Chapter 7 Moyo #2
“In fact, maybe you can set those dating apps to a Nigerian man since you won’t accept my proposal to set you up.
You know Iya Faridah has a nephew about your age,” he begins, and it’s his typical monologue about all the people he knows with single sons or nephews.
I tune him out. Although I love my dad, being set up by him is the last thing I’ll do.
It might take a while, but I’ll figure something out.
“I’ll think about it,” I say when he’s done, and he lights up.
Shit.
“So, I can send your number to Mama Tope?”
My brain conjures the image of the older woman with four sons who constantly terrorized the estate with marriage-minded comments. Her oldest two should be in their late thirties, but I think the one I had a crush on is already married.
“No!” I quickly lower my voice. “No.” I can’t yell at my dad.
“I meant, I’ll think about finding a Nigerian man over here.
You don’t have to do anything, and please do not send my number to anyone.
” I narrow my eyes at him. If I’m not firm, I’ll get random messages from people I’ve never spoken to who are interested in making me their wife.
Besides, I recently met a Nigerian man. The Cupid’s Bow Niyi guy.
“Okay, O! If you change your mind, text me. Many people would love to meet you.”
The doorbell rings, and my phone shows it’s 2:30 p.m. The girls are right on time for brunch. Shocking.
“Are those my other daughters?” Dad cranes his head to the left as if he’ll be able to see the door.
“Yes,” I say before yelling towards the door, “It’s open!”
Anjie walks in with a sheet pan, and the smell of jollof rice graces the room. The mixture of thyme, peppers, bay leaves, tomatoes, and goat meat stock always hits. Sewa, beside her, holds a bottle of champagne. They walk past me to drop the items off on the kitchen island.
“My girls!” Dad calls out.
Anjie plops down beside me while Sewa goes to lock the door. “Mr. A. Kilon poppin’?” she says, brandishing some hand signals she knows nothing about.
“Anjie-panjie.” My dad mimics her movements. What is wrong with those two? “Nothing, oh. Just dealing with this crybaby.”
“Dad!”
“Moyo, inside voice, please,” Sewa says softly as she nestles into the space beside me. “Good aft–I mean, evening, Mr. A. How are you?”
Sewa’s always been the polite one. And having only briefly met my dad in person during commencement weekend, she’s never fully acclimated to his playfulness. Even though I’ve told her she can loosen the reins, she remains cautious. But I get it, because Nigerian elders.
“Sewa, sweetie, if this one can stop giving me a heart attack, I’ll live to see my grandchildren—”
I gasp.
“Ignore her. Tell me how your PhD is going.”
I extricate myself from the lovefest to set up the kitchen for brunch. On Sundays, it stops feeling like I live alone. And this Sunday, after spending the last several experiencing my entire emotional range, I appreciate the community I do have.
I grab several plates, champagne glasses, and the wings I made and set them on the counter beside Anjie’s best-selling jollof. I return to the sappy scene right out of a Hallmark movie and hear them wrapping up with one final word from my dad.
“Moyo, remember what I said. And please call your mother so she knows you’re okay.”
“Will do!” I say, wiping my hands on my blue denim.
“Love you all. Daddy A, out!” He throws up a peace sign.
“Love you too,” the girls reply in chorus.
“Please never say that again,” I say to him, laughing before he hangs up.
Things are quiet for a second, per usual when a phone call with my parents overlaps with brunch, but pick back up when Anjie heads to the sedan for more food.
Because brunch is a weekly occurrence and carrying trays of food on the train is tiresome, her head pastry chef, Mike, graciously allows Anjie to use his car.
Sewa and I believe he’s in love with her because why else would you hand off your car for an entire Sunday?
But Anjie refuses to entertain the idea.
When she opens the tin foil, the decadent smell of asun sliders attacks my nose.
The heavy scent of scotch bonnets hits first, making my eyes and mouth water.
The smokiness of the goat meat comes through next, beautifully complementing the smell of jollof as it heats in the oven.
The buns look freshly baked and fluffy, like cotton candy clouds.
