Chapter 1: Don't Wear That Dress
“Girl, I want you at my birthday party, but please don’t wear a tight dress.””
That was how Tasha invited her best friend of nine years to celebrate her twenty-sixth birthday. And before the afternoon was over, the invitation would become the reason their friendship began to fall apart.
Nia stood in Tasha’s living room, holding a cream-colored invitation between two fingers. Sunlight poured through the apartment windows, illuminating the gold balloons stacked beside the television and the pink ribbons draped across the curtain rods. A half-finished birthday banner lay across the couch. On the coffee table, a pile of invitations sat beside a roll of tape, a pair of scissors, and a glass of melting ice.
Everything looked cheerful.
Everything except Tasha.
At twenty-six, Tasha had mastered the art of looking put together even when her thoughts were eating her alive. Her long braids fell neatly over her burgundy blouse, and her black jeans fit perfectly. Her nails were freshly done. Her makeup was flawless.
But she kept glancing at Nia's outfit.
Nia wore a fitted cream top and dark trousers. Nothing unusual. Nothing provocative. Just clothes she had put on that morning without imagining they would become the subject of an argument.
For the first few seconds, Nia thought Tasha was joking.
Then she noticed her friend's expression.
“You serious?”” Nia asked.
Tasha straightened a gold ribbon hanging from the edge of the coffee table.
“What's wrong with what I said?””
Nia glanced down at her invitation, then back at Tasha.
“Nothing. I just didn't know we were setting dress codes based on body parts now.””
“Tuh. See, that's exactly what I'm talking about.”” Tasha snatched another invitation from the stack and tapped its edge against her palm.
“You always gotta make everything into something.””
“I'm literally asking you why I can't wear a dress.””
“A tight dress, Nia.””
“Okay. Why?””
Tasha looked toward the window as if the answer were written somewhere in the Atlanta skyline.
“Because I don't like the way my man be looking at you.””
The apartment went quiet.
Outside, a car horn sounded on the street below. Somewhere in the neighboring unit, a television played loudly enough for the bass to vibrate faintly through the wall.
Nia blinked.
Then she laughed once, not because anything was funny, but because she genuinely could not believe what she had just heard.
“Wait. What?””
“You heard me.””
“Your man?””
“Marcus.””
Nia lowered the invitation.
“Your boyfriend Marcus?””
“Girl, how many Marcuses do I have?””
Nia stared at her friend. Marcus had been Tasha's boyfriend for almost a year. Nia had met him at a cookout the previous summer, exchanged ordinary greetings with him at a few gatherings, and spoken to him occasionally when Tasha put him on speakerphone.
That was the extent of it.
She couldn't remember ever being alone with him.
She certainly couldn't remember doing anything that might explain why Tasha was looking at her as if she had been caught stealing something.
“Okay,” Nia said slowly.
“What does that have to do with me?””
Tasha folded her arms.
“You already know what you're doing.””
“Doing what?””
“Wearing those tight clothes around my man. Always wanting attention.””
Nia's mouth fell open.
“Attention from who? Tasha, I came over here to help you finish decorating.””
“And I appreciate that.””
“No, you don't. You just told me how to dress because of your boyfriend's eyes.””
“Don't twist my words.””
“I'm repeating them!””
Tasha walked around the coffee table, picked up a small bag of birthday favors, and began moving them from one side to the other. Her hands worked quickly, but she kept looking at Nia.
“You know what kind of men are out here,” she said.
“I'm not stupid.””
“Then talk to your man about what kind of man he is.””
Tasha stopped moving.
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
They had been friends since they were teenagers, back when they shared cafeteria lunches, borrowed each other's clothes, and stayed up late discussing the kind of lives they wanted. Nia had sat beside Tasha through a painful breakup in college. Tasha had helped Nia move apartments with nothing but a borrowed pickup truck and three friends who complained the entire time.
They had promised each other that no man would ever come between them.
Yet here they were, surrounded by birthday decorations, arguing over a man Nia barely knew.
Tasha's face tightened.
“So you're not even gonna try to understand where I'm coming from?””
“I understand that you're insecure,” Nia replied.
“But I don't understand why you're making that my problem.””
“Wow.””
“Don't do that.””
“Do what?””
