Chapter One
Micah
“DID I EVER TELL YOU YOU’RE MY HERO?” MY SISTER, Bailey, asks half sarcastically as I hand her a cup of ginger hibiscus tea.
“Conveniently, the only time you do is when I bring your ass tea,” I joke.
“Mmm, well, what can ya do?” She smacks her lips with a cheeky smile.
I watch as she lowers her standing desk to its lowest setting before sitting down and sipping her tea.
She hums contentedly and then sets her mug on the heated coaster beside her.
She looks back at her computer and leans her arms against the forearm support pads connected to her desk before typing a long email.
While she’s focused, I take a look around her space to see what upgrades can be made.
I’ve wanted to get her a new chair with better adjustments, since she’s had this one for a couple of years.
The ergonomic chair helps her muscles not be so tight after a long day of being sedentary.
When I get back to my office, I’ll search for some options to show her.
I’ve always been protective of Bailey—that’s just the nature of being a decade older than your sibling. Since her multiple sclerosis diagnosis four years ago, I’ve done my best to consider ways to help her feel comfortable.
To be honest, I never knew what MS was before Bailey’s diagnosis.
I had heard of it, but I knew nothing of its causes, symptoms, or—most important—treatments.
When I researched it and learned it’s a disease where the immune system attacks the protective covering of nerves, and that there’s no cure, I was devastated for her.
Bailey hits send on her email and turns her focus back to me. “So, guess what?”
“Do I wanna know?”
She rolls her eyes. “Why can’t you ever just say ‘what’?”
“Because you want me to.” I shrug, moving out of the way before the back of her hand can connect with my ribs.
“Anyway, Roc just booked an interview with Essence. I just found out from Zariah.”
A sense of pride washes over me at Roc’s accomplishment.
He’s a newer artist who specializes in contemporary art.
He often uses photographs or everyday objects in his paintings.
We met three years ago when neither of us were in a good place.
I had just opened my gallery, Spring House, and what should have been a moment of pure joy and bliss felt hollow.
I was surrounded by so much love, but the one person I wanted by my side as I realized my dreams wanted nothing to do with me, and that cast a cloud of anguish over the space.
Roc’s best friend had just been killed, and he needed somewhere to channel that pain. I offered him my studio to work in and a spot in the gallery to show his finished paintings, and the rest was history. I’m immensely happy to see him thriving now.
“That’s what’s up. I’ma go call him when we’re done.”
“Tell him I said hey and congratulations,” she says, her voice subdued.
I squint at her. “You know he’d rather hear that from you directly.”
She squirms in her seat, which makes me chuckle. Everyone knows Roc has a thing for my sister. He’s a good guy, so I don’t have any issues with it, but Bailey refuses to talk to me about it.
“Goodbye, Chopper.” She spits my nickname at me.
I hold my hand up in surrender. “Ay, I was just saying, Franky. It’s cool, I’m done.” I laugh, softening my tone with her nickname. “What you got for me?”
She looks me over as if she’s contemplating whether or not she wants to continue the silent treatment.
The sound of her sucking her teeth lets me know she decided against it.
“You have a new commission request.” As she turns her computer screen to show the request, my phone pings with a new email.
I grab it to turn the volume down, but the lock screen preview makes me automatically unlock the phone to read the entire message. This has to be a joke.
Please be a joke.
From: vtownsend@
To: micahwright@
Subject: ATTENTION REQUIRED - Tanya Holden Estate
Hello Mr. Wright,
I hope this message finds you well.
My name is Victor Townsend. I am Tanya Holden’s lawyer, and I am contacting you with unfortunate news.
Tanya passed away this past Tuesday after a long battle with colon cancer. Per Tanya’s last wishes, I would like to request your presence at her funeral and reading of the will.
Please see the details attached and let me know if you have any questions.
I look forward to meeting with you.
Sincerely,
Victor Townsend, Esq.
It’s not a joke. I click on the attachment, and smiling back at me is the woman I consider a second mother. Underneath her name is her birthdate, but the sight of her death date right next to it is jarring.
