Chapter 15 KAY’LO MENSAH
Pressure sat across from me in all black, rings on, watch gleamin’, with that calm-but-crazy look on his face like he was thinkin’ about five things at once and none of ‘em was righteous. Renza was on my left wearin’ sunglasses even though we was under umbrellas, talkin’ shit before he even picked up his fork.
We had just clinked glasses when I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “Bruh… I’m really ‘bout to get off this fuckin’ medicine.”
Pressure lifted an eyebrow slow like he already knew my ass was about to say somethin’ wild. “Why?”
I rubbed my hand down my face ‘cause this was embarrassin’. “Man, this shit fuckin’ up my stroke game. Bad.”
Renza choked on his mimosa and had to put his glass down. “Nigga… what?”
“I’m dead ass.” I tapped the table like I was callin’ a witness. “I tried to get in my wife the other night and my shit said no. Not maybe. Not hold on. It said hell nah.”
Pressure closed his eyes like the world irritated him. “So you blamin’ the meds.”
“YES, nigga. What else I’m supposed to blame? My dick don’t never quit on me. Never. I got Toni over there lookin’ like a whole dream, spread out, moanin’, legs wide open for me… and my shit decided it wanna fold like laundry.”
Renza was dyin’. “Nah, you lyin’. Yo’ dick tapped out on you?”
“Tapped out?” I pointed at him. “Nigga, it clocked out, grabbed a lunchbox, and went home.”
Pressure smirked into his drink. “That’s tragic.”
“Tragic?” I leaned forward. “Nigga, Toni looked so damn disappointed I almost cried. And then she tryna be sweet about it which made me feel even worse ‘cause she ain’t clown me not once.”
Renza wiped his face. “Aww hell nah, Toni the type to clown yo’ ass. If she ain’t clown you? She felt bad.”
“Exactly!” I threw both hands up. “She rubbed my chest, tryna make me feel better. Talkin’ ‘bout ‘it’s okay baby, we gon’ figure it out.’ And I’m sittin’ there mad as hell tryna poke it like ‘wake yo’ ass up.’”
Pressure finally cracked a real laugh, low and deep. “Nigga… shut up.”
“No, for real.” I shook my head. “I can’t do this. I need my stroke back. That’s my superpower.”
“It ain’t no superpower if it don’t work,” Renza said, grinnin’.
“Fuck you,” I muttered, grabbin’ my fork. “Y’all don’t understand how helpless that shit feel.”
Pressure lifted his mimosa and took a slow sip. “I understand disappointment, trust me nigga. Pluto been on strike.”
I paused mid-chew. “Strike? What the hell that mean.”
“Exactly what it sound like,” he said, dead serious. “She ain’t gave me shit in weeks.”
Renza sat up quick. “For what?”
Pressure looked at nothin’ for a second like he was replayin’ trauma. “‘Cause I slipped up and nutted in her a few weeks ago.”
I blinked. “Nigga… that ain’t no slip up. That’s a decision.”
“It ain’t feel like a decision,” he muttered. “It felt like God pushed me.”
Renza burst out laughin’. “Man, get the fuck outta here.”
“I’m serious,” Pressure said. “We talkin’, she moanin’, her legs up, I’m holdin’ her ankles, and next thing I know I’m shootin’ the club up.”
“And she mad?” I asked.
“Madder than she should be,” he said. “I apologized, and gave her space. I been lettin’ her do her thing ‘cause I know her body been through a lot. But now she actin’ brand new. Three damn weeks without sex. THREE.”
I whistled. “Nigga… you a better man than me.”
“I ain’t a man,” he muttered. “I’m a prisoner.”
Renza nodded like that made sense. “Pluto ain’t playin’ with yo’ ass.”
“I know,” Pressure said. “But at some point she gotta remember who the hell I am. I’m gon’ lose my mind if she keep holdin’ that pussy hostage. My dick miss her.”
“Mine miss Toni,” I sighed. “It just don’t work.”
We all laughed together ‘cause this was the most pathetic rich nigga brunch ever. Three grown men with money, power, connections, and two with zero control over their wives.
Pressure cut into his omelette. “We sound like some old married niggas complainin’.”
“Y’all are old married niggas complainin’,” Renza said.
We kept jokin’, talkin’, and eatin’ for another hour until my phone buzzed on the table with pops flashin’ across the screen.
Everything inside me paused ‘cause me and him hadn’t talked like that in a minute, not real talk. I ain’t even wanna answer at first but I breathed out slow and hit accept.
