Page 41 of You Deserve Good Things

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me as if I was the most precious thing in the world.

“You had a lot of moments that didn’t last forever,” he murmured. “Now you’re in the corner tryna put it together. Let me help you. Let me love you, baby.”

I buried my face in his chest, the dam breaking as sobs wracked my body.

Shaniya smiled through her own tears. “See? I told you, sis. You deserve this shit.”

Just then, Jacory strolled into the kitchen, his arms wrapping around Shaniya from behind. “Did this nigga really just quote Tunechi?”

Shaniya giggled, leaning into his embrace. “It’s funny they both love him so much. She does the same shit when she’s preachin’ to me.”

Jacory smiled, looking between Chase and me. “We all love Wayne, but these crazy fools were definitely made for each other.”

Shaniya nodded enthusiastically. “For sheezy!”

Everyone burst into laughter, the room filled with warmth and joy.

The four of us stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, a circle of love and healing. At that moment, the past didn’t matter. Only the present and the promise of a future filled withlove, laughter, and the kind of peace that came from knowing you were finally home.

The backyard was cloakedin the soft hues of twilight, the air thick with the scent of burning sage and the earthy aroma of rolled herbs. Jacory and I sat on worn-out lawn chairs, the kind that creaked with every shift, a testament to their age and the countless conversations they had witnessed. The sky above was a canvas of purples and oranges, stars beginning to prick through the fading light.

I took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl around my thoughts before exhaling. “Man, it’s wild, ain’t it? All the shit we’ve been through, and here we are.”

Jacory chuckled, the sound deep and familiar. “Life’s a trip, bro. But it’s good to be on this side of it.”

I nodded, the weight of memories pressing against my chest. “Sometimes I feel guilty, you know? Like, why the fuck am I’m still here, breathing, living, while Silas . . . he’s not.”

Jacory’s eyes softened, the ember of his joint glowing in the dim light. “Silas wouldn’t want you carrying that weight. He’d want you to live, to thrive.”

I looked up at the stars, searching for solace. “Daniale . . . she’s different. She makes me want to be better, to do better. She’s like a lighthouse, guiding me through the fog.”

Jacory grinned, taking another puff. “Sounds like love, my nigga.”

I laughed, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, maybe it is. But it’s scary, bro. Being vulnerable, letting someone in, is not some shit I’m used to, but I want to for her.”

Jacory leaned back, his gaze fixed on the sky. “Being a Black man, we’re taught to be strong, to hide our emotions. But vulnerability? That’s strength too.”

I sighed, the truth of his words settling over me. “Daniale . . . she makes it safe to feel, to let go. I want to give her that same safety, that same peace.”

Jacory nodded, his expression serious. “Then do it. Don’t let fear keep you from your blessing.”

I looked at him, gratitude swelling in my chest. “I’m proud of you, man. For going after what you wanted, for building a life with Shaniya.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Thanks, bro. And I’m proud of you too. For opening up, for choosing love.”

We sat in comfortable silence, the night wrapping around us like a familiar blanket. Two men, navigating the complexities of life, love, and loss, finding solace in shared experiences and the unspoken bond of brotherhood.

I swearon sweet tea and satin bonnets, I never felt stress like this in my damn life.

I had spent months planning this wedding like it was the damn Met Gala. Every detail had been carefully mapped out with military precision—color palettes, floral arrangements, playlist order, who gon’ sit next to who so nobody ends up throwin’ hands at the reception. I wanted a flawless fairytale, okay? Classy, candlelit, couture. And instead? I was knee-deep in a shitstorm of pure chaos, sequins, and sacrilege.

I was at the bridal boutique, standing on that little white platform like a stressed-out mannequin, the tailor tugging at my dress while muttering under her breath like she was praying tothe fashion gods for mercy. My stomach felt like it was doing backflips, somersaults, and slow rolls all at once.

Meanwhile, Daniale was posted up on the couch like a hood princess with a grudge, scrolling her phone and looking like she was about to throw hands through the screen.

“You look stunning, Yaya.” Mama sniffled from the corner, her hand clutching her chest like the Spirit had touched her.

I gave her a tired smile. “Thanks, Mama. Just tryna keep it together before I turn into a damn soap opera meltdown.”

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