How could Tanya not be here anymore? Death comes for everyone. I’ve understood that from a very young age, but Tanya is … Tanya was larger than life. Like an asshole, I assumed she’d have more time.
The lawyer mentions in his message that she had colon cancer. We hadn’t talked in the last two weeks while I was away for Arnold and Amerie’s wedding. I had wanted to visit in the weeks before leaving, but she said she was out of town and would let me know when she got back.
She never followed up, and I let life get in the way of reaching back out to her.
Fuck. She was one of the most important people in the world to me, and I didn’t even know she had cancer. The gravity of that sends me crashing face-first into the pool of regrets never far from my mind.
My hands feel impossibly heavy, so I let them drop, forgetting I was holding my phone.
The sound of the screen hitting the floor is so dull it barely registers.
I can hear the worry in Bailey’s voice calling out, but I don’t have it in me to answer.
Something pulls at the sleeve of my shirt, and it isn’t until I catch sight of Bailey’s shoes that I realize she’s dragged me to sit in her chair.
She bends down so we’re at eye level. “Micah, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
I look back at her and force words from my mouth that I’m in no way prepared to process. “It’s Tanya. She’s dead.”
I hate the sound of disingenuous tears.
About fifty people are standing inside Huber Memorial Church, each one a worse actor than the last. The woman who worked beside Tanya at the Baltimore Museum of Art and undermined her at every turn stands by her casket, wailing into a handkerchief.
I recognize the woman consoling her as the one who cursed Tanya out in the parking lot after she fired her from the museum.
The man sneaking sips of what smells like whiskey between his sniffles, meant to look like he’s choked up, is the man who used to run the rec center. Tanya always said she hated the man because he had a rotten soul.
None of these people cared about Tanya, and she didn’t care about them. There were so many people who loved Tanya, so many whose lives she changed.
Why aren’t they here?
My hands curl into fists when I hear someone ask why bad things always happen to good people, so I move to find a seat in the back of the church, hidden away from prying eyes. The sooner I can get out of here, the better.
As soon as I find a seat, the wailing woman moves away from Tanya’s casket, and there she is. The shining beacon who makes swimming in this sea of inauthenticity worth it.
From the moment I first saw Dani Jenkins, I knew I had been bested.
I knew nothing I could create with my own hands would ever come close to her beauty.
Looking at her now, standing by Tanya’s casket in silence, sunglasses covering her eyes, I still believe that wholeheartedly.
I’ve never met anyone quite as radiant as her.
A part of me knows I should go on as if I don’t see her.
Considering the way she avoided me in Tulum in the face of joy, approaching her in the face of grief is bound to send her running.
But a bigger part of me needs to talk to her.
Tanya was a considerable part of both of our lives, and her loss is devastating.
I can’t leave here without knowing how Dani is coping.
My feet feel heavier with every step toward the front of the church.
Every cough, sniffle, and whisper I hear as I walk up the aisle grates on every nerve I have left.
It doesn’t feel natural to see Tanya so still.
The woman was in constant motion, always searching for her next great adventure.
I don’t know who decided to dress her in the hot pink dress draped over her body.
Knowing her, she probably arranged it herself; whether to unsettle attendees or not is anyone’s guess.
But, without her boisterous energy as the final accessory, the outfit loses its charm, instead serving as the cruel reminder that she’s really gone.
Needing to ground myself, I turn to Dani. Not an inch of skin is showing on her body, yet when my palm touches the small of her back, a wave of heat hits my spine. “Dani,” I whisper. Her body remains perfectly still, and with her shades on, I can’t even tell if she heard me.
I start to say her name one more time when words finally fall from her lips. “I was at brunch.” Her voice is hoarse, as if she hasn’t spoken in days, so I lean closer to ensure I heard her right.
“What?”
Finally, she turns her body toward me. “That’s where I was when I got the email,” she says, lowering her sunglasses just enough for me to see her bloodshot eyes.
The pain etched across her features makes me want to pull her into me, but I drop my hands to my sides instead. “I was at brunch with the girls.”
She must have gotten the same email from Mr. Townsend that I did. “I was at the gallery laughing with Bailey,” I offer, hoping the answer can somehow assuage any guilt she might be feeling.
