Page 10 of You Deserve Good Things

The Push

One thing about me? I didn’t do pity parties.

I didn’t bring chips to them, I didn’t RSVP, and I damn sure didn’t bringing a bottle.

If you were my people, you didn’t get to sit in your sadness like it was a studio apartment and pay rent with regret.

Nah. I was the type of friend that kicked the damn door in, flipped the lights on, and said get up, bitch, we got healing to do .

Shaniya had been playin’ hide-and-seek with her heart for years now—sittin’ in her silence like it was a safety net, when really, it was a straitjacket.

I let her grieve. I let her hide. But now?

Time was up. My best friend was drowning in unspoken trauma and unfinished love, and I was tired of watchin’ her act like she didn’t have the strength to swim when I knew she was a whole damn wave.

When I first got her to talk about her life in New Orleans, prior to coming to Texas, all she did was gush about her boy trio: Silas, Chase, and her secret love Jacory. I felt like I knew him. He was good for her.

So, I pulled up to her apartment like the repo man, banging on the door like I had a warrant and bad news.

“Ayo, open this door before I tell the landlord you are renting this joint out to spirits, ’cause you ghosting life right now, sis!”

A few seconds later, she cracked the door open—barefoot, bonnet crooked, big-ass T-shirt hangin’ off her like it was tryna slide into depression right along with her.

I looked her up and down and sighed dramatically, hand on my hip like I was Auntie Patti at the family reunion.

I raised a brow. “You look like heartbreak put you in a chokehold and Nightmares from the Bottom is playin’ in the background like your life got a sad-ass soundtrack.”

She rolled her eyes and shuffled back inside like an old lady who was mad that the club was too loud. “Good morning to you too, Dani.”

I walked in behind her, sniffing dramatically. “It smells like depression and unseasoned microwave meals in here.”

She flopped on the couch and pulled a throw blanket over her legs. I snatched it off with zero hesitation.

She yelled, “Ain’t nobody asked you to show up with all this energy.”

“Nah. You don’t get to hide under polyester sadness today. I came to drag you into the light, and I brought snacks.”

She groaned. “Daniale?—”

“Don’t you Daniale me like I ain’t been watchin’ you mourn like you got a part-time job in misery,” I snapped, sittin’ crisscross in the chair like I was hosting a hood TED Talk.

I hit her with the truth before she could build any mental barricades.

“We gon’ talk about Jacory today.”

Instant lockup. Her whole soul hit freeze frame like a scene out of a BET drama. The silence in the room got thick enough to chew.

She shook her head, eyes hard. “No, we are not.”

“Yes, the hell we are.”

“No, Dani?—”

“Yes, Yaya .”

She exhaled hard, trying to gather her attitude. But I had been trained in petty warfare and psychological precision.

“You are still in love with that man,” I said matter-of-factly, watching her mouth twitch.

“You still sleep on the left side of the bed like he gon’ slide in behind you.

You still cook red beans and rice on Mondays like you are back in New Orleans, waitin’ on him to pull up.

You are still replaying every Lil Wayne verse like it was your personal diary.

Talking ’bout ‘sleeping at the top, nightmares of the bottom’ like that man ain’t your top and your bottom, your north, south, east and center. ”

That was when I saw it. Her defenses faltered. Her lips parted. Her eyes softened just enough to show the storm behind them.

“I left him,” she whispered. “I walked away like a damn coward. I didn’t even say goodbye to him.”

Her voice cracked, and I sat forward, softer this time. “You ain’t a coward, Shaniya. You were broken. And broken people don’t always know how to love when they are drowning, hun.”

She looked away, eyes glossing over like she was tryna hold back the flood.

“I feel like I don’t deserve him, happiness, or anything good . . . If I reach for that kind of love again, the universe gon’ snatch it right back,” she whispered, “like it always does.”

And there it was—the real reason.

“You think Silas died because of you. You think Jacory is hurt because of you. So now you are punishing yourself like pain is gon’ bring balance to the universe.”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. I watched her eyes gloss over, her mouth part like she was gon’ say something, but then it just trembled, and she dropped her head into her hands.

“If I find Jacory, . . . and he still loves me? That might break me more than losing him ever did.”

I sat up straight, crossing my arms like I was on Judge Mathis.

“Let me tell you what I know. Niggas like Jacory? The real ones? They don’t fold. They don’t ghost you and move on. They wait . They build . They love you from a distance, and if he’s anything like the man I peeped in your throwback stories—you have been sittin’ on a forever kind of love.”

She blinked slowly, trying to process.

“And bitch,” I said, waving my phone like a damn wand, “I already found him.”

She snapped to attention so fast I thought her neck cracked.

“You what !”

I turned the screen toward her.

Jacory. Present day. Beard full. Locs flowing down his back. Skin glowed up. Smile strong. He looked like Black royalty dipped in ambition and dripped in grown-man peace.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God . . .”

“I know, sis,” I said proudly. “ No Ceilings Jacory. Ice Cream Paint Job Jacory. Pull up like, I got her, you don’t Jacory. He still looks like he’d knock over a table if somebody called you out your name in a Target.”

She was shaking now. Not scared—overwhelmed.

I stepped over, kneeled in front of her, and took her hands.

“Stop hiding from love because you think you ain’t worthy.

You’ve been through hell, yeah. But you came out like a ‘I wipe my tears with dollar bills, now I smell like Chanel’ type bad bitch.

You built yourself back up from ashes. You walk like strength and cry like softness, and that balance? That’s beauty.”

She sniffled, and I wiped the tears off her cheeks like a mama.

“Shaniya Stiles, you are not just worthy of love—you deserve it. All of it. Messy, deep, real, loud, protective, shout-it-from-the-rooftop love.”

She looked at me with all the heartbreak she’d been carrying.

And then, she nodded. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t loud. But it was the beginning of her saying, “I’m ready.”

I stood up, winked, and threw her a hoodie.

“Put this on. Let’s go get your man.”

Because “6 Foot 7 Foot” said it best?—

“I speak the truth, but I guess that’s a foreign language to y’all.”

And love? Love is always gon’ sound like home when it’s spoken in your name.

Because some people? Some people were the kind of homes that weren’t made of bricks—they were made of love. And Jacory? He was her address, her roots, her redemption. I was just the GPS tryna get her there.