ONE: Five Years Later
Denz has a few regrets.
First, being too distracted to notice the uneven sidewalk as he sprints from the parking garage. No one’s around to see him trip. Or hop backward to recover the loafer he lost. It doesn’t matter because he’s still late. Still on hour twenty-five of an unforgivable hangover from the annual 24 Carter Gold New Year’s Eve celebration.
His second regret: gulping down lemon drop martini number four just before midnight on Saturday. When it comes to alcohol, Denz is far from a lightweight. But he barely got out of bed yesterday. He also forgot to set his phone’s work alarm.
Halfway there, he pauses to fix his loafer. He ignores the fact that he’s wearing two different socks. That his dark slacks are wrinkled. At least his sweater’s not inside out.
It’s a cool January morning. Atlanta’s skyline is a tangled ribbon of blue and gray. Working the day after a holiday should be illegal. Denz doesn’t care that their Monday staff meeting has been pushed back an hour. He’d prefer to be in bed instead of looking like a breathless, uncaffeinated mess while jogging through 9:00 A.M. foot traffic.
“You’re late.”
Outside the glass building housing 24 Carter Gold’s offices, Kami watches Denz stumble to a stop.
“Wasn’t timeliness one of your New Year’s resolutions?” she asks.
“Was it?”
He can’t remember. This—among many reasons—is why Denz limits his drinks at work functions. He tends to make very regrettable declarations to his older sister after a second martini.
Denz yawns into the crook of his elbow. “How the hell are you so put-together this early?”
Her naturally curly hair is sleeked into a tight bun. She’s wearing pearl earrings and a beige Givenchy trench over a teal high-neck dress.
“I’m raising a six-year-old,” Kami reminds him. “I’ve been up since the ass crack of dawn learning about thousands of butterfly species from his iPad.” She sighs. “Did you know there are over seven hundred species in the US alone?”
Denz beams. “Mikah’s a genius.”
Kami tilts her head to inspect him. “The real question is why do you look like a gay Carlton from The Fresh Prince?”
“I do not,” he argues. His snug Ralph Lauren cable-knit sweater with a white oxford underneath isn’t that bad.
Kami smirks. “If you’re auditioning for the only Black guy in a Lifetime Christmas movie, then sure. You look incredible.”
“I hate you.”
It’s not true. For most of his life, Denz has semi-idolized Kami. Not quite as much as their dad, but a respectable second.
“Shall we?”
The moment Kami’s heels click against the lobby’s marble floors, all eyes lock on her. Near the elevators, three interns whisper excitedly. She doesn’t even notice the attention. From 8:00 A.M. to 5:00 P.M., Kami’s all business.
“By the way,” she says, eyes lowered. Her phone chimes away as she types. No doubt she’s replying to emails that piled up over the weekend. Anything that lands in Denz’s own company inbox after 3:00 P.M. on a Friday goes unanswered until he’s at least caffeinated the following Monday. Maybe later. “The social media numbers from Saturday are looking exceptional. The best yet.”
“Did you expect anything less?”
When Denz came on as an events coordinator, 24 Carter Gold’s social media presence was a LinkedIn page, a Facebook account, and an irregularly updated Twitter feed. Fixing the company’s nonexistent digital footprint wasn’t one of his job functions, but Denz couldn’t resist.
Relentless dedication is Kami’s thing. Social media is his.
He did a complete digital rebrand. Diversified the platforms they used. Captured perfect candids at events. Spent weekends creating video content around the city. Tagged partnered companies for greater visibility.
Three months and ten thousand new followers later, his dad offered him a salary bump and an extra job title: social media director.
Now, he’s an integral part of the annual NYE party’s success. While Kami, an events manager, handles the planning, Denz is the energy behind promotion. Personalized hashtags. Persistent reminders. Reshares from celebrities and his own public account, which has—not to brag—over eighty thousand followers alone.
In a family full of overachievers, he savors having a way to stand out.
“Five-star review from TFW,” Kami notes as they climb on the elevator.
“Not bad,” Denz says. The Final Word is a mildly reputable gossip site. He leans in a corner with Kami. Her eyes are lowered again, a soft smile tucked into the corners of her mouth. A hand shields her screen as if she’s watching porn, but Denz knows better.
He whispers, “It’s him, isn’t it?”
Kami elbows him hard. Her eyes flit around. The interns are busy on their phones, finished silently worshipping her. It doesn’t stop Kami from blushing, which isn’t noticeable since they share their mom’s rich brown skin. But Denz can tell by the way she bites her lip.
He’s never met Kami’s secret boyfriend. The one she’s been dating since early November. The reason Denz spends at least one evening every two weeks babysitting his nephew. The most he’s gotten out of Kami is a first name.
“So…” He nudges her arm. “How’s Suraj?”
“We’re not discussing this.”
“Fine. Just give me a last name.”
“You’re not cyberstalking him, Denz.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He already tried. Kami’s hyper-curated following list consists of relatives, random college friends, and their favorite coffee shop. Not a single Suraj.
“I don’t know why you won’t tell everyone,” Denz says, his voice still lowered. Not even Nic knows this mystery boyfriend exists.
Kami locks her phone, flexing an eyebrow at him. “You don’t?”
Denz grimaces. Being a Carter is a full-time job. Thanks to the company’s continuous growth—last October, they hosted the Obamas’ anniversary party—the public’s expectations of them have been consistently high. The spotlight is always on. Then there’s the familial expectations, especially from the aunties.
What college they attend, their career aspirations, wardrobe, friend groups, who they’re dating. Every detail is up for dissection and approval.
