Page 8 of Summer’s Echo

“I don’t want this bullshit,” I barked, then balled up the paper and hurled it against the wall.

Anger simmered in my core, threatening to boil over.

No, it wasn’t just anger, it was something sharper.

Rage. Shit, more like hurt. A hurt I hadn’t experienced since the last time I’d seen Summer Knight.

“Why the hell would she send this to me?” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper, thick with frustration.

Exhaling deeply to simmer my angst, I was fixed on the crumpled paper on the floor.

I shook my head, torn between walking away from it and picking it up to destroy it further.

I started to sip my drink but instead, drained it in one long, burning gulp.

My first instinct was to call her, to demand answers.

Ask her why she thought I’d want to see this shit.

But it had been about a year since our last conversation, and that encounter wasn’t unpleasant, but it definitely didn’t rekindle our friendship.

Picking up my phone, my thumb hovered over her name— Sunshine —the word stared back, mocking me.

I needed clarity, but it wouldn’t come from her, so instead, I dialed the one person who would keep it one hundred with me, no filter.

The one person who’d seen me through all the highs and lows with Summer.

The line rang twice before a familiar voice greeted me.

“Yo,” Maxell said.

Since meeting at camp all those years ago, Max and I had become more like brothers than friends.

He’d been my sounding board through every twist and turn with Summer—and Kourtni, for that matter.

If anyone could understand how seeing the announcement of Summer’s wedding hit me like a sucker punch, it was him.

“I got mail today,” I said, not bothering with small talk.

“Oh yeah,” Maxell replied, his tone a mix of interest and expectation. I was pretty damn sure he’d received the same invitation.

“Yeah,” I muttered, rubbing the bridge of my nose like I could knead the frustration out of my skull. “Why the hell would she send me this shit?”

Max tsk ed knowingly, the kind of sound that came from someone who was about to tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “I don’t know, man. Maybe because no matter where y’all are in life, she still needs your support. She’s always had your support.”

I shook my head, the weight of the words pressing on my chest. “Not this time. I can’t do it, Max. I can’t watch that.”

“Why not?” he shot back, calm but unwavering. “If I remember correctly, she gave you a chance to tell her what you wanted. Asked you straight up, but you—”

“Man, don’t start. I don’t need a damn recap,” I snapped, harsher than I intended.

Max wasn’t fazed though. “So let me ask again: If you’re not planning to tell her how you feel, what’s stopping you from showing up to watch her be happy? What’s the problem, E?”

The silence between us grew heavy, like it was daring me to fill it with the truth I didn’t want to face. This felt like a death—a kind of loss that was hard to explain, but impossible to ignore—a quiet grief I knew would linger for the rest of my life.

“Happy…” I muttered, almost to myself. “You think she’s happy with that nigga?”

Max’s pause told me he was considering his words carefully. “I don’t know, but she’s marrying that nigga, E. That tells me something.”

“Tells you what?” I asked, irritation simmering beneath the surface. I wanted the truth, but damn if I was ready to hear it.

“That Summer is ready,” Max said plainly.

“All her friends are getting married, having babies, building lives. What did you think her next step would be?” He fell silent, leaving me to stew in the immensity of his words.

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

I just sat there, suffocating in the truth.

“Remember when I told you that you were going to fuck around and let her find her peace in someone else?” Max said, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

“And you think that’s him? Deshawn?” I practically spat the name, incredulous and annoyed.

“I didn’t say that. He might not be the right dude, but he’s Mister Right Now.

” His words were an uppercut to the gut.

A fucking TKO. Mister Right Now. The thought of Summer settling for someone who wasn’t her forever felt like a betrayal—to both of us.

“So, what are you wearing to the wedding?” Max teased, grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“Man, fuck you,” I snapped, but he barely seemed fazed, his smug satisfaction growing with every second at my expense.

“Relax, E. I’m just saying, if you’re gonna show up, at least make sure you’re looking better than the groom.

” I shook my head, pacing the room as his words sank in.

I couldn’t decide what was worse, walking into that wedding, watching her walk down the aisle toward someone else, or not showing up for Summer when she might need me most.

