“No, no. Of course not . . . I don’t believe in conversions.”
“No?” He raises a brow.
I shoot him a smile. “In my opinion, faith”—I press a hand on my chest—“is something that starts in here. You can’t force the heart to believe what it doesn’t want to.”
Donovan nods slowly. “That’s pretty deep, I give you that.” He pauses. “Thank you . . . for listening. And for respecting my decision. I’ve never had that before.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry for going hard on you, all those years ago.”
I flap my hand. “We were young and you were immature.”
We both laugh.
“So,” Donovan says suddenly, and I turn to him. “Why do you believe in God?”
I laugh a little, then tilt my head as I ponder.
“Reassurance, I guess,” I say finally. “Reassurance that I’m not alone. That despite all the bullshit life can throw sometimes, I have someone looking out for me, fighting in my corner and giving me everything that I need to get through. Don’t get me wrong, I too have moments when I wave my fist at God. But I guess, I get a sense of . . . what’s the word I’m looking for . . . inner peace, knowing that I don’t have to figure life out on my own, if that makes any sense at all? I dunno, I see God as a . . . friend.”
Donovan rubs his chin. Dare I say, he looks slightly impressed. “Okay,” he says, nodding. “I can respect that.” He laughs.
“What’s so funny? Was the ‘God is my friend’ line a tad too cheesy?”
“Cheesy?” Donovan cries. “Yinka, it was mozzarella.” I laugh. He shakes his head, but I can tell that he finally sees who I really am. I feel great. Liberated even. I open my takeaway box and dig into my chicken. Screw what Nana said. I’m hungry.
“Not gonna lie, that ting looks good, you know.”
I glance up. Donovan is eyeing my chicken like a predator.
“You want some, don’t you?”
“Just a little.” He scooches closer.
“Next time, don’t feed it to the pigeons!”
I study his fingers as they rip apart my chicken. He isn’t wearing a wedding band.
“Sooo, whatever happened to that sweetheart girlfriend of yours?” I ask, half-joking, before realizing I’ve stepped in it.
Donovan freezes. He drops the small piece of chicken and glances away.
“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that,” I say quickly.
He dusts his hands. “We broke up,” he replies anyway.
“I’m sorry.”
Donovan pulls out a crumpled napkin from his hoody pocket. “Don’t be,” he gruffs, wiping his hands with it. “It’s coming up two years, man should be over her by now.”
“But she was your high school sweetheart.”
“Still,” he protests. “She’s moved on. I don’t love her any more, I just—” He breathes out. “I hate the effect the breakup had on me. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah,” I say. “My boyfriend and I broke up three years ago. Well, he broke up with me. Got a job in New York. Wanted a fresh start. It sucks, right?”
“Like a motherfucker.” Donovan looks down and gives me a full view of his crisp cornrows. “Anyway, counseling is helping.”
“Counseling?”
Donovan chuckles and he must have read into my raised brows, because he says, “Yinka, counseling isn’t just for the white man, you know.”
I frown. “Obviously. I just thought it was something that only married couples did.”
“Nah, nah. It’s for single people too. In fact, I recommend my counselor, Jacqui, to almost everyone. She’s the goat.”
“She’s a what?”
He laughs at my confusion. “G.O.A.T. Greatest of all time. Come on, Yinka.”
“Ohhh.”
Donovan shakes his head. A boy passing by performs an impressive wheelie on his bike. “So,” he says, “how did you cope with your breakup?”
I ponder, then realize I’m chewing as loud as a goat. I quickly swallow.
“Time,” I say eventually. “Time and lots of ice cream.”
He chuckles.
“Do you think it’s worth the money? For counseling, I mean. You’re essentially paying someone to listen to you, right?”
“Trust me, it’s worth the investment. The more that you talk, the more you get out of it.”
“Hmm.”
As Donovan reaches into my takeaway box to retrieve a piece of chicken that he dropped, I feel my phone vibrate.
“Is that your friend who didn’t show?” he says as I tap the screen to read a text from Nana. She’s staying at her sister’s tonight.
“Didn’t show?” I’m baffled for a moment, and then I realize that he’s talking about Alex. “Oh, no.” I dust my hands, which are slimed with salt and grease.
Donovan pulls his phone out. “Oh, shit.” He clambers to his feet. “Gotta go.”
I think back to when I volunteered last week. Apart from Donovan annoying me, I actually had a good time. It took me back to those good days when I used to volunteer.
I stand. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I think I will volunteer tonight.”
Donovan squints at me. “I thought you had a job interview to prepare for?”
I shrug. “It isn’t till next Monday.”
“Cool, cool. But we gotta walk fast, yeah.”
I throw my takeaway box into a nearby bin.
“Admit it”—Donovan turns to walk backward, his gold chain bouncing with every step—“you’re coming because you enjoy my company, innit?”
“Oh, please. Get over yourself.”
He tosses his head back and laughs, and without meaning to, I notice his dimples.
If you want my honest opinion . . .
FRIDAY
RACHEL
Hey chicas
Just wondering
How’s plans for my bridal shower going?
Don’t forget
I want a classy afternoon tea party
Lots of champagne
Bottomless
RACHEL
Err, guys, it’s been over an hour
Why hasn’t anyone replied to my message?!!!
“Shouldn’t you be up there?” I say, nudging Rachel. But she is busy eyeing Petros—a dark-haired, sculpted god of a man with dewy, olive skin—who is currently doing his best catwalk for Nana.
This room is hardly the Ritz. Despite stacking the chairs and pushing the tables against the walls, the walkway is still narrow. But until Nana hears back from any of Aunty Blessing’s wealthy friends, a twenty quid per hour office at a local charity will have to do.
Rachel pulls one of her spiral curls. “Hun, my spot is guaranteed. Besides, I don’t want to intimidate all these wannabe models.”
I snort, then cover my mouth. Nana told us off earlier for being too loud.
I look around. On one side of the room are five women with different complexions and body shapes, and on the other side are five equally diverse men. Inspired by Rihanna’s Savage X Fenty fashion show, Nana wants her models to represent as many people as possible. For the past ten minutes, she has called them one after the other to do the catwalk, while energetic Afrobeats plays in the background.