‘OK, sleep tight, my love, and thank you for everything – you’re my favourite enabler!’ I added. As we ended the call, I glanced back at theOuiMeetapp, pausing slightly before opening. What if Jericho had sent a message asking me not to contact him again? What if he found the whole encounter weird? He did mention that our talk was one of the ‘strangest phone dates he’d ever been on’. What if he actually meant it? Better to rip the plaster off, I supposed.
I opened the app and headed straight to my inbox. I clicked the tab to open it and read the message out loud to myself:
Cassie. It was a pleasure to chat with you this evening and I want to thank you again for booking with me. You’re a curious little sprite, aren’t you? I’m intrigued. Hopefully we can talk again soon. Goodnight, beautiful. J x
I read through the message three more times, basking in the warmth and apparent sincerity of his words. Toby hopped up into the bed and began to make biscuits on my tummy, before curling into a ball to sleep. I held him close as I thought of something to write back; I didn’t want him to think I was super eager to talk to him. I needed to play it cool and chill. Nottoononchalant; just the right amount of ‘chalantness’ to inspire intrigue, yet not push him away. After a moment, I typed back,J, the pleasure was mine. Curiosity is a dangerous yet fascinating thing, you know – leads people down all sorts of interesting paths. Perhaps ours will cross again soon. Sleep well. x
Yeah, that’s more like it. Mysterious, yet slightly ominous. I put my phone on charge, popped a melatonin pill and drifted into what I thought would be uninterrupted, dreamless sleep.
I woke up at five thirty the next morning, horny and irritated. As I fed Toby his wet food and slugged into the shower, I reminisced about last night’s dream, which was essentially six hours of repetitive failed attempts to have sex with Jericho. I kept being woken up by the cold sweat that had gathered underneath my belly and between my inner thighs as a result of these dreams. In them, Jericho had me pressed against my kitchen counter, clearly struggling to lift me – but trying way too hard to play it cool. We fumbled from one unsuccessful position to the next until, finally, he sighed, pulled away, and admitted he couldn’t perform – said he felt too awkward trying to navigate around my stomach. The dream ended with me bursting into tears, and that’s exactly when I jolted awake.
Cut to me in the shower, warm water streaming down my body as I lifted my stomach, trying to catch a glimpse of my own genitals. Yeah, I had a FUPA – but I quite liked it, actually. It was plump and squidgy and it kept me warm. Plus, it was cute. The truth was, I’d been rejected more than once because of my weight, leaving behind a string of failed hook-ups and disappointing dates. At first, each one chipped away at my confidence, but eventually, I realised the problem wasn’t me – it was them. It was always them. Still, there were days, especially when loneliness crept in, when that confidence wavered. What if I met up with Jericho and he did the same thing?
The more pressing question was, why was I becoming socaught up in a random internet stranger I’d virtually met less than twelve hours ago? I tried to snap out of it as I lathered the rest of my body and got ready for another work day.
I slipped into my silk robe, tossing a couple of sausages into the air fryer while setting a pan to boil an egg, as per traditional Ghanaian customs. Since I’d woken up early, I had a rare hour to spare before leaving for work – plenty of time to enjoy a home-cooked breakfast, something I didn’t get to do often these days. I sat on the sofa, Toby purring peacefully in my lap as I searched for the perfect playlist to start the day: I decided to go with a bit of Linkin Park’sHybrid Theoryalbum to perk me up; a throwback to when I went through my brief period as a grunger back in secondary school.
Halfway through screaming out the lyrics to ‘Crawling’, my phone started to ring. To my surprise, it was my father, a man I typically only heard from when he needed a favour or if he wanted to complain about my mum. I wondered which one it would be today.
‘Dad. You all right?’ I answered casually as I went to check in on my sausages. ‘I’m getting ready for work so I won’t have a lot of time to chat, I’m afraid.’ Silence on the other end of the phone as I waited for him to respond, followed soon by a soft sniffle. Was he – was my dadcrying?
My dad’s job as a big-time patent lawyer in the City meant that we rarely saw him around growing up and on the occasions when Steven and I did get to spend time with him, we only saw one side to him – pure stoicism. He was never one to show emotion outside of anger and frustration, so for him to be on the phone seemingly sniffling at stupid o’clock in the morning seemed somewhat concerning.
‘Hello, my dear,’ he finally replied, and it sounded like he was in his car. ‘I’m actually outside your flat – I’ve got an early Zoom meeting at work with some international clients inJordan so I’m just making my way into the office – um, can I pop in for a second? It’ll be like twenty minutes. I can drive you to work if you want?’
