Chapter 11 Khloe
Khloe
I could tell something was off the moment Kennedi slid into the passenger seat with that half-assed “good morning.”
I glanced at her once we pulled out the driveway. “What’s wrong with you?”
She sighed and stared out the window. “Nothing is wrong, Mom. I’m fine before you ask one hundred times.”
“Mmm.” I kept driving, but I wasn’t buying it. “Well, why do you seem aggravated then?”
She looked at me. “Because nothing is wrong, but I know you’re going to keep asking me what’s wrong.”
I blinked and bit the inside of my cheek. I took a deep breath through my nose with a quiet prayer for patience.
A few minutes passed, and then I said, “This is why I said right now is not a good time to deal with boys. This is what they do. They get in your head, mess with your emotions, and now you’ll probably do the bare minimum at school all day.”
“Oh my God, Mom,” she groaned, dragging the words out like I was being dramatic. “That’s not even what it is!”
I opened my mouth to respond, but we were pulling up to the curb at her school. She beat me to it.
“Ma, I’ll just get out right here. Have a good day. Love you.”
She didn’t even wait for me to stop fully before the door cracked open.
“Love you too!” I called after her, but the door had already slammed.
I shook my head and pulled off, rolling my eyes. Like clockwork, I hit the button on my steering wheel and called Coffee.
She answered with that groggy, just-woke-up voice. “Hello?”
“Girl, get up. Don’t you have a long-ass day today?”
Coffee groaned into the phone. “I cleared my schedule. Not feeling it today. It’s the luxury of having employees. They’ll survive without me.”
“Mmhm. Don’t even get me started on that boss talk. I just told Kairo this morning he doesn’t act like a boss. He makes all these sacrifices for work like he’s getting paid hourly.”
Coffee let out a breathy laugh. “I barely got any sleep.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She paused for a second. “I was just up last night… drinking wine… and I realized how quiet the house was. I’m about to be thirty-four, Khloe. I think I’m ready for kids.”
I was stunned. Coffee never talked like that without making a joke right after.
“You’re ready for kids?” I repeated, trying to make sure I heard her right.
“Yeah,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I think so. I mean, it’s complicated… the whole situation is. But I think I’m ready.”
I knew what she meant by “situation.” Her relationship wasn’t exactly picture-perfect and the fact that they had frozen embryos from a time when things were more aligned made it messy as hell now.
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I will today. I’m just mentally preparing myself for whatever he says. They’re our embryos. No matter what the situation is, it shouldn’t be a big fuss.”
I didn’t know what to say. Coffee was always the rock. Unshakable. But she started to sound like me. Like someone waiting on the other person to show up in a partnership that had slowly stopped partnering.
“I don’t really know what to say, babe,” I admitted. “Just talk to him. See where his head is. Then… go from there.”
“That’s probably the only thing that makes sense right now.”
We were both quiet for a minute. Just breathing through our realities.
“Well, if you feel like getting on the road and driving,” I said, turning into the shopping mall parking lot, “I’m free today… and I’m sure Marquinton would love to see you if you come to town too.”
Coffee groaned dramatically. “Girl, please.”
Marquinton wasn’t just anybody. He’s one of Kairo’s best friends.
. But more than that, he was Coffee’s high school sweetheart.
We were inseparable back then—me and Kairo, her and Marquinton.
The two popular couples in our senior class.
We all won “Favorite Couples” in the yearbook, side by side on the same page.
While Kairo and I stayed together, Coffee and Marquinton didn’t make it past college.
He ended up marrying someone else and Coffee never really forgave him for that.
They divorced a couple years ago, and ever since then, every time Marquinton sees me, he never misses the opportunity to ask about Coffee.
“She was definitely the one that got away. How is she?” he always asked.
“She’s doing good,” I’d always reply, even if she wasn’t. He didn’t need to know the details. And Coffee always played it cool, but I knew a part of her still wondered what if.
I smiled. “You already know that man would drop everything.”
“Yeah, and I already dropped him,” she shot back. “That sounds like a hard pass. He got left on read again last week for checking on me too much.”
I laughed, genuinely. “Girl, what?”
She sighed like I was the one being ridiculous.
“He should be grateful I was even texting him again in the first place. But asking me if I’m fine every damn hour is aggravating.
