Every Tomorrow

by Nia Arthurs

  Diandra shrugs. “Maybe it’s the lighting in the kitchen.”

  “Whatever.” I drain my glass and reach for the wine bottle.

  Diandra slides it out of reach. Her plump red lips stretch across her face as she grins. “Try not to get drunk like you did the last time.”

  “I wasn’t drunk!” I defend. “I was tipsy.”

  “Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

  I have and I will.

  A month ago, Kent proposed to Amaya at a restaurant. It was a big deal. He had balloons, candles lined up in the shape of a heart, and a power point presentation of their life together.

  He invited everyone—including me, for some strange reason.

  That night, I watched two human beings find happiness in each other and it bothered me. Not because I’m jealous. Of course. It’s because… well, I was menstruating. Yeah, I always get emotional around that time.

  Either way, I drank a little too much. Diandra and Amaya claim I made a total fool of myself. Wilson had to take me home. It’s something I’d really rather forget and I did forget some parts.

  Others, not so much.

  “Look, Wilson’s here.” Diandra jerks her chin in the direction of the living room where a burly guy with a thick beard escorts a gorgeous woman into the room. “Looks like he brought a date too.”

  “Great. We’re the only single people here.”

  “Speak for yourself, honey.” Diandra tosses her weave over her shoulder. “I got a few guys on my radar.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Sorry.” She laughs and opens her mouth, probably to console me or—more likely—rub my singleness in my face.

  Before she can, Amaya’s laptop bursts to life and a green icon with a telephone in the middle pops up.

  “Looks like a video call,” I muse.

  Diandra scrambles to answer and starts chatting it up with Katrina Barton, Amaya’s future aunt-in-law.

  I’m not usually fond of older, white women—a wariness formed based on those I’ve met in the emergency room—but Mrs. Barton is genuinely kind.

  Last year, after Kent and Amaya were reunited on the set of her ‘Every Tomorrow’ music video, Katrina flew to Belize to meet the woman Kent could never forget.

  As the nurse who made sure her precious nephew could live long enough to fall in love, Katrina showered me with gratitude. She’s a lady with good taste and we clicked immediately.

  I scramble behind Diandra and wave at the laptop. “Kat!”

  “Hello, Zora.” Katrina’s smile causes the wrinkles around her eyes to deepen. She’s got the cash to do plastic surgery, but she’s made the choice to age naturally and I think it suits her.

  “When are you coming back to Belize?” I ask.

  “As soon as possible. I’m just waiting for Amaya to set a wedding date so I can fly back and help her plan. If she wants my help, of course.” Katrina’s brown eyes zip to the side. “Is she there?”

  “I’ll get her.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  I straighten and head into the living room where Amaya’s mother and her boyfriend along with Tyron and his girlfriend are chatting.

  Reggae music plays softly in the background. I recognize ‘Every Tomorrow’ and smirk. It’s been a year already, but Kent is still obsessed with that song.

  I guess I would be too if the love of my life wrote a nationally acclaimed song just for me.

  Again. Not jealous.

  As I search the room for Amaya, I find her cuddling Kent’s arm. She’s wearing a flowing champagne colored dress that accentuates her figure and compliments her pretty brown skin. Kent practically explodes with adoration.

  Honestly, they sicken me.

  Wilson and Violet stand in front of the newly (if the fifth time counts as ‘newly’) engaged couple.

  My body stiffens when I notice Wilson, but I stuff my discomfort deep down and stride forward.

  My red dress sways as I move. While I was getting ready for the party, I pulled the gown over my hips and was surprised when it got stuck. I’ve never been a curvy woman so I was ecstatic.

  Since I was teenager, I’ve wanted a fuller chest and butt. I’ve been strutting around tonight, feeling like Beyoncé but, for some reason when Wilson notices me, I get self-conscious.

  I clear my throat. “Amaya, Mrs. Barton is calling to congratulate you. Again. She says she’s sorry she couldn’t be here but she’d love to help plan the wedding. If you want.”

