The Single Girl Diary (Part Twenty)


Telling someone you had been left at the altar, going into the intricacies of the event, is never easy. It wasn’t for me.

Abel was the first person I was narrating the episode to, since it happened. Every other person was too polite to ask for details.

They alternated between pathetic apologies or awkward silences. No one bothered to ask how it happened and I was grateful for that. I was tired of the pity, the subtle suggestions that I needed help.

With Abel, there was no subtlety. No pity, just rapt attention.

As I spoke, I realized it was with a strange detachment, like I was narrating something that had happened to someone else.

‘Come,’ he pulled me closer, just as I finished my story. ‘He was crazy to let you go.’

I laughed, a bitter sound.

‘What a cliché,’ I said.

‘I don’t do clichés, Kay.’ he raised his head, looking me in the eye. ‘You know how I feel about you.’

I shook my head. We had never talked about feeling, we had just enjoyed our friendship.

He touched my face, pulling me closer.

‘I’ll show you, ‘ he whispered and kissed me.

I didn’t hold back as he pressed himself into me.


It was the slight nibbling on my ear that stirred me.

I opened my eyes and was slammed by the unfamiliarity of the surroundings.

I rolled over, folding into him.

‘What time is it?’ I asked, hoping it wasn’t late.


My eyes sprang open.

‘I spent the night?!’

‘You didn’t expect to leave late last night, did you?’

‘But…’ I hadn’t spent the night in another man’s house since Austin. It didn’t feel right.

Why did I still feel like I owed him something?

‘It’s Sunday morning sweetheart, where else do you have to be?’

‘Er…church?’ Even as the words left my mouth, I knew I wasn’t going to be in church if I wasn’t there with him.

I hadn’t been to my church since my almost -wedding. Shame wouldn’t let me, so I stayed away.

‘Spend the day with me,’ he said, kissing my neck. ‘I’ll make you breakfast, at least. I can make eggs…scrambled. And we’ll get bread…I know you guys eat that a lot.’

I smiled. ‘Well, you’ve learnt enough about Nigerians, it seems.’

‘Enough to make you happy,’ he winked, rising from the bed.

I sighed, sinking into the welcoming softness of his bed. His bedroom was as attractive as his living room with red and white as the theme colours.

I marveled at the ‘whiteness’ of his home.

Rolling over, I stepped out of bed, the blanket wrapped around me.

I needed to find my panties and wear something decent.

Now, where did we fling it to yesterday?

I bent, looking beneath the bed.

‘Aha!’ my hand touched a familiar fabric and I pulled it out.

I frowned.

I was holding red panties but they were not mine.

What Do You Think?


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