Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(90)

But her mask was starting to chip. She could feel the sadness rising in her, the tears burning behind her eyes. She was so tired of pretending that she wasn’t missing Bash. Desperately. Being around all this love and celebration just reminded her that she’d lost her love. And had no reason to celebrate.

And, simmering at the bottom of everything was her anger at Eva. She wanted to forgive her, to get over it. Pretending things were fine—when they clearly weren’t—was exhausting. But every time she looked at Eva, she saw the person who killed her chance at happiness. She didn’t see her mom. She saw her enemy.

Audre decided to take a break from the festivities. Baby Alice was her excuse. And now she was sitting on that bench—all glammed-out in her lavender sweetheart-neckline gown, with lilacs pinned in her half-up hairdo—bottle-feeding a hungry baby. Looking down at her sister, she wondered what she’d be like as a teenager. Her life was going to be so different from Audre’s. Growing up in a two-parent home. With a mom who probably wouldn’t be so strict anymore. Studies showed that babies with older parents have an easier time because the parents mellow out with age.

Why couldn’t I have gotten the mellow mom? thought Audre.

Baby Alice pushed the bottle away and gurgled a little. She smiled, showing off her four teeth. With a sigh, Audre sat her atop the picnic table and gave her a stern look. Baby Alice matched her expression, scowling for no reason. And then she grabbed the pacifier pinned to her tiny version of Audre’s dress and popped it in her mouth.

“I have so much to tell you,” started Audre, raising her voice over the music. (Behind her, Flip It and Reverse It was playing an Afrobeats version of Usher’s “Yeah.” It wasn’t terrible, actually.) “You didn’t ask for advice, but I’m giving it to you. Because I wish someone had told me. As you grow up, you’ll hear a lot about Mercy girls. Or, Mercier girls. Or… whoever the hell we are, I don’t know. I’m sticking with Mercy. Mom’s gonna tell you that ‘Mercy girls do what can’t be done.’ She’ll put pressure on you to be perfect. To strive for excellence at all times. Oh, and speaking of excellence? She named us after the most important Black female writers in history. I’m Audre Zora Maya Toni—for Audre Lorde, Zora Neale Hurston, Maya Angelou, and Toni Morrison. You’re Alice Maya Octavia—for Alice Walker, Maya Angelou, and Octavia Butler. She set the bar too high for us from the day we were born.

“I was never strong enough to rebel. But I hope you will be. Because the thing is? Perfection ain’t it.

“I always thought that if I behaved myself, took the right AP classes, and was the perfect leader at school, my life would work out. I thought excellence would save me. But I’m not saved. I’m not different, or special. I’m heartbroken. I’m so fucking heartbroken. Just like all my clients I secretly thought were silly because they didn’t have my gift for good sense. Baby Alice, making the ‘right’ choices doesn’t guarantee you a happy ending. So, follow your own path. Take chances, be wild, make mistakes, get messy, be colorful. Be true to whoever you are.” She paused, squinting at her sister. “Who are you, I wonder?”

Baby Alice spit out her paci, pointed to Audre’s chin, and announced, “SHIM.”

“Chin.” Audre pointed to her right eye. “What’s this?”

“I!” she said.

Then Audre put her hand over her heart.

“HOT!”

Audre pointed at Baby Alice.

“OWISS!”

“That’s right,” said Audre. “I. Heart. Alice.”

In the past few weeks, without anything fun to do, Audre had been teaching her sister some language. If they were going to be stuck in the house together, they might as well communicate. Unintentionally, they sort of bonded.

Then Baby Alice pointed just beyond Audre and said, “MAM.”

She frowned. “Mam? What’s that?”

Baby Alice kicked her chubby legs and kept pointing. “MAM. MAM!”

Confused, Audre turned around in her seat. And then she froze. And then she gasped so sharply and suddenly, she saw stars.

Not “mam.” A man. Well, in several days, when he turned eighteen.

Bash.

Her Bash. At the wedding. Wearing a tuxedo. Looking like he was going to the Met Gala—but somehow still like himself. Deeply bronzed skin. Sun-kissed curls. Impossible height. He was the prince in every fairy-tale fantasy she’d ever dared to dream about.

A shy, slow grin spread across his face. “Hi, A.”

“Hi, B.” She let out a slow exhale, her heart slamming against her rib cage.

“C!” said Baby Alice, who knew the ABCs by heart.

Jolted from her trance, Audre grabbed the baby and plopped her in the grass on a throw blanket. Baby Alice’s massive eyes darted from Bash to Audre and back to Bash again.

“She’s your sister? Pleased to meet you, Baby Alice! She has your dimples—it’s wild.”

Audre felt like she could hardly breathe. In a fever, she gathered her silk gown in her hand and rushed over to him. “What are you… why are you here? How did you get in? Did my mom and Shane see you?”

Bash blinked a few times, drinking her in. And then he took a step back. “They know I’m here. It’s okay.”

Audre took a step forward. “They know you’re here?”