I write for a few minutes and stick each note onto the wall in a vertical line, then step back to review them.
1） So, Alex . . . what are your thoughts on Valentine’s Day? Do you think it matters who you spend the day with?
Hmm. Maybe not . . . How about . . .
1） So, Alex . . . what are your thoughts on Valentine’s Day? Do you think it matters who you spend the day with? Do you think the day has become over-commercialized or do you think it’s still worth celebrating?
Yes. That’s better.
2） You don’t have a girlfriend. Oh, why is that? If you don’t mind me asking.
I tap my chin. Honestly, I see no problem with that. I’m just making conversation.
3） So, what do you look for in a girlfriend then? You know, hypothetically speaking.
Whoa! Way too forward. That definitely needs revising. How about . . .
3） So, what do you look for in a girlfriend then? You know, hypothetically speaking. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but when was your last relationship?
Perfect. And finally . . .
4） Do you like weddings? Because my cousin is getting married in July. It’s an open invitation. Fancy coming?
I tear off the last one and scrunch it into a ball. Too soon, Yinka. Too soon. But the other questions will do for now. Hopefully Alex won’t be too suspicious. Maybe he’ll just proclaim his feelings for me without me needing to ask anything. The next stage of my plan sorted, I pick up my outfit by the hanger. Time to get ready for church.
* * *
—
Yinka, there is no way you made all of this food,” says Alex as I place in front of him a steaming plate of jollof rice, red stew with gizzard, beef suya and fried plantain. “Tell the truth and shame the Devil. Your mum helped you, didn’t she? She made the food and drove it here last night.”
“No.” I laugh as I set down the salad bowl on the kitchen table, where I have laid out my best Ikea table mats. “Trust me, Alex. She did not. She didn’t even know we were having lunch today, couldn’t you tell?”
We had bumped into Mum after the service. When Alex proceeded to tell her that we were having lunch at mine and that I had cooked Nigerian food, I swear Mum’s eyes expanded like fried puff-puff.
Alex laughs. “Just kidding. Besides, I saw your Insta Story yesterday, when you were preparing the food.”
I hide a smile. So, you’ve been watching my Insta Stories, yeah?
After I place my own plate on the table mat, I slip into the opposite chair, trying my best not to wince from the burning pain caused by all the squats. No pain no gain, right?
“Do you want to say grace?” I ask as I fold a napkin over my thighs.
Alex says a quick prayer, and we say “Amen” at the same time.
As I open my eyes it feels as though I’m in one of those really good dreams that you never want to wake up from. Hot damn, Alex is looking extra fine today. His skin has a nice sheen to it—I can tell he exfoliates—and as always, his hairline is never out of place. I inhale. He smells like what I think Idris Elba would smell like.
“Now—” Alex cuts through my wandering thoughts—“let’s see if this food is as good as it looks.”
* * *
—
Yes, yes, yes! After every mouthful of food, Alex nods and says a variation of, “Wow. This is good.” He’s already halfway through his plate, which is impressive given that he’s done most of the talking. He’s going on about how much he loves his job, which is fine, just not something I know much about. And it’s not exactly Valentine’s Day conversation, is it? How can I divert him from meta keywords and URLs, and get him on to my Post-it questions?
“Wow, you really do love your job,” I say as I refill his glass of water while inwardly admiring his checked shirt. Look at me being such a multitasker.
“Sorry.” Alex looks embarrassed. “I just realized I’ve been chewing your ear off—”
“No, it’s fine.” You can nibble my ear any time.
“So how’s your job going?” Alex dabs the napkin around his lips.
My job? Wait. Didn’t I tell him that I was made redundant that first time we met? Or maybe not. I’m starting to lose track of who I have and haven’t told. I push my chicken to one side. Regardless of how juicy it looks, I’m not going to risk eating with my hands.
“Yinka?”
“Sorry. Um, you know. Busy.” I reach for my drink, my insides twisting, not quite knowing why I don’t tell him the truth. For goodness’ sake, I told Donovan that I lost my job and he’s a pain in the arse. There’s no shame in being made redundant. It happens all the time. Okay. Deep breath. I’m going to tell him. Now.
“My mum was super-impressed when I told her that you work for Godfrey & Jackson.”
“Really?” So what else have you told your mum about me? I want to say, but instead, I mutter, “Actually, I was made redundant.”
Alex stops chewing. “Ah, man. Sorry to hear that. When did this happen? Wait, didn’t you just get promoted?”
I lower my gaze. “I didn’t get a promotion. It’s just been one big misunderstanding. And I really don’t want to get into it right now, if that’s okay?”
“Of course.”
“It’s not the end of the world. I have a few job interviews lined up. Well . . . one.” I laugh. “It’s a second interview, though.” I smile confidently.
“I’m sure you’ll get the job.” Alex raises his glass like he’s going to make a toast.
“Thank you.” I return his smile, relieved that he doesn’t seem freaked out.
“And that aside, you’ve done well for yourself.”
“Oh, stop it,” I say, meaning, Carry on.
“Nah, I’m being serious. You have a nice home. A degree from Oxford. And don’t think that I didn’t spot the Mercedes outside.”
“It’s not mine,” I say, then seeing his confused face, “Just kidding. It is.” Stop with the jokes, girl. You’re no Tiffany Haddish.
“Seriously, Yinka, you’ve got a lot going for you.” He looks around my kitchen as though mightily impressed with my monochromatic countertops. “And you’re single?” He laughs. “How is that even possible?” Ohmigod, he likes me, he likes me, he likes me.
“What do you mean?” I ask. In an effort to appear casual, I lean forward to cup my chin in my palm, but my elbow misses the table and jabs me in the thigh.
“It’s just hard to believe, that’s all.” Alex stabs his fork into his plantain. “You seem like you have your entire life put together, you know? You’re a nice girl. You can clearly cook. You would think someone like you would have been wifed-up by now.”
I take a long sip of water to hide my growing smile.
“Well, what can I say?” I put down my glass, and because I’m feeling confident, I add, “Some men don’t know a good woman even when she’s right in front of them.”
My eyes widen. OMG. Did I just say that aloud?
But it is as though Alex has just slept through a fire alarm. He continues to chew his food, unfazed. “Hey, now. Don’t go lumping us all in the same boat. Trust me, I know a good woman when I—”