+TYPED OUT-

+NONSENSE-

After the call she made, Monday sent a message the day after and another the day after that. All remained without response; Kenneth didn't even open them.

A week later, Monday still swam in the sea of stupefaction, not knowing why Kenneth cut her off.

"He's a Scorpio; they are as stubborn as a century-old tree trunk. Even a bulldozer can't do the job to chop their grudges stem."

Luces' aunty-proverbs didn't reassure Monday, who accepted her and Kenneth's story's end, which had more the face of a prologue than a first chapter.

The woman couldn't eliminate the frustration of not having had a clear explanation. Yes, the Scorpio stung with its exacting harshness, and her Cancer self just wished to claw Kenneth's face.

"Ha, I can't believe it. I mean, how old is the man? When I think of how people are always praising his diplomatic nature and smarts, I'm like the man is a rip-off; get a refund." Monday clapped her hands, "I swear I'm too old for this nonsense, Luce."

"Smart men are too attached to details. They always notice and hang on to that one detail. Also, their checklist is way up there. Remember Oncle Olamide? The guy had so many diplomas and kept rejecting women. They were never smart enough, beautiful enough, clean enough, etc. One day mom went, Ola, I found you di ideal wo-maan, meet Google homm. Google is intelligent; it can set yor washing machine fo you and open yo ga-ridge. It can sleep on yo nightstand. If you wante, mistress, there's Alexia."

Luce used that good old Naija accent that had Monday cracking up. It was the first time she had laughed since the incident with Kenneth.

Luce smiled, "take it, sis, ça c'est kdo [it's a present, catchphrase used by Patson, famous Ivory Coast stand-up comedian, kdo is an abbrev. of cadeau meaning present]."

"Oh, what would I do without you, Luce."

The woman shrugged, "I don't know, really, I don't." She then went to put on her sneakers.

"Aren't you going to have breakfast?" Monday asked.

"I'm fasting."

"What? Are you out of your mind? You're already a toothpick. Even your thunder thighs have made a run for it to Lagos."

"It's between God and me. I need answers."

Monday didn't question Luce any further; her cousin was determined. Luce missed the last Sunday service and woke up every night to pray. The nurse got her hopes up when she saw Monday had found someone. She rooted for Monday's story, which she saw as a good omen that would break what she considered a curse.

Now they were back to square one with no men but just the hassles.

Why couldn't they meet good men?

They weren't asking for the world; there was no need for extravaganzas. Luce would be content in having the most ordinary God-fearing man.

Why couldn't she find one that was free? For pastor Jacob was taken by his vocation.

Luce tried what she called the Ciara method. She prayed for God to show her the man, and she didn't put any criterion. At this stage, unlike Viola Davis who asked for a tall black man from the South, the thirty-seven-year-old gave God free reins. She was too exhausted from being picky.

"See you tonight."

"Bye."

Luce went to work, leaving Monday to take down her faux locs. She never kept in protective styles for long. There was always a moment when Monday longed to feel her scalp.

An hour later, Monday was still at it, and there was no rush. She had nothing else to do. It had already been a while since she wrote, and her story with Kenneth didn't inspire anything except a four-chapter short story she drafted without posting on the only writing platform she still used.