The Search for Mr Right (E1 – E12)

E8 - The Search For Mr. Right: New Flames

If I hear one more apology from this man’s mouth, I might get arrested for what I will do to him. One minute, all he’s good at is being an arrogant and unfeeling monster. The next minute, he wants to be the master of apologies. Not with me.

“Lauretta, I really have no excuse. I’m so ashamed of myself right now. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, sir,” I say for the sixth time in a row.

“I would really like to make it up to you. I have a few movie tickets my friend gave to me for a prem…”

“Ah. No, sir. That won’t be necessary. I totally understand. It’s really fine.” I’d rather be shoved into a pool of muddy water and made to swim in it than actually make plans with this man again.

“But, I insist. If you really forgive me like you say you do, then please do this one thing for me. Let me make it up to you.” He pleaded.

But I wasn’t giving in. “Honestly, Mr. Samson, I’m good. There’s no need.” I say in a flat matter-of-fact tone. If he didn’t take the hint at this point, then I might have to beat the hint into him with my shoe.

“Oh. Okay, that’s fine.” He finally got it.

Now that that was out of the way, “May I be excused? I need to get back to work.” And my amala. You’re not about to steal another lunchtime-with-Adam from me.

“Yes, of course. You can go. Thank you.”

He has no right to be disappointed. Not a single right both in heaven and on earth. We’ll even add ‘under the earth’ for emphasis.

“Thank you, sir.” Or not. I could barely contain my discomfort and anger in that room. At a point, a frown would just materialize on my face out of nowhere while he was talking. But he couldn’t fault me. He didn’t dare to.

***

Hi, there. I’m here again. The unrepentant spinster. You remember when I said I needed drama in my life? Well, it’s happening already. Since Mr. Samson stood me up on a date where he was supposed to be apologizing to me, I have lost any kind of feeling I had thought I still had towards him. I no longer felt anger or even hate, talk less of affection. I was simply done. And that’s literally the best thing I can do for myself.

Growing up under the careful gaze of my father taught me so much more than I can even begin to fathom. It really is said that a daughter’s first love should be her father and that is what he still is to me. My father taught me patience, taught me diligence, and the most important part of all, he taught me respect. He demanded respect from me, and unlike other parents I knew, he reciprocated that same respect to me. He never made me feel like he was deserving of more respect than he was actually worth. He always made sure he earned it. At that point, I couldn’t really understand why he had to do things like asking me politely for my stuff instead of just taking it like Mummy, or why he would prefer to ask for my opinion before making a decision on my behalf instead of just going ahead to do it like my mother. Oh, trust my mother. She complained about it more times than I could count. Complaining that my father was spoiling her children, but instead, it trained us to be more assertive and hard to walk over.

I remember my father never missed a PTA meeting. He didn’t mind the long drive and would show up before most parents and still be the last to leave. There was one time he missed it though. He called us the day before the scheduled meeting through our housemistress and explained. He told us he was going to have to miss the meeting because he was out of town on an urgent assignment. I would never forget how he asked,

“Is that okay with you, my dear?”

My housemistress looked surprised herself and wondered what kind of parent needed their child’s permission to get stuff done. That memory remains etched in my mind and that single conversation has continued to be a yardstick with which I measure appropriate behavior. Even after I told him I was okay with the new development, he still apologized profusely and promised to send my housemistress extra money to get the things he would have brought along with him.

My father would never stand me up without so much as an explanation. He would never make me look like a fool to the waitress with the unbraided hair and the five-shades-too-bright red lipstick. He would not leave me to pay for a meal I had no appetite for, and no budget for apparently since they price their meals in dollars (in my own country!). He would return my calls the minute he saw them because he knew that was the right thing to do. He would not text me the next morning and ask me to come to his office so I could receive another apology. My father would never do that to me because he valued me. And no man will have the pleasure to do that to me again.

“So, how did that go? Faster than the last time. Thank God.”

♤

Last night after Mr. Samson (I refuse to call him Sam. He’s my boss, not my friend) stood me up, I called Adam and asked him out on a date. It was pretty late but as they say, Lagos never sleeps.

“My prince charming.” I smiled as I watched him pull up in the parking lot of the restaurant. Unfortunately, the restaurant closed its doors by 10:00 PM, so I had to wait for him in my car. I watched as he parked his car and started calling my phone. I picked on the first ring.

“I can see you. Just come out of your car and you’ll see mine.”

In minutes, I saw him walk towards my car with a pack of pizza and one bottle of orange juice. This guy really knew my love language. He came out dressed in the cutest joggers and a polo shirt. That was his daily ensemble anyways, so I was not surprised. I stepped out of my car and ran towards him, thanking God for blessing me with such a sweet and thoughtful human being.

“How perfect are you?” I said as I grabbed the food from his hands.

“I do my best.” He smiled, full-face, just how I like it.

“Thank you so much for coming out by this time. I didn’t even think you would respond.”

“I had no choice. Couldn’t sleep anyway. So, your car or mine?”

“Let’s just go to mine. I left it open anyways.”

And so, we walked back to my car, with food and tension. There was a question hanging in the air but I guess he was simply too shy to ask. As soon as we were seated comfortably in the car, I told him.

“He stood me up.”

“That bastard.”

And that was the last time we talked about him in our two hours together. Not knowing he would bring some food to our little meeting, I bought him some pork ribs and chicken wings to appease him for having to come out so late. I added just one bottle of beer because my account balance was nearing a total and final death at that point.

We talked about a lot of things. His father, his mother, and his siblings who tormented his every waking moment with screenshots of things they would love to add to their wardrobe. He was an only son, a first child and he had four younger sisters. The guy was really going through a lot.

♤

Flash forward to today, and we are going on yet another amala date. A moment I have grown to cherish and absolutely adore. It wasn’t even about the amala anymore. I am even forced to believe that it was never about the amala.

I feel peace whenever he is around me. I feel light and beautiful. He made me feel safe, without needing to show how strong he could be. He doted on me and laughed at all my excesses like they were nothing. He was always looking for new strange ways to make me happy and it was really in the smallest things he did like sending me new WhatsApp stickers that he knew would have me bend over with laughter. Some days, he would send me a text about how I should try not to fart and kill all my colleagues while we were working. For no reason, he would come to my office, talk to one of my colleagues about absolutely nothing, and wink at me on his way out. At other times, he would take stupid selfies and send it to me for reviews.

We have the craziest and weirdest relationship.

So, I wonder why he has not yet asked me out.

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