Page 18 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Eight

KAMIRA

T he office was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon—just the steady hum of the copier down the hall and the soft tap of my fingers on my phone.

Roman.

Just seeing his name light up my screen brought a smile to my face that I hadn’t felt in… God, I couldn’t even remember. We’d been texting all morning. Nothing over the line—just “How’s your day?” and “Did you eat?”—but it felt different... refreshing.

As I wrapped up my day at work, I made a spontaneous decision to swing by Jayla’s apartment. It was time for a friendly check-in. After all, we hadn’t had a real conversation since that tense day of the meeting.

When I arrived, Jayla opened the door, her phone glued to her ear, pacing back and forth as if she were in the middle of an urgent discussion. But the instant she caught sight of me; her voice dropped into a hasty whisper.

“Yeah… I’ll call you back,” she said, her tone clipped, quickly hanging up and slipping the phone into her pocket.

That was… odd.

“Hey, girl. Everything good?” she asked, voice pitched high, smile stretched too thin.

“Yesssssss. I just wanted to come and peek in on my best friend since we rarely talk these days.”

“ Well, you know… you’re busy with your cases and all these days.”

And what’s your excuse? A phone works both ways , I wanted to say.

Jayla tacked on a little laugh. It wasn’t humor; it was irritation dressed up in sweetness.

I caught the shade. But instead of checking her right there in her own doorway, I let it slide and smiled , even though in my head I was thinking, Imagine being mad at me for having ambition. Some of us juggle caseloads, some of us juggle excuses.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I decided to come over. And… I brought wine.” I produced the bottle, hoping it would lighten the mood.

Damn. A best friend who can’t even fake excitement for complimentary wine?

Something was off… way off. Normally, Jayla would’ve squealed “ yasssssssss, bitch” and grabbed two glasses like we were about to host our own happy hour. That time, her smile barely budged.

“Girl, thank you, but I can’t drink. I still been feeling horrible since that meeting.”

I reared my head back in astonishment. “Really?”

“Yeah. I have an appointment next week. I’m staying away from liquor until then.”

“Understandable. More for me.” I lifted the bottle, watching her closely. “But I still need to talk to you about something.”

Jayla glanced over her shoulder like she was checking if someone else was about to bust out the kitchen. Then she stepped aside.

“Uh, yeah. Come in.”

I walked past her, my eyes cutting to the side.

She’s jumpy as hell and acting like I’m the police with a warrant instead of her friend with a bottle of merlot. What the fuck is wrong with her today?

Once inside, Jayla grabbed me a wine glass. I poured my own glass while she sat stiff on the couch, engrossed in her phone, thumbs flicking across the screen like I wasn’t even there.

I took a sip and side-eyed her. It felt like I’d shown up to a slumber party where the host forgot to cancel. Every few seconds, Jayla’s face lit with whatever she was scrolling, but not once for me.

So, I brought wine and my presence, and you brought… Instagram? Cool. Love that for us.

“So what’s up?” she asked flatly, eyes flicking from me to the screen.

Jayla’s nonchalant attitude made me want to stand up, drain my glass, and leave. But instead, I said it, “I think Angelo might be cheating on me.”

Her brows popped up, then smoothed in a blink. “Really, Kam? We’re talking about Angelo. The nigga who be wining and dining you.”

“Correction… used to. ”

“Oh? What changed?”

“The hell if I know,” I shrugged, sipping wine. “He’s been coming home later, with more excuses than a freshman trying to explain missing homework. One night it’s traffic, the next it’s a coworker’s birthday… hell, next week he’ll say he was abducted by aliens and had to fight for his life.”

She chuckled politely, but her eyes didn’t match. “Girl, you’re probably overthinking. It could be nothing or… it could be you’re just stressed. You know how wedding blues creep closer to the date.”

I shook my head. “No, this feels different. He’s been moving funny. I don’t even feel like I know what he’s doing half the time anymore… or hell, if I even know him.”

Jayla finally turned and gaveher undivided attention. “So what are you going to do? Marry a man you don’t trust? Let all this money you spent on this wedding go to waste? Keep walking down the aisle just to say you didn’t trip?”

