My 21st birthday felt like a old 90's romance film. Black beading on my dress that just so happened to catch the dim restaurant lights, my friends laughing loud across the table, cameras flashes, perfume in the air, and the feeling of realizing I am no longer a teenager. Just a 21-year-old Black girl from PG County trying to romanticize her life before it passes her by.
Dinner at Del Frisco’s with seven girls, including my twin, felt surreal in the way womanhood sometimes does. I wore a black beaded dress from Fashion Nova that hugged me like i'd hope a lover would. On my arm sat a grey Tory Burch purse gifted by someone who exists somewhere between admirer, mistake, and benefactor.
The night tasted like steak, lobster, tequila, vodka , lip gloss, and cheap thrills. Somehow I ended up with a free bottle of Clase Azul which felt symbolic, honestly. Like the universe handing me something expensive and smooth after a year that wasn’t. Drama over Don Julio and Pretty pictures
And after all the birthday singing, free drinks, and sentimental card readings ; the night ended exactly how a typical coming-of-age story would with post-birthday plans involving a forbidden lover.
Hey Siri, Play "Best of Me" by Anthony Hamilton.
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