She tilts her head as if really seeing me for the first time. “I didn’t even know she was sick. Did you know?”
There’s a plea in her voice. An anguished prayer that she’s not alone, that she wasn’t the only one robbed of her chance to say goodbye.
“I didn’t know. I would’ve told you.” Whether she wanted to pretend the connection between us was invisible or not, I would’ve never hid this from her.
Her chin drops to her chest, the tension slowly leaving her shoulders. The pastor makes his way to the podium, signaling that the service is about to begin.
Despite the attendees, the service is pleasant. Dani and I shared a moment of levity when the slideshow of Tanya heavily featured the two of us but not a single other person here today. Only Tanya would manage one final fuck you from beyond the grave.
Tanya is being cremated, so there’s no procession to any burial site, and to my knowledge, no one is hosting a repast, so it’s just … over.
I step outside and put my hand up to block the sun’s unforgiving rays. Everyone files out of the church, seemingly content with going back to their lives. I have no desire to do that.
Without a word, Dani and I migrate so that we’re standing side by side, facing the street. I don’t think Dani sought me out consciously. Like me, she’s seeking stillness among the chaos. Trying to find a path back to normalcy, whatever that looks like now.
Whenever I experienced a loss this great, it was Tanya who saved me from my own recklessness. Loss has driven me to act so far out of my character I didn’t recognize myself. I treated the world like it didn’t matter.
Who is going to save me now that she’s the one who’s lost? Do I even want to be saved?
We stand there until there’s virtually no one left in the parking lot. The threads of grief binding us unravel with every car that pulls off. Dani hides it well, but I can feel her calm demeanor shifting to a base instinct to flee.
She turns to do just that, but her path is blocked by an older Black man of average height in a black suit. His hair is mostly white, while his beard and mustache are salt-and-pepper. His hooded eyes don’t look unkind, just serious. Before he can speak to her, I position myself in front of Dani.
He looks back and forth between us, his mouth muscles twitching but never quite reaching a smile.
Clearing his throat, he focuses his attention on me. “Mr. Wright”—then on Dani—“Ms. Jenkins. My name is Victor Townsend. I emailed the two of you.”
Recognition hits both of us, and we each shake his hand.
“Thank you for coming,” he says.
“Of course,” I respond.
“Yes, well, I’m just glad we were informed about it before it was too late,” Dani adds.
I turn to look at her, finding her brows knitted together and her gaze set on Mr. Townsend. Her anger is misplaced, but damn if I’ll tell her that. I turn back to Mr. Townsend, folding my arms against my chest.
“Right. Here’s my card. It has my office address on it.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out two business cards, and extends them to us. “Would you both be able to head there now for the reading of the will?”
“Right now?” I ask.
“Correct.”
There’s nothing in Tanya’s will I want. What I want is something I can never have again.
I can never call her for advice, open my email to find artists and events she recommends, or get my ass whooped in chess on random visits.
Her will won’t bring her back, so it’s pointless to me, but clearly there’s something she wants me to have, so I agree to come.
Mr. Townsend looks to Dani for confirmation, and based on the resolve that takes over his features, he must get it. He gives us both a stern nod and heads off to his car.
He’s a very frigid man. I imagine Tanya probably gave him hell regularly. I chuckle at the thought, then look over to Dani, who stares unblinkingly at the card.
I rest my hand on top of her wrist. The effect is almost instantaneous; her fingers twitch beneath my hold, and her eyes flutter, slowly at first and then rapidly until they’re focused on mine.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her eyes this close.
They’re still red-rimmed, but they’re no less breathtaking.
Pitch-black and iridescent. They’re bewitching in a terrifying way because one look from her could bring you to your knees or have you following her off the ship to your cold, watery death.
Even knowing this, I’d still stare into her eyes every time.
“Do you want to ride with me over there?”
The question seems to remind her who she’s talking to and where we are because her neck snaps in both directions frantically. The tug of her wrist against my hand isn’t forceful. It’s almost gentle but enough to make me immediately relent.
“No, thank you,” she says, shaking her head vehemently. And with that, she walks away from me … again.