Chapter 22 Kairo
Kairo
I walked into the office and Kemi swiveled around in her chair so fast like I’d broke in. She hurried and pressed pause on whatever YouTube vlog she had playing on her phone.
“Uh… what are you doing here?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “You’re off today.”
I grabbed the chair across from her desk and pulled it closer, sitting down.
“I needed to get away from the house before I snapped.” What’s wrong now?”
I rubbed both hands down my face. “You know how I been saying that shit just feels different?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. And I told you not to overthink it.”
“I’m not overthinking,” I said, shaking my head. “I know my wife.”
“We’ve been friends since we were kids and started dating at fifteen. I know what her silence means. I know what her laugh means. I know what her tone means when she’s hiding something and when she’s just irritated.”
“She can walk in a room and not say a word, and I know if something is wrong,” I continued. “And something is wrong.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Like what?”
“She’s… somewhere else,” I said, trying to explain the feeling. “Physically she’s there, but it’s like her spirit isn’t in the room with me.”
Kemi leaned back in her chair.
“She doesn’t touch me the same,” I went on. “She doesn't look at me the same. When I talk, she’s listening but she is not hearing me. And when I try to bring it up, she deflects or gets defensive.”
“My wife isn’t my wife right now.”
Kemi sighed softly. “Okay. I’m not dismissing you,” she said carefully. “You do know her. And you’ve been with her longer than most people stay married.”
“Exactly.”
“But,” she added, holding up a finger, “stress changes people too. Planning a big event. Parenting a teenage girl. Things stack up.”
“I get that,” I said. “But this ain’t just stress.”
“What does your gut say?” she asked.
“My gut says she’s pulling away.”
“Pulling away how?”
“I don’t know, shit,” I admitted, frustrated. “That’s the part that’s driving me crazy. It’s like I can feel it but I can’t prove it.”
She folded her arms on the desk.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s say something is off. What are you going to do? Accuse her? Go through her phone? Start moving funny?”
“No,” I said immediately.
“Then breathe,” she replied. “You chasing a feeling is how you create the very thing you’re scared of.”
Before I could respond, my phone started ringing.
It was Kennedi’s cheer coach.
“Hold on,” I told Kemi, answering it. “Hello?”
“Mr. Givelle?” the coach’s voice came through, professional but hesitant. “Hi. I was wondering if you could come down to the school for a quick meeting.”
“When?”
“Uh… right now.”
I sat up straighter. “Is Kennedi okay?”
“She’s fine,” the coach said quickly. “I just think it would be better if we discussed this in person.”
“I’m on my way,” I said, already standing. I hung up and looked at Kemi. She didn’t even ask since she could read my face.
“School?” she guessed.
“Yeah.”
“Go. And call me after.”
I nodded, halfway to the door.
I pulled out of the school parking lot with Kennedi in the passenger seat, scrolling on her phone like she was the one mad. Which irritated me more than the fact that I had just left a meeting about my daughter being sent home early.
I reached over and snatched the phone out of her hand.
“Dad!” she snapped.
“Nah,” I said, holding it out of her reach. “We don’t get sent home for cursing in class and then sit in my car texting like nothing happened.”
She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead.
“What are you even cursing for?”
She didn’t say anything like she didn’t hear me.
“Kennedi.”
“He deserved it.”
Her response caught me off guard because what the fuck do she mean he deserved it? She looked out the window.
“One of the boys in my class… he made a joke.”
Her voice cracked just enough for me to notice that she was trying her best not to cry.
“A joke about what?”
“About me being in prison.”
“What?”
She blinked fast, trying to stop her tears, but it wasn’t helping.
“He said my parents won't let me go anywhere because… because whore must be in my blood and they’re trying to force me on another path.”
The words hit me like somebody punched my chest. I don’t think most adults are aware of how cruel kids could be.
“And you told him—”
“I told him to shut the fuck up,” she said finally looking at me. “And then everybody gasped like I threatened to use a weapon.”
At that school, language like that was a big deal, especially if she said it loud enough for everyone to hear. They treated words like weapons. But hearing why, I understood her reasoning.
She wiped her wet face that was full of tears.
“Mom thinks I’m going to fail before I even get a chance to try,” she said. “She signs up to chaperon everything. Every school event, field trip, and game.”
Her voice trembled.
“It’s not even embarrassing anymore. Dad, it’s exhausting.”
I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “She means well, baby.”
“I know. I know she loves me. I know she’s trying to protect me.” She paused. “But even if I have to pee, she tries to walk me there and wait outside.”
