Chapters 1&2
Chapter 1-Destiny
When the people you love the most keep leaving, you get used to the dull ache of missing them. Especially when they're not gone, they're just…away. You become familiar with the holes that perforate your soul when they go. Eventually, the aching becomes the default, and you don't realize how empty you've been until they return.
Anticipation hums just beneath my skin as I check my messages one more time. Still no response from Rowan.
"Des?" Amara dips her head to catch my eye. Her fingers rest limp in my hand, nail file proffered to finish shaping the freestyle set I'm doing for her prom. She's wearing an amethyst dress that hugs her lithesome body, her womanly curves just starting to take shape at eighteen years old.
I resume my filing, smiling away the distracted look I know filled my eyes. It's not just that my closest cousin is finally visiting after years of refusing to return to the place of his birth, it's that this is my twelfth hour of work for the day, and I kept the salon open just for her. There's a soreness at the base of my spine, a pinch in the hinge of my hips, and I'm starting to go numb in my right pinky.
Love & Laquer is my baby, my life—a business I've built from an idea to this space of my own. The evening rush that makes Constant Spring Road sound like New York City has died down, and outside I can see the breeze tussle the tall palm trees. My smile grows wider, but softens. All the pain is worth it for what I've managed to accomplish at twenty-seven.
When all my friends left high school to pursue academics, I knew I had something to prove. Maybe it was because I watched my mom build Hibiscus from a small home-kitchen operation to one of the most popular bakeries and cafes in Kingston, or seeing my father bounce from pharmacy to pharmacy on contract to now owning one of his own—I always knew entrepreneurship was for me. Even so, sometimes I'm surprised by the life I've been able to make from doing nails.
Maybe it's something in the DaCosta blood that makes us like this. Rowan has made quite the name for himself with his chain of coffee houses in the States. Although Daddy is a Singh, I'm sure Mommy rubbed off on him.
I lay the final layer of top coat on Amara's set, a beautiful medium almond design inspired by purple orchids.
"Des," she says again. I can tell by the shy flutter of her lashes that she wants to ask me something she already knows the answer to.
"What, Amara? Spit it out," I urge, tapping her other hand so she sticks it under the UV lamp. She shifts on the stool before straightening, confidence lifting her chin as she regards me.
"Will you come to my graduation party?" She asks.
I twist the cap of the blooming gel tighter than I need to, avoiding her pleading eyes as I put everything away. A sigh escapes my lips before I finally confirm, "No."
"Des! Please!" She jerks forward, her silky brows furrowed. I flick a warning down to her hands. You better not smudge my masterpiece.
"Amara, you know I don't go over there."
"Yes, but—"
"I love you," I say, hoping my baby cousin sees the disappointment in my eyes when I stand my ground. "The answer is no. I promise we can do something together to celebrate after, okay?"
She blinks, understanding flushing her expression and making her look wiser than she is.
Like me, Amara is half Black and half Indian. Unlike me, she wasn't so lucky as to adopt her father's deeper skin tone the way I took on my mother's. She's just light enough that she doesn't have to endure what I did when I was her age. There was no confusion about how beautiful my skin is in my household. Unfortunately, my father's side of the family didn't get the memo.
As much as I love Amara and would love to be there to celebrate her high school graduation, I have to protect my peace. I told myself those people would never see me again. I've never been one to break promises to myself.
A knock on the glass door startles us both. Through the tint, I can just make out the short and shapely figure of Aunt Jade. My father's younger sister and my favorite Aunt. The only exception to my rule. Aunt Jade went and followed in my father's footsteps, falling in love with a man as dark as midnight. I still remember the sighs of relief when Amara was born with her mother's lighter skin tone.
Pushing those haunting memories to the back of my mind, I unlock the door and slide Aunt Jade a hug. Her floral scent fills the air and immediately comforts me. "Thanks again for staying open for her," she smiles.
"Come on now, you know it's anything for my girl," I respond.
"Not anything!" Amara yells, frowning at me while she records a video of her nails.
I roll my eyes, the smile on my face betraying the exasperation I pretend to feel. If Rowan is the closest thing I have to an older brother, Amara is the closest thing to a little sister I'll ever have. "She ask yuh to come?" My aunt inquires.