No one has let Kami forget her last relationship, with Matthew, Mikah’s father. The man she delayed finishing her degree at Emory University for. The asshole who left when she was six months pregnant for “better” acting gigs in Canada. To date, his biggest role has been Sullen Bad Boy in a forgettable teen drama that Denz didn’t hate-watch in the dark.
(He did.)
His own dating life is purposely nonexistent. Nothing resembling a relationship. All his casual hookups come with preestablished rules:
No sleepovers. No repeats. Absolutely no meeting his family.
Exhibit A: the hipster white guy Denz traded mutual blow jobs with in an upstairs VIP bathroom during the NYE party. Denz can’t remember his name, but he was taller than Denz’s five foot nine. Oh, and dimples. He might’ve worked in talent relations? Sound and lighting?
Either way, it was work-related head.
When Dimples started asking too many personal questions afterward, Denz politely kissed his cheek and slipped back downstairs. He never gives anyone the opportunity to decide whether the real Denz is worth sticking around for. Not since college.
But Kami deserves a second chance at love. To ignore what the other Carters think.
“You know—” Denz starts.
Kami’s murderous glare stops him. He doesn’t turn twenty-six until July. He wants to live long enough to see what this whole quarter-life crisis thing is about.
The elevator doors open on the sixth floor, revealing the bright, open space occupied by 24 Carter Gold. It’s equal parts professional and inviting. Behind the front desk, against a lilac wall, individual vanity bulbs spell out CARTER. White concrete floors contrast with the gold-and-orchid furniture. Beyond the lobby are glass-walled offices with framed partitions. Farther down, the expansive conference room sits opposite Kenneth’s office.
The staff happily buzzes around. It’s as if Denz is the only one fighting a lingering hangover.
He yawns again. “God, I could go for a latte. And a muffin.”
“When are they arriving?” Kami asks.
“When is what arriving?”
“The muffins.”
He blinks at her.
“Denzel Kevin Carter,” she hisses, “please tell me you didn’t forget to order pastries for the staff meeting. It’s your Monday.”
He throws his hands over his face, groaning. Fuck his life. Another failed reminder.
“It’s fine,” Kami says in that voice she uses when things are decidedly not fine, but she has a plan. She waves at Jordan, their cousin and her assistant. “Crema isn’t far. Order online. An intern can pick them up.”
“I’m not letting an intern fix my mistake,” Denz grunts. Besides, he can’t afford for anyone to forget his dad’s favorite chocolate-chip muffins. He’ll never hear the end of it. “I’ll pick them up.”
“The meeting is in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll drive fast.” He opens the coffee shop’s mobile app. “Stall for me?”
“How?”
“Show off Mikah’s school pictures again?” Denz jams the elevator’s Down button. “You did theater. Do a monologue from Romeo and Juliet. Ooh! Tell Dad about Sur—”
Kami clears her throat as Jordan approaches.
Denz pastes on an innocent smile. “You’ll figure something out.”
The elevator doors close on her shouting, “Hurry back! And stay out of trouble!”
He grins smugly. It’s just muffins. How difficult could that be?
* * *
Crema of the Crop is one of Denz’s favorite places in the city. Exposed brick walls. Ebony-stained hardwood floors. Pendant lighting shining on the abstract art mounted on the walls as soft, chill music plays overheard. Air spiced with espresso and freshly ground coffee and sugary pastries.
Six customers are between Denz and the front register. The late-morning rush has arrived. He decides to kill time by checking his socials.
His account, @notthatdenzel, started off as a hobby. A much-needed distraction from the unexpected broken heart that came with his BA in communications. Subconsciously, Denz always knew he’d end up at 24 Carter Gold. That didn’t stop him from working hard to prove his position was earned and not solely nepotism. But social media was his fun weekend activity … until it wasn’t.
He didn’t anticipate the influx of followers. Sponsorships. Paid advertising gigs. Something he could make a small profit from. He’d just wanted out of his own head.
The line edges forward.
Denz scrolls to his last post: a shirtless, fresh-out-of-the-shower photo of him holding up a new energizing face wash. Short, textured sponge curls still damp. Unshaven jawline. It’s not supposed to be a thirst trap, but the droplets of water slipping down his brown chest might suggest otherwise.
He ignores the comments. The usual pile of “hero” and “legend” and “icon.” Words Denz has never associated with himself. Exceeding “good enough” has always been his goal. Anything else is a bonus.
Over the café’s music, names and drink orders are called. Soon, he’s face-to-face with the college-age girl behind the register. Her name tag reads Sophie, with a smiley face in the o. She’s absurdly cheery for a Monday.
“What can I get you today?”
“I have an online order for 24 Carter Gold,” Denz says. “Assorted muffins.”
“Oh, you’re Kami’s little brother!”
“I’m Denz,” he corrects, trying to mirror Sophie’s perkiness.
“Cool. We’re finishing that up. You can wait at the end.”
Denz shuffles over. Behind the espresso machines, two baristas cue shots and craft perfect cappuccino foam. One is a tall, middle-aged woman with an armful of colorful tattoos. The other, Matty, is a classically handsome white guy with freckles and sandy hair. He’s still newish at Crema, but Denz has already introduced himself.
Intimately.
Denz turns away before eye contact is made. He’s halfway through reading TFW’s review when he hears, “Darjeeling tea with light milk and honey for … Braylon?”
The phone almost slips from his hands.
Denz’s head snaps up. It’s impossible. Matty didn’t just say—
“Darjeeling for Braylon?”
“Over here!”
Copyright © 2024 by Julian Winters.