ABIOLA

“Welcome to The Meridian Hotel. How may I assist you today?” I asked, beaming at the elegant older couple standing before me. The warmth in their eyes softened the fatigue that had been creeping up on me all week.

It was that time of year again—the festive season when the hotel hummed with the energy of returning families, eager to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s together. The lobby had been a whirl of activity, and while I adored my job, the thought of a brief respite was becoming increasingly tempting.

“Thank you, and we wish you a wonderful stay with us, Mr. and Mrs. Martinez,” I added, my smile unwavering. They offered a gracious nod and a soft-spoken ‘thank you’ before a bellhop arrived to escort them to their room.

As soon as they were out of sight, I let out a small sigh, a blend of contentment and exhaustion. Just then, Shantel, my co-worker and closest friend in the hotel, appeared beside me, with her purse in her hand. The strain of the week was etched in her features, mirroring my own weariness.

“I’m heading out for lunch, Lia. Want me to grab you anything while I’m out?” she asked, her tone a mix of camaraderie and concern.

I looked at her and couldn’t help but smile—stressed or not, we were in this together.

Shantel had just started working here last week, so I could tell everything was still new to her. “I just want to sleep. My cheeks hurt from smiling all day,” she groaned, flopping dramatically into her seat. “I don’t know how you do it.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her theatrics. “Shan, you just got here like an hour ago. I’ve been here all day,” I replied, my fingers still deftly sorting through the weekend reservations. I only worked on weekdays, but I made it a point to ease the load for the weekend crew whenever I could.

“Please!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “So what do you want? My treat.”

“Alright, I had a late breakfast, so just a cup of coffee and that chocolate cake will do.”

“Your choice, girl,” she said with a playful grin. “I’ll take as much rest as I can get in that diner.” With that, she sauntered off, and I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head at her as she disappeared into the bustling lobby.

I started working at The Meridian about two years ago, fresh out of college. Managing a hotel—or even owning one—has always been my dream. So when the opportunity to work as a receptionist at one of the biggest hotels in New York presented itself, I grabbed it with both hands. It felt like the first step toward something I’d always envisioned.

I never knew my father, and my mother passed away when I was just two years old. I grew up with my Abuela in San Juan before we eventually moved to California when I was ten. My Abuela is the only family I’ve ever known; my mother was an only child, and Abuela has been my everything. Whenever I asked about my dad, she’d call him a nightmare and refuse to say more. Whatever his story was, it was buried deep within her, locked away in the past. But watching her struggle to raise me on her own, facing both good and ugly days, gave me all the motivation I needed. My greatest wish is to give her the life she deserves.

I’ll never forget one Christmas, shortly after we moved to California. We couldn’t even afford a Christmas tree. All we had for dinner was leftover pizza from the day before. But we still danced and laughed, grateful to have each other, even though we had no idea where our next meal would come from. Her heart is so beautiful, full of optimism. Her mantra, “Always live today like it’s your last,” is something I think should be studied.

Last year, we found out she has leukemia. She’s been on medication for a while, but eventually, we learned she would need surgery. Chemotherapy has been tough on her, and just when I thought I had saved enough for the surgery, I discovered my boyfriend of three years had drained our joint account. He claimed he “invested” the money in a business that quickly crashed.

I had trusted him too much, and it cost me dearly. Now, I’ve resorted to receiving my paycheck in cash, stashing away every dollar I can. By the end of the month, I’ll finally have enough to pay for Abuela’s surgery—and then I’ll be able to move out and start fresh.

The day rushes by in a blur, and before I know it, I’m finally done with work for the week. It’s Friday, which means I have the entire weekend to myself—a chance to recharge and, hopefully, catch up on some much-needed rest.

As I step out of the hotel, my phone starts ringing. I fish it out of my jacket pocket and see my best friend’s name flashing on the screen.

“Liaaaaaaa!” Imani’s voice explodes through the speaker the moment I answer, forcing me to pull the phone away from my ear before my eardrums suffer the consequences.

“Imani! What the hell?!” I groan, exhaustion weighing down my tone.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! But Lia, I’ve got news! You’re not going to believe this!” she squeals, her excitement contagious enough to lift my spirits almost instantly.

“Uhh… okay?” I chuckle, my curiosity piqued.

“First, where are you? I need to see your face when I tell you.”

“Imani, I hate suspense! Just spill it. What’s going on?”