  “I should get this.” Amaya sends Kent a loving smile. “Be right back.”

  There’s a part of me that says I should follow her, but Wilson is still staring at me and I figure I’ll look rude if I just walk away and don’t address him.

  “Didn’t think you’d make it,” I say. The words are already out of my mouth when I realize there’s more heat on them than necessary.

  “I’m sure you were hoping for that,” Wilson snaps.

  His tone rubs me the wrong way. That right there is why I can’t stand that man. He just oozes condescension.

  Sure, he’s handsome, more muscled than a fitness model, and has an app company raking in hundred thousand dollar deals, but beneath the surface he’s not all that.

  It doesn’t help that we started off on the wrong foot. Last year, when I suggested Kent do the brain surgery that ultimately saved his life, Wilson was dead set against it.

  He refused to see reason and even swore I’d pay if Kent died. Like I’m God and have any control over who lives or dies.

  Jerk.

  I side-eye him hard, reliving that moment all over again.

  Violet glances between the two of us. She’s a stunning creature with raven hair, blue eyes and pink lips. It’s clear as day that Wilson worships her and I’m sure half the men who come into contact with her do too.

  “What’s with you two?” Violet asks.

  “Nothing.” I turn away. Wilson is annoying me, and I don’t want to ruin the party by getting into a stupid argument. “I need another drink.”

  I disappear into the kitchen, which is—oddly—free of both Diandra and Amaya. They must have headed to Amaya’s bedroom to have privacy while they spoke with Katrina.

  I shrug. More wine for me.

  A moment later, footsteps thud behind me. I almost grab the bottle and hold it to my chest while screaming ‘mine’, but I manage to resist the childish impulse and spin. My lips part when I recognize Wilson.

  I make a sound that’s part gargle and part scoff. “What do you want?”

  “Why are you hogging up the wine?”

  “I asked first.”

  He grabs the bottle from me and his fingers brush my chest in the process. My heart skitters and falls flat on its face.

  Coward.

  Wilson pours himself a glass and says calmly, “Keep that up and everyone will know we slept together.”

  “What?” All Wilson-inspired tingles disappear. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just play it cool, alright?”

  My eyes widen. I glance toward the living room where we’re in full sight of the festivities and then crane my neck to check the hallway.

  If Kent or Amaya overheard Wilson…

  I stalk toward him and grab his hand.

  Wilsons resists me and since he’s about a hundred pounds heavier and several inches taller than me, I can’t move him on sheer will alone.

  “Outside,” I growl. “Let’s discuss this outside.”

  Wilson allows me to drag him through the kitchen door that leads to the back porch.

  As soon as we’re standing on the verandah, I throw his hand down. “Listen here, you prick. The only who keeps bringing up that night is you. It was a mistake. One I hardly remember. Get over it.”

  That’s a lie. I remember every intimate detail of what Will Barton did to my body, but I’d rather die than give Wilson the satisfaction of knowing that.

  Wilson laughs. “Did you just call me a prick?”

 
; “I’m thinking of another word, but my mama raised me to be a lady.”

  He steps closer. “You’re no lady, Zora.”

  Heat flushes my chest. I push him back. “What do you care? You’re back with Violet, right? So everyone else doesn’t exist.”

  “Sounds like you’re jealous.”

  I snort—a totally unladylike sound. “You know, for a man who claims to be in love with someone else, you sure pay a lot of attention to me.”

  “I’m just making sure you haven’t forgotten your promise. We agreed to pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “What gave you the impression I was violating that?”

  He arches an eyebrow. “You can’t look at me without glaring. You can’t talk to me without quarrelling—”

  “Because I can’t stand you. It’s nothing more or less than that.”

  “Look, I don’t care what you think about me or that night, but Violet and I are talking again. The last thing I need is you messing things up for us.”

