12. Royce Blake
Iknew I was fuckin’ up before April said a word.
She ain’t have to.
The way she moved around the house told on both of us, quiet, careful, like she was steppin’ around somethin’ fragile on the floor.
That somethin’ was us.
I was sittin’ on the edge of the bed, scrollin’ my phone, pretendin’ to look at some venue emails I’d already opened three times. Tux rental reminder. Caterer check-in. All that shit.
April came out the bathroom in her robe, hair in a scarf, face clean. She leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.
“Royce,” she said.
I looked up. “Yeah?”
“We need to talk,” she said.
Them four words had my stomach tight instantly.
“‘Bout what?” I asked, even though I knew.
She leveled me with that look, the one that said she was tired of playin’ dumb with me.
“Don’t do that,” she said. “You been off for weeks. You think I don’t see it?”
I blew out a breath, lookin’ away. “I’m fine, April.”
“No, you not,” she snapped, voice crackin’ just a little. “You’re distant. You half-here. You zone out in the middle of conversations. Every time I bring up the wedding, you get quiet like I said funeral instead.”
I clenched my jaw, rubbin’ my hands together.
“It’s a lot,” I spoke being honest. “Shit expensive, people callin’ nonstop. That would make anybody on edge.”
She stared at me. “Is that what you want to go with?”
“You really think I believe you scared of flower invoices?” she asked softly. “Or you scared of marryin’ me?”
That one cut.
“Don’t do that,” I said, lookin’ up quick. “Don’t put it like that.”
“How I’m supposed to put it?” she asked, eyes shinin’.
“‘Cause from where I’m standin’, the closer we get to this date, the further away you feel.
You don’t touch me like you used to. You don’t joke like you used to.
You go whole days without initiatin’ a single conversation, and when I finally corner you, all you got is ‘I’m fine. ’”
Her voice broke on that last word.
I felt like shit.
I stood up, with my head down, starin’ at the floor.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted finally.
“Do what?” she asked. “Love me? You already do that.”
“Not love,” I said. “The… forever part. The husband part. The ‘I’m responsible for your heart for the rest of your life’ part.”
She went quiet, watchin’ me.
“I seen too much fucked up marriage shit growin’ up,” I said, words spillin’ now that the dam was cracked.
“Our parents… people around us… niggas cheating, leavin’, lyin’.
Women stayin’ and dyin’ inside. I watched Roman give everything to Mo and then lose her in the worst way possible.
That man ain’t been the same since. You think I look at all that and I’m not scared out my mind? ”
Tears filled her eyes.
“You think I don’t know that?” she whispered. “You think I ain’t watched the same shit? My parents wasn’t exactly some fairy tale either, Royce.”
I looked up at her.
“I am scared,” she said, lettin’ the tears fall now. “I’m scared of failin’. I’m scared of you leavin’ one day. I’m scared of wakein’ up and we don’t recognize each other. I’m scared of us hurtin’ each other in ways we can’t take back.”
She took a deep breath.
“But I’m still here,” she said. “I’m still pickin’ you. Every day. Even when I’m scared. That’s what this is supposed to be. Not the absence of fear, but choosin’ each other in it.”
My chest ached.
“You not the only one who got ghosts,” she continued. “But I refuse to let what I seen ruin what I got. What we got. So you either gotta be all in with me, scared and all, or let me go so I can stop buildin’ a life with somebody who’s already halfway out the door in his head.”
My throat closed up.
“April…” I started.
She held up her hand. “No. I need you to say it. Out loud. What’s really wrong. Not the half-truth version that make you sound noble.”
She had me there.
I sat back down, elbows on my knees, hands laced.
“I don’t trust myself not to fuck it up,” I said quietly.
“That’s the real. I know I love you. That’s not in question.
I know I want you. I know I don’t want nobody else.
But I also know my own patterns. I know how I run when shit get too real.
I know my temper. I know the shit I’m capable of when I get scared.
I don’t wanna be the man you look back on like, ‘Damn, I picked wrong.’”
She came and sat next to me on the bed, not too close, but close enough.
“Royce,” she said, voice soft now. “You not protectin’ me by pushin’ me away. You hurtin’ me. Slowly. You think not sayin’ it out loud mean it don’t exist, but I feel it every day.”
I swallowed hard.
“I’m scared too,” she repeated. “But I don’t mind us bein’ scared together if we actually talk about it. If we actually do somethin’ about it. I would rather us standin’ in front of each other like this, ugly cryin’ and tellin’ the truth, than us pretendin’ everything fine till it explode.”
I looked over at her, tears blurrin’ my own vision now.
“I wanna marry you,” I said, voice crackin’. “I really do. I just keep picturin’ the worst-case scenario. Bein’ without you. Havin’ you regret this. Endin’ up like…” I stopped, shakin’ my head. “Like all them examples I hate.”
