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After a traumatic breakup with her college sweetheart, Aria Davenport meets an older, more sexually experienced businessman who promises to change her life forever.
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Six Months Ago
Sunday (Graduation)
I wake up to the sound of someone frantically ringing the doorbell and pounding on the front door.
"Aria! Open the door! Open up!"
Tired and groggy, I stumble to the front door and peek through the side panel blinds. "Mama! What are you doing making all that noise? I have neighbors." I open the door.
She brushes past me, hyped and animated. "See, I knew it when you didn't answer your phone last night. Something wasn't right. I just got a feeling. What's going on, Pickle?" She cradles my face with her hand and gives me a once over. "I don't like this. Not one bit. What's going on with your eyes? All puffy!" She looks at her watch, "You have twenty-five minutes to get ready. Which leaves us with just fifteen minutes travel time. Come on, we've got a graduation to get to!" She rushes past me, heading straight for my freezer. "Here, put this over your eyes." She hands me a bag of frozen mixed vegetables. "The coolness should take down some of that swelling. Do you have any cucumbers?"
Yawning, I stretch as I struggle to keep my eyes open. "I don't think so."
She turns to me trying to assess the situation before asking. "Let's take this to your bedroom. So, Cliff's Notes version, what happened?" She begins rifling through my closet, making selections and throwing them onto the bed. "Pickle, don't look so glum. Whatever it is, we'll get through it." She begins pairing the dresses she's chosen with coordinating shoes.
"Sebastian—"
"—That sneaky bastard. See, I knew I didn't like him for a reason! What did he do?"
"What didn't he do is the question."
"Convenient. He won't be at your graduation, will he? He always seemed a little envious, with you graduating with honors and on time. Hasn't he been an undergrad for seven years now? Constantly changing majors, not knowing what he wanted to do with his life until he met you? That dirty little fucker! I never liked him!"
"What am I gonna do without him? I know it's stupid, but I thought . . . I thought we'd get married," I confess.
"Look at you. 'What am I gonna do?' You're gonna live, Pickle! You're young, beautiful, smart. You know yourself." Mama gets up and drags me to the full-length mirror sitting in the corner of the room. "Appreciate your blessings. Look at you. Just look! Take some time to appreciate what God gave you, then jump your butt in the shower." She sniffs the air. "You're good and ripe, girl." She leaves me alone in the room and closes the door.
Looking over my body, I realize there is much to be grateful for. Running my hand across my high cheek bones, my skin feels soft and smooth and glows a honey caramel tone in the slivers of sunlight that pierce through my blinds. My eyes trace my silhouette in the mirror. The body of a dancer as Troy, my best guy friend, likes to say. I always considered myself something of an athlete, running and yoga are my thing. Staring into my somewhat large brown eyes, I love how the corners of my eyes point slightly upward. I study my nose and laugh at the things that amused me as a little girl.