  “Oh. My bad. I’ll be sure to do a better job of hiding my obvious love for you. In the future, I’ll pretend you don’t even exist. In fact, it would be my pleasure.”

  “What is your problem? You came on to me that night, remember?”

  “I don’t remember putting a gun to your head and forcing you to kiss me back.” I run a hand through my shoulder-length black hair. “And do you know how much the hotel charged me for that broken bed?”

  He has the presence of mind to look ashamed. “I told you I’d pay you back for that.”

  “I don’t want your money,” I hiss. “And I don’t want you either. The farther you are from me, the happier I am.”

  His eyes darken. “Fine. As soon as the wedding’s over, I’ll be out of your hair and you can be the happiest woman in the world.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” Wilson’s nose flares. “I feel sorry for the man who ends up with you.”

  “Well, I’d feel sorry for Violet, but it’s clear she doesn’t have good taste if she’d take you back.”

  Wilson sneers and turns to head back inside. I sprint inside first and lock the door because I feel particularly childish after his dig about my future husband. It’s hurtful on its own, but—given I’m a little insecure about my relationship status—it deserves a punishment.

  He yanks the knob. The door rattles beneath the force of his hand. His thick black eyebrows slant over his deep brown eyes. “Zora, open the door.”

  “What?” I cup my ear and lean toward the mesh. “Can’t hear you.”

  “ZORA!”

  I laugh and walk away, smug in my victory.

  Chapter 2

  “Zo?” My brother, Thomas, taps on the bathroom door. “You alright? Do you need a Pepto or something?” He knocks grow more desperate when I don’t answer. “Zo?”

  “I’m fine,” I croak from my totally defeated pose over the toilet. There’s no ‘right’ way to throw up, but I think I’ve found the most dehumanizing.

  When I was younger, I never used public toilets and I even stooped over toilet lids instead of sitting on them because I was scared of germs and thought my precious buttocks deserved better.

  Today, my arms are slung over the seat and my head’s leaning on the side of the porcelain like I’m embracing a lover. My nine-year-old self would be horrified.

  “Zo?” Thomas yells.

  “I’m coming,” I mumble.

  After climbing to my feet, I open the door so Thomas can see that I’m not dead and then I wash my hands in the sink.

  The mirror above the faucet reveals a woman with dark brown skin and black hair fashioned into a crown braid with wisps falling over her high cheekbones. Her plump brown lips are still cracked open in a pathetic gasp for air.

  “Are you okay?” Thomas puts his hands on my back, which is exposed in the low cut emerald dress I bought for the wedding.

  His hands are warm, and I instantly feel better. “Yeah.”

  “It sounded like you were coughing up a lung. Maybe we should see a doctor.”

  “No, there’s no time.”

  “I don’t care if we’re late to this thing. We don’t even have to go.”

  I shoot him down immediately. “It’ll look weird if you don’t show up. Amaya will think you still have feelings for her.”

  He smirks. “It’s all about what people think with you, isn’t it?”

  “No.” I scoff at the suggestion. “I’m worried about you. It was crazy enough that she invited her ex to her wedding, but it’s crazier that you RSVP’d. You’re going no matter what.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “Positive.” I wipe my hands off on the bathroom towel and straighten. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Thomas still looks unsure, but he escorts me to the car and drives to Queen’s Hotel.

  The garden has been pimped out with tropical bouquets on white posts and chairs layered in white satin. Lights are strung over the treetops and fragrant blooms perfume the air. The sunlight casts a romantic, golden glow on everything.

  It’s a scene straight out of a storybook.

  Even though I’m still a little queasy, I’m glad I came. Amaya and I have a love-hate relationship that means a lot to me.

  If that even makes sense.

  Plus, I’m genuinely happy for her and Kent. Amaya’s her best self when she’s with him.

  When she was dating my brother, it was clear she wasn’t as invested as Thomas was and I resented her for that.

  I’ve always thought my brother was the most handsome guy in the world with his deep chocolate skin, thick eyelashes and Idris Elba-esque swagger. He deserves to be fawned over and loved like crazy, and Amaya just didn’t feel that way about him.

