Page 8 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Four

KAMIRA

D anica ran meetings like church and court had a baby—there was an agenda meticulously laid out, scripture sourced from her favorite affirmations, and a strict policy: if someone was late, expect some consequences.

Her ‘work’ room looked like a Pinterest board curated with care: a single expanse of an espresso-toned wood table commanded the room, elegant without trying.

Three short vases overflow with pristine white hydrangeas.

Each seat was graced with a stack of neatly labeled folders, all color-coded and organized to perfection.

In the center of the table was a charcuterie board large enough to satisfy a basketball team. It was laden with an assortment of cheeses, cured meats, fresh fruits, and crackers. A frosty pitcher of lemon and cucumber water also sat nearby.

Open on the table was her wedding binder.

Its tabs were carefully organized, one of which boldly read “Operation: Keep Kam From Losing Her Damn Mind.” Danica had three highlighters lined up like little soldiers, ready for action, and her favorite pen she clicked with a purposeful precision each time someone said something foolish.

"I’m five minutes early ,” I announced, stepping into the fragrant space with a bottle of crisp Sauvignon Blanc resting in one hand and a colorful box of macarons in the other.

“You’re on time, sis!” she exclaimed, taking the wine with a welcoming smile while casting a playful side-eye at my shoes. “You obviously walk fast in those shoes, so wear them for the rehearsal. We need to make sure you get to the altar before Angelo changes his mind!”

Or me, I thought.

Nearby, my niece and nephew's crayons were stacked neatly in a cheerful tin on the buffet, and a family photo peeked out from a corner—Larenz with his arm affectionately wrapped around her waist, the kids grinning widely, and Danica's smile radiating pride, as if to say, I built this on purpose.

Lena was already there, sitting straight-backed at the end of the table with her leather notebook closed and her face on “court gallery.” Lena was the quiet one among us.

We met at the firm during a particularly grueling case.

She’s surgical with her words—always dissecting arguments with precision and allergic to any form of nonsense.

Danica appreciated her presence in meetings because she showed up consistently, listened intently, and asked questions that cut straight to the core of the matter.

“Hey, Kam,” she greeted with a small, genuine smile. “Congrats again on the verdict."

“Thank you, girl,” I expressed. “You’re a saint for being punctual today.”

“I’m terrified of your sister,” she admitted, her tone half-joking, half-serious.

"Good,” Danica interjected, placing a neatly labeled folder in front of her. “Fear keeps the schedule tight and the wine cold, right?”

Serena, the life of any gathering, floated in like a hurricane in heels, her laughter was heard before she even cleared the doorway.

“Who brought cheese?! If y’all put brie out, I’m marrying the brie and making it my emergency contact! You have to be prepared for the big moments, you know!”

Serena was my college roommate, turned friend.

She was loud, fiercely loyal, and carried a humor so reckless it could reduce a quiet room into chaos within seconds.

Out of all my bridesmaids, Danica loved her the most—mainly because of her bluntness.

She appreciated somebody who said the stuff everybody else was too scared to say and didn’t care if it ruffled feathers.

That was exactly Danica’s love language.

“Sit down and hush,” Danica said, though she couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto her face. “I need you sober for at least twenty-five minutes."

“Hey... once the meeting gets going, I can’t promise anything," Serena muttered, dropping into a chair. "But hate crimes," Serena added as she poured sparkling water into a wine glass, treating it like it was fine champagne. “Your honor, she stifles my joy, and it’s a crime against happiness.”

The four of us in attendance shared a laugh.

Jayla slipped in next. Jayla had been my closest friend since high school—workout classes, brunches, the kind of friendship built with matching calendars and intentional dinners.

Yet, lately, she’d felt distant—a bit floaty, always “seeing someone new” whose name she never revealed.

As Jayla hugged me, it lingered a moment longer than usual, as if she was holding on to words she couldn’t quite bring herself to say.

“You look pretty,” she complimented, eyes shiny.

"You too,” I responded, managing a smile. “How’s everything?”

She shrugged too casually for my liking. “Busy, girl.“

Five minutes later, the door swung open without so much as a knock.

Kendall breezed in with sunglasses perched on her head like a tiara she earned for surviving brunch with friends.

Kendall was Viangelo’s younger sister—twenty-six, petite, and cute.

She approached me with her arms opened wide for a hug, just like an actress posing for the cameras, fully aware of the angles that made her look best.

