Chapter 13 Moyo
Moyo
THE GIANT T-REX IN MY OFFICE ALWAYS DRIVES DARKNESS away.
Patients and their guardians come here with apprehension, fear, or even tears, but it’s hard to stay gloomy around Sandra, with her tiny arms and big feet.
The way she stumbles through a scenic jungle with a clear-blue lake and a volcano in the background reminds me that my patients can handle any terrain, even when their adults think otherwise.
Today, I need that same reassurance.
I rest my head against the tree that connects one wall to another. Thoughts of the catastrophic date with Julian plague my mind.
Am I cursed? I’ve not had a date that piss-poor since college when I saw a drunk rando peeing in the parking lot on my way back to my dorm, after a lackluster date with a cute Econ major who turned out to be an anti-vaxxer.
Did I make the wrong decision getting back onboard with Cupid’s Bow? Will I get another bad match? What if Cupid’s Bow asked that couple to lie? What if they were hired actors? I should have just talked to that Maxwell guy at the mixer.
My 10 a.m. spiral, sponsored by a last-minute cancellation, ends when the best nurse in the whole hospital drops by.
“Aren’t you meant to be doing paperwork or something?
” Yaz’s hair enters the room before she does; it always does.
Her puffy hair sits high in a pineapple bun, and her face sports minimal makeup and a quizzical look.
She enters the room in her soft pink scrubs, matching shoes, and terrifyingly calm energy.
Yaz joined the hospital almost two years ago and has been a blessing ever since.
When I joined, fresh out of my fellowship, I was one of a handful of Black people in the building.
Another reason why Sunday brunch and my relationship with the girls is so important; I was lonely.
I’d come to work, be “presentable,” then return home exhausted, only to do it again the next day.
Community means everything to me, so when I noticed Yaz’s coily bun in the lunchroom for the first time, I almost screamed.
I ran up and tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned around with a scowl, but when her eyes landed on my Black face, her smile grew.
We spent lunch together, and the rest is history.
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “You’re chill today. What’s up?”
Yaz is the most organized person, always no-nonsense in the office, but a completely different person outside the four walls of professionalism. She currently has outside energy, and it’s throwing me off.
Yaz finally looks at me and it’s accusatory. Her eyes are wide and searching. She scans me like I’m at the airport, and my confusion grows. I lift my eyebrows and shake my head. She cocks her head to the side, giving me a deadpan look.
“Are you forgetting something?” she asks.
Did I forget something? I turn to my computer, a gigantic, stone-age device throwing off heat. There are tons of new emails but nothing urgent. And no changes to my schedule.
Yaz hops off the table. “It’s nothing in your email,” she says and tries to cover her laughter with a cough.
I’m still reeling. My eyes dart around the room, ensuring I have all my materials. I rummage through my bag to see if I left anything at home.
“I’m lost,” I say finally, throwing my arms in the air.
“Imagine my surprise hearing from Anjie about you going on a date with some customer service guy from that dating app!” Her tone is playful but has some annoyance behind it.
Yaz hates being out of the loop. She got close to Anjie after I took her to the restaurant.
She tasted Nigerian food, became Anjie’s number-one fan, and now she talks to my best friend without me.
“I don’t know what kind of game of ‘Telephone’ this is, but I did not go on a date with any customer service guy,” I say. Will I be able to go one day without thinking about that vexing Niyi and how his voice scratched an itch I didn’t know I had?
“So, there was no date?” Yaz asks.
“Not with any customer service guy.”
“Why not? Anjie seems to be rooting for him.”
“He’s cute, but mildly aggravating if you ask me.
Most importantly, he’s my dating coach, and after seeing the couples at the Cupid’s Bow mixer, I want to trust the system.
Which means waiting for matches and not pursuing some annoying guy just because he looks good.
Simple. Plus, he’s not my type,” I huff.
Yaz smirks. “Oh, I see why she’s rooting for him. He riles you up,” she says with a shimmy.
Instead of answering, I turn to my email. I am not rehashing this Niyi conversation with someone else. I can’t keep thinking about him, especially not at work.
“Wait, before you go back to work mode. How was the date with whomever it was you went out with, then?”
“He was a misogynistic ass. Completely unworthy of my time,” I say, signaling the end of the conversation with my sharp tone.
Yaz shrugs and stretches. “Well, I tried. Anjie still owes me a week’s worth of meat pie,” she says giddily.
