Page 7 of Before I Say I Don’t

Danica laughed, loud enough to make an old man two rows over glance up and smile at us.

“See? That’s who you should be marrying—somebody who sees you, respects you, knows when you need to be fed and when you need to be left alone.”

“Danica,” I warned, gentle but firm.

“What?! I always liked Roman! He had a husband posture back then! Not just the looks—he listened . He made decisions like a man who reads fine print.” She looked at me sideways. “Does he know you’re getting married?”

“Yep.”

“Now, see, why would you go and tell him that?”

I laughed. “What? Why wouldn’t I?”

Danica scoffed. “Because sometimes a man needs mystery , Kam. You don’t walk into a dealership talking about how you already got a car; you let them work to sell you the damn thing.”

“Well, if you must know,” I said, bracing for impact, “he’s actually here because he’s part of the wedding.”

Danica’s eyes narrowed. “Wait… your wedding?”

“Yes. Coincidentally, he and Angelo are childhood friends or something.”

Danica’s mouth fell agape. “Sissssssssss! Get the fuck outta here!”

“That was my reaction too!” I giggled.

“ I’m the wedding planner! How the hell did I miss that?!” Danica exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and frustration.

“Exactly!” I nodded, the weight of the realization settling in.

Danica threw her hands up in exasperation. “Now that you mention it—there is a groomsman named Roman Hill, from out of town. I just never connected that Hill was his last name or that he was even friends with Angelo.”

“Right!”

Danica smacked her forehead. “Well, damn! What did he have to say about all this?”

“He congratulated me,” I responded, recalling the flicker in Roman’s eyes before his smile. “And said Angelo was a lucky man.”

“Mm-hmm.”

That single sound conveyed skepticism, indicating that Danica believed the first part of my story but was reserving judgment on the second one.

“He is a lucky man to have you. The jury’s still out on whether you’re a lucky woman to have him ,” Danica voiced blatantly, raising an eyebrow at me.

I shot her a side-eye, but she remained unfazed, her fingers tapping her temple as if she were tallying points in the game of my love life.

“Don’t look at me like that, sis. I’m just saying—if I was holding up scorecards, he’s still in the preliminary rounds. Decent presentation, fair effort, but the man’s missing bonus points for execution.”

I tried not to laugh, but it bubbled out anyway. “You are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, but not wrong,” she quipped with a smirk. “Anywho, how did you and Roman even connect? He just… magically appeared?”

“We actually bumped into each other at a lunch spot near the courthouse,” I explained, the memory vivid in my mind.

Danica shook her head, a grin breaking across her face.

“Would you look at God! If this isn’t a sign with LED lights, arrows, and a marching band!”

I snorted, playfully rolling my eyes. “It's not a sign; it’s just a coincidence in a small city.”

“Uh-uh,” she insisted, wagging a finger with the authoritative tone Mama used whenever she caught us twisting words. “God speaks in timing. You seeing Roman now? On Mama’s birthday week? After the way Angelo’s been dragging his feet? Please! Come on!”

We got to our cars and I leaned against Danica’s door, not ready to go our separate ways yet. The soft rustle of the crepe myrtles near the fence broke the silence. A crow lifted off the branch above us, cawing loudly as if scolding us for our musings before settling down again.

“Danica.”

“Yes, baby sis?”

She looked at me with the full force of big-sister attention that said, I can handle whatever you’re about to put on this table.

“Angelo’s been… moving funny.”

Her jaw tightened. “Define funny .”

“Coming home late,” I clarified. “A lot. Phone dying all the time. Saying he’s ‘working extra’ for the wedding, but I’m paying for almost everything. So… extra for what? He forgot about my verdict. The nigga came home at ten like it was a regular Tuesday and not my celebration.”

Danica’s nostrils flared. The “protector” in her rose like a tide.

“How long has this been going on?”

I hesitated. “About three months now.”

Her hand went straight to her hip. “And why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Because I don’t have proof of him actually… cheating. Just… suspicion… vibes… and patterns I don’t like,” I explained, the words tasting thin as paper.

“You feel this way, and you still want to marry him?”

Danica didn’t say it with judgment; she said it like she needed to know which gear to put her body in—attack dog or chauffeur.

“I don’t know,” I confessed, the honesty spilling out before I could stuff it back down. “I’ve planned so much. I’ve paid for so much. People are excited. And I?—”

My voice trailed because I didn’t want to say I want it to be fine out loud. It sounded childish, like trying to will a storm away with nothing but a wish.

