Chapter 4
I can’t pick a romantic comedy to watch while I’m getting ready for Tati Marie’s party.
I sit on the couch, sorting through my entire collection of DVDs, but the pictures on the boxes alone are far too triggering.
These dashing leading men with their glimmering eyes, their easy grins, their perfectly broad shoulders—they all remind me of Charlie.
So instead of watching a movie, I take a cold shower. It doesn’t help.
Vanessa saves me from myself when she calls to let me know she’s downstairs.
As soon as I see her brilliant smile, I relax and decide to live in the moment.
I can worry about Charlie tomorrow, when we meet.
But tonight is about Tati Marie, Vanessa, and their family—and I’m incredibly grateful they invited me to be a part of their celebration.
The restaurant is on the north side of the city, about a fifteen-minute drive from where I live. Vanessa parks down the block, and I can already hear the vibrant Caribbean beats when I get out of her car.
“It’s called kompa ,” she tells me when she catches me moving to the rhythm. “It’s a type of merengue music. Makes you want to dance, right?” She takes my hand and twirls me on the sidewalk. I’m wearing the perfect dress for it. Emerald green with a skirt that flares as I spin.
“I’d twirl you back, but I’m not tall enough,” I joke, and Vanessa bursts into laughter. It’s true, though. She’s tall to begin with, but tonight she’s towering over me in gold heels that pair beautifully with her coral minidress.
“Come on, shorty,” she says, linking her arm with mine.
I’m practically giddy inside. This is exactly what I need to get my mind off of droolworthy Charlie, and that electric zing that happened when we touched.
A girls’ night.
I haven’t had one since college—unless you count the times I nursed a glass of wine at a bar in Manhattan, while my uptight sister sat next to me skimming manuscripts for work. I certainly don’t.
When Vanessa opens the door to Denise’s restaurant, the first thing I notice is color.
Everywhere. The walls are painted in tropical hues—mango yellow, lime green, and sea blue—giving lush island vibes.
There are potted palm trees in clay pots in every corner, and vases with bright orange and pink hibiscus flowers on every table.
And the artwork is so mesmerizing, I stop to soak it all in.
On the wall beside the host stand are canvases featuring what I assume are Haitian landscapes.
My gaze travels across them, admiring the vivid tones of the ocean, the sky, and the hillsides peppered with rainbow-colored houses.
“Aren’t these beautiful?” Vanessa says, next to me. “Tati Marie painted them.”
“They’re spectacular. Her impasto technique is to die for.”
“Her what now?” Vanessa asks me with raised eyebrows.
“Impasto,” Marie chimes in, appearing behind us. “It’s the way I layer the paint to create texture. And thank you, Jenna. That’s an honor, coming from such a talented artist.”
I nearly shake my head to object, but decide only to smile as she pulls me in for a hug. “Happy birthday, Marie.”
“Bòn fèt, Tati,” Vanessa says in Creole.
“Thank you, my dears. And Jenna, I hope you’re hungry, because Denise made enough food for an army.”
“Where is my sister, by the way?” Vanessa asks, surveying the crowd.
“Over by the buffet. Go—enjoy! I’m going to get myself a birthday mojito,” Marie says with a wink before she dances her way to the bar.
I watch her, and my heart swells. I still feel her joy even though she’s halfway across the room.
And it’s not only her. Everywhere I look, people are smiling, laughing, dancing.
I think of the soirees my parents hosted when I was growing up.
They were nothing like this. Just a roomful of my dad’s colleagues making pretentious literary references.
I would rather have watched paint dry. Literally.
When I turn back to Vanessa, she’s reading a message on her phone. “My friend Sam’s on her way, but she’s running late, so let me introduce you to everyone. This is my entire family, except my parents, who live in Miami. They’re allergic to cold weather,” she jokes.
Every aunt, uncle, and cousin greets me with open arms and beaming smiles. Finally, we make it to the buffet table, where a lovely young woman as tall and statuesque as Vanessa smiles at me. “You must be Jenna,” she says, pulling me in for a hug.
I could get used to this.
“Vanessa tells me you’ve never tried Haitian food before, so I’m going to give you a quick tour of the buffet table,” Denise continues. My mouth waters as I eye the spread, which looks almost too beautiful to eat.
“We’ll start with the paté . It’s a savory pastry filled with ground beef and spices,” she begins.
“Next we have banan peze , which are crispy fried plantains. Then there’s diri— that’s rice—with black beans.
And finally the entrees: red snapper, stewed chicken…
and it wouldn’t be a party without griot . ”
“That’s fried pork,” Vanessa explains.