I nod, shrugging it off as no big deal.
Aunt Jade has been right there with me through the toughest times. She knows secrets not even my mother does. Not allowing the silence to become awkward, she quickly asks a follow-up question. "Rowan dem reach?"
"Yes! They're at my house. Yuh coming?" I return.
She nods. "Ye man." Then, over my shoulder, "Amara, let's go!"
"I'll meet you guys there. I have to clean up."
"And how much do I owe you?" Aunt Jade lifts a brow at me, her fists resting on her hips.
"It's a gift," I toss over my shoulder, getting my cleaning supplies from the closet.
"How are you gonna get that place in Half-Way-Tree if you keep working for free?" She asks my back.
I nibble on my lower lip, a flutter of butterflies tickle my insides as I think about the suite in the high-end shopping center I've had my eye on for months. I'd be able to hire more techs and be in a more desirable spot with a higher-end client base, along with the clients who have been with me from the beginning and will go wherever I go.
I hear the door chime as they leave my salon. When I go to lock it behind them, I see the stack of bills she left on the counter. Shaking my head, I count out the six thousand dollars and stuff it in my money box.
After I reset the place to my satisfaction, I check my phone yet again, anticipation turning into anxiety when my message is still unanswered.
Me: Are you guys at my house?
Rowan: Yes.
Me: Is Niko with you?
I stare at it before sending another.
Me: If I reach over there and he is with you, I'm killing you in your sleep.
My heart doesn't calm as I drive over to Barbican. It only beats faster as I press the button on the tiny remote that controls our gate. Flashes of that summer ten years ago play on a loop in my mind.
His lean, muscular body reflecting the sunlight. Smooth skin dappled as we sat with our fingers linked under the mango tree. When swift kisses were enough to tie my stomach in knots, when every second of attention I stole from him felt like winning a race I was too slow to run.
As I make my way up the path to our front grill, I find it difficult to swallow. I'm not sure if it's the fear of seeing him again after all this time, or the fear of feeling all the same things I did at the end of that summer. We were too young, too small for the all-encompassing nature of the love we had.
My fingers falter when I try to stick the key in the lock. Does he remember all that we were? How he and I were the only two people in the whole of Jamaica? How I came to life under his touch, swallowing every word he said to me like he was the last sip of water on a hot day?
I swallow, shaking my head and with it, all the nostalgia that's intoxicated me so suddenly. I square my shoulders, insert my key, and twist. If he is here, that's all there is between us. The memories of a summer that was hot and fleeting. Everything we were, and could have been, is confined to those three months.
A chuckle sits behind my lips. "Get it together, Destiny," I mutter to myself. I'm too grown to be still hung up on a summer fling I had when I was seventeen. A chill rolls down my spine. It could be from the sudden assault of the a/c on my skin. It could be from the unwelcome idea that my reaction to the possibility of seeing Nikolai again is because, in all this time, I haven't felt a connection to anyone that comes close.
I've been searching for a spark like that since then.
I'm still searching.
"Des!" Ione barrels into me, her tall frame towering over my five-foot-five. My grin comes easily as I slide my tired arms around her slender waist.
"Our bride!" I return her enthusiasm, stretching away from her to take her in. Every time I see her, I'm absolutely stunned by her ethereal beauty. A beauty that seems to reset after you're gone. Plotting all the ways to affect you again and again and again. I take her left hand, admiring the sparkling sapphire sitting on her finger. Its halo of diamonds twinkles under the dim ceiling lights.
"Wow," I say, a breath caught in my throat.
"That reaction never gets old," she chuckles, turning my hand over and pulling me to the dining room where everyone convenes.
Relief weaves through my body as I catalog all the familiar faces. Around our table are Rowan and his friends River, Cleo, and Mena. Ione leaves me to sit beside her man, and I hear my parents and aunt in the kitchen.
"Is this everyone?" I ask, my voice so small I barely recognize it.
Amara sidles up beside me, making me jump out of my skin when she says, "I think so. You expecting someone else?"
I toss a hand over my racing heart, hooking my other elbow around her neck and bringing her close. "Jesus, how yuh suh quiet when yuh walk!"
She giggles, tickling my waist and making me laugh.