Like, damn, let me breathe and miss you a little bit.
You didn’t care if I was fine when you married that hoe from law school that I couldn’t stand. ”
Whewww. She wasn’t lying. We all hated that girl. Loud, smug, and constantly in competition with Coffee without even being in the same lane. Still…
“Didn’t you break up with him before all that though?” I teased.
She ignored me like she always did when I made a good point. “Are you ever going to let the past be the past?”
“No,” she said without hesitation. “Selective healing, baby. I pick what I get over.”
I nearly choked laughing.
She paused for a second, her tone softening. “I’m about to get up and head to this man’s office so we can talk about these embryos. And depending on how I feel after, I might get on the road. I need to come see my mom anyway.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling into a parking spot. “Just let me know.”
“Love you.”
“Love you more,” I said, ending the call as I grabbed my purse and headed inside the art store.
There was something calming about aisles filled with blank canvases and colors waiting to be turned into something meaningful. Painting had become this unexpected form of therapy for me.
I walked to the back wall where the larger canvases were displayed, already picturing the series I wanted to do for Senae.
She’d been talking about filling the walls at Crowned & Covered with more pieces from Black artists.
That’s when I saw the trend on Pinterest: Black women with different hairstyles and textures.The painting showed the beauty of afros, coils, silk presses, box braids, bantu knots, locs.
A celebration of our versatility and power.
I grabbed a few new brushes, a six-pack of acrylics, and two fresh canvases before heading to checkout.
As I walked toward the checkout counter, I felt my phone ringing from deep in my purse.
I paused halfway, sighing as I dug for it, assuming it was either Kairo or Kennedi.
But when I finally fished it out and glanced at the screen, it was an unknown number.
“Ugh,” I mumbled under my breath.
My first thought was that my daddy had given my personal number out to another one of his friends or potential clients, despite me asking him repeatedly to send them to my office line instead.
I rolled my shoulders back, switched into attorney mode, and answered with practiced professionalism.
“Khloe Givelle speaking.”
A laugh echoed through the speaker. I froze and looked at the phone, squinting at the number before it clicked.
Damn. I never saved his number.
I put the phone back to my ear just in time to hear him say, “Good morning, Khloe. I see there’s a high possibility that my number hasn’t been saved.”
I winced and laughed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that. I thought you were someone calling about a client,” I said, stepping up to the counter and setting my basket of paintbrushes and canvases down.
“Nah, you’re fine. I just wanted to check in. How’s your morning?”
“Uhh…” I handed my card to the cashier. “It’s a new day, so that’s always a plus.”
“Yeah, I hear that. I’ve been up all morning.”
“Working, huh? I’m sure you’re on the phone and computer a lot since you trade.”
“Yeah,” he said with a grin in his voice, “but I’m actually taking a break right now.”
“Oh, look at that—balance,” I teased.
He laughed. “We all need balance. That’s one thing that’s really important to me... What about you? What are you doing?”
“Just leaving a store. I needed some supplies for a little art project.”
“That sounds dope. Listen…” He cleared his throat. “You hungry?”
I blinked, taken off guard. “Uh…”
“I know this spot that’s pretty ducked off. The owner’s a friend of mine, so we can have a little private corner. It won’t be in the open.”
I smiled before I could stop myself. “Are you trying to make sure I don’t get caught up in the wrong lens?”
He chuckled. “Just trying to be considerate. But if you don’t mind being seen…”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “Not at all. I meet with people all the time. Perks of my profession.”
“Cool. I’m up and ready now,” he added, “so give me like thirty minutes to call and get everything handled. I’ll text you the address.”
“Okay,” I said, still smiling like a teenager about to skip class.
“See you then,” he said before hanging up.
I pulled into the parking lot ten minutes early on purpose. I needed time to go inside to breathe and gather myself.
The sandwich shop was small, tucked between two boutique storefronts. Inside, it smelled like warm bread and herbs, soft music playing low enough that conversations stayed private. Just like he said, there was a ducked-off section toward the back.
I slid into the seat and set my purse beside me, resting my hands in my lap like that would stop them from shaking.
Relax, Khloe. You’re not doing anything wrong.
Still, my heart was beating like I was about to walk into court unprepared.