Chapter 8
EIGHT
Joseph had kept my birthday restaurant, a well-known Midtown steakhouse, a surprise.
Though the conservative environment filled with Thurstons and Muffys would not have been my first choice, my filet mignon au poivre was amazing.
But Joseph and I began our meal a little too careful with each other, enunciating everything with exaggerated politeness: “May I please have the pepper?” “Would you care for another roll?” “Could I trouble you for the butter?”
The tension between us started while I was getting dressed for the evening.
I’d been extra quiet, too distracted by my conversation with Barbara to chat.
After watching me silently pull on an uncharacteristically flashy outfit that I’d let Teresa talk me into buying—tight leather pants, a gold one-shouldered top, and gold stilettos—Joseph finally cornered me in the bathroom.
As he watched me layer on plum lip gloss, desire had made his dick swell.
My eyes had lingered on Joseph’s straining crotch seams then moved up to his muscle-roped arms, exposed by a black tank top—which I’d been seconds away from pulling off when he’d spoiled the moment by asking, “So, what’s going on with you tonight? Turning thirty starting to hit you?”
It had taken me a moment to register what he was asking. “No, not really.”
“Then what’s up? You’ve barely said a word since you got here. You look like you’re sleepwalking.”
“I have things on my mind.”
“Like?”
I’d realized that I was acting too weird to not offer an explanation, so I told him that I got another job offer.
“Baby, that’s great news!” Joseph had exclaimed.
“From a rival fashion magazine? Did Vogue hear about your promotion and call you? Lots more money?” Without waiting for an answer, he’d started to pace.
“Telling Marie will be hard, but if it’s a big enough job, she’ll have to understand.
Or, even better, you can leverage the offer to get more money from StyleList.”
“Not exactly,” I began. “Have you heard of Barbara Porter?”
“Doesn’t she have a start-up with a couple urban magazines or something?” Joseph Burke III had little interest in companies unless they hit the Fortune 500.
I bit the bullet and summarized the past few months since I’d met Barbara at Lucinda’s party, ending with the editor in chief offer. Joseph had stared at me with an impassive expression until I finally asked, “Would you please say something?”
“I can’t believe you kept this from me all this time,” he’d replied in a hurt tone that had unnerved me. I’d been steeling myself for his judgment, not his pain.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but can you honestly say you wouldn’t have tried to talk me out of it?
” I lowered my voice to Joseph’s tenor and scrunched my eyebrows together.
“‘Nicole, why are you giving up on a great job at a prestigious company to work for a little fly-by-night operation like NuVoices?’”
“Maybe,” Joseph admitted. My bad imitation had made him smile, but I could still see the hurt in his eyes.
“NuVoices seems sketch to me. Plus, you’re doing so well at StyleList. This seems like a step back for you after the promotion.
And have you thought about Marie? Whatever you do is going to reflect on her.
I just want what’s best for you, and this doesn’t feel like it. ”
In one fell swoop he’d expressed everything I didn’t want to hear: disdain for NuVoices, skepticism about my leaving StyleList, a reminder that I’d be impacting Marie if I did, and concern about what was best for me that implied he knew what that was.
Sometimes I couldn’t tell if Joseph thought he knew more than me because he was seven years older, because his family’s money made him feel superior, because he’d never experienced true failure, or simply because he was a man.
We’d dropped the subject, neither of us wanting to ruin my milestone birthday, and we’d avoided it for the first part of our meal, only our careful communication and overdone etiquette betraying the tension.
But after a couple cocktails plus a bottle of excellent pinot noir, we left the restaurant buzzed and laughing, my arm wrapped around his waist and his hand tucked into the back pocket of my leather pants.
After dinner, Joseph directed our taxi to Sofie’s Café.
When he opened the door, instead of the usual Friday night crowd, I saw approximately forty people gathered near the door.
It took me a minute to realize that I recognized all of them: my parents, friends from previous jobs, people I’d met around the city.
Even Kiara was there. Teresa and Sofie were in the middle, each holding one side of a huge chocolate cake with lit numbered birthday candles on top proclaiming to the world that I was thirty.
But it wasn’t until everyone yelled “Surprise!” that I processed that this was my birthday party.
As everyone started to sing Stevie Wonder’s “Happy Birthday,” I kissed Joseph, feeling guilty about how impatient I’d been at his apartment. Then I turned to Teresa. “You bitch!” I yelled, hugging her. Now I knew why she’d been casually grilling me for weeks about my other friends.
