Dear Diary: March 3rd. 9:30pm
It was a comely morning. The sun was out to play, golden as ever, like the puff-puff my mother typically made me before her passing. The meteorologist on STC News had mentioned that the day would likely stay in the high 50s with little or no rain. He told the truth today; I was glad the heavens decided to align with him.
The kids over at the play zones were screaming, singing, crying, and doing every other thing kids between the ages of 5 and 10 do. Women walked in and out of the salon and nail shops in pairs, gossiping about their husbands, fellow women, laughing, and admiring their newly lush nails.
Men, probably married, sat at the famous Frost Fall Club, watching football, having business conversations, drinking beer, and waiting on their wives, I would assume.
The smell of chicken buttered up in hot oil filled my nose, taking me back to the times when I could eat anything freely. Or maybe it was something else from the Lala Bakery? I’m unsure, as Pastel District has a lot of restaurants.
Pastel District, a newly emerged area where families came to shop, dine, relax, and seek entertainment—especially on weekends, between 9:30 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. It was in this place that I met him—Kelechi.
I was already five minutes late for my dance class, and I knew better than to keep Miss Suzie waiting. She had little patience for latecomers, and the last thing I needed was to see her disappointment.
Normally, I would’ve continued on the longer scenic route to class, but with time running short, I decided to take a short cut. I made a sharp left, and Sophie’s Ice Cream shop came into view. I quickened my pace, eyes locked on the goal of getting to class on time. As I passed See Clearly Eye Shop, I saw Mr. Jake inside and waved at him. He caught my gesture and returned the wave with a smile, making me briefly forget my rush. Just as I was about to make another left, the door to Boxing Lab suddenly swung open and hit my face.
“Ouch,” I whimpered, squeezing my eyes and rubbing my nose in an attempt to ease the pain. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and pried my eyes open to look at the person who was apparently trying to break my nose on this lovely morning.
“OMG, I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t see you coming at all” Kelechi said, his voice laced with concern.
“It’s okay, it’s okay… Actually, no, it’s not. My nose hurts. I might need to get it checked out” I muttered, still holding my nose as I stood up.
“Please, let me drive you. It’s the least I can do. I’ll even cover your bill. I’m really sorry” he pleaded.
I was in too much pain to argue, so I just nodded my head in agreement. As we drove toward the emergency room, I couldn’t help but take him in. He was bronze-skinned, like David, with a chiseled jawline that seemed almost sculpted.
A well-maintained goatee sat just below his pink lips.
He smelled of Dior Homme mixed with a hint of sweat from all that boxing. His car was spotless, and his biceps rested effortlessly on the center console. I was still gawking when he turned to me.
“Kelechi. My name is Kelechi” he said with a side smile.
“Verona. Nice to meet you, I guess” I replied, quickly shifting my gaze back to the window.
After about five minutes, we were parked outside the emergency room. I unbuckled my seatbelt, grabbed my duffel bag, and told him not to worry about the bill.
“Your number then… so I can, um, check in on you” he said, his beady eyes looking at me intently.
I hesitated but gave it to him regardless. “It’s just for checking in” I tried to convince myself.
Dear Diary: May 15th. 7:45pm
Dinner with Kelchi was so lovely today. We've been talking and hanging out for almost two months now, and it's been nothing but perfect.
He checked in on me like he promised, and we’ve had a handful of conversations since then. I tried to stop myself from engaging with him, but my days have been lonely. I am only human.
He almost ruined this lovely night, but I was able to save it again. I'm not sure why he's in such a rush for me to spend the whole night with him.
I've tried to make him understand that I have a very strict curfew and nights are not very promising for me. But he still continues to beg, asking me for my reasons.
You and I both know I can't share that information with him.
I doubt he'll understand; he's not that kind of person.
Oh, Verona, what are you doing?
Dear Diary: July 2nd. 2am
My period is late, very late.
Kelechi and I went to Viva Di Lino, right in the heart of Downtown. Mrs. Harris had just redone my locs, and they looked nothing short of breathtaking.
I decided to wear my backless pastel dress and a shimmery Jimmy Choo heels to match. I had oiled myself with a shimmering lotion that made my ivory skin radiate. And the scent of pistachios—Kelechi’s favorite—clung to me, delicate and intoxicating. I spent so much time prinking, that I looked perfect.
He had sent a bouquet of deep red roses. The note attached read, “Dinner at 8 p.m. I’ve missed you.” I smiled when I saw it. I had missed him too. I’d been away for my birthday for almost a week, the longest we’d been apart since the incident at Pastel District.
The night was long and filled with romance. We drank, laughed and then, somewhere in the haze of it all, we found ourselves on the way to his penthouse.
“I am in love with you, Verona” he says while tracing my back with his fingers as we watch the beauty of the city.
“Yeah?” I responded
“Yeah, I’m also in love with your name. What does it mean?”
I tilted my head slightly, feeling a sense of nostalgia “My parents fell in love in Verona, Italy. I have actually never been.” I replied, my voice soft as I swung back and forth on my heels, my smile never leaving my face.
“I will take you to Verona. I’ll take you anywhere” he said, lifting me gently in his arms, our kiss soft and lingering.
The problem is, I also made love to David, my boyfriend of about two years, a couple of nights before my night with Kelechi at Viva Di Lino.
I always spend my birthdays with David.
That’s not all—I also left my ring, a new possession from my trip, at my loft that night.
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*Knock Knock*
Celeste jumps, dropping her mother's diary—the one she had been so engrossed in. Instinctively, she covers her mouth in shock. Her mother’s room is a chaotic mess—cattywampus, as she would describe it. She stands frozen, a mix of regret and disbelief, wishing she hadn't tried to help tidy it up.
Her brother peeks in, a straw half-chewed between his lips. "Celeste, you okay, sis?" he asks, his voice a bit muffled. "You look like you saw a ghost."
"Shut up," she mutters.
Normally, she would have confronted her mother immediately, but it’s too late for that now. Verona has been in a coma for the past two months, barely uttering a word to anyone.
Celeste grabs her bottle of water, takes a few gulps, and sits down, trying to steady her breath. She does the math in her head, and the conclusion hits her like a brick: Her dad might not be her biological father.
From all the stories her parents had told her, their relationship had been "long distance" until Dad proposed. It all makes sense, though. She has always been different from her siblings—especially in looks. But her mother had always said that genetics worked in mysterious ways, that you never knew where traits might come from.
"Oh, Mother. What did you do? What have you done?" she says to herself, staring into nothingness.
Sage Roses ❁