Seven Days in June(78)

“…and yes, you do have Sebastian’s eyes,” rambled Cece. “Or he has yours, rather. But why would I ever think she’d based him on you? It’s so far-fetched. Besides, Black men with hazel eyes aren’t that uncommon.” She paused. “Actually, I can’t think of a man. But Regina King has them.”

The waitress was hovering. Cece tapped her shoulder and cleared her throat loudly. With a little jump, the waitress scurried off. Eva squinted, trying to get a good glimpse of her face.

“My bad, Cece—it just never came up.”

“Spare me!”

“No, it’s true,” he laughed, and it was a pure, easy sound. Cece had never seen him so…unencumbered. What had Eva done to him? “High school was hell. Why talk about it?”

“Now is so much better,” said Eva.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Yeah.” She smiled.

Shane kissed her on the mouth with a loud smack. Because he could.

“Aw,” sighed Cece. “Friends, if this lasts, do let me know if I’ll have to prepare for a wedding. I’ll need to get my thighs in order.”

“Jesus, a wedding?” Eva cocked her chin in Shane’s direction. “Are you even the marrying type?”

“I am a little jealous of your first husband.”

“Shane Hall, are you asking me to be your ex-wife?”

“I’d be honored.”

“I hate to interrupt this flirt-off,” said Cece, “but, Eva, you must meet Jenna. Shane, I’m gonna steal her for a sec.”

“Do you have to?” He grimaced. “I’m too socially awkward to be left to my own devices. What do I do?”

Without a drink, he thought. What do I do at a party without a drink?

“You’re fine,” Eva assured him. “Just look broody and enigmatic.”

“Or lead with a relatable personal story,” suggested Cece.

Shane chewed his bottom lip. “Like the time I saw a dead dude come back to life? I used to drive a hearse to funerals, and one time, this corpse sat straight up. Burst his coffin wide open. Yo, I hollered till I was hoarse. I found out later he had a degenerative spine disease that made him fold up. The undertaker had forgotten to tie him to a splint. You know, to keep his spine straight.”

Eva and Cece looked stricken.

“Don’t talk,” advised Eva. “Just pretend you’re on a call.”

Cece dragged her away. And Shane was alone.



Across the party, Audre was giddy with the thrill of escape. She traipsed over to the bar and confidently asked for a Sprite spiked with grenadine. This sounded more sophisticated than ordering a Shirley Temple.

She scoped out the place. As long as she avoided her mom, Auntie Cece, and Auntie Belinda, all three of whom would send her back downstairs, she figured she’d be fine. The second she stepped into the crowd, the non-radio-friendly version of Khalid’s “Talk” started playing, and it felt like her very own theme music. It was a sincere challenge to refrain from dancing. But she had to seem mature. Her space buns weren’t helping her case, but oh well.

As Audre snuck through the crowd, she enthusiastically eavesdropped (an underrated pastime, she thought).

This party really wasn’t that different from the bar and bat mitzvahs she’d attended all year. Clocking the crowd, she could suss out the cool girls, the posers, the thirsty guys, the hot boys, the newbies. She wondered which person her mom was. She also wondered where her mom was.

Behind her, Audre caught a snippet of a conversation.

“Ugh, why do I let him get me in my feelings?” wailed a high-pitched voice.

“Because you’re a Cancer, my good sis. You’re a sensitive giver. But you need to harness your radiance. Activate your divine. And budget the fucks you give.” There was a pause for emphasis. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home and feed my two kittens, Growth and Metamorphosis.”

Without even turning around, Audre knew that was Auntie Belinda. Ducking her head, she scooted along the perimeter of the party and ended up at the sliding doors opening out to the terrace. It was Audre’s favorite place in the apartment. With its modern, tropical feel—white furniture, sleek firepit, lush greenery—it looked like the backyard of an Argentinian villa. When Audre was little, she used to hang out on the terrace in Cece’s plush terry bathrobe for hours. She’d pretend to be an international pop star on holiday in a ritzy hotel after having just completed a grueling world tour. It was quite an involved game. She’d sip invisible peppermint tea to soothe her overworked vocal chords. Cuddle with her invisible lapdog, Tiana. And repeatedly ask her invisible assistant, Bathsheba, if she’d picked up her dry cleaning yet and booked her brow wax. Now that she thought about it, she must’ve been a handful.

Lost in first-grade memories, Audre turned the corner at a massive arrangement of peace lilies. Startled, she let out a little yelp. Because she was not, in fact, alone as she’d thought. There was Shane, chilling on an overstuffed white chaise.

“Hi, Mr. Hall!” Then she saw the phone pressed to his ear. “Oh! Sorry.”

“No, no, I’m faking a phone call,” he admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. Beaming, he stood up and gave her a one-armed hug.

“Why?”