Introducing Sincere and Lamar, best friends, truth-tellers, and unofficial co-hosts of everyone else’s relationship decisions.
Sincere was already at the table when Lamar walked in late.
Not dramatically late.
Lamar was never dramatic with time. He was peacefully late, which Sincere found more offensive.
He slid into the booth wearing sunglasses, a linen shirt, and the confidence of a man who believed brunch started whenever he arrived.
“You are late,” Sincere said.
Lamar took off his sunglasses.
“And yet, somehow, I am here.”
“That is not an apology.”
“It was spiritual accountability.”
“It was nonsense in a nice shirt.”
He smiled.
This was their rhythm.
Sincere and Lamar had been best friends long enough to skip the warm-up act. They did not need small talk. They had lived through bad dates, career pivots, questionable hair eras, family drama, silent treatments they both later admitted were immature, and one New Year’s Eve party where Lamar attempted to make seafood dip with no recipe and too much confidence.
Their friendship survived because they knew how to tell each other the truth.
Not the cruel truth.
Not the “I’m just being honest” truth people use when they want permission to be emotionally reckless.
The useful truth.
The kind that sits down beside you, orders coffee, and says, “Now, beloved, what are we actually doing?”
Sincere handed him a menu.
“I need your opinion.”
Lamar looked at her.
“Is this about the man who does not like labels?”
She paused.
“I hate that you remember things.”
“You told me he said, and I quote, ‘I don’t believe in titles. I believe in energy.’ A sentence like that does not simply leave the body.”
Sincere sighed.
“His name is Malcolm.”
“Of course it is.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means a man named Malcolm can absolutely believe in energy while wasting your time in a very calm voice.”
She pointed her fork at him.
“Do not start.”
“I am not starting. I am arriving.”
Sincere leaned back.
Malcolm was not terrible.
That was the problem.
Terrible would have made the decision easier.
Terrible announces itself. Terrible forgets your birthday, argues with waiters, follows eight thousand women online named Kayla, and says things like, “My ex was crazy,” without mentioning he was the weather system.
Malcolm was not that.
Malcolm was thoughtful sometimes.
Funny sometimes.
Attractive all the time, which was inconvenient.
He asked good questions. He remembered details. He sent music. He said things like, “You make me feel seen,” which was dangerous language from someone who still did not want to be seen publicly at a family cookout.
“So what happened?” Lamar asked.
Sincere stirred her coffee.
“He invited me over Friday.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I asked what we were doing.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘Just vibe.’”
Lamar closed the menu.
“I need the church fan.”
“Lamar.”
“No, because why is ‘just vibe’ always dressed up like intimacy when it usually means no plan, no clarity, and no emotional responsibility?”
Sincere tried not to laugh.
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“Then why did you ask me?”
“Because I needed to hear it from someone whose ego is not attracted to him.”
“That is what friends are for.”
The waiter came by. Lamar ordered chicken and waffles. Sincere ordered shrimp and grits, then immediately asked if Lamar wanted to split the French toast.
“You see this?” Lamar said. “This is why labels matter. We are friends, and still I know my responsibilities.”
“To share French toast?”
“To respect the brunch covenant.”
She laughed.
That was the thing about Lamar. He could make a point ridiculous enough to hear.
“Look,” he said, leaning forward. “The issue is not whether Malcolm likes labels. The issue is whether his lack of labels gives him all the benefits of closeness without any of the responsibility of clarity.”
Sincere got quiet.
There it was.
The sentence she did not want, but absolutely needed.
Because she did like Malcolm.
And because she liked him, she had been trying to be reasonable.
Trying not to pressure.
Trying not to be “too much.”
Trying to let things unfold.
But sometimes “letting things unfold” is just what we call it when we are afraid to ask a direct question because the answer may interrupt the fantasy.
Lamar saw her face soften and dropped the comedy for a moment.
“Sincere, you do not need to force anybody to choose you. But you also do not need to keep auditioning for a role they have no intention of naming.”
She looked out the window.
“I do not want to seem demanding.”
“You are asking for clarity, not a royal decree.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked back at him.
He softened his voice.
“There is a difference between being patient with someone’s process and becoming a placeholder while they enjoy your presence.”
The food arrived, which was good because truth is easier to digest with syrup nearby.
Sincere cut into the French toast.
“So what do I say?”
“You say what you mean.”
“Which is?”
“That you enjoy him, but you are not interested in building romantic intimacy without clarity about what you are building.”
She made a face.
“That sounds like a therapist wrote it.”
“You have emotionally articulate friends. You chose this life.”
“Make it sound like me.”
Lamar took a sip of water, thought for a second, then said:
“Malcolm, I like spending time with you, but I need to understand what this is becoming. I am not interested in playing girlfriend in private while pretending I do not need clarity in public.”
Sincere sat back.
“That was good.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“It was a little sharp.”
“Clarity often feels sharp when confusion has been getting comfortable.”
She shook her head.