"Yeah, Des? You were expecting someone else?" Rowan asks, a mischievous glint in his eye.
I squint at him. "Yes, actually," I say, walking over and giving him a squeeze before taking a seat for myself.
His eyes sparkle with curiosity, a laugh trapped in his throat. "And who would that be?"
My gaze bounces between the pairs of expectant eyes that watch me. My mouth dries. They have no idea about Niko and me. Hell, Rowan barely knows what he thinks he does. Still, it feels like they're all in on a cruel joke where I'm the punchline.
"Where's Kim?" I ask.
They all deflate, a mix of sadness and disappointment radiating from the group. A chorus of mixed replies with vague explanations of why their best friend isn't here floats across the table. Cleo's defiant voice rises above everyone else's. "She'll be here." Her hand rubs soothing circles on her protruding belly, eyes glittering with a dare for someone to tell her she's wrong. The group falls silent.
I clear my throat. "So," I hum. "How far along are you now? I can't believe you're having a baby!"
Her strong mouth melts into a smile as she makes loving eyes at River. "Okay," I sing, "maybe I can believe it."
The group laughs, all the tension melting away.
I play catch-up with Rowan and his friends. It feels like home, and I'm a bit jealous of them for having so much of him when his real family—no, that's not right. I can tell they are as much a family as any blood relative could be, but we were his first family, and we've gotten so little of him since his parents died.
"Wait! I just got an idea," Cleo exclaims, slamming her palms on the table and making eye contact with each person around it. "We should throw an engagement party!"
There's a buzz that follows. Part skepticism and part excitement.
"Something small, just us and your family, Rowan. Think about it," she stares him down, her gaze sharp enough to slice any 'no' that might come from him in half. Rowan slides his gaze over to Ione, one that says 'anything you want.'
That frustrating bubble of jealousy swells in my chest. What is it like to have someone look at you like that?
Ione's shoulders rise in bashful acknowledgement. "It sounds like a good idea."
It's like the whole group exhales, and I wonder what this is—this caution around Cleo as if something disastrous lurks around the corner of her not getting what she wants. Then I remember, Cleo recently got engaged as well.
My eyes dance from her pregnant belly to the beautiful ring on her finger. I toss a quizzical look at Rowan, who is already watching me with a knowing gaze. I smile at the confirmation.
Pregnant bridezilla.
"Wait, babe! Nikolai is coming, right? He has to come if we're throwing an engagement party," Ione gushes.
It feels like ice is growing from my scalp. A violent shiver rolls through my body, one I hope no one notices as I shift in my seat.
Mena leans over. "You cold? Sorry, we asked them to turn the air down because we're so hot. I don't know how you guys do it." I swallow, nodding and offering her a stiff smile. It falls off my face when I return my attention to Rowan.
His amused eyes become apologetic as Ione goes on and on about Rowan's oldest friend. "We haven't gotten to spend much time together because he doesn't live in the States anymore, but oh my God, it's not a party without him." She turns to look at me, "Destiny, you're gonna love him!"
Running my hand through my hair, I hope none of the chill has made it to my smile when I send it her way.
Been there, done that.
Chapter 2-Nikolai
I've been to every island in the Caribbean, but Jamaica is one I've avoided coming back to. Never mind that the flight from the Cayman Islands is only an hour long, or that the culture, the food, and the people are some of my favorites. There was a chance I could have run into her, and that was enough to keep my ass away from the entire country. You only need to spend a little time on any Caribbean island to realize how small they are.
Yet, here I am.
"Here you go," Ione says, handing me a cocktail from the bar, then the other to my best friend. My brother.
I beam up at her. "Thank you, wifey."
She giggles, my smile grows wider, and even more so when I turn to find Rowan glaring at me. The turquoise water of the Olympic-sized pool at The Pegasus hotel cools my warming skin. I check my watch for what feels like the hundredth time. Any moment now, she'll be joining us. I'd like to be prepared when I see the girl who broke my heart for the first time in ten years.
Then, Rowan nudges my arm, sipping on the mojito Ione gave him as he looks over my shoulder. I turn to look in his direction, and all the air leaves my lungs. My heart leaps to my throat as I watch her round the corner.
