But I was terrified that if I didn’t find a way to move us both forward, she’d just stay exactly where she was—half-in, and always keeping one eye on the nearest exit. By Valentine’s Day, I’d either be proposing or we’d be breaking up. But the way things were now, she had me genuinely afraid to experience what it felt like to go back to sleeping alone—or even worse, sleeping next to some random body and pretending it felt the same way it did when it was her.
My phone started buzzing in my pocket. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Sky. I thumbed it silent without a second thought; if I answered, she might tell me she wasn’t coming, and I wasn’t about to give her a single inch of room to change her mind about tonight.
“Look at this nigga right here,” a voice drawled, materializing at my side. “Down in the trenches.”
Brent. He smelled like imported weed and Creed. He leaned his elbows right on the glass, his Tom Ford suit jacket pulling tight across his wide shoulders and his jewelry glinting under the recessed lights. He flashed a grin at the sales associate—a pretty blonde who gave him one of those tight, professional smiles that didn't quite reach her eyes. If she had any sense at all, she would have clocked the ten grand he was carrying on his person between the watch, the chain, and the cut of that suit and tried to sell him the whole store.
Brent was a very successful defense attorney, but you’d never have guessed it. He didn’t feel the need to be anybody but himself unless he was in front of a judge. I wished I hadn’t told him where I was when he called. He was my oldest friend, but he was also the epitome of every bad habit and toxic thought I was trying so hard to outgrow.
“So,” he said, dragging the word out like a heavy weight. “This where niggas come when they finally decide to ruin their lives for good?”
“Relax, man,” I told him, keeping my voice low. “You’re being loud.”
There were other people browsing, and I knew without looking that they were tuned into our conversation. Brent just grinned, entirely unbothered. “I’m just asking a question, Z. You sure you’re actually ready for all this?”
“Yes.” The fact that I didn’t even have to hesitate told me everything I needed to know.
He just shook his head, looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “Four years of hitting it with no strings and no stress… and now you want to wake up to that same face every morning? You’re a chef, Z. You know better than anyone that once you overcook themeat, it starts getting tough. You’re out here ruining the flavor of a good thing.”
I didn’t bother giving him an answer. When he realized I wouldn't bite, he turned his attention back to the lady behind the counter. “Yo, ma. Help me out here. Talk some sense into my man before he makes a mistake.”
Her eyes flicked over to me, looking uncertain. “I… well, I happen to think love is a beautiful thing.”
“Love is a beautiful thing,” Brent mocked her. “I shouldn’t even have asked. I know they train y’all to say that in orientation, right? That’s some corporate pamphlet shit.” He gave her a quick wink. “No disrespect, beautiful. You go ahead and get your bag.”
I turned my attention back to the case, looking at a platinum band with a simple solitaire diamond. Sky always said she hated flashy things, but I wondered what woman didn't secretly want a big, shiny ring.
“This one,” I said, pointing to it.
Brent squinted at the ring. “That’s it? That’s the big move?”
“Why are you even here, B?” I replied simply.
He chuckled and pulled a vape from his pocket, taking a long pull before exhaling a cloud of sweet smoke. “I’m here because I’m your intervention, man. I see people every day who end up hating the sight of each other and getting divorced. Then you’re paying alimony while she finds herself a nigga who writes poetry. Or she decides she wants to be ‘free’ again. There’s a good chance she will. She didn’t even say she loved you back, Z. What do you call that where you’re from?”
“A red flag,” he answered himself when I stayed quiet.
“It’s not like that with her.”
“It’s always like that,” he said, sounding like he was reciting scripture.
I looked at my boy. My brother. Women thought he was handsome and charming, looking like Trevante Rhodes, but they eventually found out he was as empty as the promises he made. He’d been in love; but he was too scared to face it so he collected backshots, blow jobs, and moments, not memories. The nigga acted like depth was a weakness. We’d known each other since we were three—our mothers were still best friends—so I knew he had examples of good love in his life. He just chose to ignore them. He was the last person I would take advice from.
“Respectfully, stop. And keep your toxicity to yourself when you meet her tonight.”
He blinked, looking surprised. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Whatever bad taste you’ve got in your mouth from your own experiences? Leave it in the car. Sky doesn't deserve to be measured against the women you’ve dealt with.”
He stared at me for a long second, longer than usual, before he let out a softer laugh. “Damn. You’re actually serious about her.”
“I am,” I nodded.
I took the ring from the velvet tray. Brent watched me, his voice much quieter now. “You’re going through with this, for real? You got access to so many hoes.”
“I’m done. It’s her.” I said.
The sales associate held her breath.
