SYNOPSIS
Essence Castro is a stubborn, professional perfectionist that has it all, but the woman of her dreams. She is convinced that true love does not exist after having her heart broken by her long-term girlfriend Tamar. Her best friend, Mona, forces her on dates to keep her out of a funk. In an attempt to keep the hope of love alive, Essence decides to create a list of what she thinks the perfect partner possesses. She is certain that no one that she crosses paths with will be that person.
Echo Lane is a free-spirited, queen of simple stud, who loves everything about life. She’s been in a committed relationship with the same woman, Denae, for years, but she’s not convinced that it’s love. She ventures out to test new waters but may have bitten off more than she can chew.
Dive in to see how Echo and Essence turn struggle into love. Will the obstacles bring them closer together or tear them apart?
Echo Lane is a free-spirited, queen of simple stud, who loves everything about life. She’s been in a committed relationship with the same woman, Denae, for years, but she’s not convinced that it’s love. She ventures out to test new waters but may have bitten off more than she can chew.
Dive in to see how Echo and Essence turn struggle into love. Will the obstacles bring them closer together or tear them apart?
The phone rang several times. I thought not to answer since I was five minutes away from my day being over. It was one of those moments when I felt the pain of associates in retail as they watched customers straggle in right before close and unfold shirts. I cleared the agitation from my throat and hoped it wasn’t someone with an urgent or tedious task. “Human Resources. This is Essence, how may I help you?”
“Hello, Essence.”
The familiar voice sent chills through me. It had been an entire year since I heard from my once upon a time lover. One year, five months, three days, eight hours, and thirty-two minutes to be exact.
Tamar was the third woman in my life that I allowed myself to have feelings for. Although they weren’t those dangerous, deep, forever feelings, they were enough to keep her in my life for over… wait let me count… seven years. There were break-ups in-between, but we never counted them.
“How did you get this number?” I asked knowing the answer but needing the confirmation that she never let go or forgot about me.
She replied. “It’s still programmed in my phone.”
“Okay, I guess what I need to ask is why are you calling me after all this time?”
She sighed. “I needed somebody to talk to.”
“And you chose me? Your ex?” I laughed at the audacity.
As if she has not dodged me for a year she said, “You know me better than anybody, and you always know what to say to me.”
“I don’t have time for this, Tamar,” I said, having nothing but time, but refusing to make myself available for her convenience. Before, the sound of Tamar’s voice made me smile no matter how long it had been. We had a habit of not speaking then finding our way back. She was the one woman I could talk to about anything. Romance wasn’t the foundation of our connection. Before she and I crossed that line, we were the best of friends. I was dating one of her other “friends” and before you judge me, keep reading.
Her friend’s name was Jean Sarino. I was head over heels in love with that woman. Half-fire sign, half-earth. We shared a dangerous kind of love. I gave her four long years of my life. When I was young and dumb─emphasis on the dumb.
The first time I laid eyes on Jean was in a high school talent show we were both in. She was performing an original rap song she’d written. It was a bold thing to do in the cruel world of teenagers. She was chubby and mysterious, just the way I liked them. I had always been a sucker for the ones society pretended not to want. This made her my first real crush.
I sat on the sideline at her audition beside my best friend Mona, giggling like the sixteen-year-old girl I was, because I loved to hear Jean talk. She had a New York accent being born and raised there for most of her life. Her mother was in the military and relocated to New Orleans once she got out. Jean hated our city and made it a point to often remind people that she was a New Yorker. She was aggressive with a huge personality around those she was familiar with. No matter what time of the day, she wore a smile.
I became her personal stalker. I knew the exact location of her locker and which classes she would be in every hour of the day. All the girls wanted her confidence, the boys wondered about her because of her non-binary appearance, and me, I wanted to be with her. It took me an entire school year to say two words to her, but even then, it was nowhere near, “would you go out with me?” I didn’t want to seem weird. What if she didn’t like girls? Dressing the part could sometimes mean nothing. I had my one experience to solidify my attraction to girls, but that didn’t mean that she had. Sitting with that doubt would make me lose my chance as she was transferred before I could dig my nails into her.
