Chapter 22 - Chapter Twenty — Chandré

"I'm on my way." Naz's deep voice on speaker sends a frisson of pleasure through me.

"Good," I reply, looking in the mirror at my half-done face. "I'll be ready."

"I haven't been to many premieres, and I haven't seen much of Ofentse's work, to be honest."

"Well, this one's a documentary." My hands dither between the MAC and the NARS palettes. "So not quite as glamorous as the DOLLY BLUE premiere is going to be. But everything Ofentse makes gets attention."

"I can't wait to show you off on the red carpet," he says, with that same pride in his voice that's always there when we go out.

"Um. About that..." I sit in front of the mirror, dreading this conversation. "I was thinking maybe we shouldn't walk the carpet tonight."

The silence on the other end of the phone clogs up with his frustration before he agrees and we hang up. He already knows why.

In the two weeks since we've been back we have seen each other every day and every night. Sometimes he stays at my place. Sometimes I stay over at his. Sometimes we say goodnight at the door and I ache for him, but it's a sweet ache, because I know I'll see him again. Sweet because I know he's aching too. It's a relationship. Not a one-night stand, not a hook-up, not a booty call, not a fling, not a smash and grab.

It's us, and it feels as fragile as a bubble blown into the air — and as solid as one of those old oaks that has stood through every storm the Cape can throw at it. It's playing catch-up and it's ahead of its time.

It's everything I had become too jaded to believe in or hope for.