3. Nairobi Crawford
I wasn’t quite ready to go straight to my condo after I landed in Atlanta, and I damn sure wasn’t going to my parents’ house, so I went to one of my favorite spots, Sweetie’s Cafe, for an early lunch.
I settled into a corner table with an iced matcha latte, waiting for my go-to order: a roast chicken sandwich on rosemary focaccia.
“Nairobi?”
I glanced up at the sound of my name and froze for a second.
A very pregnant Jasmine was ambling toward me, her baby bump leading the way.
Pregnancy looked good on her. Her faux locs were piled into a high bun, her hips and face had filled out, and her peanut butter skin was practically glowing.
A huge diamond ring caught the sunlight as she walked.
“Jasmine,” I said, smiling as I stood to greet her.
She pulled me into a warm hug. The last time I saw her was in the safe house in New York.
A pang of guilt hit me. Even after everything she went through with Marcus, she’d still been eager to get to know me.
But in my rush to distance myself from Fontaine and everything tied to him, I’d slammed a door in her face too.
“Congratulations,” I said, nodding towards her stomach.
She rubbed her belly with a smile and dropped into the chair across from me. “Thank you, but I’m so ready for this baby to get the fuck out.”
I laughed as she groaned dramatically.
“Cash didn’t tell me you were back in town,” she said, pursing her lips slightly.
I sipped my latte slowly, trying to play it cool. “That’s because he doesn’t know. I just got back this morning.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh!”
The server approached and set my sandwich in front of me. Jasmine looked at it briefly, but kept her eyes on me, clearly waiting for me to elaborate.
I picked up the pickle on my plate and took a bite. “Yeah my dad died, so...” I let the words hang.
“Oh, Nai, I’m so sorry,” she said softly, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “Do you need anything?”
I shook my head. “It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I mean, it’s obviously not fine, but… we weren’t close. I’m just here to help my mom out.”
Jasmine nodded sympathetically. “Does anyone know you’re back?”
“No. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Cash.”
She leaned back, rubbing her stomach as she studied me.
“Look, Nairobi. I don’t know what you’ve got going on, but you already know how shit goes in this city, especially in the circles Money runs in.
If I ran into you, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does.
And I don’t hide shit from my husband. If he finds out I saw you and didn’t tell him… ” She raised her eyebrow.
I nodded. I didn’t want to cause problems for her, and she wasn’t obligated to keep my secrets, especially since I basically blew off her friendship.
“I won’t bring it up,” she continued. “But if he asks what I did today, I’m not going to lie. You feel me?”
“Yup. I get it. I’m not trying to cause an issue between y’all.”
“Not an issue,” she said, brushing off my concern. “But Cash loves making a mountain out of a molehill when he’s ready. I just don’t feel like dealing with his shit. Here, take my number again.”
“I still have it,” I smiled.
She rolled her eyes but grinned. “Of course you do. Anyway, call me if you need anything. You wouldn’t be bothering me. Don’t let the belly fool you, I’m working until my due date.” She stood and adjusted her bag over her shoulder.
“And how does Money feel about that?” I asked. I knew her husband well enough to guess he’d had some strong feelings about her still working, period.
“Oh, you know that nigga was pissed,” she laughed. “It was a whole lot of him grumbling about me not being on my feet and not needing the money. But I’m taking a year off for maternity leave, so he’ll live.”
I chuckled. “I bet he’s thrilled about that compromise.”
Jasmine leaned down to give me another quick hug.
“Don’t be a stranger, Nairobi. I mean it.
Monica aside, I don’t have any friends that understand what it’s like dealing with men like Cash.
Plus, you still owe me a shooting lesson.
He refuses to teach me how to handle a blicky,” she said, miming holding a gun and squinting one eye.
“I got you this time. Promise.” I laughed.
With a final wave, she picked up her order at the counter and left, leaving me with my thoughts.
I didn’t know Jasmine well, but the way Cash was ready to move hell to get her back said everything. She’d brought out something in him that I didn’t think extended beyond his mother and Jelani. It would be nice to have a friend like her.
Friendship had never been a priority for me.
My father’s military career moved us around so often, and by middle school I realized it was pointless to get close to people.
When I’d made one good friend, we’d be packing up again.
Everyone always promised to keep in touch, but after a few months the calls always stopped.
During my senior year, we finally settled in Atlanta, and by then I’d become an expert at keeping to myself. Everyone was cliqued up anyway, and I made quick enemies with the popular girls because their little boyfriends were interested in me.