I was crushed.
One day my mother couldn’t pick me up from school. She told me to ride the bus home. I hated the bus. I hated the loud children that got on and went straight to the back as if Rosa Parks didn’t fight for the right to sit up front. It would have been Claudette Covin had she fit the narrative. I hated the smell of the bus, which always seemed to be the same combination of sweat and open ass. The ride would be long and frustrating as the bell dinged for every stop. But that day the stars were aligned for me and my crush.
I had to take two buses to get to my house, since I lived in a different parish from my school. I wasn’t supposed to be a student there, but I used my aunt’s address to be legit--a story for another day.
I sat in the terminal awaiting my next bus and decided to catch up on history since I was behind from missing—skipping--a few days. I pulled my book from my bag to read it and highlight whatever I felt would be important for a test. I looked down and back up and there she was. She was inches taller and slimmer.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” she asked with that beautiful smile I loved so much.
“Yeah, you went to school with me. We were in a talent show together.” I gave her a friendly reminder. “Me and my best friend sang that song by Whitney Houston and Deborah Cox. You rapped an original song.”
“Essence?” she asked, and I was giddy that she knew my name.
“You remembered.” I smiled.
“I don’t forget pretty faces,” she flirted. It was a bold move. She was no longer the quiet, mysterious girl that left our school.
I looked away blushing. “What school are you at now?”
“Ehret,” she said then I suddenly felt stupid for asking that question when it said it on her blue shirt clear as day.
“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Jean.” I smiled.
“We should keep in touch,” she suggested.
I bit my bottom lip trying to keep my cool and stop myself from smiling so hard. I pulled my notebook from my bag and jotted down my number. I handed it to her telling her to use it whenever she wanted.
I went home that night and sat by the phone. She called me the same night and we talked until it was time for school the next morning. She told me so much in so little time, but the one thing I remembered was that she was a girl that was not afraid of her own tears; she would cry anywhere if she felt the need. She didn’t care what anyone had to say about it. She embraced being an emotional person. I was in love before dawn, and I vowed to keep all her secrets. I was in love with her before I knew her completely.
Jean respected me more than anyone ever had. She never brought up sex or tried to make me move faster than I wanted to. I was intoxicated by her kisses, wishing they never had to end. I felt I could be my whole self with her.
She and I were inseparable for a while until the disappearing acts started. The story started with her mom and dad. She had to take many trips back and forth to New York to be with her dad.
I believed her. She wouldn’t call for weeks at a time, and I would cry myself to sleep wondering where she was and if she was okay. Eventually, she would pop back into my life as if she never stopped. She wrote me long love letters and sometimes songs since she loved music so much. Jean would suggest books for me to read to challenge my mindset when it came to blackness, religion, money, and even health. I believed in everything she believed in. I was interested in anything she found interesting. It was always the best distraction to make me forget about the periods of silence. I labeled myself understanding. I didn’t know being understanding was an enabler for bad behavior.
Soon, she stopped existing in my world for good, standing me up for homecoming, prom, and any other random date she’d planned. She used the excuse that she had a terminal illness that kept her in the hospital for weeks at a time. My dreams of watching my entire senior class’s mouth drop at me holding hands with a woman were shattered. I was also riddled with guilt for being mad at her while she was sick. I promised to be more empathetic.
I recalled past plans where she would call and tell me to get dressed so we could go out. I got excited time-after-time, dressing to impress, only for her to never show. I sat on my sofa for hours inside of my hurt and disappointment. Her reasons and excuses were always good enough and forgivable. My mother hated her, but I loved her. I wouldn’t be without her no matter how long she could be without me.
Things got better once we were out of high school. I gave my body to her sealing the deal in my mind that she would be with me forever.
That was a lie.
She disappeared again during my freshman year of college and this time she came back with a baby. I cried, but I took her back because we were young. Not even old enough to drink, young. Finding herself felt like a valid enough reason for her to be with men. I also didn’t want her raising a baby alone.
