CHAPTER FORTY
ARIELLE
Six months earlier, that would have been enough reason for me to stay home.
KYE: My first full-booked month celebration. Nori Lounge. Come outside.
JORI: You knew the month was ending before today.
KYE: I did not know I would survive it until 6:58
NAE: Malik has Amir. I can go.
Three dots waited beneath the chat.
Everybody knew the fourth answer depended on whether I could make myself look ready fast enough.
I looked in the mirror. Wet hair separated into four thick sections.
Old T-shirt.
One eyebrow.
No lashes.
My first thought was absolutely not.
My second was that I actually wanted to celebrate Kye.
Those were different questions.
Going out last minute was not automatically growth. Staying home was not automatically fear. I had spent enough counseling sessions turning every choice into a test of whether I was healed.
Tonight, I wanted to go.
I just did not want anybody to see me before I looked like I had planned to.
That part was fear.
ME: I can be ready by 9:30.
KYE: 9:15
ME: 9:30.
KYE: Fine but if the good section gone you sitting by kitchen
I rinsed my hair, worked cream through it, and pulled it into a high curly puff. My edges curled instead of laying flat.
I reached for gel. Then stopped.
I had twenty-eight minutes and did not feel like fighting my own hair for eighteen of them.
I finished the second eyebrow, put on mascara, hoops, jeans, and a black top that did not require shapewear.
At 9:26, I sent the group a picture from my car.
ME: Leaving.
KYE: Who is this spontaneous queen
JORI: Drive safely. Do not respond while moving.
NAE: She could not let us have one moment
I laughed and sat the phone in the holder.
Nori Lounge sat above a restaurant in Camden, all dark green booths, low gold lights, and music loud enough to make private conversations impossible unless people leaned too close.
Kye had reserved a small section near the back. She wore a fitted burgundy dress that showed the new rose tattoo on her shoulder.
Jori had changed out of scrubs but still looked like she might check somebody’s pulse if they danced too hard.
Nae was already halfway through a drink and explaining to the server that motherhood did not mean weak liquor.
Kye looked at the clock when I arrived.
“9:34.”
“I had to park.”
“You had to be dramatic.”
I hugged her. “Congratulations.”
Her joke disappeared for one second. “Thank you.”
The table held a small cake that said BOOKED AND BLESSED in gold icing.
“Who picked that?” I asked.
“My mother.”
“Of course.”
“She wanted Beauty Boss.”
“Booked and blessed is better.”
“Barely.”
We toasted Kye’s month.
Not to surviving Trell.
Not to being strong.
To clients returning, rent paid, students booking her next workshop, and a business reaching a goal because she was good at her work.
That distinction mattered.
For the first hour, we had fun without analyzing it.
Nae danced with a man long enough to remember she had hips, then returned to the table before he could ask for her number.
“You did all that for nothing?” Kye asked.
“I danced. That was the thing.”
Jori nodded. “Reasonable.”
Kye stared. “Please never describe dancing like a medical decision again.”
A photographer moved through the lounge taking pictures for the venue page. When he reached our section, my body straightened automatically.
Chin down.
Shoulder turned.
Stomach tight.
He lifted the camera.
Then, a woman near the next table said loudly, “Ain’t that the birthday girls from that page?”
My pose fell apart before the flash.
Kye turned first. “Who asking?”
The woman wore a silver top and the pleased expression of somebody who believed public information made her part of private business.
Her friend pulled at her arm. “Leave them alone.”
“I just said I recognize them.”
“You recognized us,” I said. “Now what?”
She blinked.
Kye stepped beside me. “Yeah. Finish the episode.”
Old energy moved through the table fast.
Nae sat down her glass.
Jori stood, not to fight, but because sitting left Kye closest.
The woman lifted both hands. “It was not that deep.”
It never was after somebody got the reaction they came for.
I touched Kye’s wrist. “We are not doing this.”
“She came over here.”
“She is still not worth security putting us out your celebration.”
Kye looked at the woman, then at me.
Her shoulders lowered.
The woman’s friend pulled her away.
The photographer waited awkwardly.
“You still want the picture?” he asked.
My face felt hot. My puff had shifted while I turned.
Nae’s mouth was tight.
Jori looked ready to file an incident report.
Kye’s tattoo shone beneath the light.
“Yes,” I said.
We stood together.
“Do not pose me from the side,” Nae warned.
“You were just dancing like the room had insurance,” Kye said.
“That was movement. Pictures are forever.”
I looked at her.
She caught herself and laughed. “Damn. That sounded like you.”
“Everybody relax,” the photographer said.
He took three pictures.
In the first, we were still irritated.
In the second, Kye whispered something about Jori’s church shoes and made Nae laugh.
In the third, all four of us were talking.
The photographer showed us the screen.
The last one was blurry near my hand.
My hair leaned slightly left.
Nae’s eyes were closed.
Kye’s mouth was open.
Jori was looking at Kye instead of the camera.
“I like that one,” I said.
Kye stared at me. “Your counseling lady got powers.”
“Do not make me change my mind.”
The DJ switched songs, and we moved toward the dance floor.
Halfway there, somebody touched my elbow. I turned ready to pull away.
Sade stood behind me.
Her ponytail was shorter now. She wore a white blouse and jeans, less polished than the night I first met her. She looked at Kye, then the others.
“Can I speak to Ari for one minute?”
Kye’s face hardened.
I answered before she could, “Right here.”
Sade accepted that. “I saw you come in,” she said. “I was not going to say anything. Then, that girl started, and…”
She stopped.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“To apologize.”
The music pounded between us.
Sade looked uncomfortable enough that I believed she had not practiced this for an audience.
“I knew Cam had a girlfriend,” she said. “I’m not about to stand here and play slow. He told me y’all were basically done and only posing for appearances. I knew it sounded like bullshit. I still used it because I wanted him.”
Kye folded her arms.
Sade looked down once. “At first, I told myself I didn’t owe you anything. Then, you walked into that event and I tried to make you feel stupid because seeing you made me feel like one.”
“I could say that was between you and Cam,” she added. “It would be easier. It would also be a lie.”
It changed nothing about Monday night.
“Did he lie to you too?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I figured.”
“I am sorry.”
For months, I had replayed her next to me in clips, studying every part of her like she held the explanation.
She didn’t.
Cam did.
“I accept that you said it,” I answered. “But don’t dress it up. You knew enough to choose him anyway. I don’t want a conversation about him.”
“Fair.”
Sade nodded to the girls and walked away.
Kye waited until she disappeared. “That was mature and boring.”
“I am trying not to get put out.”
Nae touched my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Then, I corrected myself. “I am shaky. But I still want to dance.”
So, we did.
Because the song was good.
Near midnight, Kye posted the blurry lounge picture in the group chat.
KYE: Can I post this yes or no
JORI: Yes
NAE: Crop my stomach
ARI: No cropping. Yes to posting.
NAE: I withdraw consent
KYE: Too late you said yes first court closed
We argued for ten minutes until Nae approved the unedited picture after adding that anybody commenting on her stomach would be blocked by all four accounts.
Kye posted it with one word.
OUTSIDE.
No explanation.
No response to the old gossip.
I shared it to my story, then closed the app without checking views.
At 1:08, we stood on the sidewalk deciding whether to get food.
“You got class tomorrow,” Jori told me.
“At noon.”
“Kye works at eight.”
Kye shrugged. “I been tired before.”
Nae checked the parenting app. “Malik says Amir asleep.”
“Then diner,” I said.
The decision was last minute.
My hair was no longer centered.
Mascara had collected beneath one eye.
Nobody cared.
Including me, at least for the length of the walk.