Summer

July 2019

A Few Months Earlier

The July humidity clung to me like a second skin, and the damp heat seemed to slow down my every movement.

By the time I made it to the post office, my neatly styled twist-out had transformed into a full-blown afro, courtesy of the morning rain in one hundred degrees of relentless summer.

Exhaustion had wrapped itself around me after a day that started at seven and showed no signs of slowing down.

The morning had kicked off with a visit to my gynecologist, and then to get the tatas checked during my annual mammogram—both necessary evils in my ever-growing list of adult responsibilities.

Normally, I’d be working from the comfort of home, but this week, I was onsite with a client.

Between appointments, Deshawn and I managed a quick lunch meeting with the wedding photographer, and now I was making one final stop at the post office before collapsing at home.

Deshawn had mentioned stopping by later, and I silently prayed he’d bring dinner. My energy reserves were long depleted.

The wedding RSVPs had been flooding in, and with each one, my anxiety about the cost of this increasingly extravagant event mounted.

My parents insisted on footing the bill despite our offers to cover it ourselves.

What started as a simple celebration had spiraled into a full-blown spectacle.

I’d fallen into the wedding rabbit hole, becoming intrigued by every fluff and frill available, even becoming a bit of a bridezilla when I couldn’t get my way.

With roughly ninety days before the wedding, I couldn’t add another flower spray, drape of satin, or light feature.

Strutting into the post office in my fitted purple slacks and sleek black blouse, I felt every bit the poised bride-to-be I’d become.

I’d decided to have the RSVP cards returned to a PO Box since Deshawn and I spent most of our time bouncing between our separate places.

Shortly before meeting him, I’d purchased a townhouse in Midtown—close enough to the city to stay connected but far enough to enjoy some peace.

Deshawn, on the other hand, preferred the fast pace of his downtown apartment, just minutes from his office.

Despite the wedding rapidly approaching, we hadn’t finalized where we’d live as husband and wife. I loved my townhouse and the balance it brought to my life, but Shawn thrived on the hustle and bustle, often dismissing my hints about settling into a quieter lifestyle.

“We’ re too young for the white picket fence right now, ” he’d say, waving off the idea of suburban bliss.

What he didn’t seem to realize—or maybe didn’t want to acknowledge—was that I was ready for that life, a yard with a picket fence, a belly full of baby, and maybe even a dog.

I didn’t just want it; I craved it. But in Shawn’s world, that future seemed distant, as though it was something to strive for years down the line.

For me, it was right there, waiting. Maybe after the wedding he could see it the way I did.

I unlocked the PO Box, pulling out a hefty stack of envelopes.

Each one marked another step closer to the big day.

A tinge of anxiety prickled beneath my skin as I shoved as many as I could into my tote bag, already picturing a glass of wine to get me through a night sorting through them alone.

As I locked the box and turned to leave, a few envelopes slipped from my grasp and scattered across the floor.

I bent to retrieve them, but one immediately caught my attention.

2814 West Angelos Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90011

I froze. My breath hitched as recognition hit me like a tidal wave.

Echo. Of all the invitations sent, he was the only one in LA.

Clutching the envelope to my chest, I scanned the post office, suddenly feeling like I held the world’s most dangerous secret.

My heart pounded as I dashed to my car, slamming the door shut before tossing the tote onto the passenger seat.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror, my wide eyes and trembling lips betraying the storm within. Breathe, Summer. Just breathe.

For a moment, I simply sat there, staring at nothing and contemplating everything.

I hadn’t planned to send Echo an invitation.

My friends had begged me not to. But deep down, I needed him to know.

I needed him to see that this was real. That I wanted him there.

That some foolish, desperate part of me hoped he’d come.

But would he? My hands shook as I carefully slid my finger under the seal.

The edges of the envelope felt sharp against my skin, matching the tension curling in my stomach.

I pulled out the RSVP card, my heart slamming against my ribcage as I read the words scribbled in his familiar handwriting.

Congratulations, Sunshine, but I can’t. I stared at the words. My lips trembled, and I pressed them together, trying to hold back the wave of emotion threatening to overtake me. But it was no use. The tears came anyway.