5. Sha’nelle Harper
Two weeks later
Ever since Couture proposed to me a couple weeks ago, our lives had been movin’ like everybody around us had already decided what the next step was supposed to be.
I said yes in front of his family, and after that, it felt like the word fiancée had started followin’ me around before I even got used to hearin’ it.
His mama was already callin’ me her daughter-in-law, his aunties had hugs for me every time I came around and every time somebody grabbed my hand to look at the ring, I smiled and let them.
I ain’t know how to explain to nobody that a ring could be beautiful and heavy at the same time, so I kept my mouth shut and tried to grow into the moment everybody else was so excited about.
The first few days after the proposal, I barely knew what to do with myself. I had took the ring off more than once, but then I put it back on ‘cause I was the one who said yes.
Nobody grabbed my hand and forced me to.
Nobody made my mouth open and give Couture that answer.
So when I looked at the ring too long and started feelin’ sick from everything sittin’ under my ribs, I reminded myself that sometimes a woman had to stand in what she chose, even when her feelin’s hadn’t caught up fully.
That might not have sounded pretty, but it was the truth I had been livin’ with.
I still hadn’t heard from Renza. I ain’t heard his voice, ain’t seen his name pop up on my phone and got nothin’ from him that told me he was somewhere thinkin’ about me the way I had been thinkin’ about him.
The first few days, I had to fight myself bad.
I would pick my phone up, go to his number, and stare at it until my thumb started feelin’ weak.
Sometimes I typed a whole message and erased it.
Sometimes I opened my call log and just sat there, mad at myself for even wantin’ to try again after he had made it clear that silence was all he had for me.
By the next week, I stopped keepin’ my phone so close. Not necessarily ‘cause it got easier, but ‘cause I got tired of watchin’ myself lose the same fight every day.
Couture ain’t know how bad I had been battlin’ with myself, and I kept it that way.
Around him, I moved the way a woman with a ring on her finger was supposed to move.
I went to his people’s houses when he wanted me there.
I sat beside him at cookouts, birthday dinners, and random Sunday get-togethers where everybody was already askin’ about colors, dates, bridesmaids, food and who was gon’ sing at the wedding.
His family had a way of pullin’ me in without askin’ if I was ready.
One cousin had started sendin’ me dress pages before I even saved her number right, and one of his aunties told me she knew somebody who made cakes so pretty nobody wanted to cut them.
I laughed when I was supposed to, answered what I could and let Couture’s hand stay on my thigh under tables while everybody talked around us like the wedding was already on the calendar.
My side wasn’t no different once they got over not bein’ at the proposal.
My mama had questions at first ‘cause she wanted to know why he ain’t do it with us there too, and Grandma Glo had her mouth poked out for a good day and a half like Couture had personally robbed her of a front-row seat.
Couture handled it better than I thought he would.
He came over with a bottle for my mama, and flowers for Grandma Glo, and enough respect in his voice to cool down what could’ve turned into a whole family court case in my mama’s livin’ room.
After that, he was around more. It wasn’t in a way that felt forced, but in a way that made my family start leavin’ room for him without thinkin’ about it.
My mama would ask if Couture was comin’ over when she cooked.
Grandma Glo started savin’ him plates and tellin’ him he was too skinny even though that man was nowhere near skinny.
My cousins would ask him to help lift stuff, move stuff, fix stuff or taste somethin’ on the grill and he would do it like he had always belonged there.
I noticed it even when I tried not to. I noticed how easy everybody was makin’ it for him to settle in. I noticed how my people had stopped actin’ like he was just my man and started treatin’ him like he was already tied to us for real.
That was the part that made it harder to run from what I had agreed to.
My family had seen enough of my life to be protective, so them openin’ up to Couture meant somethin’.
They wasn’t just clappin’ ‘cause I had a ring. They was watchin’ us move together, watchin’ him sit with my mama, watchin’ him laugh with my aunties and uncles, watchin’ him take Grandma Glo’s slick mouth without gettin’ offended.
They had started talkin’ to him about holidays, about family pictures about where we would live after the wedding, and the more they made space for him, the more I felt trapped by how normal it all looked.