This cycle went on awhile longer as she refused to claim bisexuality or motherhood. There was always something left to discover. I stopped trying to figure her out and dealt with it, because I loved her. She was my first and knowing better had not yet hit me.
Jean tore me down over time, making me feel I was less than nothing. I got to a point where I wouldn’t eat, and I had lost so much weight that I didn’t recognize myself. I stopped looking in a mirror because I felt ugly, and I stopped dressing up. The 150 lb frame I was used to fell to a frail 115lbs. Someone like Teyana Taylor could pull that off. I was much taller, so it was cause for concern.
Opting out of a dorm room and sharing a two-bedroom with Jean and the baby, she needed a way to do her dirt and keep me distracted. That’s when I met her good friend Tamar.
After I got my first job, Tamar would pick me up on the days that Jean couldn’t. She would take me to eat, and we’d share some laughs. She tried to figure out what I was doing with Jean, but I never had an answer. It was a silly teenage love that turned into a sad story.
Destiny’s Child’s If had become an anthem for me. I loved Tamar’s company and on top of that, she was definitely something to look at. She and Jean both stood at 6’1”, Tamar light and Jean dark. Tamar had a muscular body thanks to basketball. She was the kind of woman I should have lusted over, but I was blinded by Jean, so I never quite saw her that way. I ignored her obvious flirting, too. Tamar wasn’t really my type, but then again, Jean was all I’d known. Had I allowed myself room to explore, my type could have and would have changed.
I still don’t know to this day if it was Tamar’s plan to have me, but she got me the moment that I found out about yet another man. Jean had been living a double life. She was living with a man, making plans, and making love. It hit me like a ton of bricks one night as I rocked baby Lula with my foot while highlighting notes from my employment law textbook. My stomach started to growl and I realized I’d been studying for hours without food. I had some Pizza Hut coupons sitting on the dining room table so I opted to use those to save a few dollars. I knew I had at least thirty dollars in my checking. I called to order a large meatlovers with a Sprite. I ordered the large one in case Jean was hungry after her shift at the Shell gas station.
“That’ll be $25.27.” the cashier said on the line.
“Hold on. Let me grab my card,” I said, running to grab my wallet. I rattled off the number on my debit card with expiration then waited for her to say it would be ready in about ten or fifteen minutes. It was their standard window. I knew the wait would actually be between thirty to forty-five. The transaction was supposed to be seamless. Instead my card was declined. I knew I had the funds. I told the cashier I would call her back then called my bank to hear my balance on the automated system. A negative two dollars and thirty-seven cents. I didn’t remember purchasing anything so I listened to my last five transactions and the details. Someone ordered pizza and it wasn’t me. I listened to the location details of the purchase then hung up to google the address and phone number. I was going to get to the bottom of this fraudulent charge. There was only one person who had access to my card. If she memorized it, she’d sunken to a new low.
“Dominoes.” A young woman answered with an attitude.
This was perfect for me, because aggravated employees will tell you just about anything to get you off their line. “Hi, I placed an order not too long ago and it still hasn’t been delivered.” I lied.
“What’s the name on the order?” she asked.
Sweat formed across my forehead. “Jean.”
“I’m showing the driver took it out twenty minutes ago and marked it as delivered.”
“Are you sure? Can you confirm the address?”
The cashier didn’t ask me any questions as she gave me the information I needed. I wrote it down, thanked her then ended the call. I was angry, but that was the last straw. I was twenty-years-old taking care of a kid I never asked for, being used, lied to, and cheated on. This was not my life. I grabbed several garbage bags tossing Lula's things in one and Jean’s in another.
As I packed, Tamar called me in a tone I never heard before. I don’t remember when we became so close that she could call my phone anytime of the day or night. It was 11:58 p.m., when she told me she needed to tell me something. I was ready for whatever it was, because I knew it was something I needed to hear.
“Essence, I don’t want to tell you this, but I can’t keep it to myself. You’ve become such a great friend to me and I can’t sit and watch a good person go through this.”
“What is it, Tamar?” I asked.
She sighed. “I don’t want to tell you this.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it. You know I hate that.”
It was then she confirmed what I already knew to be true. Then in an unexpected turn of events she confessed her undying love and admiration.
