2. Pressure Mensah #2
He then gave me a long look before sighin’.
“I don’t know what happened between you and that girl,” he said, “but that ship has sailed, son. It’s time to let it go.”
My mama set her cup down gently. “We’ve let you walk your own path long enough,” she said, her voice smooth but serious. “You’re twenty-six now. It’s time to think about the future, about building something real. Son, you need a family, a legacy.”
I rubbed the side of my neck and exhaled slow. Here we go.
They had been pushin’ this marriage thing for the past year, tryna arrange somethin’ clean and respectable. I kept pushin’ back, tryna delay it, tryna make them understand that I wasn’t wired like that. I wasn’t just gon’ pick some borin’-ass girl out of a lineup and call it destiny.
My pops reached down and picked up a thick leather-bound book off the table beside him. He dropped it in my lap, and it landed with weight.
“What’s this?” I asked, already annoyed.
“A starting point,” he said. “Profiles of the women we’ve found. There’s over twenty of them. All qualified. They all come from strong families. Any of them would make an excellent wife.”
I opened the book and started flippin’ through.
Faces stared back at me. They was smilin’ and had perfect posture.
They was pretty, safe, polished… and borin’ as hell.
Every one of them looked like she’d panic if I lit a blunt in front of her.
I wouldn’t marry none of these women. I wouldn’t even let most of them sit in the passenger seat of my car.
I damn sure wasn’t about to bust in ‘em and let them carry my seed.
I flipped a few more pages, then closed the book and set it down like it was hot.
“I can’t do it,” I said, lookin’ straight at my mama. “None of them. I can’t marry somebody I ain’t attracted to.”
She looked back at me calm and for a second, I thought maybe she’d slide to my side. But then she said, “Then choose your own. But you will choose.”
My father leaned forward, restin’ his elbows on his knees.
“This isn’t about attraction,” he said. “It’s about securing the next generation.
I built everything I have so I could pass it to you, and I want to pass it to your sons.
But I need to know that when I leave this earth, it’s going to somebody who understands legacy.
Who’s protected by the right woman, with the right name, from the right bloodline.
You want to stay in this will? You’re going to have to step into position. ”
I swallowed hard but didn’t speak right away.
I could feel the weight of everything he just said.
I knew what he meant. I knew he wasn’t just talkin’ money.
He was talkin’ about the power behind the name, the empire behind the gate, the black card that don’t expire, the war machines, the politics—the whole damn throne.
“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, we will .”
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?”
I nodded. “In her elegant queenly-ass tone, but yeah. That’s exactly what she said.”
Kay’Lo leaned forward, already grinnin’. “Man, fuck it. Put out an ad.”
I damn near choked on my drink. “An ad?”
Blaqson leaned in, serious. “I’m sayin’. Run it on IG. ‘Future queen of Trill-Land wanted. Must be fine, fertile, and fluent in freaky.’”
That set the whole table off.
“Nigga, what?” I laughed, damn near spillin’ my liquor. “You lost yo’ fuckin’ mind.”
“I’m deadass,” Blaqson said, still grinnin’. “You talkin’ about needin’ to choose a woman? Why not flip it? Let them come to you . Turn it into a situation.”
Renza rubbed his chin like he was halfway convinced already. “That shit lowkey could be fun. You get to test the waters. Let ‘em show you what they really about.”
“And you ain’t even gotta wife ‘em right away,” Kay’Lo added. “Just vibe it out. You might find one that make sense… or at least one that make it hard to walk away.”
I sat back, thinkin’, still grinnin’ a little even though I wasn’t sure if they was serious or not. But the more they joked, the more it started to sound like somethin’ that wasn’t completely crazy.
“It’ll be like that show,” Renza said. “You know… that Flava of Love shit. Only instead of a clock, you hand out diamonds or some shit.”
“Or Trillium,” Kay’Lo said. “Shit, I’d fight for a hit of that Crown Gas.”
Blaqson pointed at me. “This could be the move that get yo’ head outta Ka’mari’s ass.”
They all paused for a second, watchin’ to see how I’d react. I didn’t say nothin’ right away, but I felt somethin’ shift a little in me. Not ‘cause I was tryna forget Ka’mari, but maybe ‘cause I was finally ready to see what else was out there or at least entertain it.
“I ain’t sayin’ I’m doin’ it,” I said, slowly. “But… if I was to do it, y’all gon’ have to help me run it.”
Renza grinned. “Say less. I’ll be the creative director.”
Kay’Lo raised his glass. “I’m head of security. Keep the crazy ones from stealin’ your drawers.”
Blaqson smirked. “And I’ll be the voice of reason.”
I laughed, for real this time. I looked around the room at the three fools I grew up with—my circle, my day ones—and I realized if anybody could pull some shit like this off, it was us.
“I don’t know what the hell gon’ come from it,” I said, still smilin’, “but if I’m gon’ be forced into some royal fairytale shit, it’s gon’ be my story. My way.”
And just like that, the seed was planted.
I had no idea what kind of storm I was about to welcome into my life… but part of me was already curious. And curiosity was all it ever took.