Black Girl Magic

Chapter 1

Eighteen.

On September 10th, I would be turning that magical age. The year teenagers were considered full adults in the United States. I could legally go to war, get married, vote, and do all the other fun, exciting things you could do except drink, which at this moment, was exactly what I wanted.

The reason for my early alcoholism? My mother, Harper, was nagging me about my birthday, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. I kept telling her nothing special, but that wasn't good enough. She kept telling me it was such a special occasion and that I should be excited and do something fun.

The thing is, I had never been the type to get excited about my birthdays. They were just another year passed by, and that was about it. Although, with my mother, I always ended up doing something anyway. My mother believed in celebrating any and all occasions. Birthdays, holidays, events, achievements. Anything you could celebrate, she wanted to do it. She was a massive fan of creating memories. Her hobby was photography, so that made it an even bigger deal. She was good at it, though; all our friends, neighbors, and associates always called her when they needed someone to photograph some of their events.

She made a nice living off it outside of her regular job as a pediatrician for one of the biggest hospitals in the state. If you're wondering how she has time for photography while also being a pediatrician, well, mom had been cutting her hours slowly for the last couple of years; she was considering early retirement, but with me getting ready to go off to college, she wasn't in any rush, but it didn't mean she wouldn't take her days off frequently. Besides, the extra income doing her second passion came in handy. Especially since she loved it so much, it never seemed like work to her.

I still had two weeks to the big event, so I was trying to hold off, but I knew that I needed to decide on something before she planned something anyway, which would be ridiculously more elaborate than anything I would have thought of.

"Kaveri, Kaveri!" The sound of my mother calling my name pulled me out of my daydream, and I looked up at her. She was frowning slightly after realizing that I had zoned her out. I said, "Sorry, Mom, what were you saying?" She said, "One, pay attention when I'm talking to you, and two, I was saying you really should decide on your birthday plans soon." I sighed deeply, and she glared at me. She said, "18 is a big year; you should be excited." I said, "Can't I be excited without wanting a party?" She rolled her eyes and said, "I don't know how you became my child. Why wouldn't you want a party?" I shrugged and said, "I'm not good at planning parties anyway."

At that, my mother chuckled just a bit. It was well-known to everyone that I was no social butterfly. I had friends, and I did things, but a party monster I was not. Finally, my mother sighed and said, "Fine, no party; how about you and I go out for it together then, spend the whole day together? We can go to a spa, get our hair and nails done, get massages, go shopping, and have lunch at any restaurant you'd like." At that, I smiled and said, "Sounds perfect."

She smiled at me and brushed my long curly hair over my shoulder. She patted my face and said, "You've grown so beautiful. Your daddy would be so very proud of you, baby." I smiled wistfully and said, "I sure hope so."

My father died when I was eight years old. He was walking our dog, Kip, around the neighborhood one evening while my mother and I were at home cooking. My mom never gave me all the details, but he was attacked on his walk and was killed brutally. Oddly enough, they killed our dog as well. My mom and I were devastated. I didn't think we would ever get over it. We never did, but we came to terms with it with much love and support from his family and my mom. Also, we were there for each other. From that day forward, we were closer than close. My mom worked a lot being a doctor, but she always made time for me. It helped that Dad had been a very ambitious man and had done well for himself over his short life. He owned a successful publishing company and wrote several bestselling fiction novels.

After he died, his partner Lisa, whom he had brought in not long after his startup to help him, kept in touch with us and supported us immensely. In his will, he stated that if anything ever happened to him, we would still get his salary every year. When I turned 21, his portion of the company would go to me if I chose. I would be able to take up the position upon turning 21, with the condition that I complete college in any field I choose.

Being 17, Lisa has done a fabulous job running it on her own and held up all the principles my father and she established initially. They now had several bestselling novelists on their roster. Lisa visited the house weekly to have dinner and spend time with us. She was like an aunt, and I was always grateful for her.

My mom popped a lid on her pot on the stove and then came and sat next to me on the island in the kitchen. I had been in the kitchen working on homework while she cooked for dinner. She smiled at me and said, "Lord knows you look like your daddy too. Man, didn't leave any room for me in that face of yours." I laughed at my mom's usual banter. She always jokes about how she did all the hard work for me to come out looking like my dad.

My face was the spitting image of my father. I had his almond-shaped hazel-colored eyes and small nose. I had his full lips and high cheekbones, and I even smiled like him from the pictures I had and my fading memories. Yet, despite all my mom's grumbling, I had some things from her. I had her thick, long, curly hair and her figure. This was both a blessing and a curse. On days when my hair would cooperate, it was amazing. It was long and thick with beautiful curls. On those days that it didn't, it was a frizzy mess on top of my head and a pain in my ass. My mom was French Creole, so my unique hair was thanks to her. As for the rest of me, I was my mom's twin; we were both short, almost dwarf-like, but were very shapely, with large breasts, big butt, and tiny waist, all that fun shit. I even still wore shoes in kid's sizes. She was 4'9", and I was an even 5". Although we were as small as we were, we were fiery and not scared of much.

Mom said, "So tomorrow I'll call the spa and make some appointments, all right." I nodded and said, "Can you make reservations for Morton's?" She said, "Of course, baby. All right, it's a date then!" She stood up and went back to the stove to finish cooking dinner. I closed my books and decided to go to my room and call my bestie while waiting for dinner.

Stella answered on the first ring, saying, "Please tell me you are calling to get me out of the house." I laughed and said, "Nope, not tonight. Mom's making Jambalaya, and we are having a movie night." She said, "You are the only person I know who chooses to forgo a Friday night to spend with her mom." I laughed. All my friends were surprised at how close my mom and I were, but they loved her almost as much as I did. She was the kind of mom who welcomed my friends with open arms and treated them like her own kids. She fed all my friends, gave them advice, and laughed and joked with all of them.

Stella said, "Well, if you're staying home tonight, you have to come out with Terrence and me tomorrow." I said, "I don't have anything to do, so why not?" She said, "Perfect, no backing out, bitch. We are going to the mall and that game room with the bowling alley." I said, "Why must you drag me to bowling? I suck at bowling." She said, "That's why we go bowling." She laughed hysterically, and I rolled my eyes, knowing she couldn't see it. I said, "Fine, but we are spending just as much in the game room, and I'm catching you at the basketball hoops." She sighed deeply and said, "How can someone so small be so good at sports?" I laughed and said, "Same way, I'm good at video games and watching anime, but then I turn around and read books and write poetry. I'm an enigma."

Stella and I talked on the phone for another 20 minutes when I heard my mom calling me for dinner. I told Stella I'd meet her at the mall at one o'clock. I ran downstairs, and my mom and I had dinner, talking and laughing. After dinner, we both ran upstairs and threw on our pajamas before coming to the living room. We had a massive TV in the living room mounted on the wall. Thanks to Mom's work and Dad's taking care of us from the grave, we had a beautiful house here in Louisiana. It wasn't ostentatious or anything, but it was nice and big and worked well for us. It was a three-bedroom home, each bedroom with a personal bathroom...She had the master bedroom, and I had the next biggest. The third bedroom my mom used for photography, where she developed her photos. The bedrooms were on the second floor, with the kitchen, living room, and dining room on the first floor. Then we had an attic that we stored a bunch of stuff in.

I snuggled into a corner of the couch and pulled my blanket over me. Mom brought in some snacks, and we spent a peaceful night together. I didn't realize it then, but it was one of the last few quiet nights I'd ever have again.