Chapter 12 Moyo #2
My ears prick up. Work is a safe topic, an easy gateway to getting to know someone. We had talked a little on the app, but nothing veering into real world topics.
I lean in. “I’d love to hear more.”
“I love my job. It’s great. But I’ve been there since I graduated college,” he says, and I stiffen a little at the reminder of the age difference.
College must’ve been not too long ago for him, while I barely remember my time.
“And I want to move on soon. So, I’ve taken on some personal clients, and part of my Saturday goes to working on those. ”
“Working on the weekend isn’t great, trust me I know,” I say, finding congruence in our working habits, as I think back to weekends spent poring over Danaya’s pro bono request. “But I hope you’re at least enjoying the work.”
Julian huffs. “It’s work. SEO content writing and website copywriting for this gift shop brand.”
“A gift shop brand? Like a chain of shops?”
I await his response, genuinely curious, but instead, his voice comes out soft.
“God, you’re breathtaking,” Julian exhales as if in a trance. He quickly snaps out of it. “Sorry, I got a little distracted. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but you look amazing. Even more than on Cupid’s Bow.”
The appreciation makes me smile. “And you’re not so bad yourself.” I return the compliment even though the deep-blue lights aren’t great on him.
“Coming from you? It feels like I’ve won the lottery,” he jokes. “To answer your question, they curate and ship gift baskets. I don’t understand it, but they pay well.”
My mind goes to all the gift baskets my parents routinely receive during the Christmas holidays. Growing up, and till this moment, I suppose, I always imagined it to be a Herculean task to make and deliver those heavy baskets that housed vacation chocolates, pantry items, and other household goods.
“Is it an everything basket?” I ask. Now Julian looks confused, so I clarify. “Growing up, we had baskets with everything from chocolates to champagne to pasta and other pantry items.”
“These are more curated from what I’ve seen,” Julian says.
I give him a moment to explain further, but it never comes.
He takes me in, smiling intently. The previous low simmer in his eyes burns brighter now, and in another circumstance, I might welcome it, but during a date where getting to know each other is the goal, it’s too much.
Not a pleasant simmer, but a scalding bath.
With my Cupid’s Bow plan on my mind, I continue. “Any interesting examples you’ve seen? I imagine a chocolate basket is pretty typical.”
Julian’s smile tempers. “Nothing exciting. And honestly, I’d rather not think about work with someone as beautiful as you in front of me.” He leans forward, breathing me in like a smoker savoring their last pull. His eyes roam, zeroing in on my chest.
Not to compare a date to a meeting with a Cupid’s Bow worker, but when Niyi looked at me, it felt different. More tasteful than this. I want to be adored and lusted after, but not like this.
I redirect him with a noticeable throat clear.
“How about we look at the menu,” I say, unable to keep the harsh edge out of my voice. As I scan our options, the tension loosens, and I remember why I picked this restaurant—the food.
“Oooh, churro fries,” I coo.
“The chicken wings sound pretty good,” Julian says, his excitement almost mirroring mine. The joy brings a boyish charm out of him.
I examine his soft features and growing beard. Despite the blue light, he is handsome. When he isn’t staring at me like a hawk.
“Boy, they’re glorified chicken nuggets, talmbout boneless chicken wings,” I tease, feeling more comfortable.
“Hey! I don’t like regular wings, so bring on the nuggets,” he laughs, still scanning the menu.
I pause. “Wait, really?”
“One day, they just stopped being good. Haven’t eaten them since,” Julian explains, and I nod in understanding. Growing up, we always ate ogi and akara on Saturdays. Then one day, I stopped. It no longer smelled or tasted right.
“I also have my share of food I randomly stopped eating,” I say.
“Good to hear I’m not the only weird person.”
“Yeah, when I was seven, I stopped—” The sound of rippling plastic announces another presence in the now-cozy igloo. The soft beats of growing familiarity leave as a server in black leggings and a white shirt approaches us. Her oval face is made up simply, her hair pulled into a tight bun.
“Can I start you guys off with any drinks or appetizers?” she asks with an inviting smile. My mouth opens to order, but Julian gets there first.
He leans forward, menu choked between his forearm and the table. “I’d like the wings and a gin and tonic.”
The server, whose name tag reads Jo, scribbles down his order, without sparing him a second glance. She shifts towards me, and I give her a courteous smile and open my mouth to order when Julian interrupts…again.
I take a quick breath, trying to quell my irritation.
“What else would you recommend?” he asks. Jo stiffens and pivots to face him once more, her previously welcoming smile replaced with a generic version.
“Customers typically enjoy the sliders, but if you’re feeling very Bostonian, I recommend the clam chowder,” she recites, as if reading from the menu’s back matter.
“But what would you—” Julian leans forward and squints to read her name tag.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Jo—Jo, is it?” Julian gazes up at the waitress. “Your name can’t be Jo. I mean, look at you.”
And like he did to me, his eyes rake over her body. Unlike with me, he skips her face, automatically going to her chest and then spends considerable time looking at her legs.
