Between Reel and Reality (Lesbian Romance)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Blood & Bond

AMEL

Unctie, the master of evasion, hides the "less appealing" side of her face from the relentless paparazzi behind her 1B silky straight bundles. I warned her bougie ass that dining at a luxurious Italian restaurant in bustling Manhattan was a terrible idea. But nope, she just had to grace the city with her bug-eyed Cartier shades and imported Louis Vuitton suit.

As photographers snap their cameras, the umbrella attached to our table protects us from the partly cloudy sky. They probably have embarrassing shots of me devouring my baked ziti and Unctie slurping on nasty ass mussels. Every time she tastes the slop, she shakes her head with pure satisfaction and says, "Little girl, you don't know nothin' 'bout this! This grown-up food!"

"Chile, why do these fools with cameras have to follow us whenever we're out? Unctie exclaims. "I know we look like supermodels, but damn!" As she throws a mini-diva fit, she uses her hands, adorned with gold rings, to fan herself.

Suppressing a laugh, I shrug off the intrusive flashes. "They're tryna catch me slipping."

"Well, your ass best not get caught up!" she warns. She wags her finger in the air, tracing the contours of my mischievous grin. "You and Cierre are too adorable and influential to be tied up in scandals—again. And you're not getting any younger. The dating market is a hellscape for old, queer niggas like me. I swear, I went on a date with Satan himself just the other week. Fine brother from Brooklyn looked just like Method Man—but with dark skin. We had time, honey, you hear me?" I grimace to communicate my lack of interest in hearing more of her hoe tale. "Long story short, I had to call my hoodoo lady to cut some cords. Nigga was bugging me all up in my sleep. You know I hate a damn bug-a-boo."

"So, you're saying you slept with the devil?" I ask, twisting my lips upwards.

"And plenty of his demons, too." I burst into laughter while Uncle slurps another mussel. "Don't act so innocent. You were mingling with all those big-booty, BBL baddies before Cee-auurr reclaimed your heart."

While wiping the corners of my mouth, I shoo her. "Gon' head with that, mane."

"Funny how niggas like to forget their freaky past when they're in loveeeee," Unctie sings. She finds my deadpan stare amusing enough to giggle. "Anyways, chile, how does it feel to be on the cusp of 30?"

My throat tightens as the unexpected question hits me like a sucker punch. I take a sip of water to steady myself, but it goes down the wrong way, triggering a sudden coughing fit.

"Don't die now," Unctie mumbles while sucking on a shell. If I were dying, her greedy ass would be the last nigga to save me.

As I lightly tap on my chest to stabilize my airflow, a foreboding weight settles on the pasta I scarfed down. With my thirtieth birthday around the corner, Cierre has consistently reminded me of the upcoming milestone by presenting me with a thoughtful gift every day this week. I toy with the diamond bracelet on my wrist, a present she gave me this morning.

One month deep, and with each rhythmic pulse, our connection flourishes with richness and depth. I've grown to treasure a level of consideration that surpasses my wildest expectations, valuing emotional closeness above sexual desires. We've made it our routine to delve into each other's most vulnerable worlds—I inquire about her sessions with the psychiatrist, and she ensures I'm staying healthy. Our bond now shines as transparently as the pristine white sands of Salar de Uyuni, mirroring the boundless sky above. (Watching National Geographic has become our 'boring couple thing.' Very educational.)

Momma could always tell what ailed Pops by how he hobbled through the screen door. And in turn, Pops realized that Momma needed more affection when he overheard her humming Anita Baker songs to herself. Their love story was a calming vortex of authenticity, passion, and happiness, a perfect embodiment of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell's electric duet, "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." The fairytale between Cierre and me is gradually becoming as iconic as my parents'.