I pushed the memories aside as I ate my sandwich, but my mind wouldn’t stop. I needed to let Kenya know I was back, but that was going to be a whole thing.
Tomorrow. Deal with her tomorrow. Right now, I needed a full night’s sleep.
Today’s run-in with Jasmine was only the beginning.
Seeing her meant it was only a matter of time before I saw him.
She promised not to go out of her way to tell Cash, but I knew how pillow talk went.
I just wasn’t sure how long I had before he told Fontaine.
My stomach did backflips at the thought as I pulled into my condo’s parking garage.
I parked in my assigned spot, popped the trunk, and cut the engine. I sat there for a moment, tapping my finger on the steering wheel.
“You’re a runner, Nai. You ran.” CJ’s voice echoed in my head as I rode the elevator up to the seventh floor.
Leave it to Sterling fucking Crawford to die and force my hand. With the exception of helping Cash out two years ago, I made it a personal mission to stay the fuck away from Atlanta. And now, because of him I was back—my past and my present had finally caught up with me.
Twenty-four hours later, I was pulling up to my childhood home without any idea of how Sterling had died or what kind of funeral he would’ve wanted.
A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes. I’d barely slept—too wired from the thought of seeing my mother for the first time in two years and from knowing that word would eventually reach Fontaine that I was back in the city.
My mind ran in circles all night, and by the time I finally drifted off, sunlight was already peeking through the blinds.
I tugged my coat tighter around me as I walked up the familiar path to the front door. I still had a key, but letting myself in felt wrong. This wasn’t really my home even though I lived here for most of my adolescent life. I rang the bell instead and listened as the sound echoed through the house.
After a moment, the lock clicked.
My mother, Kenya Crawford, opened the door—a small, sad smile on her face. Her hair was perfectly done, like it always was. Her tawny brown skin glowed, but her eyes were red and swollen.
“Ma-Kenya,” I corrected myself quickly. “Hi.”
“Come, come,” she sniffled, stepping aside.
The house looked the same. Immaculate. It was the kind of home where nothing was ever out of order—except now that Sterling was gone, his absence felt loud. Like the very spirit of him had disappeared entirely. I slipped out of my shoes and coat and followed her into the sitting room.
The baby grand piano sat untouched in the corner. Ornate couches faced one another, with decorative pillows arranged just so. Art Kenya had collected on Sterling’s dime filled the walls and curio cabinets, pieces she’d picked up from their travels. The room looked like a life carefully curated.
I sat on one of the couches and folded my hands together. “So… What happened?”
“Your father had kidney disease,” she said as she lowered herself into the chair across from me. “He’d been dealing with it for some time, actually. But over the past six months, dialysis stopped working.”
The news felt like a sucker punch. I racked my brain, trying to remember the last time I saw him. It was two years ago, briefly. He’d looked a little thinner, but Sterling was always a solid man and losing a few pounds wouldn’t have hurt him.
“What about a kidney transplant?” I asked. “Weren’t you a match? Why didn’t he ask me?” I asked.
She shook her head. “You know your father, he was too prideful for all that. When it became clear there weren’t any other options, we decided on palliative care.”
She paused and drew in a shaky breath.
“And two nights ago,” she continued, lip trembling, “he passed in his sleep.”
This was the part where, ideally, I’d collapse into her arms. Where grief overtook us both and we held each other–pretending we hadn’t spent most of my life going through the motions of being mother and daughter.
But there were no tears. No dramatics. If anything, I felt like a weight had been lifted. A chapter of my life that I could finally close.
“I’m sorry,” I said carefully. “I know how much he meant to you.”
Kenya screwed up her face. “You say that like he was a stranger. He was your father.”
I looked her dead in the eye. “Yeah, well—it’s not like we ever had the typical daddy-daughter relationship.”
Her expression hardened, and I could feel the tension rising between us. I inhaled deeply, trying to keep my voice even. “Kenya, I didn’t come here to fight. I know this is a lot. I came to help lay him to rest, sort out his affairs, and make sure you’re okay.”
“This isn’t a job, Nairobi. I’m not some damn project. You could at least try to show some compassion. You act like a robot.”
“That’s my cue to go,” I said as I stood. “You’re clearly very upset, processing all this. I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll figure out the funeral arrangements.”
“You’re not staying here?”
“I haven’t spent the night in this house since I was twenty-one.”
She scoffed and looked away.
“I’ll be at my condo,” I said. “I’ll call you before I come by tomorrow. Get some rest, Kenya.”
I didn’t wait for a reply. I gathered my things and left, closing the door softly behind me.