Bonded In Love

Chapter 2

I keep splashing water onto my face, again and again, watching as mascara streaks down my skin, the sink swirling with orange and light brown from my dissolving concealer. This has to be a nightmare. It can’t be real.

I lift my head, meeting my own reflection—water dripping from my chin, my glasses resting on the marble counter. My thoughts spiral back to what my mom and her boyfriend—no, fiancé—just told me minutes ago.

"We’re getting married!" she had announced, all bright and oblivious.

I glance around the impossibly lavish bathroom. This place has to be part of a Michelin 5-star restaurant, everything drenched in gold accents and pristine white marble. Even the sink doesn’t have a standard faucet—it’s a mini waterfall, smoothly built into the stone. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Mom took me shopping, picking out a stunning rose gold sequin dress and sleek black satin heels. We had our hair and makeup done, and for a moment, I thought this was the surprise.

But no. The real surprise was exactly what I feared.

"Nyxie! Can you believe it?!" "Look at the ring!" she beamed, holding out her hand.

Her new fiancé sipped his champagne, smiling warmly—at her, then at me.

I stared at my mom, my emotions crashing together all at once.

"Honey?" "You okay?" "Nini?" she asked gently, sensing my impending meltdown.

I think my rapid blinking is what made her frown.

"I uh… need to use the bathroom… be right back."

I bolted from my seat, practically sprinting to the women's restroom, heading straight for the sink. Cool water splashed onto my face, smearing my perfectly done makeup.

"Engaged?! Married?! Over the summer?! Just like that?!" I practically shouted at my reflection, mascara smudged and eyes wide.

This can’t be real life.

I jinxed myself. I should’ve kept my mouth shut when talking to Zev about her mom getting married, because now it’s happening to me. Where was the conversation? The warning? No ‘Hey, Nyxie! I’m thinking of marrying the guy of my dreams—let’s talk about it first! Should I? Want to be involved?’

Nope. Instead, she just accepted a proposal, flashed her gigantic ring, and beamed like she hadn’t just dropped the most earth-shattering news on me.

I hear the bathroom stall doors creak open—women throwing me side glances as they slip past, probably wondering if I’m a complete lunatic for talking out loud to my own reflection.

"I need to get out of here," I whisper, gripping the edges of the sink.

I fumble for my phone and fire off a text to Mira.

Nyxie: Hey Mira, you busy?

Mira: NINI!!!! No, girl, you know I’m bored out of my mind, stuck at home with my little brother.

Great. Unless she brings him, I’m stuck.

Nyxie: Hey, can you pick me up?

Mira: Sure! Where are you? My little brother has to come with me.

Nyxie: That’s fine! Just hurry—I’m at (Restaurant location).

Mira: I got you, girl! Be there in 30 minutes. XOXO

Nyxie: XOXO, you’re a lifesaver!

I grab a towel—yes, this place has fancy, scented ones—and pat my face dry. With my glasses back on, I take a deep breath, steady myself, and make my way back to Mom and her fiancé at the table.

Mom studies me, concern etched across her face—as she should be.

"Oh, honey, you messed up your makeup."

"I’m fine, Mom," I murmur, barely meeting her gaze. "I barely had any on anyway."

She hesitates. "Honey, there’s… something else I need to say. Well, I—"

Darius, her other half, cuts in smoothly.

"Your mother and I would love for you both to move in with me," he says, gripping her hand gently. "At my home—well, estate."

Mom beams up at him, and I take a harder look.

I get why she sees something in him. There’s a resemblance—a familiarity. He reminds me of my father. My dad was Black, with hazel eyes and dreads. Tall, strong, commanding. Darius is too, but where Dad carried a quiet strength, Darius has a polished edge, dressing far more refined than my father ever did.

Mom, on the other hand, is the opposite—white, blonde, blue-eyed. And me? A mix of the two—light caramel skin, wavy brown hair threaded with blonde, and striking blue eyes. You could tell at a glance I had a Black parent and a white parent.

In my case, a white mother and a black father.

With every new revelation, it feels like another sharp edge pressing deeper into my chest, my anxiety clawing its way up. What about school? A new school? What about the college I wanted to attend—just a short bus ride away? What about my friends? Senior year? The weight of all these questions crushes me, and I know—I can’t take any more surprises.

"You look sick, honey… are you okay?" Mom asks gently.

No, Mom, I’m not okay.

I shift my gaze, glaring at her through my glasses. "Fine," I mutter, my voice barely audible. I refuse to meet her eyes—or his. Instead, I focus on their joined hands resting on the table.

Darius clears his throat. "Your mother tells me you're quite talented in drawing and painting," he says, tone smooth, measured. "I'd love to see your work sometime. Since I’ll be in town for another week, we could visit the local art museum—I hear it’s quite renowned for this area."

For this area? The words replay in my mind, dripping with subtle condescension. What’s that supposed to mean? Is our small-town museum somehow beneath him?

Ugh, whatever.

Where is Mira? I grabbed my phone, checking for a reply.

"Honey, that’s not nice," Mom says softly. "Put your phone away."

I glance up briefly but don’t respond.

"Sorry," I mumble at last. I may be upset, but I’d never disrespect her—not on purpose.

Text Alert—Ding! Mira: I’m outside!

"Mom. Darius." I set my glass down and pushed my chair back. "I have to go—Mira’s outside. This has been… fun."

I take one last sip, standing as I prepare to leave.

"What? Wait, Nyxie! We’re having dinner—this is important—"

"Sorry, Mom." "I gotta go," I say quickly, already moving as she calls after me.

I rush outside, spot her car, and slide into the passenger seat.

"Your place or mine—I don’t care. Just drive. Now," I murmur.

She pulls away without hesitation, not even waiting for me to buckle in. I don’t glance back.

A low whistle escapes her lips as she eyes the towering building in the rearview mirror. "That place is expensive!" she remarks, clearly impressed.

I don’t respond, just stare out the window.

"You good?" "What’s wrong?" she asks quietly. Behind me, I hear the soft hum of a game on her phone—her little brother, completely absorbed, keeping himself distracted.

"Oh, well… I just found out my mom’s engaged," I say, voice steady, though my insides are anything but.

Her eyes widen as she grips the wheel. "ENGAGED?!" "Congrats!" she exclaims, then quickly adds, "I mean… kind of soon, but still."

Yeah. Too soon.

"You’re not happy for her?" she presses gently, turning the corner toward my house.

"I am, but… we’re moving in with him."

She slams on the brakes. My seatbelt locks, keeping me from flying forward, but her phone doesn’t get the same luck—it goes tumbling into the seat with us.

Her brother groans, reaching for it, and I hand it back without a word.

"Mira!" I exclaim.

"You're moving?!" she blurts out, eyes wide.

I glanced at her, then back at the road.

"Mira, you're stopped at a major intersection. Let’s talk at home."

She presses her lips together, nods, and eases back into driving.

The rest of the ride is quiet, but my mind isn’t. I watch as we pass my favorite ice cream spot, the local library, our hangout plaza. My neighborhood. My high school. I take them all in, tracing the familiar streets with my eyes as Mira weaves toward my house.

Because I have a sinking feeling that where I’m going next is much farther—too far.

And I want to etch this place—the place I’ve called home for the past seventeen years— deep into my memory. Now it's going to be ripped away.