Chapter 1 #2
She sat perched on one of the barstools, with her legs crossed and phone in hand as she scrolled through her feed.
Every few seconds, she’d double-tap the screen, swipe, then paused on something that caught her attention.
Though she was sure she heard her, Cyren’s presence wasn’t acknowledged until she rounded the island.
“Oh!” Skylar chirped. “Hey. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Yeah,” Cyren mumbled, rolling her eyes while squeezing Dawn soap onto the dish rag. She said the word here as if saying home would’ve caused her physical harm.
“I don’t see how you do it. Working a nine-to-five is so...”
Cyren turned to face her, catching the scrunched-up look on her beautifully made-up face.
Skylar’s external appearance, unfortunately, didn’t match her inner.
She was gorgeous with smooth, brown skin that carried a natural glow.
Her features were soft but structured, showcasing high cheekbones sitting pretty beneath almond-shaped eyes that always seemed to be quietly judging.
Her nose was slim and straight, tapering just enough to give her profile that clean, sculpted look, while her lips were full and plush with a subtle pout.
Truthfully, she and Cyren could’ve passed as sisters, considering how closely they resembled.
The only significant differences were Cyren’s rounder face and complexion.
Its rich cocoa hue was deeper, and sun-kissed as if the sun had been faithful to giving her a satin finish.
Her frame stood taller at five-foot-ten, announcing her presence in any room she entered, without having to speak.
While Skylar’s straight, jet-black hair framed her face with a precise middle part, Cyren’s hair was a rich chestnut brown in soft, wild curls she liked to set with sponge rollers at night.
Skylar’s look was polished, with not a strand out of place.
Even when dressed casually in a fitted bandeau top and low-rise jeans while sitting at home, she carried herself as if she expected to be looked at and admired.
Cyren didn’t see anything wrong with that.
She, too, loved getting dolled up, but she figured it matched the beauty content, mini vlogs, and quick lifestyle updates Skylar enjoyed.
Where Skylar’s beauty felt curated and intentional down to the smallest detail, Cyren’s was effortless in a way that couldn’t be copied, no matter how close their resemblance ran.
To anybody watching, it probably looked like Skylar had it all figured out.
Yet, Cyren had always been able to see past the glossed-over version she showed the world; the carefully curated angles, the soft smiles that never quite reached her eyes, the way everything about her seemed like it needed to be seen to be validated.
It wasn’t that Skylar wasn’t beautiful, but that her beauty felt like a performance she never allowed herself to step out of.
Sitting there now, with that same judgment sitting heavy in her expression, only confirmed what Cyren had long ago accepted.
No matter how identical they might’ve looked on the outside, or how close their mothers were, they were nothing alike where it actually mattered.
“It’s so what?” Cyren wondered, lifting her brow.
“Limiting,” Skylar answered, shrugging.
Cyren shifted her weight, curious to know what she meant. “Limiting to who?”
“Anyone clocking in somewhere with nothing else going for themselves. That has to be so boring and draining.”
Cyren let out a soft exhale through her nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but more like a scoff. “That’s a bold assumption.”
Unbothered, Skylar shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“Girl, no, it’s not,” Cyren said, smoothly. “Having a structured schedule doesn’t cancel out having ambition. That doesn’t mean someone who’s working a regular job isn’t also pursuing something else.”
Skylar pressed her lips together, feeling otherwise. “Again, limiting their full potential, fulfilling someone else’s dreams, and lining their pockets. I don’t ever want to be that comfortable.”
Cyren knew there was no getting through to her, so she dropped the subject.
For someone who was literally getting paid from brands and had sponsorships, technically living her dreams, she couldn’t understand why her cousin didn’t see the sacrifices it took to do one thing while waiting for another.
If Cyren didn’t know anything, she knew there was power, healing, and blessings in the waiting.
Even if sometimes she didn’t like the wait.
Maybe she hasn’t gone through that season of life yet, Cyren thought.
“Well, hopefully you’re never in a place where you’ll have to be.”
Skylar smiled. “Exactly. You want a shot?”
Cyren hesitated. She hadn’t noticed the bottle of Don Julio until she picked it up. The way she just changed the subject was baffling, but it wasn’t anything new.
She shrugged. “Sure. I’ll take one with you.”
“Yay! See, that’s what I’m talking about. Loosen up some.”
Pushing off the counter, Cyren moved toward the cabinet, reaching up to grab a second glass.
Her fingers brushed over a few before she decided on a smaller one with a pink painted rim and the word Phuket across the front.
It was a souvenir her Aunt Nia returned home with after a two-week trip to Thailand.
