Chapter 12 Moyo
Moyo
THE GROUP CALL COMES THROUGH, DESPITE MY PHONE BEING on “do not disturb.” The girls and my parents are the only ones who can reach me when I’ve cut myself off from the world.
I apply clear gloss to my outlined lips and take a moment to marvel at the difference a coat of gloss makes before accepting the call. Sewa and Anjie’s shouts, hollers, and squeals compete with Boistory’s “Ore,” forcing me to turn down the music to hear them better.
“Wow! Maybe we should go out tonight,” Anjie says, “’cause the way you’re looking, I’m sorry, I don’t think whoever you’ve done all this for deserves it.”
“Unless it’s that Cupid’s Bow sales rep guy you were gushing about. Him, I’ll consider,” Sewa says, her face out of frame so I can only see her green bonnet.
I give them a deadpan stare at the mention of Niyi.
I can’t entertain the thought. Do I find him attractive?
Yes. But he doesn’t fit into my new Cupid’s Bow-specific plan.
I’ll be dating but only using matches from the app.
They’ve figured out the formula, and the couples from the mixer prove that it works.
Niyi—despite being one of the most stunning men I’ve ever seen—isn’t a Cupid’s Bow match.
Our astrology is untested. I’m not taking that risk.
“So, what’s the new plan?” Anjie reads my mind. “Don’t look at me like that. I know your face when you have something on your mind. Share with the class.”
“And what if I said there was no plan this time?”
“I’d call you a liar, but I don’t like doing that,” Sewa says, bringing her face into view.
She’s in bed, smiling, but the dark circles under her eyes are more prominent.
Whenever we ask, she says that grad school is difficult and a PhD is more tiring than it looks.
I believe her. Some of my med school peers were MD/PhD candidates, and most of the time, they walked through life like zombies.
I don’t want to see Sewa go through zombification.
“Share the plan,” Anjie coos.
I sigh. “Okay, there is a plan,” I begin. Because would I be myself without one? No. “I’ll use Cupid’s Bow and their coaching service exclusively. No dating anyone aside from the people matched by the app.”
They’re both quiet for a little too long.
“Well?” I prompt.
“It’s…” Sewa begins.
“A little…” Anjie says.
“Limiting,” Sewa concludes.
“I was literally going to say the same thing!” Anjie and Sewa try to high-five through the phone. These two are ridiculous.
I had a feeling they’d say this, and I don’t blame them because they don’t get it. They weren’t at the mixer. They didn’t feel the outpouring of authentic love from that couple on stage like a gush of water bursting through a dam.
“I’m going to trust the process. The couples I saw at the mixer were just too…” I groan, unable to describe the affection that flowed through the hall. “I’m trusting the process that gave those people their ‘happily ever afters,’ okay?”
“Okay,” they chorus.
Cross-examination concluded, Sewa opens her big mouth. “Plus, you get to work with that Niyi.”
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. How many times am I going to explain this?
After telling them about our initial meeting, our interaction at the mixer, and my pre-dates meeting, they think there’s something there.
Yes, he’s attractive. But our interactions have consisted of mild irritation and bickering.
I won’t pretend the arguing isn’t riveting, but it’s ultimately not what I’m used to romantically.
“One, he’s brash and he talks back a little too much. Two—”
“But you like it when we argue?” Sewa interjects.
“You guys are my friends. A man is meant to sit pretty, listen, and buy me things.”
“Well, you’re not wrong,” Anjie says, and that causes us to laugh.
“And two, he’s not part of the plan. Cupid’s Bow vetted men for me already. Plus, he’s going to be my coach. He literally cannot fit into the criteria,” I say, hoping they understand and that this will be the last time I have to detail why I’m not interested in him that way.
“But he spoke French,” Sewa says.
“And will you sell your soul for a baguette?” I ask with a poker face.
Anjie bursts out laughing, and then Sewa and I join in, cackling at varying decibels.
The conversation moves out of Niyi-territory for the rest of our time on the phone. I’m about to order my ride when Sewa says, “You sure you’re ready to go on a date?” Her beautiful round eyes soften in a blend of concern and love.
I pause and present an assured smile. “Yeah. It’s just a first date, and he seems nice.”
My first match came three days after the Cupid’s Bow HQ meeting with Niyi—Julian, a twenty-five-year-old Pisces man.
His age and the Pisces of it all made me want to call Merc up and ask if they were joking, but after chatting with him online, I could see why we were paired.