Her tone was sharp enough to make me blink.

“If I find out he’s cheating—whether before or after the wedding—losing money will be the least of my worries… or his.”

Her mouth twitched, like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

I went over there with the intention to tell her about Roman as well, but my gut pulled the brake hard. I realized then that wasn’t news I was ready to hand over to everyone to pick apart and have their opinions on.

So instead I asked softly, “Enough about me. How has life been treating you… other than the sickness?”

Jayla hesitated, then gave me the same dismissive shrug she had offered for months.

“Life has just been lifing… bills, work, stress, rinse and repeat,” she muttered, her voice flat. “Some days I feel like I’m treading water, and other days I’m already under it.”

I studied her carefully, the way her shoulders sagged even as she tried to sound casual. It was the kind of answer that told you nothing and everything at the same time.

We talked—or rather, I talked—while Jayla offered nothing more than the occasional “yeah” and “no.” It felt like I was pouring out my thoughts and feelings, piece by piece, only to be met with a gentle pat on the back. After about twenty minutes, I stood up and walked out feeling strangely hollow.

Driving home, I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe I should’ve gone to Danica. Or maybe, in my search for genuine understanding, I should have just reached out to God. At least with him, I’d feel certain that someone was truly listening.

I had just kicked off my shoes and curled up on the couch when my phone lit up with a FaceTime call from Danica .

I smiled before I even answered. “Hey, sis.”

“You good?” she asked right away. There was no hello, no niceties—just the raw concern of someone who knew me too well.

I laughed a little. “Yeah… just a little tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Danica replied, like she wasn’t buying it. “I was just calling to check on you. Something in my spirit told me I needed to hear your voice today.”

That hit me harder than I expected. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just left from Jayla’s house,” I hesitated. “I told her about the suspicions about Angelo and she pretty much just brushed it off instead of giving me any real friendly advice.”

Danica rolled her eyes. “Well, what did she say?”

“That maybe it was wedding blues.”

Danica sighed. “And how’d that make you feel?”

“Like I should’ve just kept the shit to myself,” I admitted.

“Well, let me say this,” Danica began, her voice steady but warm, like she’d been waiting for me to bring this up.

“If you feel like Jayla’s moving funny—and honestly, from what I’ve seen, she is—then you need to pull back.

We don’t beg for friendships, sis. The same way God removes people for our protection, we have to be willing to close the door ourselves sometimes. ”

I stayed quiet, letting her words fall heavy.

“Now, maybe she is going through something. People have battles we don’t see or that they choose not to share…

even with the ones they love the most . And if that’s the case, pray for her, check in when you can, and keep being who you are.

That’s grace.” She raised a brow. “But don’t confuse grace with being somebody’s fool and ignoring red flags.

Grace is a hug and a prayer. Fool is you showing up with wine, and she acting like you work for FedEx. Big difference.”

I smirked despite myself, but she wasn’t done.

“If Jayla is truly your friend, she’ll circle back. But if she doesn’t?” Danica shrugged. “Then she just saved you a birthday gift and a Christmas card. Honestly, that’s not a loss, that’s a blessing.”

We shared a sisterly laugh.

“Seriously, Kam, you got too much on your plate right now—your cases, this wedding, your peace of mind—to keep making space for folks who don’t make space for you.

Stop overextending yourself to people who wouldn’t stretch a finger for you.

Friendship isn’t supposed to be you bleeding while they sip.

At the end of the day, real friends don’t have you guessing; they show up, period.

If she can’t do that, don’t carry her weight and yours, too.

You deserve people who add, not subtract. ”

“Damn,” I whispered, smiling through the lump in my throat. “You really be knowing exactly what to say.”

“That’s why God made me your sister,” she said with a chuckle. “Now, go make yourself a cup of tea, read a chapter of that book I got you, and rest your mind. The rest will handle itself.”

“Thanks, Danica.”

“You know I got you, always. Now go relax before I come over there and make you.”

“Okay. Okay.”

We hung up, and I sat there in the dim light, her words looping in my head. We don’t beg for friendships.

It was simple, but it felt like a weight off my chest.