That Anjola Kuti will get a stern talking-to when I get home. The gall she has, offering someone else free pastries! I would’ve given her all the mind-numbing details of the lackluster date if she’d asked me.
“Heard about this year’s gala date?” Yaz asks as she heads for the door.
The Boston Hospital’s Foundation Gala is our annual charity event that always falls just before New Year’s Eve—a time for staff to parade ourselves to donors like beauty pageant contestants. This little act of self-exploitation goes a long way toward job security.
Aside from working hard, staff like me have to bring in either good money or publicity.
Something to make the administration recognize our hard work because they wouldn’t otherwise.
Typically, Black employees aren’t the ones considered for the Clinical Excellence award given out at the ceremony.
But we earn them a lot of money. Last year, I raked in a few thousand dollars with my winning smile and charming personality.
This year, I plan to go big. Not for the hospital per se, but for my clients.
More money equals better services, and hopefully, more support for critical pro bono work for my patients.
Ever since Yaz joined, there have been more diverse hires at the hospital.
Instead of five of us, we’re now ten. A better number—double digits, baby—but not enough.
This is another reason the gala is so important to me.
If I cement my place as an influential staff member, I’ll be listened to more often, and with less pushback.
Medicine is too important for only one demographic to be in charge. My patients are too important.
“Yep! It’s the 29th this year. Praying the weather is good,” I say.
Yaz opens her mouth to say something, but her pager goes off. “Pray I’m not working that night.” She waves the black pager. “I’ll catch you later, girl,” she calls, jogging out the door.
My pager goes off as well, and I groan.
They couldn’t even let me do mindless, menial tasks for my entire free hour, huh? I roll my ankles as I rise from the ergonomic chair and make my way to Dr. Whitney’s office. She’s an older Black woman who has been on the team since long before I joined.
“Oh, look who’s here, Darrell.” Dr. Whitney’s pitch is high as she tries to coax out a boy hidden somewhere inside the room. An unofficial part of my job description as a developmental behaviorist is helping with shy kids.
I sit on the floor, crisscrossing my legs as much as my thighs allow. I pull out one of the blue toy sports cars I always carry in my pocket.
“I have a cool race car but no one to play with,” I say. A dark head of loc’d hair emerges from behind a chair, and Dr. Whitney gives me a nod of appreciation. I let her have the race car—I have plenty—and I leave them to their appointment.
Sometimes, I love my job.
As I leave work, I check my personal email.
The first email that catches my eye is from Cupid’s Bow.
Mercury@: Update! [RESPONSE REQUIRED]
I completely forgot—okay, that’s a lie—I neglected to give the app or my coach an update on last night. I didn’t see the point in setting up an entire meeting to tell Niyi my date was a weirdo who, rightfully, got chowder everywhere by the time I’d left early.
Dear Moyo,
I hope you are doing well.
I wanted to personally check in with you about your date with Julian. I see you have not yet logged in an update to the app. Is everything all right?
Oh, that’s sweet.
Mercury’s been a delight in all my interactions with them. They present a chill, down-to-earth vibe in the media, but for that to be their real personality makes me feel more secure in my decision to remain with Cupid’s Bow.
However, we did receive an update from Julian, and we are sad to hear this wasn’t a perfect match.
I have taken the initiative to schedule your first post-date debrief with your coach, Niyi.
Please find attached the date, time, and location.
Niyi, cc’d here, will be expecting you. Please confirm your availability with him in case of a schedule conflict.
Once again, thank you for being a part of the Cupid’s Bow family.
Yours Sincerely,
Vinny “Mercury” Carr
I finish reading the message, and my face sours.
To say I’m pissed off is an understatement.
I can’t even begin to imagine the bullshit that pig Julian reported.
From his behavior at the table, I know he’s somehow spun this to make himself look good.
Boys like Julian are why I chose Cupid’s Bow in the first place—to eliminate them from my dating pool.
What happened to the exclusivity and the vetting process? I’ll have to ask Niyi and see what he has to say. He seems like a thorough person. Similar to me in that regard. Exactly the type of person, I should be matche—
No. Too much. He’s not an option. Curse those girls, and Yaz, for making me think about him so much.
I shut down the thoughts. Instead, I take a screenshot of the email, send it to the group chat with an annoyed comment, and then chuck my phone into the glove compartment of my car.