LIZZIE'S WORLD: Shedding light on the truth

Jo attempts to help Liz understand her feelings for Chris; could she be right? ILLUSTRATION| JOSEPH NGARI

What you need to know:

  • I shake my head and look at my phone, as if willing her to come back on through the power of my eyes, and then I put it down on my desk and reflect on what she has said.
  • Perhaps she is right; I am asking for a personal reaction from Chris, whereas the only thing that should matter is that he has given me the recommendation I need.
  • And maybe… maybe she’s right about me still having feelings

“You know, I don’t know how to get through to Chris,” I tell Jo on the phone. I have called her to express my puzzlement at how Chris has reacted to the news that I am trying to leave my job – and the country. “Maybe he’s happy I am leaving and he doesn’t know how to tell me.”

“Or maybe he’s just preoccupied with something,” Jo says, “or someone.”

“Nah, can’t be someone else,” I laugh dismissively.

“Why not?” Jo asks. I can hear pots and pans in the background, like she is cooking something in her kitchen; Jo has really become surprisingly domesticated these days. I don’t understand it. One of these days I will have to ask her what happened to the feisty lawyer I used to know who would never bend over for any man.

“Because!” I exclaim, and then I realise that I don’t really have a good reason for why I think Chris is still single.

“Liz!” Jo takes a deep breath and exclaims. “You’re still in love with him!”

“I am not!!” I lean back in my chair, tilting it back and stretching my legs out.

Jo laughs. “I know that tone of voice. That would explain why Gabriel told me he felt like he had ‘no connection’ with you.”

She’s talking about her single, church-going friend who had absolutely no follow-through. “No. The reason that didn’t work out is because Gabriel is a lazy dater.”

“What’s that?” Jo asks.

“A lazy dater. A man who sits back and expects women to fall from heaven like manna. How were we supposed to get to know each other if he never asked me out, and when he did, he neglected to show up?”

“Did you try asking him out yourself?”

“Why would I even think of doing that?” The thought has never once crossed my mind.

“You thought he was attractive, yes? And eligible?”

“And boring,” I interrupt.

“Ai, don’t badmouth him just because it didn’t work,” Jo laughs. “So you thought he was all these things and still, no spark?”

“I can’t with lazy daters,” I roll my eyes. “But that’s not why I called. I want to know what to do about Chris.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because!” for the second time during our conversation, I have no clue how to support my answer.

“You want to know what I think?” she asks.

“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway so you might as well,” I tease.

“I think you want him to notice you and tell you that he’ll miss you.”

I roll my eyes. Nothing could be further from the truth. “I’m going to change the topic now,” I say. “Why are you still at home at this time of morning? Shouldn’t you be barking at clients and staff at the law firm?”

Jo laughs and tells me that she is prepping dinner for herself, Johann and friends that evening. “You should come. Bring Chris,” she says. “It’s couples so it would really be great if you were part of a couple.”

“I do not fraternize with my colleagues,” I say huffily.

“Meh. Who cares? You’re leaving, right? Okay, if you won’t ask him to come, I will call him and ask him myself. Otherwise I expect to see you at my door at 7pm.” And on that note, she hangs up, leaving me no room to argue.

I shake my head and look at my phone, as if willing her to come back on through the power of my eyes, and then I put it down on my desk and reflect on what she has said. Perhaps she is right; I am asking for a personal reaction from Chris, whereas the only thing that should matter is that he has given me the recommendation I need. And maybe… maybe she’s right about me still having feelings-

“Brrrrr!!” I cut that thought short with a shake of the head, pull my chair upright and turn to my computer where I tap away until it is time for lunch. As I pull the sandwich I had carried to work out of my bag and prepare to chow down at my desk, I hear a knock at my door. I look up. It’s Ciru. “Hey, there’s something I need to tell you,” she says. And then she scurries into my office and sits down in my guest chair, and I brace myself for whatever she is about to tell me.