She laughed, passing the cake to Sofie to hug me back. “I got your ass.”
After I said my millionth hi, my girls pulled me away from the crowd into the kitchen. I perched on a long metal counter to take off my shoes. “Y’all, this is fucking amazing. But next time, warn a bitch so I can wear more comfortable shoes.”
“Hellooo, it’s a surprise party. That means it’s a surprise.” Denyse leaned over and thunked me lightly on the head. “Besides, remember when that poor Kappa who was crushing on you tried to throw you a dinner party for your birthday junior year and you chickened out at the last minute?”
“Oh wow, I totally forgot about that! Wait, why didn’t I show?” I said as I massaged my feet.
“Because you were freaked out that he went to so much trouble when you didn’t think you liked him.”
“Oh my god, that’s right!” The memory came back to me. “He had awful breath.”
“I spent weeks consoling the dude. Nothing worse than a soggy Kappa. I thought his poor ego would never recover.” Denyse chuckled and rolled her eyes. We were all cracking up by that point. “Yeah, we learned the hard way not to throw yo ass a party unless it’s a surprise.”
Sofie pulled a bottle of Veuve from the enormous metal refrigerator and popped it open. “I have no idea what a Kappa is and that’s still the funniest shit I’ve heard today.”
That cracked us up some more. “A Kappa is a pretty playboy,” Teresa told her.
“So, you did have the Divine Nine at Columbia?” Denyse asked with exaggerated innocence, knowing full well that the easiest way to get under Teresa’s skin was to pretend as if she believed PWIs had zero Black culture. Denyse had never considered going anywhere other than an HBCU.
“Talk to the hand, mami,” Teresa warned, always ready to defend her beloved alma mater.
“You guys are ridiculous!” Sofie had no patience for the Teresa and Denyse show. “Let’s give Nikki her gift.”
Teresa stepped forward with an envelope in her hand. “Here you go, homie,” she said, handing it to me. “It’s from all of us.”
“Yeah, girl,” Denyse chimed in. “Now that you’re an old woman, we wanted you to be able to relax your weary bones.”
Teresa nudged her. “Shh, you’re going to give it away. Although Nikki’s been hinting about it, so she might already know.”
“Okay, Ma, you better open it.” Sofie laughed. “It was hard enough to keep the party on the low. Someone’s about to figure out how to mess up a present that you got in your hand.”
Trying to think of what I’d apparently been hinting about, I tore open the envelope.
Inside was a certificate for a year’s worth of monthly massages at Bliss Spa.
I had been telling Teresa how the stress of my new position was tying knots between my shoulder blades, but I never would have guessed they’d get me a present this extravagant.
“You guys, I’m just … I’m completely overwhelmed,” I said.
“Please, don’t get all mushy on us,” Teresa groaned.
“Can’t help it. You guys are seriously the best. Thank you so much for this night and for my gift.” I got up to throw my arms around all my friends. “Ya know, I might have to use a few of these Bliss certificates on a spa day for me and my fave girls.”
“Sheeeet, I know that’s right. I’m there!” Denyse exclaimed before Teresa slapped her on the thigh.
“No way, lady. D’s just kidding,” Teresa said while Denyse mouthed, “No, I’m not,” behind her head.
Teresa had better eyes in the back of her head than most moms and pursed her lips to suppress a laugh. “We love you, Nik. You never stop working, and we want you to take some time to relax as you head into your thirty-first year on the planet.”
Sofie poured the rest of the champagne, then got a new bottle from the fridge. As she refilled glasses, she added, “With a huge new gig, no less, as the HNIC at StyleList!”
“Okay, Sof, imma give you a pass this time, but you would want to discontinue any further use of that phrase,” Denyse emphasized, slowly shaking her head while Sofie raised both palms in confusion.
Every now and then, her love of urban colloquialisms collided with her language barrier, forming a riptide that pulled her into dicey cultural territory.
Since we knew her intentions, we always tried to catch her before she got too far.
My eyes briefly met Teresa’s. “My HNIC job is okay, but I have something else to tell you.”
“Joseph popped the question?” Denyse guessed eagerly.
I almost shared my misgivings, but my girls were in no mood for a serious conversation about my relationship. So, I poked Denyse’s arm and laughed. “Girl, he ain’t ready to hear no.”