“It’s fine. I’m packing her shit right now.” I said.
“She’s going to blame me.”
“Why would she blame you?”
“A few weeks ago, she called me out and told me I had feelings for you. I laughed at first, but then I realized she was right.” Tamar said.
I stopped packing to stand and pause. I didn’t know what to say.
“I know this is a lot to take in, but I want you to know I care about you. A lot. I want what’s best for you and I’d never do anything to hurt you. I know you only see me as your friend and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that. I won't cross any lines unless you tell me to. Know that you deserve better, Essence. You deserve me.”
She let me go with that thought. I took it a step further unpacking Jean’s things and Lula’s. What if I gave in to Tamar’s advances?
“Hello, Essence.”
The familiar voice sent chills through me. It had been an entire year since I heard from my once upon a time lover. One year, five months, three days, eight hours, and thirty-two minutes to be exact.
Tamar was the third woman in my life that I allowed myself to have feelings for. Although they weren’t those dangerous, deep, forever feelings, they were enough to keep her in my life for over… wait let me count… seven years. There were break-ups in-between, but we never counted them.
“How did you get this number?” I asked knowing the answer but needing the confirmation that she never let go or forgot about me.
She replied. “It’s still programmed in my phone.”
“Okay, I guess what I need to ask is why are you calling me after all this time?”
She sighed. “I needed somebody to talk to.”
“And you chose me? Your ex?” I laughed at the audacity.
As if she has not dodged me for a year she said, “You know me better than anybody, and you always know what to say to me.”
“I don’t have time for this, Tamar,” I said, having nothing but time, but refusing to make myself available for her convenience. Before, the sound of Tamar’s voice made me smile no matter how long it had been. We had a habit of not speaking then finding our way back. She was the one woman I could talk to about anything. Romance wasn’t the foundation of our connection. Before she and I crossed that line, we were the best of friends. I was dating one of her other “friends” and before you judge me, keep reading.
Her friend’s name was Jean Sarino. I was head over heels in love with that woman. Half-fire sign, half-earth. We shared a dangerous kind of love. I gave her four long years of my life. When I was young and dumb─emphasis on the dumb.
The first time I laid eyes on Jean was in a high school talent show we were both in. She was performing an original rap song she’d written. It was a bold thing to do in the cruel world of teenagers. She was chubby and mysterious, just the way I liked them. I had always been a sucker for the ones society pretended not to want. This made her my first real crush.
I sat on the sideline at her audition beside my best friend Mona, giggling like the sixteen-year-old girl I was, because I loved to hear Jean talk. She had a New York accent being born and raised there for most of her life. Her mother was in the military and relocated to New Orleans once she got out. Jean hated our city and made it a point to often remind people that she was a New Yorker. She was aggressive with a huge personality around those she was familiar with. No matter what time of the day, she wore a smile.
I became her personal stalker. I knew the exact location of her locker and which classes she would be in every hour of the day. All the girls wanted her confidence, the boys wondered about her because of her non-binary appearance, and me, I wanted to be with her. It took me an entire school year to say two words to her, but even then, it was nowhere near, “would you go out with me?” I didn’t want to seem weird. What if she didn’t like girls? Dressing the part could sometimes mean nothing. I had my one experience to solidify my attraction to girls, but that didn’t mean that she had. Sitting with that doubt would make me lose my chance as she was transferred before I could dig my nails into her.
I was crushed.
One day my mother couldn’t pick me up from school. She told me to ride the bus home. I hated the bus. I hated the loud children that got on and went straight to the back as if Rosa Parks didn’t fight for the right to sit up front. It would have been Claudette Covin had she fit the narrative. I hated the smell of the bus, which always seemed to be the same combination of sweat and open ass. The ride would be long and frustrating as the bell dinged for every stop. But that day the stars were aligned for me and my crush.
I had to take two buses to get to my house, since I lived in a different parish from my school. I wasn’t supposed to be a student there, but I used my aunt’s address to be legit--a story for another day.
