I got up and walked to the bathroom, phone in hand, swiping mindlessly while my mental checklist lingered in the back of my mind;
Right swipe on Rico the five foot eight Spanish PR Executive.
Right swipe on Matthew, bald architect, holding someone else’s baby [allegedly].
Right swipe on Kevin the curly-haired bartender who liked to kayak and surf for fun.
As I brushed my teeth, I stopped at a profile that had caught my eye.
Michael, 35. Lives in Battersea. Full-time Personal Trainer. A Christian. Capricorn.
I scrolled through his photos; liking what I saw. He was six foot three with a full beard, and his hair twisted into cornrows. He dressed reasonably well, with a gorgeous smile, dimples and a muscular dad-bod build. He looked toned, but wasn’t too muscular, which was what I liked. He had several photos of him at the gym working out with his clients, as well as a couple of photos of him at Notting Hill Carnival and a few of him celebrating Nigerian Independence Day. Normally, I try to stay away from Nigerian men and their chaos, but I wanted to make an exception for this Michael guy; he was pretty sexy. And a Christian, which would go down well with my parents. His profile simply read:
‘Not looking for anything serious right now, but if my dog likes you then maybe we can give it a try!’
An animal lover too? Bingo. I swiped left on Michael as wellas a couple of other potentials, and then stripped off to take a shower. This year was going to be the year that I found ‘The One’. I just knew it.
After my shower, I quickly got dressed, grabbed a flapjack from the cupboard and made my way to clock into work. I worked as a Medical Secretary in the Trauma and Orthopaedics department at St Thomas’ Hospital and had been working there for the last four years. My role wasn’t primarily patient-facing, so I rarely felt the need to wear make-up – one of the few perks of the job that I really appreciated. It was a stable but monotonous job, and for the most part, the office was shared by just two of us – me and my manager-turned-best work buddy, Kofi, who served as the office coordinator for three of the six orthopaedic surgeons in our department. I managed the other three surgeons, though since they spent most of their time at their private practices, my daily workload was relatively light. I wasn’t complaining though; it was a well-paid job and even though I didn’t get to put my Law degree to good use, I had a good thing going at the hospital; it was peaceful, for the most part.
I sauntered through the main concourse, briefly stopping at the Pret a Manger by the elevators to grab myself a flat white and a pain au chocolate before making my way up to my office on the tenth floor. I bounded through the door, breakfast in hand, to see that Kofi was already at his desk.
‘Here she is; Queen Cassie herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come in this early, you know? How come?’
I switched my computer on and scoffed while giving him a half-hug from behind. I may or may not have been known to show up between ten to twenty minutes late on occasion. I slumped into my chair as my old, dusty computer whirred and hummed until it reached the start-up screen. ‘Not you trying to call me out for OCCASIONALLY being late. I hada bit of an early night to be honest so I guess I thought I’d try something rare and actually be ahead of time today.’
Kofi swivelled his chair around and fixed his gaze on me, his frameless square spectacles teetering precariously on the bridge of his nose, giving him the appearance of peering down at me in judgement. I’d previously told Kofi about my meetup with Calvin a week or so prior but hadn’t updated him on yesterday’s shenanigans. After I’d filled him in, Kofi exhaled deeply and turned back to his screen in silence.
‘You good, Kof?’ I said, blowing cool my flat white as I logged in to today’s tasks.
‘Yeah, I’m cool, Cass; it’s just—’ I heard him swivel his chair back around as I turned to do the same. Mrs Johnson’s hip referral letter would have to wait another five minutes. ‘I just – like – what makes you go for these types of guys? I just don’t understand it. You’re a great person with a lot to offer and I just don’t understand what’s not clicking. What are you like on dates? Are you confident? Because that’s what men like the most, you know, it’s more than just how a woman looks; it’s how she carries herself.’
I looked at Kofi up and down silently, trying as hard as possible not to feel slightly offended. As if men’s lack of interest in me was my fault? Absolutely not. ‘Mm,’ I started, sugar-coating my irritation with a smile. ‘I’m actually fabulous on dates – I don’t do the whole wallflower act or anything like that. If anything, I’m the entertainment. So no, men going out of their way to find me unattractive isn’t a “confidence issue”. That’s athemproblem, to be honest.’ I was tired of people assuming that just because I was fat, I automatically had a problem with confidence. Can’t a fat bitch just be happy and thriving?
