Seven Days in June

by Tia Williams

What was it like, the luxury of not hurting?

could barely hide his delight and mortification at being compared to Arya Stark, and his head sank farther into his neck, rolls of skin puddling up beneath his cheeks.

“You. Did. Not. Come. To. Play. This. Monday. Evening.” Belinda executed a body roll between each word.

immediate love for Belinda

You wanted to either pinch his cheeks or beg him for a hard fuck on a soft surface. You just needed whatever he had.

Girls are given the weight of the world, but nowhere to put it down.

What happened in that hour made me the kind of person who doesn’t feel obligated to workshop racism with white people.” He shrugged. “The burden isn’t on me to explain it, Rich. The burden’s on y’all to fix it. Good luck.”

spreading the gospel according to Sebastian and Gia.

She lived with a former Miss Louisiana who looked pristine but had once dusted their entire apartment with a Neutrogena face wipe.

“It’s not a blur for him, ma’am,” said Belinda. “The way he was looking at you? My panties disintegrated.”

“Speaking of doctors,” said Belinda, “my gyno just performed a goddess ritual on my vagina. She steamed it, saged it, and then spoke wisdom into my crotch.”

“Nah, I’m good. The concept of ‘father’ just feels made up, like Santa or the Easter Bunny.” Shane tapped the bottle against his leg. “Never believed in those niggas, either.”

At one point, deep in discourse, she used her glasses as a headband, pulling back her hair—and Shane watched one spiral escape, bouncing onto her forehead. In agonizing slo-mo. I’d risk it all for that single curl.

as someone who doesnt read romance.... omg they have me kicking my feet

In second grade, she’d snuck up on a napping Eva and colored her entire forearm with a highlighter. Because she was “important.”

“Audre Zora Toni Mercy-Moore!

Eva got it. She linked her arms around her daughter’s waist and gave her hand three squeezes, their secret I love you code. Audre squeezed back and relaxed a little.

Audre gasped. “You know about Jesse Treece? Wow, thanks! But I could never be like him.” “Good,” he said. “Be like you. Who is the woman in the piece?”

“Today was perfect. We’re so fucking good, still. Look at all the time we lost! How could you leave me? That morning, when I woke up and you . . . you weren’t there. I had to teach myself how to breathe again, in a world without you in it. Do you get that?”

When she worked as a cocktail waitress, the mere cadence of her walk inspired chaos.

Lizette looked nothing like Halle. It was that white-person phenomenon where they see a pretty brown face and declare that it looks like the first pretty brown face that springs to their minds.

They talked exactly four times a year: twice in April (on each of their birthdays), once in September (on Audre’s birthday), and at Christmas. She couldn’t imagine what had precipitated the call. But to her daughter, everything was a crisis.

well, she thought, her eyelids fluttering shut. We all die of something.

Genevieve was a child. She hadn’t even lived yet. Why did she get that kind of adoration, when Lizette had never experienced it?

But her daughter came out wholly herself. Self-sufficient, stubborn, too clever for the world, and an utter mystery. Lizette never really knew how to raise her, and Lord knows Genevieve never gave any clues.

Across her eyebrow, down the bridge of her nose. Cradling her face in his palms, he smooshed her cheeks together so her lips poked out. Then he stuck his finger in her dimple. “Just say it,” Eva said with a smile. “I’ve never said it. To anyone.” “It won’t hurt, I promise.” Shane grinned, a heart-stopping thing. Then laid his face on her breasts, closing his eyes. “Ready?” he asked. “Ready.” “I love you,” said Shane. “Dramatically, violently, and forever.” She kissed the top of his head, smiling brighter than the sun. “I’ve always loved you,” he whispered. “What a coincidence,” she whispered back. “I’ve always loved you, too.”

Shane had fucked away all her defenses. And now she was a mushball. Giddy. Aglow. Swooning from happiness in plain view of forty-five gossipy Blacks. But she didn’t care. Around 3:30 a.m. (after the gelatogasm), she’d had an epiphany.

Listen to me, she thought. I get one slice of dick and turn into a wide-eyed Disney princess.

There was Shane. Exasperatingly handsome in a dark tee, dark jeans, and three-day stubble—and gazing at Eva like she hung the goddamned moon. Eva smiled even wider, if it were even possible. And then, flashing the smirk of the century, Shane stuck his finger into his cheek, in the exact spot where Eva’s dimple was flashing at him across the room. Eva winked at him, shooting him finger guns. Belinda fell out laughing. “Y’all are the corniest dorks. I’m in violent support of this.”

This is that family feeling, he thought. Of total acceptance, belonging to people. A connection that eclipsed everything. Shane hadn’t experienced this since his foster parents—for so long that he’d decided he didn’t deserve it.

When we were together, I felt like someone else had stolen all your smiles before me.”

Lizette would never get it. Eva needed her for everything. She’d just never had her.

“As Zane, the queen of erotic fiction, once said, if a reader chooses not to protect themselves because my protagonist rawed her sister’s baby daddy during a conjugal visit, then her problems are bigger than condoms.”