I sat in the terminal awaiting my next bus and decided to catch up on history since I was behind from missing—skipping--a few days. I pulled my book from my bag to read it and highlight whatever I felt would be important for a test. I looked down and back up and there she was. She was inches taller and slimmer.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” she asked with that beautiful smile I loved so much.
“Yeah, you went to school with me. We were in a talent show together.” I gave her a friendly reminder. “Me and my best friend sang that song by Whitney Houston and Deborah Cox. You rapped an original song.”
“Essence?” she asked, and I was giddy that she knew my name.
“You remembered.” I smiled.
“I don’t forget pretty faces,” she flirted. It was a bold move. She was no longer the quiet, mysterious girl that left our school.
I looked away blushing. “What school are you at now?”
“Ehret,” she said then I suddenly felt stupid for asking that question when it said it on her blue shirt clear as day.
“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Jean.” I smiled.
“We should keep in touch,” she suggested.
I bit my bottom lip trying to keep my cool and stop myself from smiling so hard. I pulled my notebook from my bag and jotted down my number. I handed it to her telling her to use it whenever she wanted.
I went home that night and sat by the phone. She called me the same night and we talked until it was time for school the next morning. She told me so much in so little time, but the one thing I remembered was that she was a girl that was not afraid of her own tears; she would cry anywhere if she felt the need. She didn’t care what anyone had to say about it. She embraced being an emotional person. I was in love before dawn, and I vowed to keep all her secrets. I was in love with her before I knew her completely.
Jean respected me more than anyone ever had. She never brought up sex or tried to make me move faster than I wanted to. I was intoxicated by her kisses, wishing they never had to end. I felt I could be my whole self with her.
She and I were inseparable for a while until the disappearing acts started. The story started with her mom and dad. She had to take many trips back and forth to New York to be with her dad.
I believed her. She wouldn’t call for weeks at a time, and I would cry myself to sleep wondering where she was and if she was okay. Eventually, she would pop back into my life as if she never stopped. She wrote me long love letters and sometimes songs since she loved music so much. Jean would suggest books for me to read to challenge my mindset when it came to blackness, religion, money, and even health. I believed in everything she believed in. I was interested in anything she found interesting. It was always the best distraction to make me forget about the periods of silence. I labeled myself understanding. I didn’t know being understanding was an enabler for bad behavior.
Soon, she stopped existing in my world for good, standing me up for homecoming, prom, and any other random date she’d planned. She used the excuse that she had a terminal illness that kept her in the hospital for weeks at a time. My dreams of watching my entire senior class’s mouth drop at me holding hands with a woman were shattered. I was also riddled with guilt for being mad at her while she was sick. I promised to be more empathetic.
I recalled past plans where she would call and tell me to get dressed so we could go out. I got excited time-after-time, dressing to impress, only for her to never show. I sat on my sofa for hours inside of my hurt and disappointment. Her reasons and excuses were always good enough and forgivable. My mother hated her, but I loved her. I wouldn’t be without her no matter how long she could be without me.
Things got better once we were out of high school. I gave my body to her sealing the deal in my mind that she would be with me forever.
That was a lie.
She disappeared again during my freshman year of college and this time she came back with a baby. I cried, but I took her back because we were young. Not even old enough to drink, young. Finding herself felt like a valid enough reason for her to be with men. I also didn’t want her raising a baby alone.
This cycle went on awhile longer as she refused to claim bisexuality or motherhood. There was always something left to discover. I stopped trying to figure her out and dealt with it, because I loved her. She was my first and knowing better had not yet hit me.
Jean tore me down over time, making me feel I was less than nothing. I got to a point where I wouldn’t eat, and I had lost so much weight that I didn’t recognize myself. I stopped looking in a mirror because I felt ugly, and I stopped dressing up. The 150 lb frame I was used to fell to a frail 115lbs. Someone like Teyana Taylor could pull that off. I was much taller, so it was cause for concern.
Opting out of a dorm room and sharing a two-bedroom with Jean and the baby, she needed a way to do her dirt and keep me distracted. That’s when I met her good friend Tamar.
