Seven Days in June(7)

“Cece, focus,” wailed Eva, smushing the ice pack against her temple. “The panel?”

“Oh. An author dropped out. She got salmonella from a food truck in British Columbia.”

Audre frowned. “Colombia has a British section?”

Brooklyn schools strike again, thought Eva. No concept of geography, but she’s mastered mindfulness.

“British Columbia’s in Canada, babe,” Eva said.

“Interesting. I could’ve looked it up if I had a phone.” Sulkily, Audre rose and disappeared back into her room.

“Long story short,” continued Cece, “I offered you as a replacement. You’re on the panel!” She shimmied her shoulders, pleased with her sorcery. “Every relevant media outlet is invited. It’ll be livestreamed. This is the career boost you need.”

The blood drained from Eva’s face. “Me? No. I can’t…I’m not qualified to pontificate on race in America. You know how intense it’ll get. Every Black book event since the election has turned into a woke-off.”

“You named your child after a noted civil rights warrior. Are you not woke?”

“I’m woke recreationally. Belinda and the other panelists are woke professionally. They have NAACP Awards and are on the talk-show circuit! Who was the panelist with food poisoning?”

Cece paused. “Zadie Smith.”

With a defeated grimace, Eva slid the ice pack over her eyes. “Cece, this is a New York Times–sponsored panel at the Brooklyn Museum. I’m not a serious author. I’m a last-minute airport purchase.”

Cece’s brow furrowed. “Let’s be absolutely real. You tried for ages to get a film deal. You’ve finally got a producer, and now quality directors aren’t biting, because Cursed is too genre. Show Hollywood your power! This’ll be PR gold. Well, this plus the 2019 Black Literary Excellence Award you’ll win on Sunday.”

“You think I’ll win?”

“There’s a vampire-witch-mermaid threesome scene in Cursed Fourteen,” noted Cece. “You’ll win for the audacity alone.”

Eva groaned into a throw pillow. “I’m not up to this.”

“You’re nervous about sharing a stage with Belinda? The daughter of a hairdresser?”

Eva glared at her. “Beyoncé’s the daughter of a hairdresser.”

“Fine. Go explain to Audre why you’re scared to try new things.”

She threw up her hands. Of course Cece got her with the Audre stuff. Every time Eva made a move, she considered how it’d look to her daughter.

Eva’s parenting wasn’t mommy-blog approved. They often had pizza for dinner and fell asleep watching Succession, and since childcare was a luxury, Audre attended too many grown-up events. Plus, on bad head days, Eva allowed Audre unlimited TikTok time after homework so she could crash for a bit.

But Eva let herself off the hook for those things. When it came to mothering, what mattered to her was setting a powerful example. When Audre audited her memories, Eva wanted her to remember a ballsy woman who invented her life from scratch. No man, no help, no problem.

The Single-Mom Superhero myth, thought Eva, and it’s a trap.

Eva dug the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “What am I gonna wear?”

Cece grinned.

“I already have a Gucci number on hold for you. You’re adorable, but you dress like you host a hip-hop podcast,” she said with a sigh. “It’ll be an adventure! Writers need stimulation. The thrill of your day can’t be memorizing your positive Amazon reviews.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” Eva grumbled.

“Speaking of stimulation, will you please revisit Tinder? When’s the last time you met someone you didn’t ghost after three dates?”

“I’m doing them a favor by ghosting.” Eva pointed to her Wonder Woman panties. “Would you wanna fuck this?”

“There’s a fetish for everything,” said Cece generously.

Eva chuckled. “When I feel lonely, I scroll through Tinder and remind myself what I’m missing. Which is dudes with coconut-oiled beards all posing next to the same graffitied wall in Dumbo with profiles written entirely in emojis. And I remember that I’m not lonely. I’m alone. When I’m comatose from writing and mothering, when I’m hurting too badly to cook, talk, or smile, I curl up with ‘alone’ like a security blanket. Alone doesn’t care that I don’t shave my legs in the winter. Alone never gets disappointed by me.” Eva sighed. “It’s the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Are you speaking metaphorically,” asked Cece, “or are you dating a man named Alone?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“My doorman is a SoundCloud rapper named Sincere. One never knows.”

“I like being single,” Eva continued quietly. “I don’t want anyone to have to really see me.”

They sat in silence, Eva idly snapping the rubber band on her wrist.

“I’m scared,” she admitted finally.

“Good.” Cece kissed her cheek. “I’ve seen what you come up with when you’re scared.”





Chapter 3





Romantic Comedy