He’s a straightforward, ambitious, bordering-on-successful marketing professional.
He’s been polite and flirtatious. Bonus, there’ve been no red flags.
“Where are you guys going again?” Anjie asks.
“The rooftop place we went to over the summer.” I smile, reminiscing. Boston doesn’t have many fine things, but the proximity to the Atlantic Ocean is a winner.
“Their food was nice.” Anjie nods.
“The DJ was my favorite part,” Sewa says.
During the summer, they had an amazing DJ who played everything from Whitney Houston to Soca to Afrobeats.
Granted, it was a Black event, hosted by a Black collective, but it was still at the bar with scenic ocean views.
Now it’s colder so I don’t expect the same DJ, but I heard they had outdoor seating with heated inflatable igloos.
“I’ll let y’all know how the food is this time around,” I say.
“And call us after the date,” Sewa says.
“Of course! I’m sure it’ll be fine. Can’t get cheated on at a bar,” I joke, but it doesn’t land. Instead, concern mars their faces, and I beat myself up. I can’t keep giving them reasons to be concerned.
We’re big texters who like an impromptu video call every once in a while, but the past three weeks have been unbelievable.
I love them, but it’s as if they hacked into my schedule and planned for someone to check in at regular intervals.
In addition to their “Big Brother”-like hold on my life, Anjie’s been dropping off more food.
Not that I’m complaining, but she’s acting like I no longer know how to cook.
No longer know how to live since the Cole incident. I’m tired of it.
“Moyo, if you do—”
“Bye.” I end the call mid-sentence, stopping Anjie from finishing whatever thought that would make me consider staying home. I’m committed to giving dating another go, so I just need to take that first-date leap. What’s the worst that could happen?
Date #1
I SHOULD LEAVE.
It’s been almost thirty minutes with no word from Julian.
What’s the worst that could happen? I’d dared to wonder. Apparently, it’s getting stood up by a fucking Pisces man.
But every time the urge to grab my purse and leave rises, the packed rooftop with its blue iridescent lights and transparent circular tents cools the fire of my growing annoyance.
I want to eat here, in one of these fake igloos, and have a nice night.
I want to stick to my plan. I need to stick to my plan.
Use Cupid’s Bow, go on the date, see the infuriating Niyi again, and find true love.
It’s an easy plan. And it should work in no time, barring the next Cupid’s Bow man being a cheater like Cole…
if I ever get to meet him. Despite my hesitance, I wait.
If anything is going to ruin my chance at love, it won’t be my impatience.
I’m silently seething—I said I’d wait, not that I wouldn’t have an attitude about it—when a firm hand perches on my shoulder.
I turn around, ready to cuss out the stranger infringing on my personal space, when I recognize him.
It’s the lightly tanned skin and gorgeous, hazel eyes that I’ve grown accustomed to over the past week though his Cupid’s Bow profile picture—Julian.
Finally.
I’m about to comment on his tardiness when I notice his slight grimace and the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Cut him some slack, Moyo. I reluctantly chill as Julian’s words tumble out with the grace of a hydroplaning vehicle.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he says. His eyes are apologetic, but as he takes me in, they fill with desire, burning low, like a pot on simmer.
“I got you this.” Julian pulls a rose bouquet from behind his back. I fight back my wince, replacing it with a tepid smile.
It’s not his fault he got me roses. That’s the default. It’s a good gesture.
Julian’s trying to make up for his undesirable start, and I should let him. The night is still young.
“It’s okay. It’s only been thirty minutes, not the end of the world,” I say, attempting to reassure him, and myself, before calling for the waitress’s attention.
“I accidentally spent a little too long making sure I look good for you. Fashionably late, as they say. How did I do?” Julian shoots me a cheeky grin as he gestures to his plain white- button down, Hermes belt holding up gray pants that are a few inches too short, thus revealing brown Fendi socks and black dress shoes.
I clench my teeth. “You look good.”
“But you give me a run for my money.”
On our walk towards one of the igloos, I force my smile to remain in place while my fist clenches and unclenches.
It’s just a date, I remind myself. It’s part of my plan. And it’s a simple date that, despite the late start and interesting wardrobe choices, could still go well. The roses aren’t indicative of anything. Julian isn’t Cole.
But at least Cole dressed better.
I banish the thought as we sit, and Julian spends a moment admiring the blue lights around us.
“So, how was your day?” I ask, breaking the ice.
“Good,” Julian says. “Spent the morning at the gym—leg day—and the rest of the day working on a personal project for my portfolio.”