If she sounded like her cheery self, I might’ve let her stick to her plan. But she sounds exhausted, and even without explicitly saying it, I know not having a car must be salt in the wound. Boston is walkable to some extent, but where we are, it is not. The closest station is thirteen minutes away on foot, and I’ll be damned if I let her do that.
“Actually, we live on the same block. So, no trouble at all.” I smile, and somehow it makes her smile.
Mission accomplished.
“Why didn’t you ever mention? I’d—”
“You’d invite me over?” I know I’m being forward, but it’s Saturday. I’m not working. Not being Saturn ofCupid’s Bow. Right now, I’m Niyi, and I’m enjoying the moment with her. No thoughts of love, matches, or a future. Just living in the moment.
“We could’ve had meetings close to home.” She tips her head. “And you could’ve been helping me with menial tasks while I finish work and we talk.”
“Tasks like?”
“Laundry,” she says after a beat.
“Washing or drying?”
“Ironing and folding.”
“Good thing I went to the African Mother’s School of Ironing.”
She chuckles, and then her smile drops. “I was joking.”
“I wasn’t.” I hold her gaze. “Let me help you. I have skills other than asking probing, dating questions.”
“Like what?”
“I’m very good with my hands,” I say softly.
“Is that so?” She raises a brow and a dangerous glint appears in her eyes.
“You’d have to take me up on my offer to find out.”
We stand there, looking at each other. Our breaths are becoming more laborious, but I doubt it’s because of the weather.
“Let me take care of you. Just today,” I say, and without overthinking, I extend a hand.
“Just today.” Like it’s a normal occurrence, she takes my hand, and the contact sends a hum through my veins.
Unlike our previous handshake, this one lacks firmness. I can barely call it a handshake. We’re simply holding hands.
Maybe Aaron had a point. This will probably never happen again, but being myself with her feels good.
“Where do you want this?” I ask, as I fold the last scrub shirt and place it on the pile. Moyo attempts to get up from the couch, but I stop her. “Just tell me where, and I’ll do it.”
“Leave it on the board,” she groans, and her heavy sigh of defeat is music to my ears. Despite agreeing to let me help, Moyo still tried to complete part of the ironing. Maybe she thought I was joking and that when I got to her house, I’d take back my word. She only agreed after providing a demo and closely inspecting the first shirt I ironed.
“Anything el…” My question tapers off when I walk back towards her couch to find her sprawled on the ground, arranging stacks of papers into different folders.
She moves to stand, but I place a hand on her shoulder as I lower myself and sit beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you…”
Moyo yanks the empty, green file folder from my hands. “You’ve done more than enough. You’re lucky I let you iron.”
“You ‘let’ me? I volunteered.”
