Chapter 18
It had been a few weeks since Theo and I last spoke, and the silence weighed heavier on me than I cared to admit.
I missed him – more than I should’ve. But with Sade’s reprimand still echoing in my head, guilt kept me from reaching out.
Getting in contact felt selfish, and yet doing nothing felt just as wrong.
I tried to concentrate all my energy into work, doing overtime and other tasks to keep my mind busy (with a now very meek and professional Jeff at bay), and spent my spare time with my little nephew, going over last-minute wedding details with Mum and Femi, and even dipping a toe back into the dating scene.
The rebound phase didn’t last long. After a week of back-to-back dates with guys from every app under the sun, I tapped out.
None of them came close to what I’d had with Theo – and the truth was, my heart still ached for him.
It was now three weeks until the wedding and I was at Mum’s house, helping her put together twelve bouquets of fake flowers she’d bought on for the reception tables after refusing to invest in purchasing real flowers for the day.
‘That floral shop in town quoted me two grand for flower arrangements, as if we’re not in a cost of living crisis?’ she moaned, passing me the coloured bow to tie up the bouquets, kissing her teeth loudly. I chuckled as I tied up the plastic peony bouquet and placed it on the counter.
‘I think flowers are such a scam, personally. Why are we paying for things that die as soon as you cut the stems? Also, if you’re only using the flowers for a day, there should be an opportunity to just rent them instead of buying them. Makes more sense really.’
We spent the rest of the day knee-deep in floral decorations, as well as ticking off other wedding tasks that needed doing.
It didn’t take long to realise this wedding was less ‘elegant soirée’ and more ‘Pinterest board’ come to life – minus the budget and a team.
I took a break after designing the fiftieth guest seating card on Canva and sat on her bed, watching her hem the Phase Eight wedding dress that she’d bought for ￡75 on eBay.
Mum was determined to cut costs by any means necessary.
She had bought a beautiful ivory halter neck-style maxi dress that featured hand-stitched ruffles with pearlescent beads that caught the light as she walked.
It was a little long, hence the hemming, but she looked absolutely sensational in it.
‘So, Cassie,’ she started, as I helped her pin the lining of the dress, ‘I know you said I shouldn’t ask but, do you have an update about who you’re bringing?’ I let out an exasperated sigh. She refused to let this go.
‘Mum, no offence, but why does this matter so much? It’s your day; it’s not about me. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m fine.’
Mum dropped her pins and looked at me, her eyes sad. Were you truly an African parent if you didn’t constantly worry about the marital status of your first-born daughter?
‘I know you’re fine, honey. You’ve always been fine.
But I worry, you know? It’s more than just you bringing a date to the wedding, I suppose.
I always thought my first grandchild would be produced by my first-born – not that Aaron isn’t a blessing served by God, of course—’ she quickly added in, noticing my cocked eyebrow ‘—but I worry about you sometimes. I’ve heard from some of the younger girls at work about how hard dating is, and I just don’t want that for you.
You’re an incredible spirit – so beautiful – with so much to offer.
I just want to see you happy and settled is all.
It took me a while to get over the fact that you didn’t want to be a lawyer and now I can see that you’re happy where you are at career-wise which is nice, but I also want more for you. I can’t be blamed for that.’
‘But why must my happiness be framed around settling down, though?’ I asked.
We’d had this discussion several times before; about the African urge to centre men in everything and how problematic and patriarchal it was.
Despite the many conversations, it always seemed as if she never fully ‘got’ it.
‘Why can’t I just be happy and single? I promise you, Mum, I’m OK!
I’m thriving. I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. ’
She looked at me quizzically. I knew she was sick of me at that point. ‘If you say so, my child. I just want you to be happy,’ she eventually answered, going back to hemming her dress.
‘But let’s say I had someone in mind to bring along,’ I continued, a thought suddenly occurring to me. ‘Would you and Dad judge him if he looked a particular way, or didn’t go to university … or had a job that was a bit … unorthodox?’
It was quick, but I saw the subtle smile that emerged from her lips.
‘First of all, your dad’s not invited to the wedding. Let’s start there.’ We laughed in unison.