“Act like I'm hurting you because I won't accept an accusation you made up.””
Tasha tossed the bag of favors onto the couch.
“You think you're better than me.””
Nia stared at her.
“Where did that come from?””
“Everybody loves you, Nia. Everybody always wants to be around you. You walk into a room and people notice you, and somehow I'm supposed to sit there smiling like it doesn't bother me.””
The confession slipped out so quickly that Tasha seemed surprised by it herself.
Nia's expression softened for half a second.
“Tasha…”
“No. Don't look at me like that.””
“Like what?””
“Like you feel sorry for me.””
“I don't feel sorry for you. I'm worried about you.””
“Well, don't be.””
Tasha turned away and grabbed a strip of gold tape. She pressed it against the wall beneath the birthday banner, smoothing it with her thumb far more aggressively than necessary.
Nia watched her.
There had been moments over the past few months when Tasha had acted strangely around her. She had made little comments about Nia's clothes, joked about how easily men approached her, and once asked whether Nia thought she was prettier than most women.
Nia had dismissed those moments as ordinary insecurity.
Now they looked different.
“Has Marcus said something about me?”” Nia asked.
Tasha's hand paused against the wall.
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
Nia noticed.
“Then why are we having this conversation?””
“Because I can see things.””
“What things?””
“His eyes follow you.””
“Have you asked him why?””
“Why would I have to ask him? I'm his girlfriend.””
“That doesn't answer my question.””
Tasha ripped the tape away from the wall. A small piece of paint came off with it.
“You know what? Forget it. Wear whatever you want.””
“That's not an answer.””
“It's my birthday, Nia. I don't have time for this drama.””
Nia looked at the scattered invitations, the crooked banner, and the balloons waiting to be inflated.
She had taken the afternoon off work to help Tasha prepare. She had even ordered a cake topper personalized with Tasha's name because she remembered how disappointed her friend had been when her twenty-fifth birthday cake arrived with the wrong spelling.
She had done all of that because she loved her.
And now Tasha was treating her like a threat.
Nia carefully placed the invitation on the coffee table.
“I'm going to ask you one more time. Did Marcus say something about me?””
Tasha looked at her.
Then she looked away.
“No.””
Nia nodded, though she didn't believe her.
“Okay.””
She picked up her handbag from the armchair.
Tasha turned around immediately.
“Where are you going?””
“Home.””
“So you're leaving because I asked you not to wear a certain dress?””
“No. I'm leaving because you invited me into your home and accused me of trying to steal your boyfriend.””
“I never said you were trying to steal him!””
“You called me an attention seeker because of the way I dress.””
“Because you know how men think!””
“Then you should be talking to the man you're dating.””
Nia walked toward the door.
Tasha followed her, her footsteps quick against the hardwood floor.
“Don't you dare walk out of here acting like I'm the bad guy.””
Nia stopped with her hand on the doorknob.
“I didn't come here to be your enemy, Tasha.””
“Then stop acting like one.””
For a moment, pain crossed Nia's face. It was brief, but Tasha saw it.
Nia had expected anger. She had expected a disagreement. She had not expected her oldest friend to look at her with suspicion so deep that it seemed to erase every good thing they had ever shared.
“I hope your birthday goes well,” Nia said quietly.
Then she left.
The door closed without a slam.
That somehow made it worse.
Tasha stood in the middle of her decorated living room, breathing hard. She told herself she had done nothing wrong. She was protecting her relationship.
She was setting boundaries. Any woman would have done the same.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
A message from Marcus appeared.
*Marcus: You good? You been acting different all day.*
Tasha stared at the screen.
She typed, Did you ever tell Nia she looked good?
Then she erased it.
She typed, Have you been texting Nia?
She erased that too.
Finally, she wrote:
We need to talk about something.
Marcus responded almost immediately.
About what?
Tasha's fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Before she could answer, another notification appeared.
It was from Nia.
One message.
No explanation.
Just a sentence that made Tasha's stomach tighten.
*Nia: Before you accuse me of anything else, I think you need to see what your boyfriend sent me last night.*
And beneath it was a screenshot.
Tasha didn't open it.
May you like
Not yet.
Because suddenly, the possibility that Nia had been telling the truth felt far more frightening than the thought that she had been lying.