Seven Days in June(77)

“I don’t believe it. I was at a garden party at the 2010 Frankfurt Book Fair, and I saw this man sniff a rose bush, accidentally inhale a bee, punch himself in the nose, and knock himself out.”

“You a whole liar.”

“On God. I was like, how’d this wreck write Eight?”

“It happens. Look at Mariah. She can’t walk across a stage without assistance from sixteen Puerto Rican male dancers. But she’s the voice of a generation.”



Overheard near the bookcase:

“Khalil. Why’re you wearing a green shirt with pink pants?” asked his ex, a snarky screenwriter. “You an AKA? A tube of Maybelline Great Lash?”

“How dare you? You’re wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat with a lace blouse. You look like Ida B. Wells.”

“You gon’ respect my Great Migration realness.”

“Somebody told me Eva’s dating Shane,” grumbled Khalil. “You think it’s true? Why him? Jerk-off.”

“I’d like to jerk him off,” she muttered. “They must be dating—look at how close they’re standing! Damn, Eva’s glowing. That skin.”

“Yeah,” Khalil reluctantly agreed. “She has the complexion of a wealthy infant.”

“And I heard she just got hit by a dump truck,” she whispered, in awe.



Meanwhile, by Cece and Ken’s Kehinde Wiley portrait…

Shane, after doing the social equivalent of rowing across the Atlantic, was finally standing in front of her. They gazed goofily at each other, the air crackling between them.

“Hi, baby,” said Shane.

Eva’s stomach dropped. She wasn’t ready for “baby.”

“Hi,” she cooed.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Shane leaned toward her and said, “Everybody’s talking about us.”

Eva took a cursory glance around the room. “I know. Is it weird? Do you care?”

He absentmindedly tapped his bottom lip, his expression rascally. “Not in the least.”

With that, Shane wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. Preening, she linked her hand in his. They slotted together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces.

Cece’s gasp was heard round the world. Et voilà, the Black book world’s new prom king and queen were crowned. She’d gotten her moment!

She almost burst into applause.



Downstairs, Audre was bored. She was stuck in a big, AC-frigid bedroom with eight children—all of whom were under six years old. They were watching The Lego Movie as if it were actually compelling. As if it were something good, like Midsommar.

Audre couldn’t relate to small children (not even when she was one). Plus, a casual study of the demo showed that they all had mental illnesses. Audre had already diagnosed a handful of kids with OCD, ADD, and attachment disorder. The worst was a five-year-old named Otis. Total menace. Dressed like a tiny rapper in skinny jeans and Jordans, he had put a trash bin up on the dresser and was repeatedly dunking with a kiddie basketball. After every couple of dunks, he’d bust out in an aggressive Milly Rock. And then he’d moon the room.

If these little psychos are inheriting the world, thought Audre, the future does not look promising.

The au pair, Lumusi, had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable-looking accent chair twenty minutes ago—leaving Audre effectively in charge of this preschool. Rude. She hadn’t come to this party to be an unpaid babysitter. In fact, she’d been under the impression that she’d get to be a real party guest! Sipping mocktails on Auntie Cece and Uncle Ken’s terrace while chatting with the cultural elite about politics, art, and world events!

Auntie Cece’s penthouse was Audre’s second home. She shouldn’t have to stay hidden downstairs. She could hear the twinkly, forbidden sounds of grown-up mirth and merriment coming from upstairs—and she’d never experienced such FOMO.

She huffed as Otis ran around in circles, bare-assed. She refused to waste her brain cells and an adorable outfit (a Free People knit minidress) on this upscale Gymboree.

I’m outta here, Audre thought, and headed upstairs.





Chapter 23





That Family Feeling




“EVA MERCY!”

Cece rushed over to her wall-to-wall bookcase, where her dear friend was canoodling with her unofficial guest of honor. “There you are,” she trilled. “There’s someone I’d love you to meet.”

“Right now? Why so urgent?” Eva didn’t feel like meeting anyone. Really, she didn’t feel like doing anything not involving this man and his pheromones.

“Networking is always urgent.” Cece linked her arm with Shane’s and fixed him with a faux cold stare. “Shane.”

“Cece.”

“I’m so mad at you.”

“You’re always mad at me.” Shane’s expression was pure mischief. “What’d I do now?”

“I discovered you. I gave you life. And never once did you reveal that you knew my Eva in high school.”

Eva barely heard this. She was squinting at a cater waitress with a coppery-red bob, who was offering a tray of crab cakes to a nearby couple. The waitress was gawking at her and Shane. Confused, Eva gave her a vague wave. Did she know that woman? She couldn’t place her.