“Oh, and this is pikliz ,” Denise adds, pointing to something that looks like coleslaw. “It’s spicy—so consider yourself warned.”
“It all looks delicious. I can’t wait to try it,” I tell her.
Vanessa and I pile our plates high with food, then find an empty table.
A minute later, she waves at someone across the room.
“Sam’s here! Now, I’m sure you’ll get along great, but a word of warning—she has absolutely no filter,” my friend says all in one breath, a split-second before Sam reaches our table.
“V!” Sam squeals when we stand to greet her.
“Long time no see! You look fantastic!” Vanessa says, hugging Sam. “I love your dress.”
It is an amazing dress. Very bohemian chic. It’s white linen and hits right above the knees, with a deep V-neck and ruffled sleeves. It looks stunning with the contrast of her dark eyes and hair.
“Thanks! It’s vintage, from the seventies. The only downside is, I can barely keep my tits in it! I had to use tape.” Sam looks down at her breasts, then squeezes them a few times. When she’s satisfied everything’s in place, she reaches out her hand to me. “Hi! I’m Sam.”
I barely contain a laugh. “Jenna. Nice to meet you.”
“ Wow ,” she says looking me up and down. “You’re a total smoke show.”
“Oh! Um…thank you.” My cheeks burn.
“I told you Sam has no filter,” Vanessa says with an amused grin.
Sam laughs. “It’s my fatal flaw. I’m sorry.
But if it makes you feel any less uncomfortable, I promise I wasn’t hitting on you.
I’m into dudes, unfortunately . Although I have been told I have masculine energy.
But I think it’s just because I’m a thirty-year-old woman who doesn’t want to be tied down. ”
Vanessa chuckles, then turns to me. “She’s still sowing her wild oats.”
“If only it were that easy. The guys I meet are all so needy.” Sam rolls her eyes. “Give me an orgasm and be on your way, okay? We don’t need to cuddle all night and have breakfast in the morning.” She shudders.
“Okay, then!” Vanessa exclaims with a clap of her hands. “On that note, I’m going to make you a plate, Sam. I know how much you love Haitian food, so I’ll be sure to give you a little bit of everything. ”
“Thanks, V,” Sam says, taking the empty seat next to mine as Vanessa heads to the buffet.
“So, you and Vanessa met in New York?” I ask Sam.
She nods. “We used to frequent the same coffee shop when I was in grad school. I wrote most of my dissertation there, and whenever I needed a break, I’d strike up a conversation with the poor sap at the table next to me.
Young, old, male, female—I didn’t care. Most people want nothing to do with you, but occasionally someone’ll stick, like Vanessa.
I started doing it in the study lounge in undergrad. It’s a fun way to make friends.”
“Where’d you go to college?” I ask.
“Northwestern. You?”
“I went to Michigan. But a friend of mine from high school went to Northwestern. I’m sure you’ve heard of her. She’s kinda famous now, since she married a celebrity. Sunny Dexter?”
Sam blinks at me for several seconds. Then her eyes go wide. “Holy fucking shit! Are you Jenna Andersen ?”
“Um…yes,” I say with a tentative smile, but my gut clenches. Here I was thinking I might get lucky and make two new friends this week, but with the way Sam’s looking at me right now—somewhere between shock and horror—that doesn’t seem likely. Why would she know my name?
Oh god. Is it possible someone leaked salacious photos of me and Dex to the press sometime in the thirty minutes since I last checked my phone?
Surely not. It’s been three years since we slept together, and why would anyone care? Plus, I’m sure my phone would be blowing up like crazy, and I haven’t felt it vibrate once .
I wish that fear weren’t always in the back of my head. But the thing is…it wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.
In grad school, this guy I dated during our last semester texted a picture of me half-naked and asleep in his bed to a third of our class.
Alex was the first guy I dated after Hunter, and I truly believed he had feelings for me.
Turned out he’d made a bet with his friends that he could get me to have sex with him before graduation.
“So you’re the Jenna Andersen, from Beachwood, Ohio? Head cheerleader? Homecoming queen? Most popular girl in school?” Sam says, pulling me back to the present. “And you’re telling me you and Sunny are friends ?”
Well, that settles it…I guess Sam does know Sunny.
At least I can breathe easier knowing there aren’t leaked photos of me and Dex floating around online.
But something tells me I’m about to get an earful from Sam about my history with him.
She probably sees me as a threat to Sunny, and now I’ll be stuck having to defend myself.
I glance at the buffet table to see if Vanessa’s heading back, but she’s busy talking to her uncle.