She slid the glass her way. The quiet clink of it against the counter filled the silence between them.
Skylar poured the amber liquid to the brim, and the scent of tequila cut through the air almost instantly.
Cyren picked her glass up, running her thumb over the embossed detailing, and stared at her cousin.
Beneath her flawless makeup and the effortless way she carried herself…
There was something else. Something quieter.
Skylar’s eyes didn’t hold that same sharpness they had a second ago.
If anything, they looked like they were pleading for something she wasn’t willing to ask for aloud or share with her cousin.
Skylar lifted hers, and they tapped each other’s.
“To what?” Cyren asked.
Skylar paused, the question catching her off guard. For once, she didn’t have a quick, witty answer ready. Her gaze dropped to the glass in her hand, where her thumb traced the rim like she needed something else to focus on.
“To… getting through it,” she said in a softer tone.
The elephant made its presence known, but Cyren decided to ignore it. Nodding once, her chest tightened as her fingers lightly tapped the counter. “Yeah,” she mumbled, “to that.”
Skylar instantly winced, reaching for a lime. “Ugh. I swear I hate that every time,” she muttered, biting into it.
Cyren welcomed the burn more than the taste. It gave her something else to focus on, sharp enough to momentarily distract from the dull ache settling deep in her chest.
“Auntie Nia at work?” Cyren asked.
Skylar had already drifted back to her phone, and Cyren caught the subtle roll of her eyes.
“Of course she is. That’s where she’s always at. I don’t even know why you asked.”
Cyren knew why she’d asked. Because a part of her still held onto the hope that one day, the answer would be different, and that her aunt wouldn’t always be somewhere else, buried in work.
As a doctor, Nia had always worked hard, but lately, it felt excessive like she didn’t know what to do with herself when she wasn’t working.
Cyren couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t talking to her mom on FaceTime, and her aunt was right there with her.
They were either out in the city spending quality time or traveling, enjoying everything they’d worked hard for.
It was motivating to witness, and now all Cyren felt was silence.
She moved back at her aunt’s request so the family could lean on one another, but the truth was, Cyren hadn’t felt more alone. She wasn’t a complete shell of herself. Just of who she used to be and everything she knew.
What she did know was that somewhere in that silence, pieces of all of them had gone missing. The hole in Cyren’s chest hadn’t nearly begun to close, but the liquor softened the edges just enough to make the pain bearable.
“Pour me up another one,” she said, sliding her glass Skylar’s way.
Gripping the neck of the bottle, she poured them both another shot before Cyren ventured to her room.
To her hiding space. Stripping from her clothes so she could shower and lie down, she stood at her dresser, removing her earrings and tennis bracelet.
Plugging her phone into the charger, she noticed a missed call from her auntie and a voicemail to go with it.
Her hand hovered, not sure if she wanted to know what her auntie was saying, but she took a deep breath, pressed play, and listened anyway. Her stomach churned at the softness and sadness in her aunt’s voice.
“Hey, my beautiful niece. I know you’re probably home by now, and I hope you had a good day at work. I’ll be working a double, so you won’t see me until the weekend. If you’re off, maybe we can do something. I try to keep myself busy around their birthdays, so I’m not as sad.”
Nia paused, and they both simultaneously cleared the ache from their throats. Cyren blinked to mask hers, while Nia sadly chuckled.
“I don’t know how that’s working out, but I’m here. And you are, too. We’ll keep getting through these tough times. They don’t last forever.”
Cyren knew that, but damn did it feel like forever was a long time. Someone needed to show her a clock counting down to when those tough times would end.
“Well, that was all I wanted. I have to get back to work. I love you.”
The voicemail ended, and Cyren stood there, stuck, letting her aunt’s words linger.
Her grip tightened against the side of the bed, fingers curling into the comforter as the tears she’d been holding back finally broke free.
One slipped, then another, until there was no stopping them.
Her chest heaved with uneven and shallow breaths as she cried in silence.
Not just for herself, but for her aunt, who was forcing strength into her voice while working herself into exhaustion just to avoid her home and the loss of her son.
And for Skylar, who was hiding behind the lens of a camera that couldn’t really see her because feeling it all at once might break her.
She was also crying for the people they lost.
The ones who should’ve still been there, filling the house with noise, laughter, FaceTime calls that turned into hours, and plans that actually got followed through. The ones who made everything feel full.
Now everything felt forced. Like grief had unpacked its bags, made itself at home in all of them, and showed up in different ways. Cyren drew in a shaky breath, slowly letting it out as she sat there, caught between wanting to pull herself together and not having the strength to.
Tomorrow was coming either way.
And neither of them was ready for it.