping never hurt anyone, and let’s be real: I wasn’t about to stay stuck on an NHS Band 7 salary forever.
Checking through my LinkedIn profile friend requests, my eyes were drawn to one profile; it was Jeff. The nerve.
I eventually got off the phone with Sade, and allowed my curiosity to get the better of me as I clicked ‘accept’ on Jeff’s friend request, just to have a nosy look at his profile; I’d planned to unfriend him as soon as I was done snooping.
A quick glance at his profile told me he’d studied medicine at Cambridge, then gone on to complete his specialist training at St George’s.
Impressive – very ‘future consultant who drinks oat matcha lattes’ energy.
I checked his friends list to see if he’d already connected with any of our colleagues.
I saw that he had also connected to four of our other colleagues – as well as Kofi – over the last four days.
All of a sudden a message popped up on my screen. It was from Jeff.
Oh, for goodness sake.
Hi Cassandra. I hope you’ve been well. Just to let you know that I’ll be swinging by the office for a couple of hours tomorrow before going to the other surgery.
I also wanted to again apologise for my terrible oversight and overstepping a few weeks ago.
I’m sorry if this has put you in an uncomfortable position, and I’m hoping we can continue to maintain a civil, professional relationship moving forward.
I rolled my eyes. Sure, he sounded sorry, but the choice of platform said otherwise. Sending this through LinkedIn instead of our work email felt somewhat calculated – as if he was already cushioning himself in case I decided to go to HR. I typed back:
Hi Jeff. It’s all good, thank you for checking in. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I hit ‘send’, and instead, muted his account.
The truth was, when Jeff first arrived, I was physically attracted to him, but I didn’t believe I displayed my attraction towards him in any way.
However, what if subconsciously I had? What if he had been picking up on vibes that I was unintentionally giving out?
I couldn’t necessarily blame him 100 per cent (99 per cent was enough due to him being a colleague), and while what he did had been inappropriate, I also had to sit with the question: had it not been for Theo, would I have leaned in for that kiss too?
I guess I’ll never know, and I never wanted to find out. I logged out of LinkedIn and sighed.
Men. The initial plan was spending the day with Theo at mine, but since his abrupt exit a few hours ago, it had left me with nothing to do.
To pass the time, I whipped out the ￡250 dark-green peplum dress I’d ordered from Karen Millen that I would be wearing at my mum’s shotgun wedding.
Somehow, she’d managed to tick off a surprising number of things in record time, from locking down a small venue to sorting the catering (thank God for aunties who could throw down in the kitchen), and even sending out the e-invites.
Mum and Femi had both made it clear that since it was their second time down the aisle, the wedding would be intimate and fuss-free – which, honestly, suited me just fine.
The theme was green and ivory; Mum and Femi’s favourite colours. I tried on the dress again, standing in the mirror to look at how the dress hugged every curve of my body.
The dress was a bit snug, but by periodically trying it on a couple of times a week, I was hoping that the fabric would be able to stretch just a tiny bit.
The dress hugged and cinched me in all the right areas, something that the larger dress size wouldn’t have been able to do.
It had a low neckline that showed a respectable amount of cleavage, and a corseted bust, complete with a peplum waist that draped into an A-line skirt, complete with tulle gathering. It was absolutely stunning.
I still hadn’t been able to find a date; something my mum kept reminding me of every time we spoke:
‘Cassandra, have you got a plus one yet? I thought you were dating someone? What’s the holdup?’
‘I’m not dating anyone at the moment, Mum, and yeah, I’m still working on it, but would it be the worst thing in the world if I came alone?’
‘Of course it would, don’t be ridiculous! I wouldn’t hear the end of it from your aunties and my cousins. I don’t want there to be rumours started about you, you know? I don’t want people to think you weren’t raised right – that you aren’t wife material.’
‘And if I’m single, why is it that I am positioned as being the problem? Do you know the absolute lizards running around the dregs of London claiming to be real men? If it’s not them listening to red pill, Andrew Tate-style nonsense, then it’s them starting podcasts and I just can’t be arsed, Mum.’
‘Be that as it may, even if it’s a friend, invite someone please. Don’t come and embarrass me on my big day. Thank you very much.’
Africans. Sometimes you have no choice but to laugh.
The alternative is screaming into the abyss at how our worth is still tied to how close we can orbit men, like desperate moons circling dusty little planets.
In the matriarchal dystopia of my dreams, men would be born in solitary confinement, handed a syllabus on feminism, and only granted societal access after passing a rigorous series of trials: empathy exams!
Basic hygiene evaluations! And a multi-stage consent obstacle course.
And even then, parole would be conditional.