Javans favorite color is blue. He is also a Blues fan, not that kind of blue, Chelsea. He’s a fan of Chelsea and I know this because the number of times I have been dragged to those games or had my eardrums filled with statistics outweighs the countless times Maggie has told me I am hopeless.
My favorite color is grey.
When I first told Javans of this, he laughed and shrugged then leaned forward and asked “how does someone like you have grey as their favorite color?”
“Why shouldn’t I ? You can like blue and I can like grey there is nothing wrong about that.”
“There is nothing wrong, but it still is weird. I was expecting something like red, pink, you know something that most chics kinda dig, and you had to go and surprise me, again?”
“Again? What else did I ever surprise you with?”
“Remember that time we were with some of your friends and you said that you always wanted to drive a matatu here in Nairobi?”
“Wait, that was a long time, and why did that surprise you?”
“No one really enjoys driving in Nairobi because of how crazy those mathree drivers are, but you…you said it like it was one those things you couldn’t wait to do, like it was an achievement or something. Didn’t you see the way we all turned and looked at you?”
I smile as I recall this, but a shadow falls upon my table and when I look up, Louisa is smiling down on me. She’s dyed her hair red. How she manages to change her hair at whim amazes me. “Hey, how are you sweetie?” she asks and leans in for a hug. I take a whiff of her vanilla perfume and nod adding that I have been better.
It’s almost noon and we agreed to sneak out for an early chat under the pretense of getting early lunch. Louisa is in marketing and events management maybe that’s why she can dye her hair at whim. I am more in hospitality, a face that you have to greet before you walk into the building, sometimes, a face that tells you the boss is not in when he is in but does not want to entertain any visitors. I am what my bosses call the face of the company, so I have to look the part, no extreme piercings or tattoos or worse off hairstyles that serve up “I’m a gossip, give me some juice!”
Sorry, I am having a rough day. I learned from Javans that things have been going great with Patricia and the conversation we had yesterday night about wanting to settle down served me some bile in my mouth.
Louisa is plunging her fork into the chips on her plate. The soda beside her is untouched, but I know she will only take one sip and slip the bottle in her handbag and walk out like she’s had a meal at The Sarova Stanley.
“Joyce, have you broke the news to Javans?”
“What are you waiting for? The Messiah or should we ring a bell for you to know that class is in session?”
“Ehe! You can join the bandwagon and put all the pressure on me, no one is pushing you to get married to your baby daddy?”
“Correct! He is my baby daddy, not my husband! There are lanes Joyce, but here’s the thing, I heard from a friend of a friend. She happens to be close to the inflammable weave girl that Javans follows around and word is that they are getting serious and he was asking about making their relationship legit, so if you do not tell Javans tonight by seven o’clock. I will. What’s the worst that could happen?”