“But truthfully . . .” I wring my hands. “I’m not interested.”
Aunty Blessing actually laughs. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I laugh too. “Please, hear me out. I don’t want the role because . . . I’m going to pursue a career in the charity sector.”
Aunty Blessing and Nana turn to look at each other.
“Wow.” Aunty Blessing exhales. “What brought this on?”
I think back to my counseling session with Jacqui. “I need to get in touch with who I really am,” I say. “Not try to be the person the world wants me to be.”
Aunty Blessing smiles. “Love it.”
“Have you seen any charity roles that you’re interested in?” Nana asks.
I nod. “My dream job. An outreach manager at Sanctuary.”
Aunty Blessing blinks. “Wait, isn’t that the homeless charity that you used to volunteer for?”
“It sure is,” I say in a sing-song voice. “A friend—I mean, I know someone who is recruiting for the role, so I’ve got a way in. Speaking of which”—I glance at my watch—“I was hoping to catch him at the outreach tonight. I’d better get going.” I rise to my feet and Nana stands too.
“Oh, I’m so happy for you.” Aunty Blessing envelops me in a hug. “You see, my dear, in life, you will face many, many pressures. But it’s important that you only do what you want to do, in your own time and at your own pace. If you can remember this, you’ll live a very happy life. Anyway, I’m glad you’re off. Because your Aunty’s going out.” And with that, she flicks her hair. “See you at Chinedu’s christening.”
“I guess I’ll meet you at home,” I tell Nana as she grabs her rucksack from the floor.
“Actually, do you mind if I tag along? I left my key at home.”
“Oh, I can just give you mine.” I swing my bag from my shoulder.
“No, it’s okay.” She links my arm. “Besides, we’re due a catch-up. Now, tell me about this friend with the job contacts.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call him my friend,” I say with a small laugh. “He’s okay but a bit of a know-it-all.”
I stroll down the corridor, Nana in tow. Aunty Blessing is singing Whitney Houston’s “I’m Every Woman” in the bathroom.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” says Nana, and we both laugh. For some reason, her laugh stirs something in me. It reminds me of our shared good times. Nana has been with me through thick and thin.
“Nana. Thank you,” I say when we reach the bottom of the stairs.
“For what?” she asks.
“For being such a true friend, pushing me to see a counselor. You were right.” I sigh. “I was such an idiot.”
Nana offers me a warm smile. Her eyes tell me that she recognizes me again. “You know I got you, hun.”
* * *
—
When we arrive at Peckham, the sun is still bright. That’s one thing I love about late spring—it doesn’t get dark till around nine.
Derek spots me. “Hey! What you doing here? I thought you said you were taking some time out to focus on your career?”
I rack my brains. Crap. What can I say?
Then it hits me. What if the question that I should be asking myself isn’t “What can I say?” but rather “What should I say?” I realize I have a lot to say to Derek about how I treated him these last few months. He’s a good person and I’ve been avoiding him like the plague. And just because I don’t like him romantically, doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.
“Derek, I’ve come here to tell you that I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” he says. “For what?”
“Sorry, Nana. Can you give us a sec?”
Nana nods and takes a step to the side.
“For how I’ve treated you,” I carry on, thinking back to how I felt when Marcus avoided me. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have been kinda avoiding you these last few months.”
Derek laughs and bats his hand. Then after I fail to join him, he says, “Okay, I have noticed. But honestly, Yinka, it’s fine.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “And I’m sorry if I came across as, you know . . . overbearing. Yes, overbearing,” he repeats after I frown. “But I only made the extra effort because I wanted things between us to be normal . . . I know I freaked you out a little when I told you I liked you.”
“Well, clearly that’s not the case now.” I smile and nod to Vanessa a few meters away. “She’s a sweetheart, she is. How long have you guys been together?”
Derek grins. “Yeah, she’s great, isn’t she? Oh, and two months this Sunday.”
I smile. “You know what, Derek? I miss hanging out. Can we be normal again?”
He proffers a hand. “Deal.”
After I’ve made up with Derek, it doesn’t take me long to find Donovan. He’s with the tracksuited teens, leaflet stuffing, using the same system that I showed them all those months ago.
I pull Nana along with me. Donovan is rapping along to Drake’s “God’s Plan,” and I smirk at the irony.
“I can’t keep you away, can I?” Donovan greets me with a hug. I haven’t seen him since I ruined his hoody with my snot and tears last Thursday.
“Oh, this is my friend, Nana.”
Nana sticks out her hand. “I’m guessing you’re Donovan, then.”
Donovan frowns. “Come on, sis. Bring it in.” They hug.
“Yes, yes, my brother. I love that album.” Nana nods to the print on Donovan’s T-shirt.
Donovan looks down at himself. “Wait, you know about Black Star?”
“Err, who doesn’t?”
And as I expect, Donovan throws a side-glance my way. He laughs. “Just kidding.” My heart races as he leans over and squeezes my shoulders.
“Ooh, sorry. I have to get this.” Nana points at her buzzing phone and strolls away.
“So”—Donovan turns to me—“how did your first session go?”
I notice his toned arms and I feel my cheeks warm. I’m getting that same feeling I have whenever I see Michael B. Jordan on TV.
“Huh? Um, I mean, yeah, not bad.” Were his eyelashes always this long? “You were right. Jacqui is a goat.”
Donovan chuckles heartily. “You mean the goat. Now do you think therapy is a worthy investment?”
I push out my lips. “It’s still early days.”
“Just remember, yeah, you only get out of it what you put in. Anyway, any word from that MD? I’m not gonna lie, Yinks, I’m sad you missed the deadline for that Sanctuary job.”
“I missed the deadline?” I say this right at the exact same moment Nana returns.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “Yinka, that was your neighbor—”
“My neighbor?”
“Yeah. Turns out your car is blocking hers, so we need to head home. Like, now.”
“Why does my neighbor have your number?” I frown, genuinely perplexed.
But Nana is too busy hugging Donovan good-bye. “You know what?” she says, standing back. She looks at Donovan from head to toe. “You have a good height, you know. How do you fancy walking in a fashion show?”