Page 30 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Not so fast. We’ve got to document it for the ’Gram.”

“Oh. Right,” I say, putting the cookie down. “For the ’Gram.”

“Here, do like me,” Shereé says, taking out her bubble-gum-colored lipstick for a fresh application.

I’m not a makeup girl, as I’ve said before, however, deep in the bottom of my purse, therein lies the tube of dark lipstick thatYas gave me the night of my birthday. I fish around for it, take it out, pull off the lid, and hope that the color isn’t dried up and cracked by now.

When Shereé is done applying her lipstick, she slides me her compact mirror. I pick it up and use it to make sure that Blood Moon doesn’t get all over my face and teeth before sliding it back her way.

Next, Shereé lifts her behemoth treat to just under her mouth and plasters a bright, toothy grin across her face. I mimic her, picking back up my treat and holding it near my mouth. My smile is substantially more awkward than hers, but at least Blood Moon still hits.

“Lean in more,” she instructs. I get closer. Her perfume smells fresh and flowery, like jasmine and vanilla.

Shereé snaps a picture, runs it through a photo editor app on her phone, and loads the pic to her stories with the caption, “How sweet it is.” The geotag is set for Sweet Baby’s in Lincoln Park.

“What’s your handle?” she asks me.

“Mine? @MoonieMiller. But you don’t have to tag me. I have like, fourteen followers.” Two are my sisters. One is Yas. The rest are Russian bots. I spare her all of those details.

“Is this you?” she asks, holding up her screen. My avatar is of me working at the front desk at Joe n’ Flow. Yasmin took it when she found out I didn’t have an Instagram account two years ago and demanded I set one up on the fly.

“Yup, that’s me.”

“Cool. Posted. By the way, that’s a great lip color on you. And here, this is for you.”

She slides one of the fresh fifties my way.

Cash flow, I can’t help but think about my intention coming true.

“What’s this for?”

“You are part of my post, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but you did all the work. You’re the…what is the word?”

“Influencer. True, that I am. But you’re the kind soul who got me out of the public eye when I was in the throes of an almost very-public Menty B. So I owe you.”

Fair enough.

Shereé says as she takes a big bite of her cookie dough brownie.

“Damn this is good,” she says while chewing through the thick fudge. I take that as my cue to indulge as well.

“So about your Menty B,” I say, borrowing her words. “Care to talk about it?”

“It was about my wedding. Bryson—my fiancé—and I want to get married on December 31stat the Chicago Cultural Center. It’s been my dream to have a New Year’s Eve wedding since I was a little girl and there’s no place more magical than the Cultural Center.”

The wordmagicalrings in my ears as I squeeze my bag of books tighter between my feet on the floor.

“So what’s the problem?” I ask.

“I was so sure we were going to get it. Who has a wedding on a Tuesday, after all? So I got a little ahead of myself and was in Smitten picking out my invitations when the event manager at the venue called and said December 31stis a no go.”

“Damn. How come? What did she say?”

“That New Year’s Eve is a coveted date no matter what day of the week it falls on and that of course it’s already booked.”

A part of me wants to ask…Did you mention you’re @Sheree_in_the_City?,but I am sure she already did. Hell, I saw her work herstatus in exchange for a free brownie. I’m positive she pulled the same card for her dream wedding venue without much success.

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