After I got my first job, Tamar would pick me up on the days that Jean couldn’t. She would take me to eat, and we’d share some laughs. She tried to figure out what I was doing with Jean, but I never had an answer. It was a silly teenage love that turned into a sad story.
Destiny’s Child’s If had become an anthem for me. I loved Tamar’s company and on top of that, she was definitely something to look at. She and Jean both stood at 6’1”, Tamar light and Jean dark. Tamar had a muscular body thanks to basketball. She was the kind of woman I should have lusted over, but I was blinded by Jean, so I never quite saw her that way. I ignored her obvious flirting, too. Tamar wasn’t really my type, but then again, Jean was all I’d known. Had I allowed myself room to explore, my type could have and would have changed.
I still don’t know to this day if it was Tamar’s plan to have me, but she got me the moment that I found out about yet another man. Jean had been living a double life. She was living with a man, making plans, and making love. It hit me like a ton of bricks one night as I rocked baby Lula with my foot while highlighting notes from my employment law textbook. My stomach started to growl and I realized I’d been studying for hours without food. I had some Pizza Hut coupons sitting on the dining room table so I opted to use those to save a few dollars. I knew I had at least thirty dollars in my checking. I called to order a large meatlovers with a Sprite. I ordered the large one in case Jean was hungry after her shift at the Shell gas station.
“That’ll be $25.27.” the cashier said on the line.
“Hold on. Let me grab my card,” I said, running to grab my wallet. I rattled off the number on my debit card with expiration then waited for her to say it would be ready in about ten or fifteen minutes. It was their standard window. I knew the wait would actually be between thirty to forty-five. The transaction was supposed to be seamless. Instead my card was declined. I knew I had the funds. I told the cashier I would call her back then called my bank to hear my balance on the automated system. A negative two dollars and thirty-seven cents. I didn’t remember purchasing anything so I listened to my last five transactions and the details. Someone ordered pizza and it wasn’t me. I listened to the location details of the purchase then hung up to google the address and phone number. I was going to get to the bottom of this fraudulent charge. There was only one person who had access to my card. If she memorized it, she’d sunken to a new low.
“Dominoes.” A young woman answered with an attitude.
This was perfect for me, because aggravated employees will tell you just about anything to get you off their line. “Hi, I placed an order not too long ago and it still hasn’t been delivered.” I lied.
“What’s the name on the order?” she asked.
Sweat formed across my forehead. “Jean.”
“I’m showing the driver took it out twenty minutes ago and marked it as delivered.”
“Are you sure? Can you confirm the address?”
The cashier didn’t ask me any questions as she gave me the information I needed. I wrote it down, thanked her then ended the call. I was angry, but that was the last straw. I was twenty-years-old taking care of a kid I never asked for, being used, lied to, and cheated on. This was not my life. I grabbed several garbage bags tossing Lula's things in one and Jean’s in another.
As I packed, Tamar called me in a tone I never heard before. I don’t remember when we became so close that she could call my phone anytime of the day or night. It was 11:58 p.m., when she told me she needed to tell me something. I was ready for whatever it was, because I knew it was something I needed to hear.
“Essence, I don’t want to tell you this, but I can’t keep it to myself. You’ve become such a great friend to me and I can’t sit and watch a good person go through this.”
“What is it, Tamar?” I asked.
She sighed. “I don’t want to tell you this.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it. You know I hate that.”
It was then she confirmed what I already knew to be true. Then in an unexpected turn of events she confessed her undying love and admiration.
“It’s fine. I’m packing her shit right now.” I said.
“She’s going to blame me.”
“Why would she blame you?”
“A few weeks ago, she called me out and told me I had feelings for you. I laughed at first, but then I realized she was right.” Tamar said.
I stopped packing to stand and pause. I didn’t know what to say.
“I know this is a lot to take in, but I want you to know I care about you. A lot. I want what’s best for you and I’d never do anything to hurt you. I know you only see me as your friend and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that. I won't cross any lines unless you tell me to. Know that you deserve better, Essence. You deserve me.”
She let me go with that thought. I took it a step further unpacking Jean’s things and Lula’s. What if I gave in to Tamar’s advances?
