Having spent most of her twenties navigating the minefield that is dating’s landscape, Alishia Curtis writes her debut novel from a humorous, yet honest perspective on what it’s like to be a young lady reluctantly looking for love in the 2000s.
A child of God, lover of shoes, cookies, candies, and music, the mother of one delivers Sex and the Single Girl as her first, but certainly not her last, novel.
Title: Sex and the Single Girl
Genre: Fiction, Erotica
Release date: October 11, 2017
Milan is a daddy’s girl who seems to have it all: she’s attractive, intelligent, comes from a good home, and has no problem getting attention from men. Only problem is she’s getting attention from every guy but the right guy. From the arrogant, but attractive neighbor with the noisy sex life, to the handsome musician that seems to be too good to be true, Milan must balance her struggling love life while keeping an eye on a sister that can’t seem to stay out of rehab and a mother finding love again after years as a widow.
With a degree she’s not using and a job she hates, Milan is a woman of today, experiencing what countless others have experienced upon graduating from college. In her quest for happiness, Milan leans on her best friends Cairo, the good-looking protector with a not so subtle secret and the incredibly honest Donatella, the conceited wild child with a foul mouth and insatiable appetite for men and money. Sex and the Single Girl follows Milan as she navigates her way through lustful, loveless relationships on her journey to find that perfect guy, who may have been right in her face the whole time.
I remember that day as if it happened yesterday. I was sixteen years old and had just gotten home from school. I walked in to find my mother sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, pictures strewn around her.
“Whatcha doin’?” I asked, plopping down on the chair closest to her.
That’s when I noticed the wetness on her cheeks and her smeared mascara. Nervousness caused my stomach to churn and I fought to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in my throat. As I took a closer look at the picture she held in her trembling hands, I knew something had happened. It was a photograph of her and my father, his hand resting on her prominent belly, a huge smile on his face.
“Mama? What’s the matter?”
I slid onto the floor beside her and when she looked at me with her swollen red eyes, I instinctively knew. I knew this time wasn’t like the others. This was more than just the usual disappearing act after an argument; this time he wasn’t coming back. We held onto each other, amongst pictures that contained years’ worth of memories, and we cried.
At the funeral, we sat on the front pew, accepting hugs and condolences from what seemed to be hundreds of mourners that had come to pay their last respects to my father. My mother sat beside me, quietly weeping behind the veil that covered her face. Suddenly a hush fell over the church as a woman dressed completely in red slowly walked up the aisle. There was a young girl about eleven years old, by her side.
The woman kept her eyes on my father and did not stop to acknowledge my mother and I as everyone else had done. Instead, she ran her red-gloved hand along the length of the polished mahogany coffin before stopping to stare into my father’s face. The people in the church began to murmur loudly. My mother’s body stiffened.
Noticing the change in her body language, I asked, “Mama? Do you know her? Who is that woman?”
My mother didn’t respond, but continued staring blankly ahead as the woman stood unsteadily, touching my father’s hands, then reaching out to touch his face. Her quiet sobs became a loud, painful cry and then she began to scream. She let go of the little girl’s hand and threw herself over my father’s body. The crowd let out a collective gasp!
“Don’t she know it’s unclean to touch a dead body?” someone said from the pew behind me.
Someone else yelled, “Somebody get her before she turns that casket over!”
All the while, the lady in red held onto my father wailing, screaming for him to wake up.
“No! No!” she wept. “This isn’t real! Wake up Stanley! Wake up! You can’t leave me!”
Some of the people who had come to stand behind her in line tried to pull her away, but she snatched away from them, holding on to my father’s lapel with one hand, and swinging wildly at them with the other.
“Leave me alone!” she yelled. “Leave me with my Stanley!”
Two ushers rushed down the aisle from their posts at the back of the church and succeeded in prying the irate woman’s hands from my father’s lifeless body.
“Why God? Why not me Lord? Take me too!” she screamed, the ushers all but dragging her flailing body down the center aisle of the church. My mother sat stone-still, her gaze unwavering as she stared straight ahead, eyes open but not seeing anything.
The young girl stood in the spot where her mother had left her, her head bowed and her eyes on the floor. Up until now, I hadn’t seen her face, but as she was led away by another of the church’s ushers, big doe eyes looked directly into mine. Shocked, my mouth dropped open and I blinked rapidly, perhaps trying to blink away what I was seeing, because the face that looked back at me was the mirror image of my own!
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