Must Date The Chef

|| 41.

Getting Paul to leave the house didn't take as much conviction as it did yesterday, my cramps have reduced to a mild throbbing which I am used to, plus the heating pad will take care of it should the pain return. Besides, he has other things like cooking and winning to worry about, I am a big girl, I will be fine with him gone for a few hours.

The dining looks empty without the decor of our date night, sitting here, eating alone feels odd. I stir the cornflakes and coco pops mix swimming in my bowl of milk minutes after his departure, taking spoonfuls of the cereal as if he's here to reprimand me for eating late. A list of things to do swirl in my head, my eyes lower to the bottles of nail polish I found in Chi's room and I pout.

A beep interrupts my reverie, I retrieve my phone laying face down on the table and my eyes round to saucers at the time on the screen. Twenty minutes past three. I erupt into a fit of giggles, my hand goes to cover my mouth and I snort. I sigh, I sleep too much these days. In truth, a lot has changed with me since I was rescued and I don't know yet if my sleepiness is simply on my period or among the little but new changes.

We are going on a date. My lips curve into a smile on seeing that message from Paul, I dial his number but it goes unanswered. I stand, the chair clatters to the ground and I roll my eyes before picking it. The fact we will be stepping outside of the house causes me to be giddy with excitement, I choose to ignore the time of the message and strut to the kitchen with an extra sway of my hips.

Dumping the clean bowl in the cupboard, my back rests against the tiled walls with my foot drumming into the ground as I redial his number. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach, I skip to the Instagram page and relax when I see their recent update: Busy. The notification bar shows I still have an unread message, I tap on the screen and my heart flutters when I open the message.

I make people happy, I make people sad, I make people cry, I make people laugh, I make people smile. I drive people into doing crazy things, some say I am complicated. But I am also patient, powerful and kind. What am I?

What? I let out a small laugh and make my way out of the kitchen and into our room. I have missed Paul's cheesy notes and corny lines but I can't wrap my head around this riddle. The serious part of me tries to come up with words but none of them seems to fit the context, I pucker my lips, eyes set on the ceiling as if the answer will appear on it.

My phone pings, the butterflies in my belly go haywire and my heart beats too fast I have to take deep breaths to calm myself. I place a hand over my chest as if to calm my heart threatening to burst out, heave a sigh and my eyes water as I read the words out.

Love. I love you Pauline Ifunaya Eneh.

I squeal, tears leak to my cheeks and I jump on the bed with the excitement of a child receiving her first Christmas present. Paul loves me. I twerk to the music playing in my head. I love him too; I love him more. My fingers itch to type the response I know he expects from me or better still, call him and scream it into his ears. I exhale and instead, input his words from the club and wait.

You are not in love with me, Paul. You are in love with the idea of being in love with me.

Seconds roll into painful minutes of silence with no reply from him, I get to work on picking out outfits for our date but I can't concentrate. My eyes fall back to the phone on the bed, I trace a line on my collarbone and sigh. Maybe the joke was too extreme. I am halfway across the room when my phone rings, I skid to the bed and my heart skips when I see the caller. A mischievous laugh escapes me, I clear my throat and let my head sway in tune to the ringtone.

On the third ring, I swipe right on my phone screen and Paul's breathing greets me from the other end. I sink my teeth into my lip, rub my hand against my knee while waiting for him to break the uncomfortable silence.