Looking at my platonic soulmates, Anjie and Sewa, I know exactly where to start.
“I love you guys,” I say, choked up by their care. I should be used to their love by now, but I’m beginning to think it’s impossible. Real love renews every morning like fresh dew.
“We love you too,” my girls say in unison.
I exhale a refreshing breath. “I think I’m ready to fill out theCupid’s Bowquestionnaire.”
Anjie raises a brow. “Not going for the dating coach?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to figure out whatIwant first. And, I’m still going ahead with my remaining two dates.”
Sewa opens her mouth to protest, but I continue talking. “If I’m going to be me, then I still need to have some semblance of a plan. I don’t know if Niyi likes me. He might simply be doing his job, but that doesn’t matter because I don’t want to throw all my emotions into one guy like I’ve done before. I want to date, with an open mind, and see what I actually like. No more hanging onto one guy for dear life just because he’s available and I’m afraid of rejection.”
When I’m done, I receive thunderous applause.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Anjie says.
“Guess we’ll leave you to it,” Sewa says.
We sign off with blown kisses and even moreI love yous.
I retrieve the questionnaire from my bag, throw my laundry in the dryer, and head to bed.
Soft pillows cushion my back, but still, knots form as I read the first question.
“Why am I dating?”
Despite the realization I had with my friends, the immediate response that races forward is clinical. I want to find love because I’m supposed to. It’s the next logical step in my life. After wading through the hard, self-defining years that are the late twenties to early thirties, I should be rewarded with a partner for all my trouble. But that’s not all it is. That was mainly my fear and anxiety talking.
Right now, I’m dating because I’m ready to bring someone along on my journey. I’m ready to share a life with someone. Iwantto share a life with someone. I have my girls and always will, but they have their own lives. We’ll always have brunch, but during the week, I come home to white noise and leave to white noise. I’m looking to fill the silence.
I might throw up as I admit it, but that year with Cole was one of my happiest. Having someone right there to share my wins, especially when Anjie was stuck at the restaurant or Sewa was buried in applications or her research job, was life-changing. Even though the focal point of our relationship was physical and the rest highly superficial.
In the passive excuse of my relationship with Cole, companionship was the silver lining. Recounting our days to one another against the soft background noise of a low-budget movie while he plastered me with kisses, walking the cobblestoned streets of the North End under starry skies, with clasped hands I thought would never untangle.
Even when I was upset at him or discontent with his distance, I thought we would never come undone because he was there. Not always mentally present, but he was there physically, and that gave me hope.
That made it okay.
I was ready to live below the standards set by my parents and the love I’ve received from my best friends because he was there, and I wasn’t ready to be truly vulnerable. I thought I was searching for true love, but it demands an openness I hadn’t accessed.
Aside from the true love testimonials, this is why I gravitated towardsCupid’s Bow. Approaching love with detachment was my way of notgetting hurt, but instead that left me with Cole, which was even worse. Instead of going with my gut, like when I became friends with both Anjie and Sewa, I treated love like it was another thing on my checklist.
Love isn’t algorithmic. It’s dynamic. And dependent on people ready to make it work. Not one person, not just me asking for signs of commitment so I can feel less lonely, butpeople—a team.
The words I need to answer the first question graciously reveal themselves.
I pick up the pen.
“Why am I dating?” I repeat. “To find the one who makes me feel like my community does—loved, appreciated, and most importantly, supported. To find someone I’m ready to grow with and vice versa.” I write, and the words flow, full of affirmations and hopes and dreams. It’s long and beautiful. Like love should be.
20Niyi
RETURNING FROM MY WINE SHED, VEE PLACES A NEWERRiesling on the table. Merc uncorks it, expertly pouring us three glasses.
I swirl the glass to release the aroma, and a hint of butter wafts up to my nose. But when I take a sip, the sweet pear flavor jumps out. Not dry enough.
Merc smacks their lips. “How long did you spend on it?”
