Page 24 of The Brooklyn Way

“What?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Give me your phone.”

She handed it over to me. I swiped for the camera, then swung the chair around. The picturesque beauty of God’s creation was behind her. Her expression was plaintive right up until I got ready to take the first snap. That was when Brooklyn came alive. She smiled, smirked, and grinned at the camera. She showed me the twin dimples that lived on each side of her face, her bright white teeth and dancing eyes. She held up two fingers in a peace sign, stuck her tongue out, and made smooching faces.

“Dayum, in love with the camera much?” I teased.

“Nah. It’s just that today was a really good day for me. I delivered the dress to my last and my most favorite deb. Both she and her mom cried. The dress I created made her feel good about herself. Beautiful. All of the other dresses she’d tried on made her feel fat and ugly. That means something to me. That’s why I do what I do—to make women feel good about themselves. Plus, I had a healthy dinner tonight, and I’m getting to watch the sunset from your dope ass, luxurious ass deck.” She sighed, still smiling. “This has been one of the best days that I’ve had in a long time.”

“And you didn’t even have to go to Target,” I quipped.

She sucked in an audible breath. “What? Forget you, Cameron. I thought we were sitting here bonding and stuff. But nah. You just couldn’t wait to talk your shit.”

I chuckled. “Yo, you know I don’t even know what you meant by that shit. How do you find joy in Target?”

“I was in a dark place, sir. My home life was a nightmare. There was a dark cloud hanging over my head. Target is clean and always brightly lit. I think they pump something into the air there that makes a serene calm fall over women. It was the one place where my anxiety gave me a break.”

I sent the pictures I’d taken from her phone to my phone. “What’s your handle?”

“The dot Brooklyn dot Waye.” She watched me type on my phone. “What are you doing, Cameron? You’re not about to post those pictures, are you?” Realization washed over her features. “You’re not about to tag me, are you? Please don’t tag me. My page is public. People are gonna think we’re together.” She shook her head sadly. “You’re gonna get me dragged.”

“I’m gonna make you relevant again, lil mama. Cotillion and deb seasons are over until next year. You need some clients. You need some orders coming in. You can’t survive on the money you made this summer until next summer.”

“You don’t know how much your mom paid me to make those cotillion dresses, or how much those deb moms paid.”

“Do you want to get your swag back, or nah? Are you trying to sew? Are you trying to be a seamstress again, or nah?”

“I can’t have clients coming to your property. I don’t even want clients coming to Jackson Island.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t really trust clients right now. Deep inside me, I feel like they’ll bring their bad juju here. I’m happy here. I don’t want to—”

I cut her off, because she was starting to spiral. “Get a small storefront in Charleston or Columbia or something. Fly to them. Charge them for the consultation. Come on. There’s ways to make this work for you.”

She sighed again. “Here’s the funny thing. When I was doing this for real, like really grinding at it, I would’ve given anything for an NBA player to post me on their IG. Now here I am, begging you not to post me on your IG. That’s stupid. Absolutely post my pictures, Cameron and definitely tag my page.”

I finished typing the caption on the collection of pictures and posted them.

“Will you take a selfie with me?”

I squinted at her. “Why do you seem unsure? You think I won’t be willing to post a selfie with you after I just posted you all over my page?”

“I guess not.”

I turned my chair around so that my back was to the ocean just like hers. I leaned my face close to hers. She took a series of pictures.

“Thank you,” she told me.

“You’re welcome.” I spun her chair around so that she was facing the ocean again.

The sun had sunk lower, creating a nice backdrop.

“I could live here.”

I cut my gaze to her. “You do live here, shorty.”

Her giggle floated on the breeze. “I meant here on your deck.” She paused. “My notifications are blowing up. What did you post?”

I wasn’t sure why she asked me, because she was already navigating to her page.

“When the homie starts to see in herself what you see in her,” she read aloud, before turning to me. “Thanks, Cameron. Even though we both know you don’t see anything in me, because you don’t really see me.”

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