Chapter 8 Kairo
Kairo
After my mom’s Sunday dinner, Khloe said she had to run a few errands, so I took the opportunity to spend some time with my baby girl.
Kennedi had been begging me to take her to get boba tea—something she was weirdly obsessed with lately.
I missed the days when she was a simple ice cream and sprinkles kind of girl, but now it was all about teas with little balls that burst in your mouth.
That didn’t sound like anything I wanted to be a part of, but whatever made her happy.
I let her pick the place. Of course, she wanted to go to that trendy spot with all the neon signs and kids taking TikToks in front of the wall art.
She ordered her usual and gave me this look like “You getting one too?” So I ordered a small, even though the idea of chewy shit floating in my drink still didn’t sit right with me.
She made me hold it up so she could take a picture for Snapchat. I smiled through it. That was the thing about having daughters—you do all kinds of shit you swore you’d never do, just to see them smile.
On the way home, she hooked her phone up to the Bluetooth and blasted some song by a rapper named NBA YoungBoy. I swear, these kids don’t know the first thing about real music. I let it play for about fifteen seconds before I turned it off.
“That’s what’s wrong with y’all kids now,” I said, shaking my head. “No soul in this music.”
She groaned dramatically. “Ugh, Daddy. You’re so old.”
I laughed and tapped the screen to queue up some real music. “Nah. You need to hear something with some feelings in it. Listen to this.”
I put on Too Close by Next and turned it up loud enough to fill the car. Kennedi slumped in her seat, crossing her arms.
“Daddy, you really be thinking you cool, huh?”
I nodded with no shame. “I am cool. You just don’t know it yet.”
She rolled her eyes again but this time with a little smile. That was the fun part about having kids. She had Khloe’s attitude and my stubborn streak. Such a dangerous combo.
We pulled into the driveway, and I paused for a minute before cutting the engine.
Kennedi was still humming the hook of whatever NBA YoungBoy song she got cut off from earlier, texting away on her phone like she didn’t have a care in the world.
My daughter was about to be sixteen in a couple weeks. A baby in my eyes, but I wasn’t naive.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my eyes on the windshield.
She paused mid-text and looked at me. “What is it now, Dad?”
I scratched at the side of my jaw, suddenly unsure how to word what I was about to ask. I didn’t want to be too heavy-handed with it, but I also wasn’t gonna pretend like I didn’t know what was up.
“Are you talking to any boys?”
She immediately burst into laughter, the kind that made her throw her head back and slap her thigh.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked, fighting my own smile.
“Because… Why do you sound like that?” she said. “Like you're scared to ask.”
I chuckled a little. “Aight, fair. But nah, for real. You know you can talk to me, right?”
She looked at me. “Yeah… I know.”
That meant everything. I worked hard creating a space where she didn’t have to lie or hide behind closed doors.
I never came at her like her mom did. Khloe, for all her strengths, still struggled with the whole “real world” part of parenting.
Everything was rules and structure. She meant well, but sometimes it pushed Kennedi away. I’d always wanted to be different.
“There’s one boy,” she admitted after a moment. “He plays basketball.”
My eyebrows raised a little. “He goes to your school?”
She shook her head. “Nah. He goes to Stone Prep.”
It wasn’t far but across town. A magnet school that was known for turning D1 dreams into reality. I nodded. “Okay… so how y’all meet?”
“Instagram. But I mean he does attend a rival school, so he’s seen me cheer at games,” she said casually. “We’ve been talking for a little minute now.”
“Are y’all dating?”
She paused. “Not really. I mean, we’re cool. We talk a lot when he isn’t busy.”
I watched her closely. “He must have a situation?”
She hesitated. “Kind of.”
I turned toward her fully in the driver’s seat. “What does that mean, Kennedi?”
She looked down, then back up. “He has another friend who is a girl… but it’s complicated.”
“Complicated” I repeated it slowly so she could hear what she just said. “So, another girlfriend.”
She nodded. “I mean I guess you can say that.”
I took a breath. “Listen to me. I’m not gonna tell you not to talk to him. I’m not gonna say ‘leave him alone’ like your mama probably would. But baby girl… just know what you’re doing.”
She nodded again. “I do, Daddy. We’re just cool.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to let the protective side of me jump out and turn our conversation into a lecture. “I just don’t want you giving your time to someone who’s not in a position to give you theirs. You feel me?”
She nodded. “I know.”
I reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezed it. “You’re too dope to be anybody’s ‘kinda-sorta-maybe.’ Don’t settle for part-time attention, alright?”
Her eyes teared just a little, and she gave me that half-smile that always reminded me of when she was five, sitting on my lap, and asking me if I thought her stuffed animals had feelings.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you more,” I said, kissing the back of her hand. “You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you’ve got hella purpose in you. Don’t ever let some confused little boy make you forget that.”
She leaned over and hugged me, and I held her tight, wishing I could bottle that moment up. Teenage years were hard enough, but if I could make her feel heard then I was doing my job.
“Alright,” I said, rubbing her back before letting go. “Let’s get in here before your mama comes looking for us.”
She laughed. “You know she’s probably already in there on ten.”
We grabbed our cups and got out, heading toward the front door. I looked at her as we walked to the front door, silently praying I was giving her enough tools to navigate the world.
She had her mama’s fire, but I wanted her to have my patience.
Even though she might not have realized it yet—our conversations, our car rides, our little check-ins—was my way of breaking the cycle.
