It shouldn’t be a luxury to find products designed specifically for you, Brianne says, and no matter how long I’ve known the things she says, I never stop being impressed that she knows them, too. Even if I sometimes wonder why she says them to me.
Gracious.
“RahRah?” Cherish’s voice comes gently through the door. “You okay?”
I take a look in the mirror and pat the moisture on my face. My eyes aren’t red or puffy, thank God. The whites of my eyes are bright. I’m alert.
Gracious, Nichole Turner instructed, but I tug back.
Control.
I slide the door open before I answer Cherish.
“Thought I got my period while we were talking down there,” I say, and roll my eyes as if in relief.
“I’m not due for a week,” she says, thrusting a finger at me. “If you sync me up and I get it early, I will fight you.”
“C’mere,” I say, and I grab her and push my abdomen against hers.
“Farrah!”
“Yeeeeah,” I say, both of us laughing as I smoosh us together and wriggle. “Join forces, O mighty uteruses! Together we shall rule them all!”
“You’re such a freak,” she says, shoving me at last. “C’mon, the boys are waiting.”
Ugh.
“Don’t. I know you wanna see Tariq.” She drops her lids low, all sultry and suggestive, even though she knows Tariq and I don’t get down like that. Not yet anyway. Neither of us is the impulsive type.
“At a party surrounded by old folks, including the Honorable Judge Campbell? Not really.”
“They’re not waiting downstairs, dummy—they’re waiting in the car.” Cherish applies gloss to her lips and smacks them.
“It’s your birthday party. You can’t leave.”
“Farrah. This is the third event in three days. It’s really not that serious.”
But earlier I had to come down.
Cherish bounces out of the bedroom, her heels high with each excited step like any moment she’ll twirl on her toes.
I could trip her, easily. Send her careening down the stairs even more quickly than we do as we check over our shoulders and hustle out the front door. We pass the hired valets, who say a respectful “happy birthday” without specifying which of us they’re talking to. They know one thing in particular about the Whitmans’ daughter, despite never having met her, but Cherish and I both fit that bill.
“Thank you,” I answer, before Cherish squeals at the sight of Tariq’s silver Ferrari Spider gliding up the long brick driveway.
“Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me down the paver path currently flanked on both sides by luxury vehicles. For the most part they’re much more understated than the sleek head turner with the custom plates.
CMPBLCRT. As in Campbell court. As in this Black boy driving this outlandishly expensive vehicle is the son of Judge Leslie Campbell. Pull him over at your own risk.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t wait at valet,” I’m saying, but the approaching car is vibrating with bass, and it’s reverberating up the drive. “Cherish, it’s a two-seater.”
She isn’t listening. Tariq isn’t the one driving his car, and he’s also not the reason we’re ditching Cherish’s last birthday event early.
“Ay, birthday girl!” Kelly yells over the music, and just as he’s put the car in park, he hops up and leaps over the door, slipping an arm around her back. He doesn’t pull her all the way in. He doesn’t have to and he knows it. Her dimple’s on full display while she bites her lower lip and pushes against his chest like she wants to keep her distance.
Ugh.
“Happy Birthday, Cherish. Hey, Farrah,” Tariq says, after turning down the music and opening the passenger-side door like a regular person.
“Hey,” I say back, and then awkwardly step in like I’m planning to hug him, only we accidentally make eye contact first, and his gorgeous brown eyes are peeking between the thin dreads that populate only as much headspace as his flat top used to. They’re entwined, twisted together and forward like bangs, and when he flicks his chin to the side to clear them from his view, the longest sweeps across his nose. For a moment, we both look like we’re trying to decide whether to hug or to shake hands.
“Oh my God, will you kiss already?” Kelly calls, lobbing the Ferrari keys to the polo-wearing valet who’s jogged down the drive to meet us. “The other Campbell car, bruh, thanks.”
When the young man’s driven off, and before he returns with the keys to the group-accommodating car Judge Campbell drove to the party, Kelly crosses the space and grabs the back of Tariq’s head like he might push our heads together.
“Man, stop.” Tariq breaks free, while Cherish giggles, wrapping both of her arms around one of Kelly’s tatted biceps. Tariq glances back at me and smooths the bottom half of his scalp, checking that his recent fade is undisturbed and tossing the dreads from his eyes again with a second flick of his neck.
I’m certain I ovulate in reply.
I might not be impulsive, but I could stand for our somewhat Victorian courtship to pick up the pace, so I finally step into Tariq’s arms and hug him, intentionally holding my breath like if I don’t, I’ll breathe in too deep and give myself away. I lay one palm flat, high in the middle of his back, and I let it linger a moment longer than the rest of me so I know he’ll feel it, then slide it down a little before disengaging.
“I’ll take those,” Kelly says when Tariq’s eyes are still on mine, and I’m only watching him with my peripherals. I watch his friend snag the keys to Judge Campbell’s SUV from the returned valet.
“Shotgun,” Cherish chirps up at Kelly, to his satisfaction.
“Maybe you should let Tariq drive his dad’s car,” I suggest, and then immediately regret it.
Kelly trains his gaze on me and curls his lip. His honey-brown skin is glowing in the sunlight, which also glints off the grill covering his bottom teeth.
“Maybe you should find your own place to live,” he snaps.
“Hey,” Tariq says.
“Kelly.” Cherish hits him in the belly with the back of her hand. “Mind your business.”
It’s too late, though. Something curdles in the bottom of my stomach like bad milk, and I look down so neither my best friend nor the boy I’m crushing on can catch my eye.
It’s not embarrassment. I’m shocked at myself. I’m seething that I spoke without meaning to because it means I am not in control. It doesn’t matter that it was harmless, that no one would guess from that outburst what is really behind the mask I wear in front of Kelly. I know that it wasn’t what I meant to say. I know that I didn’t mean to say anything.