They included a photo of her flat stomach glistening by the pool, our latest watch glinting on her wrist. The message read:
Testing how it looks in natural light. Very important for the optics, and for Roka when she gets her special edition.
Another of her legs stretched out on a lounge chair, a pina colada balanced on her thigh.
Making sure it photographs well from every angle. Plus, the cocktails here are a notch up on Bushwick. The company’s not, though. ;0)
Another of her in a white bikini, her mouth turned up in a smile I knew well, with the watch beside it.
Goes well with my smile. If Roka falls through, I’ll be the new model for half the cost.
Each message was technically about the watch and work-related. Technically keeping within the boundaries we’d agreed on after that kiss that definitely couldn’t happen again.
But I’d already spent enough time wondering what her stomach might look like. Now I knew, and it was better than I’d imagined. The fact she was sending these while supposedly having quality family time made it even worse.
Or better.
I couldn’t decide.
Amina put a fresh bottle of beer in front of me, then sat opposite me with renewed purpose.
I quickly clicked off my phone lest she see the photos, and turned my attention back to her.
“Don’t get your phone out, they’ll think you’re cheating!” Amina tested a new pen she’d picked up at the bar because “that last one was getting on my nerves”, nodded, then put the lid back on it.
“Right. You’re telling me everything, and I meaneverything. What happened in New York that is making you give this face?” She waved her fingers around my jaw.
If I voiced it, I knew it became more real. I’d vowed to bury it. However, I wanted to talk about it. To try to make sense of it. And Amina was my best friend…
“If I tell you, you have to swear on your mother’s grave you won’t tell anyone.”
“My mother’s not dead.”
“Details. Fine, swear on her life, then.”
“That seems worse somehow. Like I’m wishing her dead. You wouldn’t like her to be dead. You love her samosas, remember?” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I swear on my mother’s continued existence that I won’t tell anyone your New York secrets.”
I took a large gulp of beer for courage. It was icy cold. “I kissed Eliza.”
Amina blinked at me. “You did what now?”
“I kissed Eliza. Or she kissed me. There was definitely mutual kissing happening.”
“Hang on, back the fuck up.” Amina held up her right hand like she was trying to stop traffic. “Eliza as in ‘nothing’s going to happen, we work together, it’s strictly business’ Eliza?”
“That’s the one.”
“I knew you were hiding something! I stalked her a little on Instagram when you were away, and she is easy on the eye.She doesn’t give much of herself away online though, which is admirable or suspicious. I had to see what she looked like as I was picturing someone vaguely businessy with sensible shoes.”
“She doesn’t wear sensible shoes.”
“Clearly not if she’s kissing you in bars. Right, I need details. Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.” She checked her Voss watch. The one Mum had been so excited about before her death, and never got to see its success. I’d gifted one to Amina for Christmas.
A chill ran through me, and I instinctively looked around. Was Mum here now? I thought about her every day since her death, but since meeting Sage, now I wondered if she was here and reading my thoughts. I really hoped not, for her sake. There are some things that should be sacred between a mother and daughter.
“You’ve got five minutes until the quiz restarts.”
So I told her. About Central Park and getting soaked and meeting Roka, about the queer bar in Bushwick and the free shots, about Michelle appearing like some sort of perfectly dressed harbinger of doom.
