Going on this date was the first step.
In the time since, I’d had to relearn who I was, create my own future. Reshape myself to fit the mould of the life I wanted for myself.
That included a partner.
Even though I was almost physically sick, I was determined to try.
Patrick had asked me a few times to go out for a drink, or dinner, but it had always been casual. A suggestion, part of a group thing. When he finally came by my desk and asked me on a proper date, it was clear he meant it. It had been incredibly flattering. He was good looking, talented, kind and funny. I liked him.
I wanted to like him.
I met Patrick at the restaurant he’d booked.
He was standing outside, hands in his pockets as he looked up and down the street. I stopped a few meters away. He hadn’t turned in my direction yet. I took the opportunity to look at him. His bright white shirt was striking against the warm brown of his skin, and despite his height, there was an easy confidence in his posture.
He turned then and caught sight of me. A grin spread across his face that was so unaffected that it was almost disarming.
“Kaiya,” he exhaled heavily, closing the distance between us.
“Hello,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You look… wow.”
“Thanks, you too.”
Awkward silence inflated between us, until-
“Shall we go–”
“D’ya wanna–”
We both paused, and I held a hand over my mouth as I giggled. He shuffled his feet.
“Sorry,” he murmured, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Shall we?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the brightly-lit up entrance, and I nodded, falling into step beside him.
At first we talked about work. The jobs we were assigned, the people we worked with. The publications he’d freelanced on, my course. Very safe topics.
As the night wore on and we got used to each other in an environment outside of the professional one, we began to ease up.
Patrick picked up his glass, rolling the stem between his fingers.
“My mum and dad moved here from Grenada before I was born. Moved into the same house my family lives in now, which was way too small growing up. Mum still lives there, with my sisters.”
I leaned forward, watching the way the light from the candle reflected in his eyes.
“You’ve got sisters?”
“Two. And one older brother. I’m the baby,” he grinned, looking up and holding my gaze. The warmth in his eyes made me wonder if it was the candlelight, or just him.
“Three siblings,” I said, letting out a low whistle. “Your folks must have been busy.”
Patrick’s smile faltered, and he cleared his throat before taking a sip of his wine.
“It was mostly just my mum. My dad passed away when I was little.”
“Oh, Patrick, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged, but it seemed more practised than genuine.
