Page 7 of The Prettiest Outlaw

Everything was different.

I disembarked the plane at Midway Airport. I was back from my week-long vacation on the Caribbean island of Iredia. This was my second year spending the holiday season in Iredia because I couldn’t take all of the Christmas that the United States liked to shove down my throat. At the resort on Iredia, I wasn’t faced with one decorated tree, one carol, or one present. It was all beach… all the time, and I had the tan to show for it.

My phone rang as I made my way from baggage claim to the parking garage. I answered quickly after recognizing the number as my best friend, Ravyn Moreland.

“What up, mami?” I asked her with forced giddiness I had to pull up from my toes.

“Have you landed? Are you back on American soil? Because I’m really looking forward to this gala tonight. I paid for a small sponsorship. They’re putting some of my brochures in the swag bags. I should get at least a little bit of business from this event,” she said.

I smiled in spite of myself. “Yep. I’m headed to my truck now. That was smart. Brittanie always has a good turn out, and her swag bags are the talk of the city.”

Brittanie Hill was kind of my sister-in-law. I wasn’t exactly sure how it worked. Her husband, Dominic, and Jianna’s husband, Dolton, were brothers. Technically, she was my sister’s sister-in-law. I wasn’t sure what that made her to me… probably nothing. Still, when I spoke of Brittanie, I referred to her as my sister-in-law. Maybe it was a cultural thing. Black people had the tendency to adopt each other as familial relations based on a myriad of circumstances. I was pretty sure that was a hold over from the times of enslavement.

Ravyn owned a matchmaking business that catered to Chicago’s well-heeled singles. She worked so hard behind the scenes to keep her business growing and relevant that she never really went out, and going to one of the city’s largest New Year’s Eve events was a big deal for her.

I had absolutely no interest in hanging out anywhere except in my own bed on New Year’s Eve. I had no interest in celebrating or partying. The only thing I had interest in was getting through the last of the holiday season, because truth be told, it was bringing me down. I didn’t feel like I was in a depression, but I definitely felt like I was… blue. I was sad. I was lonely.

I was looking forward to the second of January more than I was looking forward to anything else in life.

* * *

Brittanie’s New Year’s Eve fundraiser was for herMismanaged AngelsFoundation. The foundation worked to raise money for college scholarships and funding in general for young adults aging out of the foster care system. The event was an upscale affair and always drew a diverse and interesting crowd. I planned to put my best foot forward regardless of what I was feeling or experiencing on the inside.

After a shower, I moisturized. My hair was already done. My stylist had been able to fit me in, and fashioned my hair into an upswept “French roll” like style. I gave my face a very light, glam beat.

Once that was done, I slid into the flowy pink floral cocktail dress with the deep plunge in the front and the deep split on the side. By the time I wiggled my feet into the fifteen hundred dollar, whiteFreedom Journeysandals and grabbed my tiny, beaded, white evening bag, the car that Ravyn and I ordered was outside waiting for me. I quickly spritzed myself with my favorite Brown Girl Jane scent and headed out of the door.

I could tell that Ravyn had already started to pregame the minute I slid into the backseat of the Mercedes Benz S Class. Her eyes were glassy, but it was the flute filled to the top with champagne in her hand that was the dead giveaway.

“Let’s toast,” she told me a second after the driver had shut the car door behind me.

She handed me a glass then unsteadily filled it with liquid.

“What are we toasting to, Rae?” I reached out to stop her hand from pouring. There were two things I didn’t need, and both of them were champagne on my dress.

She struggled to get the bottle back into its holder. When she finally did, she let out a gleeful giggle then turned her attention to me.

“We’re toasting to the new year.”

I held up my half-filled glass with a nod.

“May the new year,” she began, “be better than the one we’re leaving in the rearview at midnight.”

We clinked glasses.

“Yes, sir.” I took a dainty sip, while Ravyn practically chugged hers.

I couldn’t have agreed more with my homegirl’s toast. The last few years had sucked ass as far as I was concerned. The only positive thing to come out of this year had been me finally discovering my passion. I smiled on the inside as my thoughts went to my new passion.

Ravyn topped off her glass.

I side eyed her. “What’s going on, Rae? Why are you going so hard on that champagne?”

She sighed, setting the glass in one of the drink holders. “I'm discouraged, boo. It’s at the point where I feel like… if things don’t work out with somebody this year, I’mma give up on finding me a black king and go get me one of these white men out here. You know the ones on social media that are being leveled up by black women?”

“Aww, boo,” I crooned.

I was both sympathetic and empathetic to her plight. It wasn’t like I had dudes beating down my door trying to wine, dine, or woo me. I mean, I had dudes who would line up to fuck, but they weren’t interested in comforting me or speaking positivity over my life. Those were two things I needed a lot more than I needed dick. I was no longer one of the girls who used sex as a coping mechanism. I was no longer into fucking the bad thoughts away. I could cope with my problems. I just wanted somebody to hold me and talk sweetly to me while I did it.

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