‘Secondly, I wouldn’t care what he does – as long as it’s legal, he earns enough to take care of you, and most importantly, he makes you happy. That’s what really matters!’
I side-eyed this slightly. It sounded good in practice, but in reality …
‘So! Does this mean you do have someone in mind then?’ Her eyes widened, full of excitement.
‘Mm. Maybe; we’ll see,’ I muttered quietly. My mum’s response had made me feel a tiny bit more confident about what I had been planning to do, but I still felt awkward.
After what I had put him through, what if he rejected me?
‘Well, that’s wonderful!’ my mum practically yelled, throwing her dress down and clapping her hands. ‘I won’t ask you to elaborate; I just hope he has a corporate job and is tall. Is he from a good family? Are they Ghanaians too? Hopefully he’ll be ready to settle down too!’
This woman.
I got home that evening, fuelled by determination and just the right amount of desperation.
Reaching out to Theo directly was out of the question; the thought of being ignored twisted my stomach.
But he wouldn’t ignore a potential job opportunity, would he?
With Toby snoring obliviously at my feet, I opened the OuiMeet app and pulled up his profile.
My fingers hovered for a moment before I took the plunge.
This was it – my last shot. If he rejected me here, then it was over.
Done. But if he didn’t … maybe, just maybe, the door between us wasn’t fully closed.
I scrolled through to his menu and clicked on the ‘One-off special event (weddings, school reunions etc) – ￡500 + expenses’ option.
I clicked it, opened his calendar for the 30th of May and quickly transferred the ￡500 from my savings account into my current account before confirming the booking. Now all I had to do was wait.
Three days later, and no response from Theo.
Normally, he was good at responding as soon as I made a booking, so I wasn’t sure whether to note ‘no response’ as a good thing.
The booking still appeared in my calendar as ‘confirmed’ on the app, so that was something, I supposed.
The wedding was in ten days, so there was still a bit of time for him to respond.
I tried not to think about him as I went about my normal routine at work, making sure to lock in especially at work; I started working through lunch again, and stayed behind to start on new referrals for the following day.
I needed distraction, and the spring influx of new patients – alongside Kofi’s one week annual leave – provided me with enough to do to stop from catastrophising.
I also tried to be as proactive as possible, even going so far as to look up other profiles on OuiMeet in the event that Theo cancelled at the last minute.
I’d narrowed down my results to three other potential guys:
Prophet, 33 from Dulwich
Chad Thrustworthy, 35 from Chiswick (What can I say? I like a pun)
Pretty Ricky, 32 from Stoke Newington
All corny. But they were all also incredibly handsome and well dressed from what I could see on their profiles. They would all do, for that night, anyway; I’d bookmarked them just in case.
It was now exactly a week until the wedding, and still no word from Theo, understandably.
I had been checking his Instagram all week, and had seen various Instagram stories of him at dinner, and playing football with his friends after work, confirming that he was just ignoring me all along.
Dismayed, I logged into OuiMeet and clicked onto Chad Thrustworthy’s profile. He would have to do for the wedding.
I was just about to tap on his profile when my phone buzzed, blaring the OuiMeet notification like it was trying to startle me into cardiac arrest. I practically launched it onto the bed. Great – exactly the kind of calm, composed energy I wanted to bring into this emotionally reckless decision.
I slowly picked up the phone, navigating to my OuiMeet inbox, and saw that there was a message from Theo; however, it looked like an automated message. Great. It was probably a message to say he had declined the booking request – or worse, that he had blocked my account.
I squinted through one eye, as I clicked on the auto-reply, preparing for the humiliation of being rejected yet again:
Jericho has applied a 50% discount code to your booking, Therefore you will only be charged ￡250 for this service.
I rubbed my eyes and looked at the message again.
Had he forgiven me? I supposed it meant that he had in fact accepted the booking?
I couldn’t allow myself to feel a full sense of relief; I wasn’t out of the woods yet.
I had to confirm. Sitting upright, I quickly typed him a message, praying that he was still online.
Hey Theo, thanks for the discount. Um … does this mean you’ll be my plus one for the wedding? I’d really love for you to come with me, and meet my family. I hope you’ve been well. Cassie x