My guard instantly went up. My dad, offering me favours and wanting to spend time with me? Something was afoot. ‘Um, sure, Dad, come up.’ I peeked through the curtain to see his black Mercedes Benz GLB SUV parked outside my flat, opposite the park. After getting off the phone with him, I quickly texted the family group chat, lovingly named ‘The Inheritance Squad’, due to me and Steven accidentally finding our dad’s will in his office a few years ago. The group consisted of Steven and me, alongside Mum when we told her that she was also named in the will too.
Cassandra: Um guys? Dad’s downstairs. He wants to come up and talk to me about something. Has something happened?
Before I could check for a response, my intercom blared with its usual shrill tone. I hurried to the front door and glanced at the screen – there was my dad, as solemn and stoic as ever, dressed in a three-piece suit and a black peacoat.
I buzzed him in and dashed to my bedroom, swapping my slinky black robe for a thicker, borg-textured oversized one. Living on the fifteenth floor gave me a couple of minutes before he reached my flat – just enough time to brace myself.
I served up my boiled egg and slightly undercooked sausage breakfast before heading to the door to let him in. As I opened the door, I was greeted with a wall of the Tom Ford Ombre Leather cologne that I’d bought my dad for his birthday a couple of years ago. He stood there, solemn and somewhat morose, as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The moment he stepped into my flat, he made a beeline for the kitchen.
‘They’re not gonna ticket my car, are they, Cassandra? I parked in a resident spot. Actually, I won’t be here long, just wanted a quick chat.’
His words came out scattered, his mind seemingly juggling seventy different thoughts at once. I made my way to my breakfast and took a couple of bites before responding, intermittently checking my phone for any updates in the group chat.
‘Nah, you should be fine, it’s still pretty early. Um, so … what’s brought about all this? You’re not dying, are you? If so, can you update your will so Steve gets the house in Ghana? I’m not ready to move there anytime soon, to be honest, haha.’ My attempt at lightening the mood hung heavy in the air like a thick smog; normally he would laugh at my dry, awkward jokes but not this time.
‘Oh, so my daughter thinks she’s a comedian now, huh? Very funny,’ he said quietly, his brow furrowing even further. ‘Can you make me a quick cup of tea please?’ Without hesitating, again as per Ghanaian ‘Oldest Daughter’ customs, I switched on the kettle and grabbed a mug as he sat down at the kitchen table, inhaling deeply upon impact. He stared slowly from me to the open plan kitchen/living space, before staring silently at me again. ‘You’ve really made something of yourself, Cassandra. It wasn’t the direction I wanted you to go in; if I had it my way, you’d be settled down with a nice man and a baby or two by now, but I’m proud of you regardless.’ I let the sting of his last sentence wash over me as I poured the hot water into the mug, allowing the tea bag to steep.
As the eldest, it was always expected that I would follow in my father’s footsteps and pursue a career in law. I ended up choosing a law course at uni, but by the middle of my second year, I realised my heart wasn’t fully in it, much to my parents’ dismay, anger and frustration. Still, I finished my degree, but instead of practising law, I wound up doing several adminroles before eventually finding my way into the NHS, where I worked my way up to where I was now. On a £45k-a-year salary I was doing all right for myself, but deep down, I always knew it was a huge disappointment for my dad. Mind you, I had a whole other sibling who did not receive the same career pressures as I did, the double standard of it all.
‘Erm … OK, cheers, Dad, I appreciate it. What did you want to chat about?’ I mumbled, handing him his tea and going back to bites of my breakfast. I had about forty minutes before I had to start getting myself ready for work and needed him to get to the point.
‘Ahh man,’ he replied, making a grand gesture of holding his head in his hands as if in pain. ‘Have you heard from your mother lately?’ Of course. Whatever this chat would be about, deep down I had the feeling that it would somehow revolve around Mum, the only woman he’d ever loved. I joined him at the kitchen table.
‘Yeah, I spoke to her last night. I’m gonna be seeing her over the weekend too. Why, what happened?’
Dad brought his eyes – sad and wistful – up to meet mine. And then he dropped the bombshell.
‘Did she tell you she was getting married to that guy?’
Ah. So that’s probably why she wanted to gather me and Steven round at her place this weekend. What an interesting turn of events. But more so …
‘Wait, how did you find out?’ I asked, trying not to look shocked. I low-key found it hilarious that he kept referring to Femi as ‘that guy’, even though, a long time ago, he fully made it his business to be aware of his name, age, and job title. Dad turned to take another sip of his tea – no doubt using the delay to think of an excuse. My dad working at one of the top law firms in the UK meant he was used to acquiring the types of access to and information on people that your average personoff the street wouldn’t have. That wasn’t to say that he acquired this information through nefarious means but … you never knew when it came to this man.