‘Oh, don’t try it, man.’ Kofi smiled coyly as he turned back around. ‘I didn’t mean it like that – I guess I’m just struggling to understand why someone wouldn’t be bowled over at you– it’s nothing to do with how you look so I just wonder if it’s something else,’ he replied carefully. ‘You’re a good woman and you deserve someone special, you know?’
If I flinched, I didn’t show it. I let out a weird and awkward laugh. Gratitude and embarrassment tangled in my stomach, each one trying to edge out the other. ‘Aww, bless you. You always know what to say to cheer me up,’ I replied, rubbing his shoulder and turning back around. ‘Thank you so much. Hopefully said man will just fall into my lap at some point.’
Kofi touched my hand briefly as he turned towards me, his eyes barely hiding a mischievous glimmer. ‘My absolute pleasure, and hey? Worst-case scenario, you can just hire an escort, innit? That’s what all the strong, independent women are doing these days, haha.’
‘Woooow, hilarious. Have you forgotten where we’re from? We don’t do those kinds of things, man. Can you imagine?!’ I laughed and rolled my eyes at the audacity of his suggestion. I was all for sex positivity and all but the thought of being a woman and hiring the sexual services of a man … something about that screamed ‘desperation’ to me. I knew Kofi was joking, but was my demeanour really sending out signals of obvious desperation like that? Did Kofi think of me as somewhat pathetic?
‘Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m just playing with you, Cass,’ Kofi replied, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his face. ‘I know you wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re gorgeous and you have a great personality – any man would be an idiot not to pursue things with you.’
As close as Kofi and I were, I could never quite pin down where he stood with me emotionally. Every so often, he’d drop these subtle little signals that made me think he might be into me – only to turn around a few weeks later with a brand-new situationship, or worse, slip back into his habit ofplayfully negging me, like he was doing right now. Sometimes he’d even recycle an old flame, and then – poof – back to being completely unreadable. He was a lovely guy, don’t get me wrong, but he was more like a brother to me than anything else. He also had some traits that gave me the ick; his loud swallowing when he ate, always biting pen lids, and his weird laugh that sounded like a Labrador barking. Plus, I’ve never been one for, well … shitting where I ate.
I started answering emails as I took a bite out of my pastry, thinking of Kofi’s last words. I deserved someone who would treat me like the diamond I was. He was right. I deserved the perfect date. To have someone not treat me as if I were a liability. I wanted to be wined and dined without the other person watching MY calories. I wanted to dance and flirt, to be coy, to have someone stare at me the whole night as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world, then take me back to their place and, quite frankly, fuck the absolute shit out of me. I wanted to feel confident and powerful and sexy for once, and it annoyed me that, at thirty-four years old, I’d yet to have an experience like that. I also thought about his ‘escort’ comment. Was that even a thing these days? To think I could – at any point – finagle my way into a relationship like this was a wild and probably ridiculous thought, but at this point, I might as well go online and hire someone to give me the night of my life; at least I’d know what I’d be getting, despite paying for it. If it was good enough for Richard Gere …
A couple of uneventful hours went by as I worked steadfastly at my desk with Kofi manning the outpatients’ desk for the day. Today I had to focus on typing up and sending out dozens of patients’ referral letters to private hospitals on behalf of my consultants, process fifty-two GP referral letters, and schedule the diaries of two of the consultants for the next three months, while manning the phones for enquiries. Theywere pretty simple tasks really, and I loved the monotony of it. I knew that my parents had instead wanted me to go down the legal route, go to law school and become some kind of highly esteemed corporate lawyer like my dad, but after three years of doing nothing but shaking ass and getting up to mischief with my friends at Hertfordshire Uni, let’s just say I fell out of love with law, with my 2:2 degree being a testament to that.
I was halfway through translating Dr Foley’s notes to a GP when I received a text message from my brother Steven. It simply read:
Cass! Are you able to grab me some lube from work? I’ll swing by and get it tonight yh?
I stared at my phone for a full minute, processing the message I’d just received. I knew my baby brother was blunt, but fucking hell. I scoffed as I typed back:
…? What happened to ‘Hello, how are you?’ Mind you, this is the first time I’ve heard from you this week. Do I want to know what you need lube for?
A few moments later, Steven types back:
