Seven Days in June

After a winter break during her sophomore year of college, when she had nowhere to go, Eva wrote the first draft of Cursed, the love story between the “bronzed-eyed vampire, Sebastian—and his true love, the badass unwicked witch, Gia” (5). Her roommate submitted the manuscript to a contest without her knowledge. After winning the contest and finding a literary agent, Eva dropped out of college and began her Cursed career. Even though she wrote about sex, Eva’s own love life was lacking; busy being a single mother to a tween and managing her life-long chronic migraines left little time for romance.

Now 15 years later, it’s 2019, and Eva is at an S&M-themed restaurant in Manhattan, celebrating her series’ 15th anniversary. After all these years writing erotica, she is used to the raunchy gigs—signings at sex shops, burlesque clubs, and tantric workshops. Meeting her at the restaurant are 40 upper-middle-class white women from a book club who have traveled all the way from Ohio to celebrate this anniversary.

The women are excited about the next release, but Eva has yet to write book 15. She loved Cursed for a long time, but she has grown up, while her characters haven’t. Royalties from Cursed have provided a stable, secure life for Eva’s daughter, Audre. Eva announces that the film rights have been bought and that she is meeting with directors. The fans record Eva’s speech, posting it to social media pages dedicated to Cursed. Even though she can feel a migraine coming on, she holds off with her long-practiced monologue about teen girl passion, saying teen girls can change the world.

She quickly excuses herself, explaining she needs to call her daughter. She makes it to the bathroom, vomits from pain, then uses her injectable medicine and medical-marijuana gummy bears to help dull it. Since she was little, Eva has had these migraines, stumping many doctors and specialists. Her migraines are debilitating and an invisible disability. She envies “normal” women. She’s hid her migraines from almost everyone, which makes it hard for others to imagine her pain. After checking a text from her babysitter angrily explaining that her daughter brought a large group of friends over from school, Eva leaves the event.

Eva rushes home to her 12-year-old daughter, Audre, who has been running a business at school by providing counseling services to her peers. Her mother has asked her to stop, but she hasn’t, and they argue. Audre’s friends are there, and Eva kindly asks them to leave. She then takes away Audre’s devices, to Audre’s dismay.

Feeling at her wits’ end after talking to Audre and shooing away the other children, Eva wishes she could call someone for advice. She can’t call her mother, because her mother isn’t the kind of person who gives support or advice. She also can’t call her ex-husband (and Audre’s father), Troy, who is not good with complex emotions—one of the reasons that their marriage failed. He was relentlessly cheerful, which Eva loved about him at first because she had been in a dark place when they met. After a six-month whirlwind romance, they got married. He struggled with Eva’s migraines and admitted he “wanted a wife […] Not a patient” (18). Audre was 19 months old when they divorced. Her father lives in California, and Audre flies out every summer to visit.

Eva rests her head while Audre pouts, and Cece, Eva’s editor, arrives. Cece is well-known and well-connected, with the unofficial title of “Social Queen of Black Literati” (20). After 15 years of working together, Cece is one of the only people who knows how much pain Eva experiences.

Cece announces that she’s secured a place for Eva on the “State of the Black Author panel” after another author dropped out; this is a highly prestigious panel, and Eva doesn’t feel qualified, but Cece insists it will be great PR before the 2019 Literary Excellence Awards (Cece is convinced Eva will win). Eva resists the idea, but Cece—who knows how to push Eva’s buttons—suggests Eva explain to Audre that she’s too scared to do the panel. Eva, of course, does not want to set a poor example for Audre, and she wants to show she can be strong and fearless—so she finally agrees to attend the panel.

Eva wants very badly for her daughter to see her as bold and independent. She calls this the “Single-Mom Superhero Myth” (23). However, while Eva likes to be alone because it makes her look independent, she also likes it because it means no one can get close to her. She’s afraid of being seen as a failure or disappointment.

The narrative jumps back in time to 2004, when a 17-year-old Genevieve (Eva’s name growing up) is woken by her drunken mother, Lizette, who is back from working as a hostess at a cocktail lounge. Throughout Genevieve’s childhood, she and her mother have moved around a lot. When Lizzette was younger, the men she partnered with were wealthier, but the men eventually got meaner and the apartments shabbier. Though it’s 6:05am, Lizette’s job has made her nocturnal, and she now asks Genevieve to tell her a bedtime story. This reminds Genevieve of how Lizette used to tell her stories of the women in her family from Belle Fleur, a tiny bayou town. These women had a twisted history full of murder, “madness,” and rage, and although Genevieve wanted to be normal, she felt akin to these women and their dark and dangerous stories.

Lizette asks Genevieve to make her some tea to help her sleep, but when Genevieve goes to the kitchen, she finds her mother’s newest boyfriend there. She’s told her mother she doesn’t want her boyfriends to visit, but Lizette doesn’t tend to listen, especially when drinking. The man is flirty with Genevieve, asking how much she is like her mother. She makes a joke about his toupee, and he lunges at her. She dodges him, but he grabs her ankle and trips her. Genevieve’s head hits the floor and explodes in pain. She escapes to the bathroom, locking herself there and chewing a Percocet dry, hoping for relief. She hears her mother get up and tend to her boyfriend. Genevieve will wait it out in the bathroom before her first day at a new school.