Chapter Forty: Eden

Samantha sat at the bar, sipping a vodka tonic. The music in the club was loud, too loud, and the bass thumped through her bones like a second heartbeat. She felt exposed, and not in the fun way.

She was dressed in a silver slip dress that shimmered under the strobe light. She didn’t know what she was doing here. Her hair was pinned up, loose strands falling around her face in carefully imperfect waves. The kind of look that said: I planned this, but not too much. The kind of look that drew glances from strangers.

Her makeup was impeccable, winged eyeliner sharp enough to wound, lips painted in a shade of red that was almost too bold. She looked like confidence distilled. But inside, she felt brittle.

She didn’t know what she was doing here.

This has never been her scene, not even in college. It was too loud. Too many flashing lights. Too many conversations happening at once and none of them with any real weight.

Claire had promised to meet her at Eden, a lesbian club down in east village that a friend of a friend had recommended. But when she’d arrived Claire had sent her a text.

“Sorry can’t make it. But go in have some fun.”

She’d stood outside the club for a long while, debating whether to go in or not. Eventually she had, if only because standing on the sidewalk made her feel even more pathetic.

Now she was perched on a barstool, nursing her drink, eyes scanning the room with the kind of nervous energy she usually reserved for high-stakes client meetings.

She stirred her drink with the black straw and scanned the room. A tall woman with sleeve tattoos and a septum piercing caught her eye, smiled, then looked away before Samantha could even decide whether to smile back.

She exhaled, turned her attention back to the bar.

“I don’t belong here,” she muttered under her breath.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Claire.

“You there?”

Samantha stared at it, then typed and erased three responses before settling on:

“Yeah. Alone. Thanks for that.”

Claire replied almost instantly.

“You’ll be fine. You’re hot, mysterious, emotionally complicated. They eat that up in there.”

Samantha sighed, maybe she’d just head home soon.

——

At the entrance of Eden, two other faces entered.

“God, were these places always this loud?” Marissa asked Leah.

Leah, who’d just given her coat to the coat check girl shrugged, “Who cares, let’s have some drinks and dance.”

Both women, were dressed impeccably. They were after all confident and beautiful black women.

Marissa, for her part, had replaced her usual cardigans and jeans with something that actually fit the night: a backless black jumpsuit that hugged her in all the right places. Her hair was up in a loose twist, soft curls framing her cheekbones. Her earrings sparkled when the lights hit them, and her heels gave her just enough height to feel dangerous.

Leah, meanwhile, was radiant in a burnt-orange satin dress that caught the light with every step. Her makeup was flawless, her lips painted a rich berry shade that dared anyone to look away. She was the kind of woman who walked into a room and claimed it before saying a word.

“Ugh, remind me why we’re here,” Marissa asked.

“Because you need to loosen up, and relax. Go on, have a drink, flirt, make a mistake. Preferably with someone who doesn’t own a dick.”

“Leah!”

Leah laughed and pulled her by the arm, “Come on, let’s get you a real drink,” Leah said, grabbing Marissa’s hand and tugging her toward the bar. “None of that vodka soda nonsense.”

Marissa rolled her eyes but followed, grateful for the anchor Leah always managed to be. Even in chaos. Especially in chaos.

As they approached the bar, Leah’s gaze flicked to the other end.

“Don’t look now,” she said under her breath, “but someone we know is here.”

Marissa turned instinctively.

There, sitting alone at the bar in a silver slip dress and red lipstick that looked like war paint, was Samantha.

And she looked… lost.

Marissa didn’t speak. She just blinked, there was for a moment a flash of anger, and then she looked away, swallowing whatever rose up in her chest before it could take shape.

Leah raised an eyebrow. “Want to leave?”

“No,” Marissa said, her voice low but steady. “I think I want a tequila.”

“Atta girl,” Leah said, flagging down the bartender.

While Leah ordered, Marissa’s eyes flicked back over to Samantha, and then their eyes met.