“Wussup pops,” I said.
His voice came through the line deep and calm like always. “Son. I need to see you. Man to man.”
I sat back, my brows pullin’ in. “A’ight. I’ll slide through.”
Pressure and Renza watched me when I hung up. They ain’t pry but they felt it.
Pressure wiped his mouth and spoke first. “You gon’ be good?”
“Yeah,” I said, even though I ain’t know. My pops wanna talk.”
Renza nodded slow. “Talkin’ good sometimes. Even when it feel weird.”
Pressure’s eyes locked on me in that older brother way he did when he wasn’t bein’ funny. “If he comin’ to you right, hear him out.”
I nodded ‘cause I already planned to. “Yeah. I’mma see what he talkin’ about.”
After brunch I told Pressure and Renza I was gon’ holla at ‘em and walked out into the Trill-Land sun. My whip was parked out front, top already down. I slid inside, turned the engine on, and let the wind hit my face as I cruised through the city.
Palm trees leaned over the roads, the gold Trill-Land flags waved on every corner, and the ocean glistened like the whole island was dipped in money. And while the sun warmed my skin and the breeze cooled my face, my mind bounced all over the place.
I thought about Toni.
I thought about Pressure and Pluto.
I thought about meds, and my mama, and everything that shaped me.
And I thought about how I had spent my whole life tryna act like I ain’t need nobody, but the truth was, Toni and my father had always been the two people who could get through that steel wall I kept around my heart.
If I was gon’ fix shit with him, today was the day.
I turned down the long road toward the estate… hopin’ this conversation wasn’t another fight.
And for once, with the medicine doin’ its job, my mind felt quiet enough to try.
Meridian Estates in Nzuri Hall
I pulled up to the estate and before I could even turn the engine off, I saw my pops already standin’ outside waitin’ for me.
That told me everything I needed to know.
When Kwame Mensah wanted to talk, he ain’t wait inside like no regular man.
He was right there at the door, standin’ tall with his hands behind his back like he was expectin’ royalty to pull up.
I parked, stepped out, and he ain’t even let me get two feet from the stairs before he reached for my hand.
His grip was firm and familiar, the handshake that ain’t just a greetin’ but a reminder that this man raised me.
Then he pulled me in for a hug. It caught me off guard for a second ‘cause me and him been tense for a minute, but the hug felt like old times and eased somethin’ in my chest that I didn’t even realize was tight.
“Wussup, Pops,” I said when we pulled apart.
He nodded once. “Son.”
We walked inside and he ain’t say much at first. He just led the way toward the back, takin’ that long hallway that opened up to the patio he loved so much.
The back was crazy as always. The whole yard looked like a billionaire built it for peace he never really got.
The water from the long reflecting pool was hittin’ the sunlight, the palm trees caught the breeze just right, and everything smelled like fresh cut grass and rich man serenity.
Pops had cigars lined up on the low table, and whiskey already poured like he planned this out before he even called me.
“You want a drink?” he asked, reachin’ for the bottle like he already knew the answer.
“Yeah,” I said, takin’ the seat across from him. “I’ll take one.”
He slid me a glass, grabbed a cigar for himself, and then held the box out for me too. “You smokin’?”
“Yeah,” I said again ‘cause that was our thing. We smoked, we talked and we bonded like men who respected each other, even when we didn’t agree on shit.
For a minute, we talked regular talk. Pops asked about ‘Lo Motion and how business was goin’. That made me relax a lil’, ‘cause business was the one thing me and him always clicked on.
“It’s straight’, Pops,” I told him. “I just finished that bulletproof fleet for the cabinet members. Got two more orders comin’ in. My teams been eatin’. I got this new interior line droppin’ too. Folks been askin’ for custom stitchin’ and star ceilin’s, so you know I got ‘em.”
He nodded with that proud father look he tried not to show. “I knew you were capable of building something on your own. You’ve always been driven. You didn’t wait on handouts, and you didn’t run to me for shortcuts. I respect that.”
Hearin’ him say that hit me deeper than I expected. Pops wasn’t stingy with praise, but he ain’t give it unless you earned it.
We talked a lil’ more about business and investments, and it almost felt like we hadn’t been goin’ through all this tension.
I was sittin’ there listenin’ to him talk about expansion and how he wanted me to start considerin’ factories outside the island.
For a second, it felt like how shit used to be when I was a teenager and he would sit me down for “man lessons.”
