Seven Days in June(4)

She wanted Cursed to die, but the series provided a stable, secure life for Audre. Eva had fought dragons to spare her baby from the childhood she’d had. And she’d won. She just wished she could find her spark again. The movie might help her rescue it.

Not only that, but deep down, Eva hoped it’d give her a fresh start. With her cut from the deal, she could finally afford to take a break from writing Cursed and work on her dream book, the one that’d been buzzing under her skin forever. She was so much more than her silly, raunchy romance (at least, she hoped she was). It was time for her to prove it to herself.

Feeling a bit better, Eva rinsed her mouth out with her travel-size mouthwash. Almost unconsciously, she raised her left middle finger, where she always wore her vintage cameo ring (she felt naked without it), to her nose and inhaled. It was an old habit—the barely there scent of some long-ago woman’s perfume always soothed her.

Finally, in a quiet moment, she decided to check her phone.





Today, 12:45 PM

Queen Cece


MA’AM. Where are you? As your editor, I HOPE you’re writing. As your best friend, I DEMAND you take a break. HUGE NEWS. Text back.





Today, 1:11 PM

Sidney the Producer


Been trying to get you for 3 hours! I think I found our director! Call me.





Today, 2:40 PM

My Baby


did u get me the feathers 4 my #feministicon art project I need it 4 grandma’s portrait specifically her hair it was so fluffy thx mama enjoy ur cringey sex luncheon xo





Today, 3:04 PM

Jackie, the Weirdly Hypochondriac Sitter I Only Use 4 Emergencies


Audre’s home from the Debate Team pizza lunch. But she brought 20 kids with her. I noted on my ChildCare.com profile that I don’t do large groups. (Agoraphobia, germaphobia, claustrophobia).



“Jesus, Audre,” she moaned.

Light-headed from her gummy-and-injection cocktail, she scheduled an Uber, offered her apologies to the Ohio Players, and was Brooklyn-bound in six minutes.





Chapter 2





Single-Mom Superhero




“JACKIE! WHERE’S AUDRE?”

Breathless, Eva stood in the doorway of her apartment. She took a cursory sweep of the bright, eclectic space. Her Indonesian (via HomeGoods) throw pillows and rugs were in their rightful place. Not a book was askew in the wall-to-wall library behind the purple armoire she’d bought when Prince died. Her Pinterest-inspired Park Slope home was exactly how she’d left it.

Park Slope was a hippie-dippie Brooklyn hood, thoroughly gentrified with wealthy liberal families. Most of the parents had kids when they were in their late thirties, after having conquered careers in new media, advertising, publishing, or in one celebrated case, Frozen songwriting. Mostly white, the hood felt diverse because of its sprinkling of same-sex parents and biracial kids (in predominantly Asian-Jewish, Black-Jewish, or Asian-Black combos).

Eva and Audre stood out because (a) Eva was a decade younger than the other moms; (b) she was single; and (c) Audre had a Black mom and a Black father, as opposed to her dad being Jewish or Vietnamese. Or a woman.

“Oh, hey.” Jackie, the babysitter, was chilling on the couch with her feet propped on a boho ottoman.

“Jackie, I was working! I ran here from Times Square!”

“On foot?” Jackie, a divinity student at Columbia, was very literal.

Eva stared at her.

“Audre’s in her room with the kids. On Snapchat.”

Eva squeezed her eyes shut and fisted her hands. “Audre Zora Toni Mercy-Moore!”

She heard murmurs bubbling from Audre’s bedroom, down the short hallway. Then a crash. Giggles. Finally, Audre cracked the door and slipped out, grinning guiltily.

At twelve, Audre was Eva’s height, with her dimples, curls, and rich hazelnut complexion. But she took her style cues from Willow Smith and Yara Shahidi, hence the two space buns atop her head, tie-dye crop top, cutoffs, and Filas. With her mile-long lashes and gawky frame, she looked like Bambi at her first Coachella.

Audre galloped over to her mother, giving her a hearty hug.

“Mommy! Are those my jeans? You look so cuuute.” Pronounced kyuuu, no t.

Eva disentangled herself from Audre’s grasp. “Did I say you could bring the entire debate team home?”

“But…we’re just…”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Eva lowered her voice. “Did you charge them?”

Audre sputtered.

“Did. You. Charge. Them.”

“IT’S AN EXCHANGE OF GOODS, MOM! I provide counseling services and they pay me! Everyone at Cheshire Prep is addicted to my Snapchat therapy sessions. The one when I cured Delilah’s fear of flying coach? I’m a legend.”

“You’re a child. When you’re sleepy, you still pronounce ‘breakfast’ breckfix.”

Audre groaned. “Look, when I’m a celebrity therapist making several mil a year, we’ll giggle about this over bubble tea.”

“I told you to stop this therapy business,” hissed Eva. “I don’t send you to that fancy private school to hustle white children out of their lunch money.”