Chapter 18 Niyi
Niyi
“WHO’S MOYO’S NEXT DATE?”
Vee’s words ring in my head as I work at Aaron’s studio.
The spin of the wheel and soft clay in my hands aren’t enough to reduce my Moyo-related anxiety.
This anxiety has been vicious—practically taking on a life of its own because I know I’ll need to choose Moyo’s next match from one of the viable candidates, but I don’t want to.
After our coffee shop meeting, I changed some of her answers and rewrote some lines of code, which reduced her dating pool, and most of the people changed.
All except one—Maxwell, the guy from the Cupid’s Bow mixer.
Maybe he was right to approach her that night.
Perhaps it was destined by the stars, and I need to put myself out of my misery and be the cupid that ordains their love.
But I’m stubborn and, evidently, selfish.
Luckily, I still have some time before I have to lock things in because Moyo hasn’t gotten back to me with the questionnaire. Or initiated any contact since our last meeting almost a week ago. Not that I expected her to, but a foolish part of me thought I’d hear from her.
“’Bout to set up for the class,” Aaron says. “Wanna stay?”
I slowly lift the bowl I’ve been crafting for a few weeks and put it away.
I used to attend Aaron’s 10 a.m. class till I got to know him and we became friends.
Now I join him in the early mornings for some silent work time—and whenever I need a break and he’s available, really.
A welcome departure from my talkative Cupid’s Bow reality.
“Thanks,” I say, joining him by the sink to get the clay off my fingers.
“You don’t have to thank me every time,” he scoffs, and I smile. Not because of his words, but because they remind me of what I say to Moyo. I try to push the smile away, but her megawatt personality fills my mind and, like my growing attraction to her, I’m unable to stop.
“Who got you smiling like that?” Aaron asks.
“Oh, nobody. Just work.”
“I like my job”—he looks at the quaint studio—“but it’s never made me that happy. So, who’s the lucky person?”
I wipe my hands with a towel. “It’s one of my clients. She’s making great progress, and I’m sure we’ll find her soulmate soon. She’s one of the girls from the party.”
“The one you danced with?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve fallen for her, huh?” Aaron chuckles.
“I-I-I…” I stutter, trying to find the words to deny it, but it’s impossible. I wouldn’t say I’ve fallen, but I can feel my heart beginning its descent. The lie is in my mind, but my lips want no part of it.
Instead, I tell another truth. “It doesn’t matter if I have. She wants true love, and I can’t give her that.”
Aaron’s smile fades, and the older man examines me. “Why? You just want sex?”
“Fuck, no.” It’s more than that.
“You don’t love her?”
Love. A basic four-letter word and the bane of my existence.
How am I supposed to know what love is if I’ve never experienced it?
My only example of a Saturn experiencing love is my father, and see how that turned out?
Mom was withering away and Dad never noticed till the inevitable happened.
I know I care for Moyo, but love? I’m unsure.
“But you like her?” Aaron asks.
“Very much.”
“So, what’s holding you back? The job? You can quit a job if you really want to.
Shit, I never told you, but I ended up here ’cause I quit my lackluster banking job and drained most of my savings to fund my cross country move for a woman I no longer speak to.
” Aaron laughs, and I expect to hear underlying pain, but there isn’t any.
“And you don’t regret it?”
“Listen, there’s only a few things worth living for, and love is one of them. I had seven glorious years with her before I messed up.” Aaron winces. “What I’m tryna say is, if you care about her, don’t set her up with another guy and then be sad wondering what might’ve been.”
“But the job is family. I can’t quit family.”
“I’m not saying you should, but there’s always that option.” Aaron shrugs. “I got a job for you, if you’re down.”
“Serious?”
“Decided to partner with the event planner to make more custom pieces. You’d be an asset.”
I enjoy making my ceramics, but becoming a full-time artist? How would that work practically?
Aaron picks up on my slight hesitation. “No pressure at all. If you ever decide to leave the family business and go for your girl, let me know.”
“I don’t know…”
“I’m just saying, think about it, ’cause with love, everything’s possible. Next time you’re with her, just be yourself. Ignore work for a second and see how you feel.” He pats me on the shoulder and turns to head to the back room.
“Thanks, man.”
If only it were that easy. I doubt quitting Saturn is possible. Also, the next time I see Moyo, it’ll be for a coaching session. There’s no room to play pretend, even if I want to.
With my stuff in my navy-blue duffel bag, I walk out of the building towards the car park, ready to head home for a lackluster Saturday, when I spot her.
