Today she’s in a pastel pink blazer and matching mini skirt, her nails freshly done in lavender. She’s one of the bubbliest people I’ve ever met, but she’s sharp as hell underneath all the sparkle.
We get each other. Both Black girls navigating elite spaces. Both shopaholics. Both perfectly comfortable spending other people’s money, specifically, our fathers’.
A sales attendant hovers nearby, waiting to bring her another pair of boots. Chantal’s already tried on four pairs. I’m pretty sure she’s buying at least three.
I hold the dress up to my body, checking the mirror. “You think?”
“Girl, yes. That color is stunning on you.”
I drape it over my arm and keep browsing. My phone buzzes in my purse. I fish it out to see it’s Dad calling. I send it to voicemail and slip the phone back in.
Whatever it is, it can wait ’til after I’m done here.
Chantal samples a chocolate truffle from the tray we’ve been served and crosses her legs, the price tag on the boots she’s wearing five digits long. “So, Derrick was talking to Heath the other day.”
I glance up. “And?”
“And he’s thinking of proposing soon.”
I pause mid-reach for another dress. This one a backless floral from ERDEM. “Derrick or Heath?”
Chantal laughs, the sound bubbly. “Who do you think I’m talking about? Heath, obviously. Derrick knows better than to pull that on me.”
I can’t help but smile. “There’s no way Heath would. He’d have to get Dad’s permission first, and he’s not marrying me off anytime soon. Definitely not to some mid-management financier—orsomeone only half Black.”
“But Heath’s Jewish! His hair is almost curlier than yours.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I scoff. “Anyway, Heath’s said it himself. He’s not ready for marriage ’til he climbs the ladder at Goldman.”
“Please,” Chantal says, waving a dismissive hand. “Heath worships the ground you walk on. He’d propose tomorrow if you gave him the green light.”
“Good thing I’m not giving him anything,” I say, pulling another dress off the rack—a Simkhai mini that would show off my legs and make me look like a supermodel.
Chantal grins. “Cold blooded.”
“More like realistic. You and I know Heath isnotmy future husband.”
“Then what is he?”
I shrug, giving it some thought. “He’s… a stop along the way. They all are.”
“I forget. Miss Keep the Cookies in the Cookie Jar. Nobody’s good enough for you. Simone Langston, the virginal princess?—”
“Shhh!” I hush immediately, glancing around. “What’s next? A billboard on Times Square? That’s nobody’s business, Chani. Not even yours. Besides… I keep Heath good and satisfied in my own way.”
“That poor man’s so pussy-whipped, and he hasn’t even gotten a taste yet!” Chantal giggles then falls silent when I toss a chocolate truffle at her.
Over the next hour, I try on a handful of dresses while Chantal debates between the Saint Laurent boots and the Louboutins.
My phone buzzes twice more. I ignore it both times.
Chantal, meanwhile, is deep into her Derrick complaints. “I think I’m going to dump him.”
I glance at her through the dressing room mirror. “Why?”
“Girl, you know he’s too young for me.”
I raise a brow. “He’sthirty-six.”