I cannot wait to get my hands on them. Sewa reaches for one, but Anjie swats her hand away.
“Before we dig in…” Anjie looks pointedly at Sewa. “I heard you’re giving dating another try.”
Can’t my dad keep something to himself for five minutes?
I give them a shortened version of my conversation, wanting to get to the delicious food.
I throw in the bit about Uncle D because Anjie knows him from growing up around our family.
Anjie and I met at the bright age of ten in Junior Secondary School One, where we were bunkmates and became life mates.
“Mr. A and I”—she clasps her hands dramatically—“are like this. Always in sync.”
I hit her with the big serving spoon and say, “My friend, let’s sit down and eat.”
We catch up over two sliders each, some wings, and two plates of rice between the three of us. Plus, half a champagne bottle.
“So…dating?” Anjie asks during the commercial break of Only Murders in the Building.
“Speaking of, did the Cupid people ever send any response?” Sewa asks, jogging my memory of the hottie with the stunned face and the too-tight shirt.
I’m about to lovingly cuss them out for forgetting, but then I remember I chose not to tell them.
I take another sip of my drink, looking away from their insistent gazes.
The show resumes, but Sewa pauses it. She squints at me for several long seconds. It’s like watching a bloodhound.
“Yeah, she’s hiding something,” Sewa says matter-of-factly once she finishes her inspection.
“Oh, I know,” Anjie says, taking another sip.
There’s no use hiding anymore.
“Okay. They did send someone from Cupid’s Bow.
This guy, Niyi. He told me about monetary compensation and a dating consultant, or a coach, I forget,” I say, sloshing my drink around.
Niyi, the dark-skinned boy with the perfect smile and burning eyes who made the cool hospital waiting room feel blazing.
“See how she’s smiling at her drink,” Anjie jeers.
“I’m not smiling,” I say, but my face betrays me with a cheesy grin made worse by their aww’s and giggles. I hate these women so fucking much.
“Go on…tell us about him. You know you want to.” Sewa’s sing-song voice gives me the go-ahead.
“Okay, so imagine a guy about yay high.” My hands go above my head a couple of inches. “Gorgeous, dark skin—”
“Damson-dark or Keke-dark?” Sewa cuts in.
I pause, thinking back to the moment in question. The stark white shirt was a breathtaking contrast to the richness of his skin. I’m sure he glistens right out of the shower and glimmers during the summer.
“Darker than Damson.”
Sewa’s eyes widen, and Anjie’s head shoots back, accompanied by a low whistle.
I carry on. “His body also looked good. The white tee did wonders for his figure. I couldn’t see everything, but the biceps were prominent. His smile was sweet, and he had perfect teeth. You know how I feel about good dentition—”
They nod.
“And the best part of the brief encounter was how he looked at me. He looked like he was gazing upon God.”
“Reel it in, Leo,” Sewa laughs.
I ignore her because his eyes—those mesmerizing, dark bronze eyes—are on my mind.
“It truly felt like I was the only girl in the world.” I raise my palm to stop anyone from pointing out the cliché line, and Anjie’s jaw closes. “It felt great to be looked at like that, with reverence. After everything…”
My energy dips, remembering the incident. My friends rub my back.
“And this will not be the last time, trust,” Anjie coos.
We finish the episode. The killer’s still at large and now someone’s poisoned a dog. There’s more to go, but it’s getting late, and we all have early days tomorrow.
“So, before we go. About the offer from Cupid’s Bow. You’re gonna take the refund or what?” Sewa says, putting on her jacket.
“If you don’t want it, you can give it to me,” Anjie jokes.
I bite my lip, thinking of the grave error I made in telling these two about the offer. “I never even asked the amount…” I say and then cringe at their reactions. “I don’t know if it’s for the whole amount I paid or not. I was a little distracted at the time. It was in the middle of work.”
“Sure…” Sewa rolls her eyes.
Anjie reaches for the business card. “Let’s call and find out.”
“It’s a Sunday,” I protest.
“We might get lucky,” Sewa says.
Anjie waves the card in front of my eyes.