She’s in a casual beige sweat set with a dark-brown, knit coat over it. Her hair sits pretty on top of her head in a loose bun.
What are the odds?
Before I can stop myself, I yell, “Moyo!”
Her head whips around, searching for the sound.
I jog over. “Hey, Moyo.”
She places a hand on her forehead to block the sun as she takes me in. Her eyes linger on my body before she reaches my face. Recognition dawns, and she smiles.
“Niyi!” she gasps. “What are you doing here?”
“Pottery.” I hold up my bag. “Why are you here?”
Moyo lifts her plain, white tote bag. “Retail therapy.”
“What kind?”
She opens the bag and lets me peek. It’s filled with numerous DVDs, but the few that catch my eye are The Shining, Blacula, and Eve’s Bayou.
“Movie marathon?” I ask.
“I wish.” She looks to the side and the wind lifts her hair, making her look ethereal. “Been a rough week. Still working on some things, but I needed a pick-me-up.”
Is that why she hasn’t gotten back to me?
My ears perk up. “What happened?”
“Same management shit. I think I’ve almost worn them out, but actually, they’re the ones wearing me out.” She laughs, though it’s less bright than usual. “Sorry I haven’t sent the questionnaire back. I haven’t been able to find the words.”
“No worries. How can I help?” I ask.
“With the questionnaire?”
“With anything.”
“Oh, that’s sweet, but don’t worry about it. In fact, I need to go so I can catch the train. Car’s also out of commission.”
“Let me give you a ride,” I say, and she pauses.
“Niyi, thank you. But don’t worry about it, I don’t want to take you out of your way.”
If she sounded like her cheery self, I might’ve let her stick to her plan.
But she sounds exhausted, and even without explicitly saying it, I know not having a car must be salt in the wound.
Boston is walkable to some extent, but where we are, it is not.
The closest station is thirteen minutes away on foot, and I’ll be damned if I let her do that.
“Actually, we live on the same block. So, no trouble at all.” I smile, and somehow it makes her smile.
Mission accomplished.
“Why didn’t you ever mention? I’d—”
“You’d invite me over?” I know I’m being forward, but it’s Saturday. I’m not working. Not being Saturn of Cupid’s Bow. Right now, I’m Niyi, and I’m enjoying the moment with her. No thoughts of love, matches, or a future. Just living in the moment.
“We could’ve had meetings close to home.” She tips her head. “And you could’ve been helping me with menial tasks while I finish work and we talk.”
“Tasks like?”
“Laundry,” she says after a beat.
“Washing or drying?”
“Ironing and folding.”
“Good thing I went to the African Mother’s School of Ironing.”
She chuckles, and then her smile drops. “I was joking.”
“I wasn’t.” I hold her gaze. “Let me help you. I have skills other than asking probing, dating questions.”
“Like what?”
“I’m very good with my hands,” I say softly.
“Is that so?” She raises a brow and a dangerous glint appears in her eyes.
“You’d have to take me up on my offer to find out.”
We stand there, looking at each other. Our breaths are becoming more laborious, but I doubt it’s because of the weather.
“Let me take care of you. Just today,” I say, and without overthinking, I extend a hand.
“Just today.” Like it’s a normal occurrence, she takes my hand, and the contact sends a hum through my veins.
Unlike our previous handshake, this one lacks firmness. I can barely call it a handshake. We’re simply holding hands.
Maybe Aaron had a point. This will probably never happen again, but being myself with her feels good.
“Where do you want this?” I ask, as I fold the last scrub shirt and place it on the pile. Moyo attempts to get up from the couch, but I stop her. “Just tell me where, and I’ll do it.”
“Leave it on the board,” she groans, and her heavy sigh of defeat is music to my ears.
Despite agreeing to let me help, Moyo still tried to complete part of the ironing.
Maybe she thought I was joking and that when I got to her house, I’d take back my word.
She only agreed after providing a demo and closely inspecting the first shirt I ironed.
“Anything el…” My question tapers off when I walk back towards her couch to find her sprawled on the ground, arranging stacks of papers into different folders.
She moves to stand, but I place a hand on her shoulder as I lower myself and sit beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you…”
Moyo yanks the empty, green file folder from my hands. “You’ve done more than enough. You’re lucky I let you iron.”
“You ‘let’ me? I volunteered.”
“Same difference. You’ve helped enough.”
“You were supposed to be resting while I ironed,” I remind her, “not working on something else.”
“I have a lot to do. I’m meeting with upper management this week. The Foundation Gala is inching closer, and after the event, I plan to ask them for additional funds to continue my pro bono work. Everything needs to be perf—”