  Thankfully, there are no hard feelings between them.

  To be honest, I sense that Thomas would jump on her if she gave him the chance, but the way Amaya’s so in love with Kent, that’s never happening.

  All’s well that ends well.

  The wedding ceremony is beautiful. Amaya walks down the aisle on her grandfather’s arm. She’s a vision in a modern, white, off-the-shoulder wedding dress with lace sleeves.

  Kent accepts her hands with tears in his eyes. He’s handsome in a classic black tux with a black bow tie, his hair brushed back. But it’s definitely that look of total and complete love that transforms his face ands sets off an emotional bomb.

  Katrina starts bawling from the front row, which starts a chain reaction in the audience. Even I have to bat away a few tears and I am not a crier.

  Thomas notices me sniffling and rolls his eyes, but I just ignore him.

  The deacon announces that Kent may kiss his bride and he lays a scorching hot kiss on Amaya that makes me wonder if he’s forgotten he’s in front of fifty guests and not in their hotel suite for their wedding night.

  At last, they come up for air and everyone cheers. I clap politely of course and tear my eyes off Amaya as the wedding party follows them down the aisle.

  My gaze collides with Wilson who’s serving as Kent’s best man. His broad shoulders strain against that tailored black tux and his hair glistens in the sunlight.

  I wish he wasn’t so darn fly. The man has the facial structure of a Greek god and he knows it.

  Seeing him around everywhere is torture. I can’t wait until he…

  My stomach roils. I cover my mouth. The sun beats the top of my head, pummeling me like a pro wrestler. The music plays loudly in my ears, adding to the chaos of wedding guests heading inside to the reception.

  Thomas grabs my shoulder. He’s calling my name, but I’m not hearing him clearly. It sounds like he’s talking from a distance.

  My gag reflexes warn I’m about to blow right on top of these lovely white chairs. I shake my brother’s hand off and dart out of the aisle.

  There’s no time to shoot into the hotel and find a bathroom. I scramble as far away from the wedding party a
s I can get, sequestering myself behind a tree. The contents of my stomach are lost in the soft grass.

  I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that protein bar on the way.

  “Zora!” My brother’s voice thunders through the foliage. “Zora!” A moment later, Thomas appears with Diandra in tow.

  She’s wearing a one-shoulder navy dress. It’s one instance where the maid-of-honor didn’t have to wear a hideous gown to let the bride shine.

  Diandra’s brown eyes are laced with worry. Without thought to her outfit, she dives right beside me. My puke smells but she doesn’t wrinkle her nose or anything. Instead, she shoves a bottle of water at me. “Drink this.”

  “Thanks.” I guzzle it down.

  “That better?” Thomas asks.

  I nod and stand. Grass crunches beneath my heels. “Thomas, was that protein bar expired?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Diandra glances at me than looks at my brother. “Could you ask the kitchen for some ginger?”

  “Ginger?”

  “Yeah, it will help.”

  Thomas looks at me as if seeking my permission before he leaves.

  I nod. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he assures me before striding out of sight.

  “Can you stand?” Diandra asks.

  “I think so.”

  She wraps her manicured fingers over my arm and helps me up. “How far along are you?”

  I almost stumble on my face but manage to catch my balance at the last minute. My head whips around to take her in. “What?”

  “You’re pregnant, right?”

  My jaw drops but no words fall out.

  “I knew there was something different about you at the last engagement party. You were glowing, that’s what it was.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” I say with a horrified chuckle. “That’s not possible.”

  “You’re the nurse. Shouldn’t you know this stuff?”

  Yes, I should know this stuff. And now that I’m thinking about it, the signs are crystal clear.

  I’m starting to unravel now and my voice climbs to a squeak as I argue, “There’s no way that’s even possible. I haven’t been with anyone since…”

  Diandra studies me intently. “Who?”

  “Wilson…”