From the outside, it probably made sense. From the inside, I was learnin’ how to breathe with one part of me showin’ up and another part of me hidin’ somewhere nobody could see.
By the next week, I had stopped takin’ the ring off every night.
I wore it while I brushed my teeth, while I got dressed, while I sat in traffic and while I laid in bed starin’ at the ceilin’ longer than I should’ve.
I let myself get used to the weight of it ‘cause maybe that was all marriage was at first. Maybe it was somethin’ you grew into after you stopped runnin’ from the shape of it.
Maybe love ain’t always hit the same, and maybe peace had its own kind of pull when a woman was tired of bein’ dragged through every emotion she owned.
I told myself that every time my chest got tight.
I told myself to stop lookin’ backward. I told myself Renza had made his own choice by not answerin’, and I had to respect that even if it hurt like hell.
Tonight, Couture took me to dinner at this dim lil’ spot to celebrate the new job I had been workin’ at for the past two weeks as a medical billing specialist. The lights was low, the music was smooth and the windows looked out over the city like somebody had planned the whole place for people who wanted to forget whatever was waitin’ outside.
I wore a fitted black dress that hugged me right and dropped low enough to show the top of my chest. Couture wore an all-black designer fit that looked real good on him with the shirt open at the top.
His watch was hittin’ under the light, and his cologne reached me before he got all the way in my space.
His dark skin looked good as hell, his beard was thick and lined up sharp and them waves was spinnin’ every time he leaned close to say somethin’ in my ear.
He was fine as hell, and I ain’t need to lie about that just ‘cause my life was complicated.
Couture had the kind of face that made women look twice and act like they wasn’t lookin’.
His smile came slow when he was tipsy, and by the second drink, he had started touchin’ me more than he had been touchin’ me at the beginnin’ of dinner.
His hand moved from the back of my chair to my waist, then to my thigh under the table and he kept brushin’ his thumb over the side of my leg while he talked to me about his week.
I listened, laughed when he said somethin’ funny and sipped my drink while tryna stay present with the man sittin’ in front of me.
He leaned over at one point and kissed the side of my neck slow enough for my eyes to close before I could stop ‘em. His beard scraped soft against my skin, and the liquor in my body made the touch feel warmer than it probably was. He kissed me again, lower this time, right where my neck met my shoulder, and my fingers tightened around the stem of my glass, and I ain’t pull away ‘cause it felt good. His mouth stayed on me, suckin’ light, and the tablecloth brushed my knees when I shifted in my seat.
“You smell so fuckin’ good, baby,” he said against my skin.
I turned my face toward him, and his lips found the corner of my mouth before I could answer. “Thank you,” I whispered, feelin’ the words come out softer than I planned.
Couture smiled and kissed my cheek, then my jaw and the heat in my face had nothin’ to do with bein’ tipsy. I could feel him. That was the truth. I could feel his attention, his hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me like I was already his wife and not just a woman wearin’ his ring.
Part of me leaned into it ‘cause I wanted that part of my life to be simple.
I wanted to be able to sit across from my fiancé, let him kiss on me and not have my mind split itself in two, so I gave myself a second to just be here.
I let my shoulder drop, let my body soften and when his hand slid over mine on the table, I turned my palm up so our fingers could lace together.
Couture’s eyes dropped to the ring, and his smile changed in a way that made my stomach move. “I like seein’ that on you,” he said.
I looked down at our hands, and for once, I ain’t snatch myself into guilt so fast. The stone shined under the light, and his thumb brushed along the side of my finger like he was admirin’ proof that I had chosen him.
I swallowed and kept my hand in his ‘cause pullin’ away would’ve said more than I was ready to explain.
“It’s pretty,” I said.
“It look beautiful… just like you,” he told me, then kissed my knuckles.
I smiled a lil’, and it was real enough to scare me, ‘cause it reminded me that my feelin’s for Couture wasn’t fake. They just wasn’t clean. They was mixed with guilt, pressure, comfort, fear and a need to move on before the past swallowed me whole.
I cared about him. I liked bein’ held by him. I liked how he brought me around his people without makin’ me feel like I was on display. None of that erased what I couldn’t say out loud, but it did make leavin’ feel a lot less simple than people probably thought it should be.