Chapter 14 Moyo
Moyo
ANJIE WASN’T KIDDING WHEN SHE SAID THIS HALLOWEEN masquerade party was secret. Usually the location of these events, with their viral advertising videos and generic passcodes, is obvious to anyone remotely trying. But this? This was like finding a needle in a haystack.
On this North End road full of various people, locals and tourists alike, it’s easy to move undetected—if you’re white. But being three Black women, we get the usual stares.
“This is why I hate coming here,” Sewa grumbles under her breath, her words barely intelligible above the street chatter and increasing winds.
Hugging my coat tighter, I silently curse myself for wearing regular black lace tights instead of my heat tech ones. My need to feel sexy post-Cole and that disaster of a date with Julian might be my downfall.
“Almost there,” Anjie says for, easily, the thirtieth time tonight.
“We’ve been walking up and down the same stretch for hours,” Sewa says.
I reply, “It’s been fifteen minutes.”
“That’s what I said,” Sewa deadpans.
Our chuckles synchronize, cutting through the discomfort.
“Babes, you sure that customer was legit?” I ask.
“Lionel? Absolutely. He’s a regular at the restaurant and is always inviting me to these seasonal events. Between your bad date, my recipe testing mishaps, and Sewa’s fuck-ass professor, we need a girls’ night out.”
“Amen to that!” Sewa practically screams, turning even more heads in our direction.
I lock arms with her, pulling her in for a side hug. This semester of her PhD program has been rough. She’s so tired from her long days that it’s hard to drag her out of the house.
My head nuzzles into her neck, breathing in her rosy scent. Sewa rests her head on mine and we hang a few paces back, letting Anjie continue her failed Dora the Explorer cosplay.
“You good, babes?” I ask.
Sewa takes a second. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t ask if you’ll be fine. I asked if you are currently good?”
“Don’t get semantic with me,” she jokingly chastises.
I nudge her shoulder. “If you’d just answer…”
Sewa’s soft groan permeates the air. “It’s hard. Harder than I thought it’d be. I feel like I’m drowning with no end in sight.”
Having gone through med school, residency, and my fellowship, I know a thing or twenty about academia breaking souls.
“What do you need?”
“Nothing. It’s only the beginning, but I can’t think of anything except wanting it to end.” Sewa says this softly, as if the wind will carry her words to Anjie who is five feet ahead, squinting at buildings, looking for the entrance to this party.
I look up at Sewa. Her face is perfect, as per usual. With her ginger braids in a half-up, half-down style and immaculate makeup, she looks unbothered. But as someone who’s known her for over a decade, I see the fatigue, even beneath the concealer. How did I miss it these past few weeks?
Guilt washes over me.
I’ve been too caught up in myself. In dating. In Cole. In Cupid’s Bow to notice my best friend is trudging through quicksand and sinking fast.
“Have you—”
“Moyo please. Not tonight,” Sewa cuts me off. “Tonight is for drinking some rich guy’s liquor, dancing without a care, and having fun. I don’t want to talk about it any further.”
“Sewa—”
But before I can string together a coherent thought, Anjie yells, “Found it!”
“Later,” I whisper to Sewa.
Anjie stands akimbo. “Pick it up, slow pokes! A night is about to be had.”
She leads us to a dark burgundy door dangerously close to a dark alley we had passed multiple times. Standing in front of it, it’s no wonder we missed it. You wouldn’t imagine a door being there, and in the dark night, it blends right in.
Anjie gives a hard knock. The viewing door opens.
“Code?” a gruff voice demands.
Anjie clears her throat. “The owls are not what they seem.”
“Welcome to the masquerade.”
For what looks like an old door, it doesn’t make a sound as it’s opened.
“You can leave your coats here.” The man who let us in opens a small coat room. “And remember, no photography or videography once inside. Keep your masks on and enjoy.”
He disappears through another door, and we put the finishing touches on our outfits.
Sewa’s in a blood-red, v-neck, flapper-esque dress; Anjie’s wearing a white lace dress cinched with a detailed black-and-white corset she thrifted during the summer; and I’m in a black handkerchief dress paired with my lace tights because my ass always makes skirts shorter than they should be.
For the finishing touch, we put on our masks. Sewa’s is red and sequined, concealing just the area around her eyes, Anjie’s white mask is Phantom of the Opera-esque, covering half her face, and mine is black lace, with a flower kissing my temple and a piece of lace dangling towards my collarbone.
“Anj, are you sure this isn’t a sex party?” Sewa asks. I laugh, but Anjie only shrugs.
“I thought about it. Honestly, I’m not sure. Lionel only shared it was an invitation-only party.”
“And you trust Lionel?” I ask.
“I barely know the gu—”
“Anjola!” Sewa raises her voice, but the humor underneath is palpable.
“Hold on nau, let me land,” Anjie cautions us. “I barely know him, but he’s my most loyal customer. He won’t do anything dangerous to his favorite restaurant’s owner.”
The logic is mostly sound. I also wouldn’t fuck with my Nigerian food supplier.
“Let’s take a risk and succeed. We haven’t done something like this since college.”
“For good reason,” I add.
“Abegi, we’ll have fun. If it’s a sex party, we can watch or joi—I mean leave.” Anjie backtracks when she sees our faces. “I didn’t know this wasn’t a safe space.”
I shake my head. “You’re not a serious person.”
“As long as we’re together, everything will be fine, right?” Anjie asks seriously.
I look to Sewa, and for the first time in weeks, there’s some light in her eyes. I clasp hands with her and Anjie.
“Us against the world. Always,” I say, and we follow the arrows into another dimly lit hallway, adrenaline buzzing between us.
Anjie was right. This feels just like college. Fun, possibly idiotic, but exhilarating. And like college, I know it’ll be a great night with these two by my side.