had become the saddest version of herself in our adulthood transition. Her streaks were replaced by a respectable shade of dark brown, and while she still rocked shorter locks, the edge had disappeared, replaced by a suburban mom hairdo.
Nikki had two sweet kids she adored, but she’d confessed to me that if she had a do-over, she would’ve waited ten years before becoming a mom. She’d wanted to be a musician, and she was so damn talented I was willing to bet she could still go for it even now.
My attention drifted from Nikki’s face to mine. My hair was shorter then. I’d chopped off my relaxed hair right after breaking up with my college sweetheart and decided to grow dreads. They were now past my bra strap. At the time I chopped off my hair to be defiant. My ex loved my long tresses and would stroke them after we made love. I’d wanted a separation from the silly girl who’d fallen for the player.
Beside me was Kara, wearing her signature smirk. She’d most likely just finished kicking someone’s ass on either the tennis or basketball court. Kara’s always been my opposite: highly competitive and singularly focused. What can often make people with single focus dangerous is how they can swing between genius and lunacy. Fortunately, Kara’s steadily in the middle, and her competitive, type-A personality kept us on track and boosted all of us to do our best.
The Mastermind group had been my idea. I was bitching to my friends about being snubbed by an exclusive writer’s group on campus, despite my excellent grades and recognition from professors. The next day, there was an episode of Oprah about the law of attraction. I’d been fascinated and read anything about it. After a few books, I noticed a theme about meeting up with other ambitious people for support.
We were all highly motivated, and although our goals were supremely different, we were still able to help each other.
We hadn’t talked about our group or met since a year after graduation. But this picture staring at me, with our hopeful, yet confident smiles, churned my insides. What happened to us? Was I the only one who felt like a failure?
I pulled the phone from my pocket to send a group text for a get-together soon. After a flurry of messages back and forth, we decided to meet at Kara’s place in a few weeks. A decade later, it was time for us to face our dreams.
But for now, I needed to write and then get ready for tonight’s show. Deferred dreams could wait. Work could not.
* * *
An hour later I walked through the double doors of the radio station. “Hey, Greg.” I waved to the security guard. I waited for his usual greeting of “Evening, Raina,” and he didn’t disappoint. I hustled past and gave him a slow, exaggerated wink while I waited for the ancient elevator to shake, rattle, and close.
A few fans of Raina’s Fireside Chat called me the black Delilah, I guess because we’re both famous radio hosts who heal the lonely, despondent, and brokenhearted with a perfect song. I love Delilah, and I used to listen to her on the cheap radio I’d won from selling the most candy in middle school, but I never wanted to be Delilah.
If I’d stolen my persona from anyone, it was my late Grandma Jean. You broke? Stop spending all your damn money on smokes. Need to lose weight? Put the fork down and walk your ass ’round the neighborhood. Your man cheating on you? Leave his lying, no-good ass.
She came from the school of the Old Testament and an eye for an eye. So before you leave his no-good ass, burn some shit up. Grandma’s wisdom would be too explicit for radio, so I’d polished up her Southern colloquialisms, added a dollop of kindness, empathy, and occasional sternness, and suddenly I was the friend whispering encouragement in your ear at one o’clock in the morning when sleep wouldn’t come. I’d created my own style.
But I’m not sure how I got here. I’m sarcastic, moody as all hell, and just as acerbic as Grandma Jean. She didn’t believe in twisting herself in knots over a man or anyone, for that matter. Nor did she believe in the institution of marriage—she kicked out my grandpa when Mama was a teenager and never looked for his sorry ass since. Those were her words, not mine. She ingrained her sense of independence, self-contentment,