Page 57 of First Comes Forever

Running his finger over the top of the box, he asks, “And I can’t just buy this somewhere?”

“Nope.”

He shakes his head. “Then, no. You just said it was one of your favorites.”

I look around my closet and all the boxes ofstuff. “Look at everything I have. This isn’t even half of it. I’ve given so many freebies to my friends over the years.”

“See? Being an influencer is the smartest hustle. Not only are you making money, but you never have to spend it.”

I drop my gaze, watching my toes. “All these free things somehow imprison me. They make me a slave to the platforms I’m growing to resent. My whole life purpose is to build an audience that businesses can buy from me, but what am I selling? More stuff? More distractions?” I rotate my arm over my head. “All these beautiful things just sit here and rot in my closet. And here I am begging other people to fill their lives with the same empty things, promising them that the next big luxury purse or swimsuit is going to bethat thingthat cures their loneliness, pain, and anxiety. As if looking good can make you impervious to what’s really going on in the world.”

It’s such a powerful lie, I’ve almost convinced myself.

Adam opens his mouth, then closes it. Whatever he wants to say, he decides against it. After fiddling with his thumbs for a moment, he taps the box with his forefinger. “So you don’t want it anymore?”

“It is one of my favorites, but it’s one I’ve never used. So please give it to someone who will treasure it.” I gesture around the closet. “It’ll go unnoticed here.”

“Talk about wrong first impressions,” Adam mumbles under his breath. I mean to ask him what he means, but he surprises me with a quick kiss, sending the delicious tingles up my spine. “Thank you, Amani. How should I wrap this?”

“Just a ribbon bow around the center, and get a nice matching birthday card, okay? It’s a classy touch.”

Adam’s phone dings from his pocket. It doesn’t sound like a phone call. More like a notification. Standing, he holds his hands out to pull me up before grabbing the box and tucking it under his arms. I rub my knees, red and indented from kneeling on the carpet for so long.

“You sure about New York?”

I nod. “Yeah. Maybe we can hang out when you get back, though.”

He finds my lips again with his. “Definitely, summer girl,” he says, “I’ll call you as soon as I’m back.”

thirteen

My laptop rests on the kitchen island, goading me. I stare at the silver, sleek device that’s silently scolding me: Buck up. Hustle harder. Swallow down the feelings and get the fuck back to work.

I just don’t want to today. The past two days with Carson and Adam have been painfully eye opening. I was elbow deep in poopy diapers, run ragged from trying to entertain a toddler in an empty condo, and somehow I felt completely fulfilled. I was held and touched by a man who isn’t mine to keep and yet have never felt so safe. It felt so honest, that I’m having trouble returning to reality.

I have to post something. It’s been two days, and I’m sure my absence has already screwed up the algorithms. Within two days, I’m sure I’ve already missed out on some new trending song, dance, or joke that could’ve gotten my brand partners millions of views. Every time I’m not operating strategically and robotically, I’m missing opportunities. Make no mistake, entrepreneurship is a constant hustle for survival. There is no rest for those who want to stay relevant. But today I just don’t give a crap about being relevant.

I retreat from my laptop and spin around. Walking through the main living room, I make my way to the giant glass doors. As soon as I slide the balcony doors open, the afternoon heat wraps around me. It’s soothing, a nice contrast from the brisk air conditioning inside the condo.

The sun is sparkling off of the strip of ocean visible behind the busy highway. I can’t imagine how much Adam paid for this condo to be able to see astripof ocean from his balcony. This could be content. I could film a selfie video with this view behind me and come up with some sort of snappy caption.

Instead, I pull out my phone and call one of my best friends, Reese.

The phone barely rings before she picks up and says, “Hey, Hollywood. Did you get your emotional support pickle too?”

I smile into the phone. “Well, that’s one hell of a greeting.”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” Reese cackles.

“Not remotely, but I’m intrigued.”

“Addie bought us all little stuffed pickles. Purse stuffers. It’s the silliest, cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I wish I could live in that girl’s brain. I imagine it’s all rainbows and cotton candy in there. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t had disappointing sex yet.”

I laugh. Addie is the youngest of our friend group and is still a virgin in her mid-twenties. “She hasn’t had sex yet, period.”

“Yeah, same thing, Mani. All sex is disappointing in one way or the other.”

Hunching over and resting my elbows on the balcony rail, I ask, “I take it your dating life is going great.”

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