“Where are you?” she insists.

I roll my eyes, knowing there’s no getting around her. “I just left work. I’m heading home now—will you meet me there?”

“Ugh, seeing your ugly-ass boyfriend will totally kill my vibe, and I really don’t want anyone raining on my parade tonight. So, how about this: you get home, dress up, and we’re going out. I’ll pick you up. How’s that?”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell her I’m too tired to go anywhere, but I know better. Whatever she’s dying to share must be important, and who am I to refuse my best friend when she’s this excited? “Alright, alright. Give me an hour.”

“Perfect! Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Imani has been my best friend since the day I moved to California. I met her on my first day of middle school. Her opening line was, “I love your hair—do you want to be my best friend?” I can’t help but smile at the memory as I slide into the backseat of my cab. We’ve been inseparable ever since. So inseparable, in fact, that when I decided to move to New York, she packed up her life and moved with me. She’s become Abuela’s honorary second granddaughter, though God knows she drives that poor woman crazy. Imani is the sister my mother never gave me, and her family has embraced me as one of their own, just as Abuela has taken her in.

Imani has always been a ‘trust fund baby,’ the kind of person who could quit working tomorrow and still live comfortably for the rest of her life. Her family’s wealth is the kind that stretches across generations. They’re old money, but even so, her dad is a high-powered attorney, her mom a renowned actress, and her older brother is also an attorney. Imani herself is a fashion designer, and a brilliant one at that. Sometimes, I look at her and can’t help but wish I had a family like hers. But that’s just how life is.

The cab pulls up to my apartment building, and I pay the driver, thanking him before stepping out. I notice the lights are off inside, and I do a little happy dance in my head at the realization that James, my boyfriend, isn’t home yet. Imani was right—I’m not in the mood for anyone to rain on my parade tonight. If James isn’t sulking over the money he doesn’t have after another failed gambling attempt, he’s probably out drinking. I honestly don’t know how I ended up with a guy like him, but that’s a thought for another time. Imani can’t stand him. She never liked him, not from the moment they met, but I was too smitten to listen back then.

I glance at the time—thirty minutes until Imani gets here. I plug in my phone and let Naika’s smooth beats fill the room as I start getting ready. Thirty minutes later, I’m admiring my reflection in the mirror, feeling more like myself than I have in days. Honestly, I have to thank my mom and Abuela for these genes—curves and all the right plumpness that make it easy to look good in just about anything.

I settled on a short, backless black dress that hugs me in all the right places, paired with gold thigh-high boots. Yes, it’s winter, but who cares? Looking good is non-negotiable. The neckline is a deep cowl that does wonders for me, and it’s easily my favorite part of the dress. I’ve managed to tame my wild ginger hair into a sleek ponytail that cascades down my back. As I turn slightly, admiring my own reflection, I hear the familiar honk of Imani’s car outside. Grabbing my clutch, jacket, and phone, I hurry out the door, ready for whatever the night has in store.

“That’s my girl!” Imani shouts from the car the moment she spots me. I burst into laughter, strutting down the steps like a runway model, then flipping my hair dramatically.

“Yes! Work it! Eh, eh, eh!” she cheers, her voice full of excitement. Imani is my number one fan, always ready to hype me up whenever she gets the chance. “Let’s get out of here!”

As soon as I slide into the passenger seat, I turn to her. “So, what’s this big news you’ve been dying to tell me?” I stop mid sentence when I finally see how good my girl looks.  “Oh my goodness, you look amazing, babe! What’s going on?” She looks different tonight—stunning, as always, but there’s something extra about her. Maybe it’s the new hair color or the way she’s practically glowing. Something’s definitely up, and I can’t wait to hear about it.

“Calm down, calm down. You’ll find out soon enough.” She winks at me, her smile stretching from ear to ear, and drives us to the club.

When we arrive, we’re ushered in with a free pass—probably thanks to Imani’s boyfriend, though it could just be her charm working its magic as usual. We make a beeline for the bar and quickly down several shots of tequila. The anticipation is killing me.

“Imani, I’m going to die of suspense if you don’t spill the tea right now!” I plead, feeling the alcohol warm me from the inside out.

She rolls her eyes playfully and sits down, a mischievous grin on her face. Then, she starts gesturing wildly with her hands, trying to tell me something. It takes me a moment to catch on, but when I do, my eyes widen in disbelief.