But the whole time we talked, I could feel Toni sittin’ on my mind. Therapy sittin’ on my mind. My diagnosis sittin’ on my mind. Pops bein’ Pops, he saw the shift as soon as I got quiet.
“What’s on your mind, son?” he asked, settin’ his cigar down.
I looked at him for a long moment ‘cause I ain’t know how he was gon’ take what I had to say, but I knew I had to say it. “Pops… I been in therapy.”
He froze for barely a second, but I caught it. Then he nodded, tryna keep his face even. “Therapy,” he repeated. “For what?”
I breathed in slow ‘cause this wasn’t some shit you just l ease into.
“My mind been runnin’ wild for a long time.
You know how I been since I was a kid. I thought it was just how I was wired.
I thought it was me bein’ on edge or just temper, but it’s deeper than that. The therapist say I’m schizophrenic.”
The silence between us stretched for a few seconds, long enough for me to read every single expression he tried to hide. His jaw flexed, his brows dipped slightly, and he took a slow breath like he was tryna sort through every thought at once.
“Schizophrenic?” he repeated, but it came out like the word was sour in his mouth. “Kay’Lo… you don’t look like no damn schizophrenic.”
“It don’t got a look, Pops.”
He shook his head, sittin’ back in his chair. “My son isn’t mentally ill.”
I felt that hit me in a way I didn’t expect.
Not ‘cause it hurt, but ‘cause I understood exactly where it came from. Kwame Mensah built empires with his bare hands. He believed in discipline, strength and legacy. In his head, mental illness meant weakness, and weakness wasn’t allowed to live in his bloodline.
“Pops,” I said, my voice low but firm, “I’m not crazy, but somethin’ been wrong with me for a long time. You know it. Mama know it. Shit, I know it. I just didn’t have a name for it.”
He rubbed his chin once, his version of bein’ uncomfortable. “Doctors always want to label people. They see a man with intensity and call it illness.”
“It’s not just intensity,” I said. “I been losin’ control. Thinkin’ stuff that ain’t real. Snappin’ on people I love. Tearin’ shit up outta nowhere. You think that’s normal?”
“That’s emotion,” he said. “That’s bein’ a man.”
He looked away for a second, and when he looked back, some of that stubbornness softened even though he still tried to hold on to it. “I don’t want you thinkin’ something is wrong with your blood. You come from strong stock.”
“I know that,” I replied.
“And Pops,” I continued, “you raised me to stand on business, to take care of my family. That means I gotta be the best man I can be. Not the man I pretend to be when I’m losin’ my mind.
Toni help me, therapy help me. This medicine keep me level.
I can’t be the man my wife need if I keep fightin’ what’s wrong with me. ”
His mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to argue again, but he didn’t.
“And speakin’ of Toni,” I said, leanin’ forward a lil’, “you gon’ have to respect her.”
He looked at me then, sharp and direct. “I have never disrespected that girl.”
“You spoke on her like she wasn’t good enough for me,” I said. “And she is. She’s great for me. She hold me down in ways I ain’t even know I needed. She love me just like you love Mama. Don’t act like you don’t know what that feel like.”
He pressed his lips together at the mention of my mama, ‘cause everybody in Da Trill knew Kwame worshipped Treasure. She was his soft spot, the one thing that could crumble him or build him all the way up.
“You always told me a man is supposed to pick his woman and protect her. I picked mine,” I said. “And I’m protectin’ her. Just like you would.”
Pops let out a breath, slow and heavy. He looked helpless as hell listenin’ to me talk like a grown man. “You’re still my baby boy.”
“And to Toni,” I said, “I’m her man.”
That made him smile, a small one but real. Pride sat in his eyes even if his ego didn’t let it show all the way. “You sound like me,” he said.
“That’s ‘cause you raised me right,” I answered. “I just need you to let me be who you raised.”
He sat there for a moment, then reached out his hand. I shook it, but he pulled me into another hug, longer this time, tighter. It was the type of hug that felt like a truce.
When we separated, I stood up. “I’m gon’ head home.”
He nodded and stood with me. “Come by more often,” he said. “Your mother misses you. And I… would like to see you too.”
I nodded. “A’ight, Pops. I’ll come through.”
He walked me to the door like he used to when I was young, gettin’ ready for school, and when I got back in the car, I sat for a second before callin’ Toni.
She answered on the second ring. “Hey baby.”
“I’m on my way home,” I told her. “I love you.”
She got quiet for a second, then said, “I love you too.”
After that, I hung up, breathed in deep, and pulled off the estate.
I was home to my woman.