I didn’t want my daughter to become so curious about the world and everything it had to offer, but scared to talk to trust someone with guidance.
I didn’t want her doing the very thing that her parents did that landed them with major responsibilities at the ripe age of eighteen.
I smelled flowers before I even made it to the kitchen.
Khloe was talking while arranging a fresh bouquet of flowers. I heard her laugh from around the corner and the exaggerated, “Girl, pleaaaaase.”
I knew it was Coffee on the other end of the phone.
No one else could get her that animated.
They’d been thick as thieves since kids—Kennedi’s godmother, Khloe’s backbone, and the only woman who could tell Khloe to shut the hell up and she’d actually do it.
I used to come home late and find them curled up in the bed like I was the guest in my own damn house.
I didn’t even fuss, I’d just grabbed a blanket and made peace with the couch.
Coffee moving to the city and opening her firm years ago was probably the beginning of the unraveling in our marriage, if I’m being honest. It left Khloe alone, with too much time to feel the absence I was causing.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching Khloe trim the flower stems and laughing into her phone.
“Hello, Coffee,” I said loud enough to make her pause.
Khloe turned, smirking as she set the phone on speaker. “Say it again.”
Coffee didn’t miss a beat. “Tell that Black, ugly motherfucker that if he can’t make it this time, I’m going to Greece with you and gladly using his ticket. A free trip sounds like a blessing to me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m definitely making it this time. My baby already pushed it back once—I can’t let that happen again.”
I stepped forward and kissed Khloe on the forehead. She laughed and shook her head, still focused on her vase.
“He can cancel all he wants,” she said. “I’m still going. I was being nice last time.”
“I heard that,” Coffee added. “I love yall. Take care of yourself, Kairo. I’ll call you later, Khlo”
“Alright, Coffee. Love you too.”
The call ended, and I stood there just watching Khloe smiling.
Coffee wasn’t just her best friend. She was someone Khloe could talk to in her darkest moment to bring her back to the light.
What I admired about Coffee most was that even though she rode for Khloe, she always showed me love.
She’d call me out, sure. But it was always from a place of wanting the best for her best friend.
When we would bring an idea to her, she always made us see each other’s point of view in ways we couldn’t.
That kind of loyalty and love, you couldn’t fake it.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned on the counter, watching Khloe fluff her bouquet like she was putting the final touches on a masterpiece.
I stayed leaning on the counter, watching her before she finally looked up at me. There was something on her mind. I didn’t know what it was but I could feel it deep in my chest.
“You remember that little garden we found when we went to Westin Hills?” I asked.
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond.
“You were mad at me about something—hell, probably about work again—and we ended up getting lost walking back to the parking lot from that outdoor brunch. We cut through that garden, and it started pouring down raining.”
She started smiling. “You made me kiss you in the rain like we were in a damn movie.”
She laughed and it felt like warm light cutting through days of darkness.
“You said since I got your silk press wet, I’d owe you a new one every week for a year.”
“And you did,” she said, smirking. “I went to Crowned and Covered faithfully to get Ms. Shirley to hook me up.”
“I was so in love with you.” I shrugged. “I still am.”
I moved toward her, wrapping my arms around her waist and turning her to face me.
“I gotta head out,” I said quietly. “This viewing shouldn’t be longer than an hour or two.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”
“Khlo, you knew it was on the calendar. You helped me prep the packet last night.It’s the only time this client is available.”
“I know,” she said, walking away from me. “I guess I’ll just see you when you get back.”
“You’ll see a lot when I get back,” I said looking at her. “So, I want you in nothing, waiting on me.”
She just looked at me. She didn’t smile or even looked impressed. She just said, “Okay,” like I was a commercial break in the middle of her show.
The way she brushed me off threw me off a little bit. I stood there for a second longer, waiting for her to turn around, to joke, to say something slick, or anything. I wanted to ask her what was up, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue.
So I kissed her cheek, grabbed my keys off the counter, and walked out.
The house was immaculate showing off the kind of skyline most people only dreamed of waking up to. It was one of those properties that sold itself. All I had to do was walk through the motions and smile at the right time.
“My God, Kairo… this is gorgeousssss,” the client said, dragging out the last word. “But not as gorgeous as this fit. Who tailored those pants? Because they’re doing what needs to be done.”
She laughed, then reached out and let her hand glide across my chest as she walked past me.
I smirked, tucking my hands into my pockets. “Appreciate that. Come this way, you’re gonna love the master suite.”
She winked and followed.
She was stunning, no lie. The type of woman who made red carpet appearances look effortless. She walked like she knew the world wanted her.
She also flirted like it was second nature. Compliments. Quick touches. Lip bites. Long stares. But none of it moved me.
A lot of my female clients were like that.
I couldn’t count how many times I’d walked a woman through a multi-million dollar property while she sized me up like she was shopping for more than a property.
I’d become used to their flirty laughs or how they’d “accidentally” brush against me in narrow hallways.
It was never a secret. I just didn’t make a scene out of it.
I wasn’t stupid, so I knew what some of these women wanted.
But I didn’t care because the sale was always the priority.
My charm came with boundaries that were just enough to make the experience memorable but not enough to make it personal.
Even when I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on between us, I was married to who I wanted.
“So,” she said, leaning in a little too close. “Do you usually do these private tours, or do I just get special treatment?”
I smiled, professional as ever. “I’m glad you feel special, that’s what I strive to do. Everyone gets the same level of service. I try my best to do whatever is best for the clients.”
She laughed, and I turned to keep the tour moving.