Chapter Four
Dani
SPONSORED POST FOR A BLACK WOMAN–OWNED SHOE brand? Check.
Follow up with the distribution company for Promesa? Check.
Edit my upcoming YouTube video? Check.
After the funeral yesterday, work is the only thing that makes sense. If I stop working for a moment, the exhaustion will set in. The bomb Tanya set off on Micah and me will consume my thoughts.
Ugh, Micah.
What the hell was Tanya thinking?
Actually, I don’t think I want to know.
Up until now, I was doing a wonderful job of barely acknowledging Micah’s existence.
Him being in my inner circle had no bearing on my life whatsoever, but now I have no choice but to acknowledge him.
Tanya’s death should’ve broken the invisible connection between us, but instead it’s dug up the shallow grave I buried us in.
Now, I have to figure out how to present the same indifference toward him while spending an absurd amount of time together.
My phone rings, and an involuntary sigh runs through my body when my mom’s contact photo appears.
Answering her call is the last thing I need right now. Michelle Jenkins is a lot of things: a badass scientist, a musical connoisseur, a history nerd. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I know what a capable woman she is. One thing she’s not capable of? Letting me deflect.
She thinks the only way of coping is dealing with things head-on, so she’ll push and push until your dam breaks. This dam of mine has been carefully constructed. Years of layering each concrete block of secrets and shame have ensured my survival. I’m not ready to give her a peek at the other side.
The phone rings for what feels like an eternity until her photo finally disappears, letting me catch my breath.
While I’m navigating back to the to-do list Nisha left in my email, another notification pops up on my phone. A text from Micah.
Micah: Hey I know yesterday was a lot. I’m sure I’m not high on your list of confidants but I’m here if you need to talk
Ha! That’s probably my first genuine laugh of the day.
Not high on my list of confidants. That list is incredibly short to begin with; losing Tanya has made it so I can count the names on one hand.
Micah lost his place on that list six years ago, and if I have my way, he’ll never find his way back on it.
Leaving him on delivered, I reopen my to-do list.
I still have to decide whether I want to partner with this new makeup company.
All their products are vegan and their packaging looks like different desserts.
Their blush sticks are shaped like chocolate truffles, their eyeshadow palettes like ice cream cones, with shades named for different ice cream flavors. The tagline is Indulge in yourself.
They want me to be a sponsored partner, but I never agree to partnerships without trying the products first and researching the company. I’ll be damned if I attach my name to a brand with shitty products and even shittier leaders.
I keep all my PR packages that I haven’t opened yet in my spare bedroom, so I head there to find the one from Indulgence Cosmetics.
Their unique packaging had already sold me and the company seems to be on the up-and-up based on everything Nisha and I found.
The last thing to do is figure out if their stuff is any good.
Pulling out the eyeshadow palettes, blush, and bronzer they sent along with my tried-and-true makeup products from other brands, I set up my vanity to record a video.
One hour later, I have a face beat to the gods and I know for a fact that I want to partner with this brand, but I also know I’m going to have to rerecord the entire thing.
I hated every second of recording that. I don’t even have to watch it back to know how horrible it turned out and that no amount of editing is going to fix it.
I blow out a harsh breath. If there’s one word I could use to describe my content lately, what would it be?
Stale.
It’s just … stale. It feels like I’m ripping myself off over and over again, and though I know that’s somewhat the point—as influencers we’re not reinventing the wheel here—it shouldn’t be this dry.
When I first decided to take a step back from runway and editorial modeling and focus more on working for myself, it was exhilarating. I could make the content I wanted how I wanted to without having to run it by a million other people first. I could be my own person.
Now, it’s exhausting.
I want to still love it. I do still love it, but sometimes when I look at myself at thirty-one years old next to all the twentysomethings who are shaking shit up on a daily basis, I don’t feel like I compare.
Damn, so much for work being the only thing that makes sense.
I switch focus to anything on my list involving my tequila brand, Promesa. That’s much more manageable right now.
My fingers flinch at the sound of my phone ringing yet again. The face on the screen settles my nerves a bit though.
Omari Hughes is a friend of mine. A friend I see naked whenever the mood strikes, but a friend nonetheless.