Danica blew out a breath, then surprised me by laughing—a quick, sharp one that snipped the tension.

“Sis, when have you ever cared about sunk costs? If you want to call it off, I’ll be ecstatic.

Hell, I’ll print ‘postponed’ cards in gold foil, hire a choir to hand-deliver them, and personally hand Angelo a commemorative ‘thanks for playing’ mug.

I’ll call every vendor, cancel every chair, and eat that deposit for breakfast with a side of mimosas.

Matter of fact—” she tapped her phone, “—I’ll even change my Instagram bio to freelance wedding un-planner . Rates start at free for my sister!”

I laughed with her because the image of Danica joyfully canceling a wedding was very Danica.

“You’re silly.”

“Uh-huh. Silly and ready. Just say the word, sis.”

Danica turned, leaned her back against the car, and faced me fully.

“Listen to me—and hear me with your whole chest. You don’t marry potential.

You don’t marry a man who keeps choosing mystery over clarity, and you damn sure don’t marry peace you have to beg for.

Consistency is respect—not flowers, not captions, not what he says when y’all are good.

If you have to negotiate your worth in the engagement, you’ll be doing calculus in the marriage. ”

I swallowed, the words clicking into places inside me that had been empty shelves for weeks.

“I just don’t want to be paranoid.”

“Then don’t be,” Danica replied simply. “Be observant. There’s a difference. Pray, pay attention to data, and trust what you see over what you’re told. Remember, Mama always said, ‘People will tell you they’re reliable, then show you they’re late’.”

I smiled despite the sting. “She did say that.”

“And don’t let fear of embarrassment keep you in something you gotta explain to yourself every night,” Danica added, softer now.

“You are not a failure if you change your mind. You are a woman who loves herself more than an idea. Let God show you what’s meant to be seen.

You don’t have to go looking under beds.

Just stop excusing what’s in plain sight. ”

A small lump settled in my throat. “I hear you; I really do.”

Danica nodded, satisfied, then reached and smoothed a curl that had escaped my bun like she used to before school.

“And Roman? That man has always been a door marked ‘safety.’ It doesn’t mean you need to walk through it. But it’s nice to know a fire exit exists,” she winked.

I tried to glare at her and failed. “You’re a mess.”

“I’m a prophet,” she declared, lifting her chin.

We stood there a minute more, letting the sky dim a shade, letting Mama’s birthday settle around our shoulders like a shawl.

“Okay,” Danica said, eventually clapping her hands softly once, bringing the moment to a close the way she did meetings.

“Logistics. Make sure your girls are on time , Saturday, for the meeting. On time , Kam,” she stressed.

“I need everyone present so we can finalize the list, seating, and the day-of schedule. Jayla, Kendall, and even that Zaria chick you swore you needed as a ‘maybe’, need to be on time.”

“I’ll text everyone tonight. What time again?”

“Ten a.m.! We’re running it like a drill! If they’re late, they’ll be volunteering for tasks they don’t want! That includes you!”

“Petty but noted.” I chuckled.

“I prefer the word effective .” She smiled, then her voice softened. “But seriously, the only thing I want you to do on your wedding day is look pretty and be happy. Let me sweat the details.”

We hugged—one of those long ones where my shoulders dropped, the world hushed, and my spine felt a little sturdier because the person holding me had been propping me up since I was eight. I inhaled the faint scent of her vanilla lotion, the one she’d worn since high school.

Danica kissed my temple. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” I replied sincerely.

“Not possible,” she said, letting me go.

Danica opened her car door, then looked over the roof at me. “Text me when you get home. And Kam?”

“Yeah?”

“ Don’t marry an apology; marry a pattern you can live with.”

I tucked the sentence into the pocket of my heart like a folded note you keep for years, edges worn soft from rereading.

“Got it.”

She slid into her car.

Before getting into mine, I tilted my face toward the sky. It was that golden hour where the sunlight melted into the horizon, painting everything with a kind of fragile beauty. I let a short prayer rise. It wasn’t polished or theologically impressive… just honest.

God, if there’s something I need to see, don’t let me miss it. And if there’s something I’m holding onto that you’ve already let go of, give me the courage to set it down.

The wind picked up, sweeping through the oak leaves until they sounded like soft applause. A warm breeze brushed my cheek, and for half a second, I felt… lighter—like maybe he’d heard me.

I hopped in my car and headed home, already composing the group text in my head:

Ladies, don’t forget the meeting on Saturday. 10 a.m.! Don’t be late…. per Danica’s orders! Lol.