The bright green of her bikini glows against her toasted olive skin. Long, loose tresses hang down to her waist, swinging in time with her wide hips. She's not an inch taller than she was a decade ago, but wider and softer in all the places I want her to be. As if in all this time, her body has been stealing cues from my desires out of spite.
As she gets closer, the sun gets hotter, brighter. As if she's carrying the star itself on her shoulders. When she's close enough, her eyes are stony. Her mouth set in a hard line as if she doesn't see me. I don't know when I got to my feet, but I'm standing now, looking down at her with expectation swelling behind my ribs. She brushes past me. All that sunshine she carries doing nothing to thaw the chill on her shoulder.
I spin, stunned and weirdly hurt from the interaction or lack thereof. I watch those same big, almond eyes come to life as she greets everyone else. Big bear hugs for everyone but me.
I sink back down into the lounge chair. The cool water feels disgusting on my skin now. Rowan offers me a consolatory nod. "You good?" He asks.
A tornado of emotions rages inside me. Beyond the confusion and disappointment is the embarrassing acknowledgement that I did this to myself. She didn't want me then, so why would she want me ten years later?
It still stings that while she seemed to stop my breath with her mere presence, I had no effect on her. My skin prickles with sweat. I swallow my drink in one go, pretend not to hear the sexy rasp of her voice, the alluring lilt of her accent that makes everything she says sound like poetry.
Underneath the embarrassment, a seed of resentment takes root. I filter through our final moments that summer. Rowan and I met in the fall before at a support group for teens who lost their parents.
Even though he is a year older than I am, we instantly clicked. I was one of the only people who didn't treat him like he was on the verge of breaking with every breath he took. And when he did break, I was there to let him know it was okay. The beauty of breaking is getting to make yourself new every time you have to put yourself back together.
My parents aren't dead. Not that I would know. They both abandoned me when I was too young to understand what it means to be left behind. My father was never in the picture, and as soon as my mother found her chance, she followed his example. Thank God her sister, a saint on this earth, raised me as her own. Or, at least, as close to her own as humanly possible.
She kept me in support groups until I left for college. So when Rowan and I met, I was well versed in all the phases of grief and had been chilling in acceptance for a while. That summer, the summer before I went to college, Rowan invited me to Jamaica with him. He wasn't sure he wanted to come back, but my excitement was more than enough to persuade him. His Aunt and Uncle became mine, but his cousin…Destiny…my crush on her was instant and intense.
Pretty, smart, confident, funny, and bold.
Back then, she was as skinny as a toothpick. So was I. By then, I knew I was fluent in languages most people learned later in life—grief and rejection. That didn't stop my heart from breaking in half, a jagged crack down the middle, when I returned to the States and never heard from her again. At first, I didn't want to believe it. She had gone back to school, and I saved her number wrong. Then, I remembered they still had a landline. I asked Rowan for the number, and the sting is as fresh now as it was then when I had to tell Aunt Joy that I understood when Destiny said she didn't want to speak with me.
I hazard another look at her, my breath caught yet again when I catch her looking back at me. Something deep and severe swims behind her eyes, and for the briefest moment I see the same old hurt that's probably reflected in mine. She blinks away, laughing at something Mena said.
I reach for my glass, taking another swig when I remember I emptied it. "I'll be back," I say to Rowan, not waiting for a response before I head to the bar.
My nerves smooth as I wait for my refill, but I can't help myself. I toss another look over my shoulder. She blinks away, but not quickly enough. I can tell she was watching me.
I've grown up too. Puberty visited me late, but she wasted no time when she got here. It doesn't hurt that I learned how to lift a weight or two. I've never been afraid to admit when I am wrong, and maybe I was wrong when I assumed seeing me again did not affect her. Maybe that's just the part of me still clinging to the hope that our time apart can all be boiled down to a simple misunderstanding.
A blanket of curiosity covers every other tumultuous emotion inside me.
"Here you go, sir," the bartender smiles at me.
I mutter my thanks, turning to face the group as I push the ice to the bottom of the glass with my straw. She makes no effort to look away from me now, or to hide that she was watching me this entire time.
Her brows knit as our eyes hold, her tongue darting across her plump bottom lip. My stomach churns, but this time, I breathe easier knowing she feels exactly as I do. Hopeless.