“You are very annoying when you are right.”
“I have learned to live with the burden.”
They ate for a while in easy silence.
Then Sincere asked, “Do men really not know when they are leading someone on?”
Lamar made the face men make when a question is fair but inconvenient.
“Some know.”
“And the others?”
“Some do not think of it as leading someone on because they are not lying. They are just accepting whatever access is being offered.”
“That is still a problem.”
“It is.”
“So what do they think they are doing?”
“Enjoying the moment.”
“That phrase has ruined lives.”
“It has certainly delayed several healing journeys.”
Sincere laughed into her napkin.
Lamar continued.
“But here is the thing. It is not only men. People do this in different ways. Some people want emotional intimacy without accountability. Some want physical access without commitment. Some want companionship without responsibility. Some want the comfort of being loved while still keeping every exit unlocked.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is. That is why clarity is loving.”
Sincere raised an eyebrow.
“Clarity is loving?”
“Yes. To yourself and to the other person. Because if you want different things, clarity gives both people their dignity back.”
She looked down at her plate.
“That is the part I forget.”
“What part?”
“That asking for what I need is not automatically pressure.”
“It is not.”
“And if what I need scares him away?”
“Then it was not yours to keep.”
She hated how simple that sounded.
Not easy.
Simple.
There is a difference.
Some truths do not arrive with fireworks. They arrive like a clean window. Suddenly you can see what was already there.
The problem was not that Malcolm did not like labels.
The problem was that Sincere wanted a love with shape.
With direction.
With honesty.
With enough substance to be spoken plainly.
And maybe Malcolm wanted something softer, looser, lighter, less accountable to language.
That did not make him evil.
It did not make her needy.
It made them mismatched.
And sometimes that is the most grown-up heartbreak of all.
Nobody has to be the villain.
Sometimes the relationship simply does not have the structure to hold what your heart is trying to build.
Lamar reached across the table and stole a piece of French toast.
“You know what your problem is?”
“I am already vulnerable. Choose kindness.”
“You keep trying to make chemistry do character’s job.”
Sincere froze.
Then slowly placed her fork down.
“I need you to stop being insightful while stealing my food.”
“I paid in wisdom.”
“Wisdom was not listed as a payment option.”
“Check the fine print.”
She laughed, but the sentence stayed.
Chemistry had been doing too much labor.
Chemistry had made the late replies seem mysterious.
Chemistry had made the lack of planning seem spontaneous.
Chemistry had made “just vibe” sound romantic instead of vague.
Chemistry is powerful.
It can open the door.
It cannot build the house.
That requires consistency.
Clarity.
Consideration.
Emotional maturity.
Shared intention.
The willingness to name what is happening before someone gets hurt pretending not to care.
By the end of brunch, Sincere had not solved her entire romantic life.
That would have been unreasonable for one meal, even with bottomless mimosas.
But she knew the next honest thing.
She would ask the question.
Not because she needed to control the outcome.
Because she needed to stop abandoning herself inside the uncertainty.
Lamar put his sunglasses back on as they stepped outside.
“Text me after you talk to him.”
“I will.”
“And do not let him answer in poetry.”
She laughed.
“What does that mean?”
“If you ask, ‘What are we doing?’ and he says, ‘I just feel connected to your spirit,’ call me immediately.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“I am useful.”
She hugged him.
He kissed the side of her head.
That was friendship too.
A place where you can be lovingly corrected without being diminished.
A place where laughter makes the truth easier to hold.
A place where someone remembers who you are when attraction has you considering foolishness in soft lighting.
Sincere walked to her car with her phone in her hand.
For once, she was not rehearsing how to be chosen.
She was practicing how to choose herself.
And somewhere between the brunch bill, the stolen French toast, and Lamar’s dramatic warnings about men who speak fluent energy but avoid nouns, something inside her settled.
Not because she knew what Malcolm would say.
But because she finally knew what she needed to ask.
Reflection
Clarity is not pressure.
Asking what you are building with someone does not make you needy, dramatic, or difficult. It makes you honest.
When someone enjoys your presence, your care, your body, your emotional availability, or your consistency, it is reasonable to ask whether they are also willing to bring clarity, intention, and responsibility.
Chemistry can be beautiful, but chemistry cannot replace character.
Attraction may open the door, but consistency, respect, emotional maturity, and shared intention determine whether love has somewhere healthy to grow.
And sometimes, the truth is not that someone is bad.
Sometimes the truth is that they are not building what you are building.
That matters.
So before you make a home out of potential, pause and ask:
Do I feel clear here?
Do their actions match the closeness they request from me?
Am I being patient, or am I becoming a placeholder?
Can this person name what they want, or do they keep me living inside emotional fog?
You deserve a love that can be spoken plainly.
Not perfectly.
Plainly.
Because the right person may not have every answer immediately, but they will not keep using confusion as a hiding place.
With love and a little brunch-table honesty,
Tee
Your Love Guide
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