In the wide mirror inside, I peer at my outfit. As today’s engagement do is a small gathering and not a party, I decided to go for a cool, effortless look. Inspired by a photo I once saw of Rihanna, I’ve thrown on my Game of Thrones T-shirt under a woolly cardigan paired with skinny jeans and flat boots （because I don’t own a pair with heels）。 I sigh. Rihanna definitely pulls off the outfit better.
As the door rattles shut, I think back to Operation Wedding Date, which I’ve had to abandon for a few days while I recover from the shock of losing my job. According to the Daily Mail article that I read before leaving home, there are four steps to approaching a guy.
Step one: make good eye contact. Step two: smile. Step three: break the ice by commenting on the surroundings, or if you’re feeling really brave, compliment him on what he’s wearing. Step four is what Dr. Nicole refers to as “the turning point,” because this is when you’ll ask open questions and decide on what to do next. If the guy holds his cards close to his chest, gives short answers or if the vibe seems off, then you need to leave him the F alone—he’s not interested—but if the guy is receptive and begins to ask questions, then gurl, you may be on to something.
The lift pings open, and I’m greeted by the bass of Afrobeats soundtracked with buzzing chatter and laughter.
Okaaay. I walk down a narrow corridor toward the door at the end where the noise is coming from.
Great. It’s a real honest-to-God pumping party. I gaze at the DJ and outside heaters and fairy lights. “Congratulations” bunting is draped along the walls, and two trestle tables have been pushed together to form a bar.
There are so many people.
Lots of well-dressed people, I notice as I peer at the sophisticated crowd, which mostly consists of women wearing brightly colored heels and guys in smart shirts.
I look down at my outfit, my Game of Thrones T-shirt. I swear, I’m going to kill Nana when she gets here. Why did I wear this stupid outfit? I don’t know what made me think that I looked cool.
I turn around, not quite sure where I’m running to, when I hear a familiar voice call my name.
“Yinka! Come here, give me some sugar!”
I turn around. My cousin Rachel is sauntering toward me like a goddess. Green sequin dress. Thick natural hair. Makeup on fleek.
“Rachel! You look amazing!” I fold her into a hug.
Rachel leans back and rubs her full hips. “Are you sure? You don’t think this dress is too tight on me, do you?”
I frown. “Trust me, girl, you look banging. And look at your hair! Hashtag: hair goals.” We laugh. “Oh, Kemi sends her apologies. It’s her mother-in-law’s birthday. And I brought you these.” I hand her the plastic Tesco’s bag.
“Yasss, girl! More alcohol!” Rachel looks inside. “Oh, my bad. Soft drinks. Honestly, Yinka, you shouldn’t have.”
I slap her arm and she lets out a loud laugh.
“Um”—I take another fleeting glance at the crowd and draw my face closer to hers—“did you tell Nana that tonight was going to be a small gathering?”
Rachel giggles. “I only told her that so that she wouldn’t rock up late. You know how that girl is funny about crowds.”
I manage a fake chuckle. I feel so underdressed. What guy is going to look at me now? Dammit. If only Rachel and I were the same size, I could borrow one of her dresses.
“So, let’s see your ring again.” I try to force a bright smile, and just as she’s about to show me her rock, her fiancé shows up.
Gavesh and Rachel are the ultimate couple. They met at uni—Gavesh was studying Medicine, Rachel, Media Studies—and have been together for more than ten years. With Gavesh being a doctor and Rachel a journalist, they’ve been able to rent a lovely apartment in Bermondsey. And they have a pug. And they coordinate their outfits. Tonight, Gavesh’s suit is also a dark green.
“Gavesh! Congratulations!” I throw my arms around his neck, thankfully missing his perfect quiff. “Finally, you put a ring on it,” I tease, and at this, Rachel rotates her hand like Beyoncé.
“Better late than never,” comes a male voice from behind.
In unison, we turn our heads to see Ola’s husband striding toward us, Ola by his side, carrying a massive bouquet. Over a black turtleneck, Jon is wearing a wool coat in a similar shade to his sandy-brown skin, while Ola is glammed up as usual: big hair, fur coat, high heels. The smile that I had earlier slips away.
“Jonathan! My guy!” Gavesh embraces Jon with one of those macho hugs where men slap each other on the back as though the other is choking on a hot dog.
Meanwhile, Rachel greets Ola like she has not seen her in years. She lets out a seal-like squeal and nearly topples the girl over as they hug.
“Aww, you shouldn’t have.” She cradles the bouquet of flowers like it’s a newborn baby.
The 99p engagement card that I bought from Card Factory earlier is still sitting in my handbag with my half-eaten sausage roll from Greggs. I’ll give it to Rachel later, I conclude, scratching the back of my ear. Or maybe, you know, I’ll just buy her a new card.
As the BFFs compliment each other’s dresses and shoes （clearly, someone got the memo）， I glance at Ola.
“Sorry, Yinka. Didn’t see you there.” She hugs me. I taste her perfume and strands of her weave in my mouth.
So you called me out last Saturday, and now we’re hugging as though everything is okay?
But sadly, this is the routine that Ola and I have fallen into ever since we were teens—brushing things under the carpet, and Rachel pretending we’re all getting on great. I should just let things go, though. Maybe she was having a difficult time at Kemi’s. Her mum was pretty mean to her.
“And Gavesh! Congratulations!” Ola gives Rachel’s fiancé a proper hug. I go to greet her husband.
“Hey! You cut your hair,” Jon says. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him.
Intuitively, I touch my kinky, “4c” hair. “Yeah, I did the big chop a few months back. It was breaking. My mum wasn’t happy, though.” I laugh.
“Damn, I can imagine.” Jon chuckles. Though his dad is Dutch, Jon’s mum is also Nigerian. “I remember how long it was back at uni. But this short hairstyle suits you.”
“So have you lovebirds got a date yet?” says Ola after I thank Jon for his compliment.
Rachel and Gavesh look at each other as though they have another big announcement to make.
“We’re getting married in July,” Rachel says after Gavesh has taken the bag of soft drinks from her.
“This year,” she clarifies.
“July?” Jon looks incredulous, as though he’s the one getting married in only six months’ time.
Gavesh laughs. I take a quick look at the crowd. Can I actually get a boyfriend within six months?
“But come on!” I hear Gavesh say, and I drag my eyes back to him. “It did take me nine years to propose.”
“Er, ten years,” Rachel corrects him, and Gavesh laughs again.
“See. A long engagement wouldn’t have gone down well.” He nods to Jon. “Didn’t you and Ola get married in three months?”
“Yeah.” Jon laughs. “But our situation was different, as you know.” He emphasizes his point by rubbing his invisible pregnant stomach. “And we all know how parents can be about these things.”