14. Sister, Sister
SISTER, SISTER
TESSA
My kitchen smells like heaven—warm oil and sweet dough mingling with powdered sugar in a way that calms me. My hands move automatically, rolling out the beignet dough while my mind races about my visit with Grandmère.
I tried to listen to the whispers of my dreams last night, but I swear they were mute.
Across from me, Carissa sprinkles powdered sugar over a fresh batch. Her movements are efficient, but her mouth is as sharp as ever.
“You’re looking a little less like a zombie than you did two days ago at Café Amaretto,” she says, her tone teasing, though her eyes are all concern. “Grandmère must’ve said something to pull you out of your funk.”
I pause for a moment, pressing the rolling pin into the dough. “She always knows what to say,” I admit, my voice soft. “But I still don’t have a lead on Saul. I’m stuck. It’s like chasing smoke.”
Carissa sets down the sifter and leans against the counter, studying me. “Forget Saul,” she says firmly. “Seriously, Tess. That man’s a ghost and a headache. Come to that party tonight at Crescent Hall, which I told you about. You need to get out of your head for a bit.”
I stop rolling and glance up at her, skeptical. “Crescent Hall? Isn’t that neighborhood still a little... rough around the edges?”
Carissa snorts, throwing me a look. “Rough around the edges? Girl, please. If it was, would the official British Comic Con after-party be there? Nothing but geeks and bougie people are going to that.”
A laugh escapes me despite the knot in my chest. “A British Comic Con after-party? And you think that will make me forget about my British ex-rugby star? Be serious, Carissa.”
She lets out a dramatic huff, grabbing her sifter like a mic. “I’m tired of hearing about dreams and that negro, Saul! One night, Tess. Let’s forget about your so-called fated love and have some fun.”
Before I can respond, powdered sugar flies in my direction, dusting my arm. I gasp, my mouth falling open as I hold up my rolling pin like a weapon. “Oh, it’s like that?”
Carissa doubles over, laughing, clutching her sides as I approach her with slow, deliberate menace. “Tessa, don’t! You’re holding a whole rolling pin—I’m unarmed! This isn’t fair!”
We’re laughing so hard that I have to put the rolling pin down to catch my breath. “Okay, okay,” I say, waving her off. “But don’t we need costumes for something like this? Comic Con isn’t exactly casual.”
Carissa grins, triumph written all over her face. “Already figured it out. We’re going as Bond Girls. One of the five Black ones. Iconic, right? I’ll be Rosie Carver, and you’ll be Thumper!”
I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I toss a bit of flour onto the counter. “Okay, I love it. I have a yellow bikini I’ve been dying to wear. And that’s her iconic look. But if we’re doing this, we have to invite Selene.”
Carissa groans, rolling her eyes. “Why? She’s such a buzzkill! Do we have to bring her?”
“Hey!” I throw a handful of flour in her direction, hitting her shoulder. “That’s my sister. And besides, it’s our weekend to hang out—it’s on the calendar. So if you want me, you have to take her too.”
Carissa sighs dramatically, brushing off the flour like it personally offended her. “Fine. But if she starts lecturing us about ‘making good decisions,’ I’m blaming you.”
“Deal.” I laugh, shaking my head as I shape another round of dough. “Now finish sugaring those beignets so we can eat. I know your greedy behind only comes here for the snacks.”
Carissa grumbles, but a smile tugs at her lips as she picks up the sifter again. “You’re lucky I love you—and your bossy sister.”
“And you’re lucky I let you in my kitchen,” I shoot back, smirking.
Maybe Carissa is right. One fun night might not fix everything, but it couldn’t hurt.
* * *
“I’m not going to that party at Crescent Hall,” Selene declares, her voice sharp enough to cut through the static. “That old sugar refinery is cursed, Tessa. You know it is. Something foolish and dangerous happens at an event there every year. And the Warehouse District? It’s still the hood to me, no matter how many coffee shops and art galleries they cram into it.”
Sitting on my comfy couch, I bite into my fourth beignet in ten minutes as Selene’s words pour over me like ice water. Her voice threatens to douse any lingering warmth from my visit with Carissa. I was finally excited about something, and Selene is trying to kill my vibe.
I never should’ve invited her.
“Selene,” I say, sighing, drawing out her name. “You think everything fun is a bad idea. If there’s even a sliver of joy to be found, you find a way to kill it. It’s your superpower.”
“That’s not true!” she snaps, her tone defensive.
“It is,” I counter, my voice rising as I let my frustration spill over. “Anything outside your perfectly controlled, boring life gets dismissed as reckless. Forgive me if I take your warnings with a grain of salt. Besides, Carissa is going. It’ll be fun.”
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear Selene’s exasperation through the line. I picture her pacing her apartment, phone clutched in one hand, the other pressed to her temple as if I’m the source of all her headaches. She always does this—worries too much and tries to control too much. It’s her way of showing love, but sometimes it feels more like a chokehold than a hug.
“You think Carissa’s presence makes it more appealing?” she asks, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Girl, please. That woman lives for drama.”
“Exactly,” I reply, a sly smile tugging at my lips. “She’s the life of the party, and you need a little bit of her energy in your life. Honestly, so do I.”
“No, you don’t. Instead, you should listen to my advice more often than your wild-ass friend because I’m usually right, and that chick stays wrong! I was honest enough to tell you that participating in that reality TV show, Love, Unmasked, was a dumb idea. She was all like, yassss, best friend, do it! Now, look at what happened.
