“Maybe . . .” I rub my cheek. “Don’t get me wrong, Marcus has every right to not want to be with me. But don’t, you know, ghost me. That’s just rude.”
Nana clears her throat. “Now going back to why we’re here.” She removes her hand from my knee, her face the bearer of bad news.
I fold my arms. “I don’t need counseling.”
She shakes her head. “Sorry, hun, but I think you do.”
I look over to Joanna and Brian. They’re no help, nodding somberly and explaining why they’re so worried about me.
But I’m hardly listening, my mind racing ahead, planning my next move. I can’t possibly go back to Tinder and risk meeting another Marcus. And because of Donovan, Hinge is a no-go. I guess there’s always Christian Mingle, but do I really want to pay? Oh, God. Why can’t I just meet someone normally? What am I doing wrong?
But I won’t get an answer. Not here anyway.
“Sorry, guys. Gotta go.” I lurch to my feet.
Joanna says, “Hey, where you going?” followed by Nana’s, “Er, we’re not done yet.”
“I just remembered.” I tuck in my chair. “I’m supposed to be volunteering tonight.”
* * *
—
When I reach the homeless outreach, I spot Thomas slumped back on a beanbag eating a burrito. He seems to have made two friends—one of whom is Kelly, can you believe it. I wave at them and they wave back, grinning.
I look around the platform. The weather is pleasantly warm. Donovan is with a group of volunteers on cushions sorting out the donated items. I pat the sides of my wig and stride toward him.
“Hey!” I say enthusiastically.
Donovan clambers to his feet, dusts his hands and hugs me. “You good?” he says, drawing back.
Grinning at him, I wait. This is usually his cue. Any second now, he’ll mention something about the Laws of attraction. But he doesn’t say anything, and so for five whole seconds I’m smiling at him like a loon. He frowns.
“Er, I like your jumper,” I say quickly. “Let me guess. Run-DMC?”
Donovan looks down at himself where there is a print of three Black men wearing thick gold chains, matching hats and Adidas tracksuits.
He smiles. “Brushing up on your hip hop, yeah?”
I smile, grateful to have restored our banter.
“How comes you didn’t get back to me?” he says.
I frown, unsure of what he means.
“Your CV,” he reminds me. “I emailed it to you. I added some Track Changes. Overall, it was really good.”
I slap my forehead. “Damn, I’m so sorry. I saw your e-mail but I got distracted. Thank you for doing that. I’ll send it to Terry tonight.”
“What about the job spec I sent you? Did you have a look at that? The deadline is next week. You gonna go for it?”
I chew the inside of my mouth. “I haven’t looked at it. And . . .” I sigh. “Honestly, I’m not too sure if I want to go for it. It just feels like too much of a risk.”
Donovan looks at me as though I’ve just told him I never want to eat chicken again. “That’s a shame,” he says. “You would have been good at the role, still.”
“But thanks for thinking of me,” I say, and he glances away.
“I’m just going to say hello to my friend, yeah.” He nods to a disheveled-looking woman, idling in the distance.
I watch him walk away. Suddenly, he turns around.
“Your mum’s church,” he says. “Remind me of the name again?”
“All Welcome. It’s on Old Kent Road. Um, why?”
“No worries.”
For the next ten minutes, I carry on from where Donovan left off, sorting the donated men’s clothes from the women’s. Then I spot Derek stepping out of the portable toilets and for a moment I just watch him. I tilt my head. Hmm. Derek isn’t that bad. He’s no Alex or Femi or Donovan. No, not Donovan, what am I saying?
And without giving myself a second to change my mind, I clamber to my feet and go after him.
“Derek!” I tap his shoulder.
“Oh, hi, Yinka. Great to have you back. You did such a great job last time.”
I clear my throat. “Um, do you have a moment?”
* * *
—
We settle for the patch of grass near the library. There’s a bench and I don’t know whether to sit or stand, so in the end I kind of fall.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he lowers himself down on the grass next to me.
“Yeah,” I reply. I’m absolutely bricking it. “Derek, I just wanted to say . . . this might sound crazy, but . . . sorry, I’m trying to gather my thoughts.”
“Don’t apologize. Take your time.”
I breathe. “Okay, what I’m trying to say is—”
“Aunty Yinka!”
I turn.
Vanessa.
After Derek and I have clambered to our feet, she hugs me and tells me how pretty my hair is, before turning to Derek.
“I’m off now,” she says, gripping the strap of her handbag. “I have over thirty cupcakes to make tomorrow.”
“Well, I know you’ll ace them,” says Derek. Then quicker than a blink, he kisses Vanessa. On the mouth.
What?
“Bye, babe,” she says to Derek, giving him a feline stare.
“Bye, sweetheart,” he says back, squeezing her arm adoringly.
“See you, Aunty.” Vanessa hugs my now frozen body, then strolls away.
“Sorry, you were saying?” Derek turns to me. I’m guppying like a fish.
What the hell? Not even Derek wants me.
“Um, I just wanted to let you know that—that sadly, today will be my last day.” I swallow. “I won’t be able to volunteer again.”
I feel like I’m losing myself
THURSDAY
After I returned home yesterday, I deleted the Tinder app. Nana saw it as progress, and I didn’t really have the energy to tell her it was more like giving up.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she says now, sitting at the foot of my bed, her jacket on, key in hand. “It’s a shame that I’ve got to bartend this evening.”
I nurse the mug of hot chocolate that she’s made me.
“If you’re still awake, we can talk more when I’m back,” she offers. “I’m happy to just listen, you know.”
“Okay,” I say, as this is what she wants to hear. “Oh, and I’m sorry for snapping at you in Costa. I know you were only trying to help. And that time when I said you took Alex away from me, I was just angry. I didn’t mean it.”
Nana puts a hand on my leg. “Don’t sweat it.” Then she goes, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Lying there, all my brain can do is think, Why? Why is my love life such a struggle? Why does no one want me? Why am I not good enough?
After a while I sit up in bed. I feel the need to do something. Rachel’s wedding is in two months. I’m running out of time. I have to do something. Now.
I reach for my phone. No. I’m done with online dating. Another thought comes to mind. I chase it away.
No, Yinka. You’re not in a position to be closed-minded.
So I rush out of bed and fetch my wig lying on the dresser. I attach it to my head and shift it a few times so that it aligns with my hairline. Finally, I give it a quick brush, and tap on a bit of cherry lippie.