“Hey, sis!” The word sis floated just above condescension, like helium with a side-eye. “Traffic had me in a chokehold.”

“You live two minutes away,” Danica chimed in without looking up from her binder.

Kendall’s smile remained unyielding. “And yet… here I am. Miracles happen,” she replied, tilting her head slightly with a playful glint in her eye.

Kendall gracefully took a seat across from me.

Her gaze swept around the room like a home appraiser.

Lena gave her a tight nod. Serena’s eyes followed her with quiet curiosity, like someone watching a puzzle piece slide into place, not sure yet if it fits.

Jayla, meanwhile, busied herself with her cuticles, picking at the edges like they’d suddenly become fascinating.

Zaria was the last to arrive, making her entrance like she was strutting down a runway.

She stood tall, with a perfect bun sat atop her head, wearing a little black dress that was far more appropriate for a night out than a casual afternoon meeting.

Zaria wasn't really a friend of mine—more of Viangelo’s plus-one to life.

He once described her as "a friend who doesn't have many friends, but knows how to have a good time,” and somehow that landed her a spot as a bridesmaid.

I begrudgingly said yes to keep the peace, and Danica had never let me forget it.

“Hey, bride-to-be!” Zaria sang out, her voice bright and animated. “You’re positively glowing.”

“Thank you.”

I shifted my chair in, already overwhelmed by the wave of her expensive-scented perfume, which arrived before she did. It had that potent mix of sophistication and desperation, somehow both alluring and off-putting.

“Okay! It looks like we’re all here… maybe not on time, but present, nonetheless! Let’s get this over with before the cheese starts to sweat! Open your folders, please!” Danica ordered, snapping her finger for emphasis.

One by one, everyone obliged.

“Now, before we dive into the wedding shenanigans, let’s go over a few ground rules,” she began, her tone serious.

“One: respect my time. Two: don’t complain about the food; this is a meeting, not Top Chef: Bridesmaid Edition.

Three: if you have a suggestion, make sure it’s an actual improvement, not just a desperate ploy to hear your own voice.

Four: if you need to go to the bathroom, do it now, because once we start, we’re not stopping until we’re done.

My family and I are having family night tonight, and my husband made it abundantly clear that this meeting needs to flow effortlessly and I need to be done on time so I don’t still have an attitude attached later. ”

"Five: be nice,” I included, grinning in a light-hearted attempt to ease the tension.

Danica shot me a look as if I’d suggested she recite the alphabet backward in Swahili.

“I’ll try, sis,” she replied dryly.

“Before we get started, is it too late to add anyone to the guest list?” Kendall asked.

“The RSVP window is closed,” Danica replied with a half-smile, perhaps trying to soften the blow.

Kendall's mouth quirked slightly, mirroring the look of someone who had just stubbed their toe.

“It’s your wedding,” Kendall added, shooting a sidelong glance at me that seemed to inquire, is it really though ?

“It is my sister’s wedding,” Danica asserted, her voice crisp with authority. “I’m just making sure she gets what she paid for and that the people attending genuinely love her… and that she actually knows them.”

Zaria flipped her hair over her shoulder, her demeanor casual yet somehow deflective.

“Speaking of paid for… did you decide between the crystal chargers and the gold-rimmed ones? The crystal looked… more luxe.”

“We’re going with the gold rim. The crystal ones photograph looked weird in warm lighting,” Danica answered smoothly.

“Okay. I could talk to my vendor,” Zaria offered, like she had one on retainer. “Maybe?—”

“We have a vendor,” Danica cut in, voice still calm but clipped just enough to shut the door on the conversation. “A good one. Thanks, though.”

Serena leaned toward me and stage-whispered, “Pinterest Patty tried it.”

I bit my lip to stifle a laugh, taking a sip of water as the room buzzed with varying levels of energy.

Zaria was... inconsistent. One moment, she was all bright smiles and compliments, beaming like she had known me since preschool; the next, I’d catch her side-eyeing me with her nose tilted just enough to convey a silent judgment—bless her heart.

I truly had no idea what that was about.

Honestly, I chalked it up to her being part-time bipolar, full-time unpredictable.

I was starting to wonder what sort of drama lay ahead in that already chaotic wedding planning journey.

“Now, down to business!” Danica said. “Quick status checks! Let’s start with the bachelorette itinerary!”