It’s a simple white card with pink-and-purple detailing alongside the company logo with a customer care number below.
I don’t know why I kept it in plain sight like that.
I’ve had the chance to throw it out, but it stared at me every day, not as intensely as Niyi did, but close.
Fuck it. I have nothing to lose and only my money to gain back. I hand Sewa my phone, and she dials as Anjie reads the numbers aloud. She shoves the phone to my ear. It’s ringing.
A moment later, a smooth voice I don’t recognize picks up. “Cupid’s Bow, Head of Operations. How can I help?”
“Hi, this is Moyo Adegbite. I received this number from the Cupid’s Bow rep, Niyi, some weeks ago,” I say, pretending I don’t remember the exact day. It was precisely two Mondays ago.
“Oh, yes! Moyo,” the voice says, becoming lighter and more familiar. “This is Vinny Carr or, better yet, Mercury. How can I help you this evening?”
My jaw drops, and I mouth “Mercury” for my audience.
Their jaws also drop. Of course, I recognize the name.
Mercury is one of the most prominent young business owners in the city.
No one knows much about the internal structure of Cupid’s Bow, but Mercury is a local celebrity in the young Black professionals’ space.
“Hi, Mercury, sorry to interrupt your Sunday evening—”
“Not an issue. How can I help?”
“Your rep came by my office and said something about a monetary refund package?”
“Oh, yes. I can write the check right now. I’m so sorry things didn’t work out with your previous match. But I’m curious, were you also interested in our personalized coaching service?”
My father’s voice rings in my mind. I want someone that I am sure of.
But to search for love? I don’t know if I can handle another grand disappointment.
I could use another app, but statistically, Cupid’s Bow is the best. The numbers and reviews don’t lie.
And even though I lowkey want them to so I have a reason to give up, true love can’t lie.
Sewa nudges my arm.
“What’s happening?” Anjie whispers.
“I…” I peter out. I don’t have an answer.
Mercury comes to my rescue. “You know what? Take some more time to think about it. I want to compensate you for that previous match and renew your faith in love and in Cupid’s Bow.
There’s a mixer for current and previous app customers this Wednesday night at 6:30.
If you have time, I’d love for you to join us.
” They pause for a response, but I have nothing to say as I digest the information.
“Regardless, I’ve signed your check, and if you’d like, I can send someone right now to deliver it. ”
“Right now?”
“Yes. I know you haven’t consented to the program yet, but I’ll send the check with your prospective dating coach. You can get to know them, see if you’re a good fit, and then decide after the mixer. How does that sound, Moyo?”
“Can they be here in less than an hour?” I ask, still wanting to get to bed on time.
“Why don’t you give me your address, and I’ll make sure they arrive in thirty minutes or less. And thank you for allowing Cupid’s Bow the chance to make this right. Feel free to call if you have any other concerns. Hopefully, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
I give them my address, and we say goodbye.
I’m stunned. I just spoke to one of the city’s wealthiest people, and they were pleasantly chill.
“Who’s coming in less than an hour? Mercury?” Anjie asks.
“My check and my prospective dating coach,” I say. “Prospective coach because I haven’t decided yet, but Mercury said I can see how I feel about him first,” I quickly clarify.
Sewa smirks wickedly. “You said ‘him.’ That boy on your brain.”
“And to think I was going to ask you guys to stay so I don’t get murdered.”
“You can admit you want it to be him,” Anjie adds.
I herd them towards the door, shaking my head at their audacity. I wasn’t thinking about Niyi. Why would it be him? There’s no reason for it to be him. He wasn’t even on my mind at all till Sewa mentioned him.
“Let me know when you get home,” I say as they leave for the train station. Anjie will retrieve Mike’s car tomorrow when she’s sober, per brunch protocol.
After they leave, minutes pass as I lie on the couch, and I finally turn on Ready or Not to play in the background. I ignore the film as I think about the possibilities.
I could like my coach, or maybe I won’t.
I could use Cupid’s Bow again and find love. Or I might get my heart ripped out again.
This could be the worst idea. Or the best.
The doorbell rings. Either way, it’s time to find out.