“The universe has shown me it’s not my time,” I say peacefully.
“Now, where did that come from?” Anjie’s retort is swift.
“Like you said,”—I point at Sewa—“the universe sent him to me and look at that mistake. If there’s anything I’ve learned recently, it’s to accept lessons as they come, so I don’t end up with a worse lesson one day.” Sewa nods receptively, while Anjie looks like I zapped her with a taser.
“You know none of this is your fault, right?” Anjie asks.
My shoulders heave before drooping. I cradle Anjie’s hands. “I know. But—”
“But nothing. It’s not your fault,” Anjie says. “I think you’re using this to avoid your feelings. If that’s what you want to do, that’s okay.”
I drop her hands with a frown. Here she goes again. Since we wereclueless ten-year-olds, Anjie’s spouted some version of this. Once she discovered therapy, it became “feel your feelings, Moyo.”
“I complained to the app and cried while talking to you guys. I know my emotions, and I’ve felt them. I want to move on.”
“You don’t even remember those complaints,” Anjie says. “But it’s okay. Emotions demand to be felt. So, when the time comes—”
“Okay, spirit mama,” Sewa cuts in, slicing the tension.
Anjie and I chuckle, taking the out and leaving the conversation for another time. We head to the kitchen, and Sewa makes herself at home, like always. She grabs a pack of chicken thighs and a jar of recently opened pesto from the fridge, then opens my top cabinet to retrieve the pasta.
“I’m going to shower to get last night off me.” As I walk away, my mind casts back to the other dating apps I came across in my initial search. None of them have stellar ratings or reviews likeCupid’s Bow, but I’m sure I’ll find a decent one,ifI try again.
“What will you do if they actually send someone to help?” Anjie’s question stops me in my tracks. My stern restaurateur is a lover girl—always has been and probably always will be. Despite not being interested in dating, Anjie’s the first one to remind us of the power of love.
And I get it, but the pursuit of love got me here, back to a hurt I never wanted to experience again. Maybe it’s time to pursue something like companionship. If love happens, fine, it’ll be a bonus.
Regardless of this new plan, I think about herCupid’s Bowquestion. Those apps never send anyone. Who has the manpower to individually visit everyone who complains? It’s impossible.
“I’ll send them right back,” I respond, and Anjie shoots me a disturbed look. I laugh it off because she’ll get over it, as will I. Taking my sights off love means I’ll be okay. Most importantly, I won’t get hurt again. I’ll be fine because soulmates aren’t even real. I won’t be missing out on anything or anyone by not dating.
All I need in this life of sin is me and my girls.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
5Niyi
WITH SMOOTH JAZZ IN MY EAR AND MY CLAY-SOILED APRONin my duffel bag, I’m at peace as I think of the hanging wall vases I threw at the pottery studio for Aaron’s client. I’ve barely opened my front door when I jump out of my skin at the sight before me.
“Holy shit,” I say instinctively, causing Merc and Vee to bust out laughing on my couch. My bag lands on the floor with a thud. I squint at the open bottle of 2021 Merlot from my collection and my open sketchbook. They always do this—come over and grab one of my Saturn-aged bottles from the wine shed and peruse my off-limits sketches—but afterwards they typically leave. Sometimes Vee stays, but never Merc.
“Why are you guys here?”
They don’t stop laughing till I’m seated on the black leather couch. While they’re distracted, I return my sketchbook to its safe place.
“You should’ve seen your face.” Merc’s words are scarcely audible, somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze as they struggle to catch their breath. Venus rubs their back and gestures for me to look in Merc’s bag. I pull out their inhaler, and Merc’s fingers find mine. After two puffs and slow drags, their breathing returns to normal. We might have the powers of celestial bodies, but they’re still in a mortal case.
“Okay, seriously. What are you guys doing here?”
“There has been a complaint,” Vee says, and I give her a look. “About you.”
“What?” Different scenarios run through my mind. “An employee?” I don’t talk to anyone in that office. I show up, do the minimum work, and leave.
“Oh, no,” she clarifies. “A customer.”
This alleviates some of my anxiety. “I’m not in a customer-facing role. Are you sure you have the right Niyi? I think there’s another one in sales.”
“There’s only one Saturn,” Merc says.