I swear to God….
“Drop the dramatics, Selene. You don’t know half as much about my time on Love, Unmasked as you think you do. It didn't turn out as bad as you make it out to be. I may not have ended up happily married, but now I know precisely the kind of man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“Spshhhhh,” Selene tuts. “I’m not being dramatic. You didn’t get married, which is the whole point of the show. Then, you didn’t tell our family that you were going on Love, Unmasked in the first place!”
“Selene, I don’t have to tell our family all my business just because you do. Plus, I told Grand-mère, and she was all for it!”
Selene ignores me. “How do you think our aunties and cousins will feel when the Netflix banner shows them the number one show in America, featuring their niece and cousin being jilted on reveal day for all of America? At least with the show Blind Altar , you invite your family into the process to prepare them for possible humiliation before the disaster publicly strikes.”
I tip my head against my soft red couch and rub my eyes. I feel a migraine coming on. The show doesn’t drop for months, and I’ve done a good job blocking its release out of my mind. But all Selene wants to talk about is that ridiculous show.
Selene and I hang out one weekend a month, and I didn’t want to exclude her from Carissa’s and my fun. She loves British Literature and James Bond as much as I do.
So I called her. I should take Carissa’s advice and leave her butt at home.
Selene will not ruin my fun by being a wet blanket on my plans tomorrow night. Plus, as soon as she gets there and has a few drinks, she will be the life of the freaking party.
“Selene, listen, Chèrie, I’m going to the party, and you are free to join me if you like. But I’m not going to beg you. I’m also not going to defend my decision to go on Love, Unmasked all night.”
Selene pops the gum she’s chewing, and I cringe. I hate that sound. “Fine, but I'm out if anything happens at that Old Refinery. You know, the slaves that lost their lives there still haunt it. Every year, some tragedy befalls some unsuspecting fool. I’d rather that fool not be me or you.”
I laugh. “It won’t be me or you because the ancestors love us.”
“Ha!” Selene exclaims. “Plus, everyone knows why the old refinery is dangerous—Cecil Boudreaux. He’s a gangster from way back.”
I laugh. “Selene, nothing is going to happen. Plus, Mr. Cecil loved Daddy; I’m sure he remembers us. So, we will be perfectly safe.”
I walk over to the kitchen island and tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear as I knead dough for tomorrow’s batch of beignets. The motion relaxes me, and I can talk to Selene any time. I need all the help I can get to relax. And I can tell she’s winding up to get on my nerves.
“Tessa,” Selene’s voice is crisp and direct, with no warm-up or pretense. “Tell me the truth—have you never looked for him?”
My hands are still for the briefest moment before I force myself to keep moving, pressing the dough harder than necessary. I should’ve known this was coming. Selene has the kind of instincts that don’t let things slide. “Who?” I ask, playing dumb, though we both know exactly who she means.
“Don’t start,” she huffs. “You know damn well who. Saul Mensah. Have you let it go? Are you actually over him?”
I swallow hard, applying more pressure than needed as I roll out the dough. I’ve never shared the truth with Selene—not about the dreams, not about the scorching pearls against my skin whenever I face a choice, and certainly not about the lengths I’ve gone to in search of Saul. She wouldn’t comprehend. She’d advise me to let it go, to move on like any rational woman would after being abandoned on national television.
But I can’t.
I haven’t.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I ever will—at least, not without answers.
“Tessa?” Selene presses when I take too long to respond. “I don’t buy it. If some guy left me hanging like that, I’d want to know where he is, if he’s suffering, if he’s miserable without me. Hell, I’d track him down to let him have it. But you? You haven’t even tried?”
I let out a slow breath, keeping my voice as even as possible. “What would be the point? He’s gone, Selene. And I have other things to focus on.”
There’s a sharp pause, the kind that makes my stomach tighten. “Uh-huh,” she says, skepticism thick in her tone. “And you’re completely over it? Just like that?”
I grip the phone tighter, my pulse thrumming in my ears. If only she knew how deep I’d dug, how many hours I’d spent combing through online breadcrumbs, looking for anything that might lead me to him. I’ve chased every whisper, every mention of his name, only to come up empty-handed every time.
But she wouldn’t get it. She’d tell me I was crazy.
So I lie.
“Yeah, Selene,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “I’m over it.”
She’s quiet for a beat too long, and I know she doesn’t believe me. “If you say so,” she finally murmurs. “But if you had a way to find him, you wouldn’t take it? Not even for a second?”
I hesitate just long enough for her to catch it.
“That’s what I thought,” she says triumphantly. “You’re not over him, Tessa. Not even close.”
“You know what, sis?” I sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at Crescent. And Selene, please leave the judgmental vibes at home. I gotta go—bye!”
I hang up before she can get another word in. I need space.
I had been doing my best to let go of my Love, Unmasked experience. I thought I had, at least until Selene’s call brought it all rushing back. I knew the show would eventually air, and I believed I’d be ready when it did. At first, I refused to watch the preview sent to me. But tonight, I broke down. I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d catch a hint of his current whereabouts by replaying our conversations.
I’d convinced myself that reliving the reveal wouldn’t hurt as much. I already knew what happened: Saul walked away. I thought I was prepared, but it gutted me when I saw it again.
Reliving that pain almost makes me just let him go, regardless of what my ancestors might think about it.
Almost…