“I’m not that same girl,” Charlie snapped. “If you knew me then, you don’t know me now. Shit ain’t the same.”
“Well, if you’re not the same, toss that nigga card in the trash and focus on you,” Stassi urged. Charlie put down the spatula.
“You know what? Just so I don’t have to hear your mouth.” Charlie grabbed Demi’s card and dropped it in her trash can. “Happy now?” she asked, resuming her pancake duty.
Charlie flipped the pancakes as her nostrils flared. She was 24 years old and Stassi was only two years older than that. She didn’t need her sister preaching to her about shit she couldn’t change. If Charlie hated nothing else, it was to be judged. “And, bitch, scramble an egg or something. I ain’t your damn personal chef. This is sister’s brunch and you the one with the damn culinary degree, so get to cooking something,” she snapped.
Charlie and Stassi had spent every Sunday like this for the past six months. Reacquainting, reuniting, after many years had kept them apart.
“What about you? Who you entertaining these days?” Charlie asked as she pulled a bottle of champagne from her refrigerator. One orange juice, one pineapple.
“Nobody, girl. This damn business is my boyfriend. I feel like all I do is cook and eat. I can never find a date because I’m always covered in food, looking crazy. Let me tell you how I met this nigga in the grocery store. Fine-ass fucking man named Day. I’m walking through there with a damn apron and flour all over me because my egg delivery didn’t come in this week and I ran out in the middle of baking this girl’s birthday cake. So, boom, I shoot to the store and bump into the finest fucking man. Nigga legit smelled like money. Like he in there high as fuck, smelling like kush, looking for sunflower seeds cuz he got the munchies. Nigga legit walked up on me, talking about can you show me where the nuts and shit at?”
Charlie giggled. “I mean, you do keep that damn apron on all the time.”
“Bitch, I don’t work in no fucking grocery store! I mean, don’t get me wrong, ain’t nothing wrong with working at the grocery store, but I shouldn’t be walking around looking like I know what’s on aisle 2!”
“So, what did you say?” Charlie asked, her eyes smiling in amusement.
“I cussed his ass out,” Stassi replied, sipping her mimosa.
“And he hired you after that?” Charlie asked, eyes wide. “How you parlay that to a job?”
“Girl, so he looks me up on Instagram. I mean, like right there on the spot cuz I was going in on him, talking about I’m a business owner, yada, yada, right?” Stassi paused to take a bite of the bacon Charlie had just finished frying. “So, he liked what he saw, and he booked me on the spot. Cash App’d me the deposit and everything. It’s a fifty-thousand-dollar job. Some showcase at his company.”
“Oh my God! That’s so good!” Charlie was genuinely ecstatic for her sister. They never competed. Even as kids. When one won, they both celebrated; no matter how much their mothers hated it. They had refused to put the step in their title. They were sisters. Not by blood, but by love.
“Soooo… you got to come with me,” Stassi said.
“Stassi, no! Don’t nobody want to come to work for free!”
“Come on, please, Charlie? You don’t even have to do anything. I just need you there for moral support. This guy is a big deal. You can just come and vibe out. I just don’t want to walk in alone,” Stassi said.
“I’ll help,” Charlie said. “But you owe me.”
Chapter 3
Charlie walked into the empty club and the sound of the band warming up sparked excitement in her soul. She carried her guitar at her side, but she sat in the back in obscurity as she allowed the band to finish their set.
She hadn’t been singing with them long. Before she had picked up a mic at Karaoke Thursdays six months ago, she hadn’t even known them. The bass guitarist, Justin, had heard her sing that night and had offered her a gig on the spot. She had been singing every Saturday with the four men ever since. Charlie loved it. She loved everything about singing to live music, in front of drunken crowds, as the sensuality of her voice brought out the sensuality of them.
They were playing a live rendition of a Summer Walker joint and it was the drums for her. Her heart thudded with every high-hat and she swooned. There was nothing like soul-filled music. It was her first love. She remembered writing down the lyrics to Lauryn Hill’s album as a kid while singing the songs, matching her sultry tone. It was how she had learned to sing. Matching the voices of her favorite singers and then eventually discovering a voice of her own as she got older. No matter what she had been through, through her father leaving, through the death of her mother, through lonely and misunderstood teenage years, and through years of being mistreated by men, music had never left her side. That notebook with song lyrics from songs she wantedto learn only grew.
Charlie emerged from the shadows as Justin played a solo on his guitar at the end. The way he played took her breath away. His hands seduced the strings with expertise. Fitted jeans, Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a beanie hat in the summertime, he was an artist if Charlie had never seen one.
“It’s a shame for someone to be so talented,” she said, smiling as he finished, and she stepped onto the stage.
“I say that every time you sing over these strings, Charles,” he said. “You want to lay some vocals over this sound?”
Charlie smiled, grabbing the microphone, and fell right into the rhythm of the song. She had been singing it in her head anyway, so she knew exactly where to come in.
“What an addiction, so high a cost, gambled it alllll just to be lost, but no loveee lost, no bridges burned, you live and you learnnn I learned from my hurt,” she sang. Eyes closed and she let the band play for a bit before she added. “Waste of timeeeee my loverrrrr...”
“Wrap it up, clubs closed for the night!”
Charlie’s eyes popped open as Frankie walked into the room. His hand was wrapped in gauze and medical tape.
“What happened to your hand?” she asked.
