Page 7 of Certified Pressure
“I get it, pops,” I said after a while. “But I’m not about to marry some woman just to play the part. That ain’t me.”
“That’s why we gave you the option to choose,” my mama said. “But if you don’t, wewill.”
I sat there for a moment longer, lettin’ it all soak in. Then I nodded slow, stood up, and pulled both my parents in for a hug. My mother smelled like jasmine and luxury. My father held me like a man he respected but still had expectations for.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
My father didn’t push. He just nodded.
My mother gave me one more look that was strong, elegant and loving… but firm.
“Don’t take too long.”
I walked out of The Keep feelin’ like the walls had shifted while I was inside. I came for a conversation and left with a damn timeline.
The pressure… was real.
Trill-Land, Jungle Estate
When I made it back to my spot, I was still thinkin’ ‘bout everything that went down at The Keep. My pops was serious, and my mama wasn’t playin’ either. They both made it clear that I had two options—choose a wife or they’d choose one for me. And the whole will situation wasn’t just a threat. It was a line drawn in stone. I knew when my father said somethin’, he meant that shit, but I couldn’t shake the thought of bein’ chained to some woman I ain’t even feel attracted to just because it made sense on paper.
I rolled through the long driveway back to my estate, the windows down with Trillium still lingerin’ on my skin.
The gates slid shut behind me as I pulled up and stepped out, my shoulders still heavy from that little family intervention.
Inside, the house had life in it. I could hear trash talk floatin’ down the hallway before I even made it to the back, and I already knew who it was.
My mini casino room—what most people would probably call a game room, but this shit was too elevated for that—was lit up. Liquor bottles was out, cards slappin’ the table, and Backwoods burnin’ low in the crystal ashtray.
Renza and Kay’Lo was sittin’ at the spades table talkin’ big shit while my best friend Blaqson leaned back with a gold toothy grin, holdin’ his hand like he was waitin’ to make history. There was a pool table on one side, digital slot screens along the wall, and a dark green poker table in the corner that ain’t seen use since last month’s underground invite-only night.
The smell of good weed mixed with cologne and backwood smoke lingered and the room had that comfortable chaos vibe—the kind you only get when it’s all your people under one roof.
“There go his long-face ass now,” Kay’Lo called out, grinnin’. “You just in time to watch me set Renza on fire one more time.”
“Man, you lyin’ to yourself again,” Renza said, throwin’ a card down. “Pressure, come get yo’ ass kicked so we can run through everybody proper.”
Blaqson looked up from his hand, his eyes low from the smoke, but amused as hell. “We just talkin’ ‘bout how yo’ spades crown been lookin’ a little shaky lately.”
I shook my head and smirked as I walked over. “Y’all must be high for real. The day I get sat down in spades is the day one of you niggas get in my tax bracket.”
They all cracked up at that, Renza coughin’ from the smoke, Kay’Lo tryna keep a straight face, and Blaqson raisin’ his glass like he was toastin’ the truth.
I ain’t sit down right away. I just stood near the bar and poured myself a drink, still lettin’ the tension from The Keep melt off me slow. They went back to talkin’ shit, but I guess I was quieter than usual, because after a few hands, Renza looked over.
“You good, nigga?” he asked, squintin’ at me. “You look like you seen a ghost or a prenup.”
I exhaled through my nose and sat down finally, leanin’ back in the chair with my drink in one hand and my chain swingin’ low across my chest. “My parents back on that bullshit again,” I said, my voice flat.
Kay’Lo frowned. “What now? They tryna pick your outfits again?”
“Nah,” I said. “They back on that marriage shit. Told me it’s time to start thinkin’ legacy and bloodlines like I’m a fuckin’ character on some royal drama. Pops dropped a book in my lap thick as hell. Said, ‘Pick one.’ Twenty-somethin’ women. All perfect on paper, but not a damn spark in sight.”
Blaqson squinted. “They really tryin’ to arrange that shit?”
“They been tryin’,” I muttered. “Mama said if I ain’t like they picks, I could choose my own, but I’m like… how the fuck I do that? What the fuck do that even mean?”
Renza raised his eyebrows. “She really said pick your own bitches?”
