“You’re going to a 70thbirthday party for a colleague?” Aisha asks and the incredulity is audible in her voice.
“Yeah. It’s sort of a pretend date thing. His mum is a bit funny about him being newly single apparently so I said I would—”
“Wait?! He? His? Him? You’re going out with amantomorrow night?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.” I tut.
“Why shouldn’t I sound shocked? You never date men.”
“And I’m notreallydating one this time either. It’s afakedate thing. Actually, he may be my fake date for your engagement party next weekend.”
“Why would you… Wait. Is this because of Hannah? You’re not trying to make her jealous are you?”
“No!” I declare and I sound as horrified as I feel at the prospect. “No way. Hannah and I are done.”
“But…” Aisha prompts me and waits. I hate how well she knows me.
“But I also don’t want to be there all on my own watching Hannah and Sally suck face all night.”
“Hannah’s not going to…” Aisha drifts off and I don’t blame her. It must be exhausting having to be in the middle of her sister and her best friend’s ongoing disputes, even now after we’ve broken up. “Listen, you don’t need to have a date if you don’t want one. I promise I’ll look after you.”
I snort. “Aisha, it’s your engagement party. I don’t want you babysitting me when you should be enjoying yourself.”
My sister’s light chuckle fills my ear. “I can’t believe you’re going to show up with a man. You know Mum and Dad are going to pass out in shock.”
I choose not to respond to that. I stopped caring what my parents thought about my sexuality a long time ago, not that they have ever been anything other than supportive. A little reserved with their enthusiasm, granted, but still very loving and accepting.
“Who is he anyway?” Aisha asks.
My first instinct is to ignore the question or bat it away, but then I realise Aisha is going to meet Charlie soon enough if he is indeed going to accompany me to her engagement party so I may as well do some groundwork with her. “Listen, it’s really not romantic. Not at all. We barely tolerate each other at work, in fact, but he offered to do me this favour in return for me going to his mum’s birthday.”
“What’s his name, Mina?”
“Charlie.”
“Age?”
“I don’t know. Early thirties, I guess.”
“Brown? Black? White?”
“White. Very white. He’s even blond and blue-eyed.”
“Wow. Tall? Short? Skinny? Stocky? Dad bod?”
“Jesus, you’ll be asking for his inside leg measurement next.”
“If you know that, dear sister, then I know it’s definitely a little bit romantic. Now give me his body type.”
I continue stroking Deborah Harry who has curled up on the bed again, and I think about it for a second and realise then that objectively speaking, Charlie actually has what would be deemed an attractive physique. “He’s slim, and like, toned with a bit of muscle on his arms and legs, you know? And he’s taller than me.”
“Who isn’t?” Aisha jokes referring to how my five feet and three inches fall very short of her five feet and seven inches. “And what’s he like personality wise?”
I think about him leaning forward eagerly as Garrett told us about the pitch. I think about how quickly and keenly he tried to apologise for his mistakes in the meeting. I think about how his smile took over his whole face and how his laughter was like a warm cacophony of barks.
“Golden retriever on dog steroids,” I say.
It’s Aisha’s turn to snort now. “You sound like a match made in heaven.”