I don’t bother controlling my anger.
“Her name is none of your business, Julian,” I say through a gritted smile, hoping to command his attention, while not making Jo feel even more uncomfortable.
Jo looks at me, and I wonder if I should even order anything, but her cool, brown eyes roll slightly, and I know she’s unfazed by Julian’s actions. Still, I give her an apologetic look before ordering a Paloma and churro fries.
Once Jo finishes taking my order, I turn to Julian, ready to confront him. But I have to wait, because instead of looking at me, he turns to follow Jo’s movements, taking special interest in the sway of her hips.
When he’s done ogling, he faces me like nothing happened.
“Can you imagine someone like that”—he points his thumb over his shoulder—“having a masculine name? I can’t imagine what would make her parents choose such a name.”
“Are you serious?”
“Would you choose a masculine name for a pretty girl?” he asks, chuckling.
Voice unshaken—surprising, with the earthquake bubbling inside me—I say, “My name is unisex.”
Julian’s retort dies in his throat. His lips stretch into a fine line before upticking into a smirk. He lifts a glass of water toward me. “Touché.”
“No, not touché. That was uncalled for, you know.”
Forget about Cupid’s Bow and dating. There’s no way I’m sitting here without correcting this pig. I might’ve ignored things about Cole, but even the promise of true love won’t let me ignore this.
“It’s one thing to ask for a recommendation, but it’s another to make comments about her name and her body. It’s disgusting.”
“I didn’t mean it to come off that way. I was curious about the menu, and the name stumped me. Honest.” He places his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry if I upset you, Gorgeous,” Julian says with a degree of playfulness, but I’m not laughing.
“It’s not about me. And I’m not your ‘Gorgeous.’ You have to apologize to her.”
Julian sobers up with a hyperbolic deep breath.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to her.
Sometimes I put my foot in my mouth when I’m in the presence of beautiful women, and with you in front of me, everything is chaos.
” He flashes a bright smile, but it does nothing for me.
He can’t possibly believe he’ll coast through this evening on a dazzling smile.
“You don’t get to blame me for your behavior.”
Julian’s smile fades. “I’m not blaming you,” he sputters out, flabbergasted.
“Then don’t deflect onto me.”
He opens his mouth to say something but thinks otherwise. Smart—oh, he’s starting up again. I guess not that smart.
“I think you’re reading into things too much. I tried to make a joke, and it didn’t resonate as intended. I already said I’ll apologize to her. How about we continue getting to know each other, Beautiful?”
Even a set-up date from my dad would be better than this. At least Nigerian men are initially charming before their misogyny surfaces.
“You know what?” I ask, rhetorically. Lips curled into a snarl.
But Julian responds, blissfully ignorant. “What?”
“This”—I gesture to him—“isn’t worth it.” I push back my chair.
“Babe, c’mon. It was just a joke. Can’t you take a joke?”
Ignoring him, I grab my bag from the chair. He quickly mirrors my actions, blocking my exit.
“You can’t leave yet. Are you jealous of the server? I could never choose someone like her over you.”
That stops me in my tracks. Unfortunately, giving him more room to continue.
“I’m sorry I’m making so many mistakes, Beautiful. No need to be insecure. You’re the one I’m on a date with. I’ll apologize to her, we’ll request another server, and start over. How does that sound, Gorgeous?” He ends with another bright, lopsided smile.
I’m almost amused by his audacity. But it wears off faster than a toddler reaching for a knife.
My next words explode with frustration.
“Why is every other word out your mouth a compliment? ‘Gorgeous’ this, ‘Beautiful’ that—” Then it dawns on me. “Do you even remember my name?”
A creeping redness tints his cheeks and ears.
“Beautif—I’m not the best with names. C’mon, we can still have a great night. I promise. I know how to treat a woman,” he says, his salacious stare burning into me. He attempts to grab my wrist, but I easily yank it from his grip.
“Don’t touch me,” I spit.
He takes a step back, momentarily stunned, before quickly recovering.
“I promise. We can turn it around. You’ve been great to talk to. You’re beautiful, I’m hot, let’s start over,” he pleads, but I walk out.
I don’t know how he got into Cupid’s Bow, but there’s no way that man will become my soulmate—or anyone else’s.
On my way out, I see Jo on her way to serve another table. She raises a brow.
“I had to,” I whisper.
“Girl, I would’ve done the same thing,” she says with a smile and then continues towards the back of the restaurant.
The next thing I hear is my name followed by a clatter of dishes.
I turn to the sight of Jo shrugging with an unapologetic, blank face; Julian wiping a creamy liquid from his eyes with a loud groan. It makes me want to give clam chowder—which is my guess to the mystery dish—a shot.
I catch Jo’s eye once more and recognize her glee. It reminds me of the delight I felt spitting in Cole’s face.
I give her my realest smile of the night.
People always say revenge is best served cold but, as I watch Julian deal with chowder in places where chowder should never be, I think it’s best served hot.