“Guess who recently signed up to Tinder?” Joanna says, flashing her phone at us.
“About time too,” Brian says as I quirk a brow. He reaches for Joanna’s phone and taps away. “I mean, look at this beauty of a man.”
Ooh, the guy on the screen is cute. His display name says Marcus, and he has the bluest eyes and a kind smile to match.
“Twenty-eight. Lives in south London.” Brian flickers his brows at Joanna. “I’m telling you, Jo. You’ve been depriving yourself for months. Want me to swipe right, yes?”
“Brian. I like older guys.” Joanna snatches her phone. “I know I don’t look it, but I’m kicking forty, you know.”
Oh, yeah, I always forget Joanna’s a few years older than me.
“What about all those paid dating sites? What made you suddenly change your mind?”
“Sex,” says Joanna matter-of-factly. She’s so blasé about it, I nearly spill my drink.
“But I thought you were after something serious?” I ask.
“I am,” Joanna cries. “I mean . . . but . . .”
“She hasn’t had sex in a long time,” Brian finishes.
“Two years,” Joanna clarifies. “Two whole years. Not saying that I want to jump in bed with the next Tom, Dick or Harry—”
“But what she is saying isss,” Brian cuts in, “she can’t afford to make it three years.”
“Yeah, three years is definitely pushing it,” says Joanna, shaking her head as though to even fathom the thought was too much to bear. She puts down her wine. “Yinka, be honest with me. Two years is a long time to deprive your vagina, right? Hasn’t it been that long since you and Femi . . .”
“Hmm?” I reach for my glass. I need to hold on to something.
Brian and Joanna stare at me.
I take a sip. “Well . . . it could be longer.”
“Yinka!” Joanna exclaims.
Well, two years is nothing compared to thirty-one, I’m thinking as Brian is practically tittering. Not that I’m complaining about being a virgin. I made the decision a long time ago that I would save my virginity until I got married, and since Femi was a born-again Christian practicing celibacy, not having sex was easy. We just didn’t have sex. But I can’t tell Joanna and Brian this. They will look at me like I’m crazy. How can I explain that sex is sacred to me, when, let’s be honest, the very act looks far from sacred. And these days, virgins are like . . . I dunno . . . giant pandas. They’re rare. You say the word “virgin” and people think of Mary and nuns. No, I can’t tell JoBrian. I won’t tell them. They’ll think I’m a freak. Besides, they’re my work friends. They don’t need to know everything about me.
“Anyone fancy another round?” I dash to my feet and nearly knock down my stool.
Their eyes flicker down to my glass.
It’s still full.
“Well, if you’re offering,” says Joanna, to my relief. She knocks back the rest of her wine. “Another red, please.”
“Martini, please,” sings Brian, giving me a sunny smile.
“Fab. One red. One Martini. Coming right up!”
How can someone that handsome be single?
FRIDAY
ALEX
Hey
YINKA
Hey! How’s it going?
ALEX
Good thanks
What u got planned for this evening?
YINKA
En route to see my friends
My cuz is getting married! It’s her bridal meeting
Why?
ALEX
Wehey! Congrats
Ah, ok cool
It’s a Friday and my co-workers went straight home
Wish I had friends in London
YINKA
Ah, thanks
ALEX
What?
YINKA
So you have no friends in London, yeah?
ALEX
Loool
Cmon now. U know you’re my dawg
YINKA
ALEX
Anyways, just got in
Have fun. Enjoy your night
I skim over Alex’s WhatsApp messages. I think I’ve read them more than ten times now. After five days without hearing from him after he asked me for my number, I was beginning to think that I’d read too much into our first meeting. But then, today at 6:25 p.m., the Lord answered my prayers. Alex got in touch. He asked me what I was up to. On a Friday night! That could only mean one thing: he was going to suggest we meet up. But then I had to tell him I had Rachel’s bridal meeting. Bugger bugger bugger.
“Ooh, what about this one?” Above the samba music, Rachel’s loud voice interrupts my thoughts. Along with Ola and Nana, we’re sitting in a booth at Nando’s. She thrusts a bridal magazine on the table beside the many bottles of mayo and ketchup. “Do you think this mermaid dress would suit me?” she says as I put my phone on the table. She lifts up the magazine and holds it beside her now sucked-in cheeks.
“I’m sure you’ll look beautiful,” I say as I resume eating my lemon and herb chicken. “What matters most is that you feel comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” Rachel looks insulted. “Yinka, I want to look sexy on my wedding day. Do you think Kim K is comfortable when she wears those waist trainers?”
We all laugh, except for Ola, who is opposite Nana and has been awfully quiet since we sat down. She’s still bundled up in her fur coat and rubbing what looks like a hormonal spot on her chin. Her hug earlier was a bit off, and when I complimented her on her new short hairstyle—a razor-sharp bob with a fringe—her “thanks” was a bit flat. I hope that she’s still not in her feelings about what happened at the baby shower. Her mum has been comparing us for years. You don’t see me carrying a chip on my shoulder when my mum compares our relationship statuses. And hold up, she was the one who called me out, so surely if anyone should be angry it’s me.
“Ah! Weddings, weddings, weddings,” says Rachel, putting on a Nigerian accent. She switches to a cockney one, and says, “I tell ya, darlings. There’s just so much to do.” She sighs. “There’s the venue, the dress, the decorating, and the food. Seriously, how am I supposed to find a caterer that can do both Nigerian and Sri Lankan food, huh? Well, at least the cake is sorted.”
“Already?” says Nana.
“Err, ya!” Rachel says exaggeratedly, shoving a forkful of rocket lettuce into her mouth. Who goes to Nando’s and orders a salad? “In fact, do you remember Carla from college?”
“Yeah, what about her?” I say, stopping between mouthfuls to drink.
“Well, you know her younger sister, Vanessa, yeah? She’s gonna make the cake—”
“I used to babysit Vanessa,” I interrupt.
“Oh, yeah, you did. You know that she runs her own cake business now? I’ll show you her Instagram page. She’s friggin’ amazing—”
“I can’t do this any more.” Ola’s fork clatters against her plate and we all blink.
“Ola, what’s wrong?” Nana says.
Ola breathes out through her nose. “There’s an elephant in the room.”
“An elephant in the room?” Nana echoes.
“Yes,” Ola says. “And we all need to discuss it.”
Nana and I turn to each other. Then we glance over to Rachel, who looks just as confused.