“You decided to come! I’m serving tonight instead of hosting.” Our waitress, the same one from our first night, welcomed us as she placed glasses of water in front of us. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”
We ordered our drinks and then some sides to have as our dinner, seeing as we were still satisfied from lunch.
“Oh, they’re about to start,” the waitress told us. “Enjoy. I hope one of you decides to get up there tonight.”
“Not likely,” Chanel mumbled.
I kept silent as the first person went up on the stage. The lights turned down low, and the opening chords of Gloria Gaynor’sI Will Survivebegan to play. The rest of the women, including Chanel, whooped and cheered, encouraging the woman at the podium as she sang and stumbled over the words she didn’t know. Next up,the woman’s husband began with some country song from the nineties. And on it went for the next forty-five minutes. It was fun to watch, but when the manager of the restaurant stepped out onto the podium, I perked up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it has been brought to my attention that we have a young lady in the house who is a phenomenal singer. But she’s a little shy. How about we bring her on up? Let’s make some noise for Ms. Chanel Richards!” He and the rest of the place went up in applause as the spotlight landed on an awestruck Chanel.
Her eyes were as wide saucers as she looked over at me. Her stunned expression soon turned to anger. “I’m not going up there!”
“Why not? You sing better than anyone who’s been up there all evening,” I encouraged, coming to stand next to her, pulling her up by the arms.
“Are you crazy?”
“For you, yes. Come on, baby. Just one song?” I requested, turning on my charm.
Her face softened.
“Don’t get cocky, ’cause I can change my mind!” she immediately insisted at my look.
“Come on, everyone’s waiting.”
She rolled her eyes and snatched her hand away from me, giving me a disgruntled look before heading toward the stage.
“Sorry, y’all. I wasn’t planning on being up here tonight. Give me a minute to choose a song.”
The other people around the restaurant quieted as Chanel looked through the booklet of songs to choose from. A second later, her head popped up and her gaze narrowed on me. Before I could discern that look, she went over to the man operating the karaoke machine and whispered something in his ear. I watched as he went over to hook something up.
“Since I didn’t know I’d be singing tonight, the song I want to sing isn’t in the booklet. But my new friend Daniel here has offered to find the instrumental version for me. This is Marsha Ambrosius’ “Lose Myself.”
I squinted, trying to recall the song that I vaguely remembered hearing when it came out years ago. An R&B melody came through the speakers and Chanel took a deep breath, and staring directly at me, began singing.
Just like the first time we were in her kitchen when she sang Tamia’s “Stuck With Me”,I was enraptured. I was so captured by how beautiful she looked on stage under the spotlight that it took me awhile to truly appreciate the lyrics. When I did, I felt my entire body tense up.
The lyrics spoke of a woman having to lose herself to find herself and be able to love. She sang of loving someone once who hurt her and made her doubt everything. Then of losing herself, running from love out of fear, only to confront that fear and return to her love. It was perfectly aligned with our story. Being hurt in the past, closing herself off to love, only to find it again. Her powerful voice rose as she sang the crescendo of the song. Nothing else in the room existed, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. I felt the words and her singing all the way down to my soul. Through music, she was telling her personal journey, and finally, of her satisfaction in reaching her destination.
I didn’t let her finish the last note as I stood, nearly knocking my chair over. A few gasps were heard around the room as I took to the stage and pulled her face between my hands, seeing the tears in her eyes, and kissed her deeply. I vaguely heard applause but was too busy bending over to hoist Chanel up in my arms to carry her out of the restaurant.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chanel
“How’re you feeling?” Xavier asked as he entered our bedroom.
It’d been two days since we arrived home from our cruise, and all but the final two days on the boat had been some of the best I’d had in a long while. Unfortunately, the nausea I’d experienced the first day returned with a vengeance on the final two days, leaving me in bed or perched over the toilet the last day and a half. Even the pills that were supposed to help with seasickness hadn’t worked.
Naturally, now that we were home, I expected to feel better, but nope. And the following day was Monday, when I needed to return to work. Xavier had to go out to check on business for a couple of hours, and he’d promised to return with my favorite pho soup, but right then, the thought of eating anything made me sick to my stomach.
“Ehh,” I said, answering his question.
“That good, huh?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Can you sit up for me?”