“Then let’s stop lettin’ them be the blueprint,” she said. “We not them. We got Nana. We got Roman and Mo to show us what it look like to love for real even if it end ugly. We got each other. We gon’ make mistakes, but we don’t have to repeat the same ones we seen.”
Silence stretched.
Then she said, “We can push the wedding back, if that’s what you need.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
“I’m not sayin’ call it off,” she clarified. “I’m sayin’ if this date got you chokin’ every time you look at the calendar, we can move it. A couple months. Enough time to get our minds right. Do therapy. Talk through our fears with somebody that know what they talkin’ about.”
My first instinct was to say yes.
More time sounded like a lifeline.
Then I pictured her tellin’ people that the wedding was pushed back. Pictured folks speculatin’, whisperin’. Pictured the look on Nana Hope face.
“We don’t gotta do no stranger therapy,” I said. “We got Nana. She a life coach anyway. She know both of us. She know our history. We could go to her. Sit down, really talk. Not just Sunday dinner small talk.”
April’s eyes brightened a little. “You would do that?”
“Yeah,” I said, noddin’. “If you down, we can go this weekend. Tell her we need more than just her sweet potato pie this time. We need a session.”
She let out a wet laugh. “You and your analogies.”
“We can keep the date,” I added, surprising myself. “I don’t wanna push it back. That feel like stallin’. I just… wanna walk into it with intention. Not fear.”
She searched my face, like she was tryna see if I was just talkin’ or if I meant it.
I meant it.
“You sure?” she asked.
I nodded. “I’m sure. I’m still scared. But I’m sure I want you. I’m sure I don’t wanna be without you. And I’m sure if I let this fear win, I’ma regret it more than any mistake we could make actually tryin’.”
Tears spilled over her lashes, runnin’ down her cheeks.
I reached up and wiped ‘em with my thumb.
“You really piss me off sometimes,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said. “You too.”
She laughed through her tears, then leaned in, restin’ her forehead against mine.
“Okay,” she breathed. “We’ll go see Nana Sunday.”
Sunday dinner at Nana Hope house always smelled like home.
Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, greens, cornbread, whole nine. But this time, the air felt heavier when we walked in.
“You two look like you got somethin’ on your chest,” Nana said as soon as she hugged us both. “Sit down. We gon’ eat first. Then we talk.”
We did as we were told, but I ain’t taste half my food. The way I tore that shit up.
After the plates were cleared and she brought out tea instead of dessert, she sat across from us at the kitchen table, eyes sharp but kind.
“Aight,” she said, foldin’ her hands. “Who gon’ start?”
April looked at me.
I took a breath.
“I’m scared,” I said simply. “I’m scared of marryin’ her and fuckin’ it up. I’m scared of bein’ like my parents. I’m scared of not bein’ enough. I’m scared of what happen if I lose her like Roman lost Mo.”
Nana nodded, not interruptin’.
“And in tryin’ to protect her from all that,” I continued, “I been pushin’ her away. Not showin’ up fully. Half lovin’ her out loud. Drownin’ in my own head instead of sayin’ it.”
Nana turned to April. “And you, baby?”
April wiped her hands on a napkin. “I’m scared too,” she said. “Of all the same things. But I been choosin’ him in my fear. And his silence… it’s been hurtin’ me.”
Nana let that sit for a minute.
Then she said, “Fear is not the enemy. Dishonesty is.”
We both went quiet.
“You got every right to be scared,” she told me. “Life has showed you some ugly things. But you do not honor love by runnin’ from it. You honor it by tellin’ the truth about how you feel and then walkin’ forward together anyway.”
She looked at April. “And you, my sweet girl, do not have to be strong enough for both of you. You don’t have to carry his fear and yours.”
Tears rolled down April’s cheeks again.
“Marriage is not a guarantee that nothin’ bad will ever happen,” Nana went on.
“It’s a promise that when life do what life do, you not facin’ it alone.
If you go into it expectin’ perfection, you already set yourself up to lose.
If you go into it expectin’ honesty and effort, you can build somethin’ real. ”
She turned back to me. “Royce, do you want to be April’s husband?”
“Yes,” I said, no hesitation this time.
“April, do you want to be his wife?”
“Yes,” she answered, voice steady.
“Then here what we gon’ do,” Nana said. “Y’all keep your date. But from now till then, Sundays is not just dinner. It’s check-ins. Y’all come here, you sit at this table, and you tell the truth. The good, the bad, the ugly. You bring your fear here, not hide it in your bedroom.”
She smiled slightly. “Consider it my wedding gift to you. Free life coachin’.”
Me and April both laughed through our tears.
“You don’t fix fear by pretendin’ you not scared,” Nana said. “You fix it by walkin’ through it together. One honest step at a time.”
I reached for April’s hand under the table.
She squeezed back.
In that moment, with Nana watchin’ us like she’d already seen this movie end well, I felt somethin’ in me settle.
I was still scared.
But I wasn’t runnin’ no more.
And that felt like the first real step toward bein’ a husband instead of just a boyfriend with a ring.