“Well, well, well, I was just thinking about you.” I wasn’t. But a little goes a long way with this man.
“Oh, yeah? Guess I have perfect timing then, huh?”
“That depends.”
“On?” he asks with raised brows.
“On if you plan on coming to see me tonight.”
The white of his teeth cast a glow over the FaceTime call.
I met Omari last year while on a cruise.
He’s absolutely gorgeous. He’s tall with golden-brown skin, hazel eyes, a wide-set nose, and lush lips that I know for a fact make great pillows to sit on.
He’s successful, making a name for himself in the finance industry, and he’s a genuinely nice guy.
He can be a yapper, so I tend to zone out, but I like that about him.
It’s a great distraction when I don’t want to be alone and don’t want to talk about myself—like tonight.
Staring at him on my screen now, though, I’m starting to notice certain things that don’t appeal to me as much as they used to.
His box fade looks great on him, but my fingers long to grab hold of a head full of locs. I don’t find myself getting lost in the flecks of gold in his eyes anymore nor do I admire the crisp suits he wears every single time I see him.
I have to get a fucking grip.
A night to turn off my heart and my brain and listen only to my pussy seems like the perfect remedy for this shitty week.
“Absolutely. You hungry?”
“I can be,” I offer.
“I’m leaving the office now, but let me go home to shower and all that and then I can come pick you up?”
“Or”—I lean closer to the phone, lowering my voice to a breathy whisper—“we could order in.” I’m not hungry for food anyway.
His responding smirk is downright devilish. “Even better.”
Knowing what’s coming gives me the motivation to push through the rest of my to-do list.
I’m twenty minutes into editing the video I made showcasing my favorite dupe perfumes when I hear the distinct click of my door unlocking. The girls are the only people who have a key to my place who use it without calling first, so I’m not surprised when I see Nelle and Evie walk into my bedroom.
“Well, hello, my babies. What are y’all up to?”
“I told you she was gonna act like everything was okay,” Evie says offhandedly to Janelle.
“You did say that,” Janelle cosigns.
“Do y’all wanna fill me in or talk around me?”
Janelle, clearly fresh off work in her pleated-waist dress, turns to me with a determined glint in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell us that Tanya passed away?”
My heart sinks.
I knew this was coming. I’ve been reacting to messages in the group chat and sending the occasional gifs, trying to appear normal. I was hoping I’d be able to fly under the radar for a few more days before I had to talk about this with them.
“Oh. How’d you find out?”
Evie’s eyes lower to slits, investigating my every movement. “I ran into your mom at the store and she told me. What’s going on, Dani?”
I sigh. I should’ve known my mom would find a way to get me to face my shit.
“I guess I just wanted to be in denial for a while longer. Telling you guys makes it real.” Irritation sets in as the burn of tears bubbles up.
I press my nails into the palm of my hand to try to shift the pain somewhere else.
Anything to avoid crying.
Evie’s eyes soften as she scoots closer to me. “Aww, I’m so sorry. I know she meant a lot to you.”
“How can we help?” Janelle asks. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. We can just … sit. Exist. Whatever you need.”
This is why a large piece of my heart has their names carved in it. They understand who I am and they accept me for it.
I wrap my arms around both their shoulders to pull them in for a group hug, and for one brief moment, I let my grief take over. The dam is still intact, but it doesn’t feel like it’s at capacity anymore.
Once we separate part and I’m satisfied I can speak without breaking, I tell them about Tanya’s last wishes and confess Micah’s part in it.
“Wait, wait. How is this the first time we’re hearing that Micah knew Tanya too?” Evie questions.
“Right. So, y’all have known each other for a long time and just didn’t say shit?”
I don’t want to lie to my girls—any more than I already have, that is. But I also don’t want to share that piece of my life with them. My history with Micah is just that: history. It should stay in the past where it belongs.
“We didn’t know each other. Not really. We just both knew Tanya.
” I know from the look on their faces that they don’t believe me.
They shouldn’t. But I’m able to distract them with another subject.
“But anyway, enough about that headache. How are you doing, Nelle? Have you talked to Ri at all since she’s been on her honeymoon? ”