I almost laughed but caught myself. Khloe was a bit overbearing but her parents gave her so much freedom growing up that she secretly hated it. I think as an only child, she wanted her parents to be more observant and strict.
“I’m turning sixteen this weekend,” she said crying. “And I feel like I’m six.”
She leaned her head back against the seat. “My grandmothers give me more freedom than Mom.”
Kennedi wasn’t wrong. While I sat there listening to her, I didn’t hear a teen just complaining. I really listened to her and got a glimpse of the pressure that she lived under. I thought about Khloe and how much of Kennedi’s emotional world she carried daily.
The worrying. The watching. The protecting. The fear of one wrong decision changing everything. I realized that being the “fun parent” was easy when you weren’t the one carrying the mental weight all the time.
I reached over and brushed a tear from Kennedi’s cheek.
“Hey,” I said before she looked at me. “I hear you.”
“I’m going to talk to your mom,” I continued. “Not to tell her that she’s wrong… but so she understands how you feel.”
She stared at me. “So you’re not mad at me?”
“Oh, I’m mad because someone disrespected my daughter,” I said. “But I also understand why you reacted the way you did.”
Her lip trembled from crying. I could tell that she finally felt seen and understood.
“And what happened today?” I smiled at her. “It stays between us.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
I nodded. “Your birthday is this weekend. Sweet sixteen only happens once. I want you focused on enjoying it and not grounded in your room.”
Relief washed over her face so fast that it almost broke me. I handed her phone back.
“And invite whoever you want,” I said. “Girls, boys, friends, teammates… whoever.”
She blinked. “Dad…”
“I’ll handle your mom. Do what I said.”
A slow smile spread across her face. The little girl smile she used to give me when she was five years old and I said yes to ice cream before dinner. Once we parked at the office, she leaned across the console and hugged me.
“Thanks, Dad.”
I wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “Always.”
We walked into the office together after the emotional ride from the school. Kemi sat behind her desk, and she looked up the moment the door opened.
Her face lit up when she saw Kennedi.
“Hey, Ms. Kemi,” Kennedi said politely. She always said Kemi was “tea” and she wanted to go shopping in her closet.
Kemi smiled warmly. “Hey, baby. What you doing here during school hours?”
Kennedi looked at me like she was unsure how to answer since I said it was to stay between us.
“Go in my office,” I told her. “Close the door and work on that assignment packet your teacher gave you.”
She gave me a dramatic salute. “Sir, yes sir.”
Kemi and I both laughed as she disappeared and my office door clicked shut behind her.
Kemi’s smile faded once Kennedi wasn’t in sight. “Everything okay?”
I exhaled and dropped into the chair across from her desk.
“Not really.”
I told her everything and by the time I finished, Kemi’s eyes were glossy. She pressed her lips together, shaking her head slowly.
“Poor baby,” she whispered. “This age is brutal.”
“Yeah,” I said, agreeing. “And I texted Khloe that I was picking Kennedi up from school today.”
Kemi nodded.
“I don’t want Khloe to know. She’d cancel that expensive party without even trying to understand what really happened. She’d just see rebellion instead of looking at the bigger picture.”
Kemi laughed softly because she knew I wasn’t lying.
“Yeah,” she said. “That sounds about right.”
Then she looked at me but it was different.
“What?” I asked.
She shook her head, smiling. “Nothing.”
I gave her that look. “Kemi.”
She leaned back in her chair. “You’re just… a great dad.”
I sat on the edge of her desk, rubbing the back of my neck.
“I’m honestly trying,” I admitted. “But this shit is hard.”
She laughed. “What you mean?”
I paused, searching for the words. “Since I slowed down with work, I’ve been around Kennedi more and even talking to her more. Seeing things I never really saw before.”
“I have a new respect for Khloe,” I shook my head. “For real.”
“Having a teenage daughter… building a career… keeping a house running… while making sure your marriage doesn’t fall apart at the same time…”
I looked up at the ceiling. “That’s four full-time job that I don’t think I would ever willingly sign up for. You barely have time to even care for yourself.”
Kemi nodded slowly.
“And she’s done this shit for years,” I said. “Like it's nothing. Like it doesn’t weigh her down daily. But now that I’m stepping into it more… I can see it.”
I looked down at my hands.
“With that kind of responsibility you can’t clock out. You don’t get breaks. You don’t get to be tired. You still have to show up smiling, loving, patient, and understanding… even when you running on empty. I think Khloe has been exhausted longer than I ever realized.”
Kemi smiled gently and said—
“Welcome to the life of a Black mother, Kairo.”
I looked up at her while she folded her hands together.
“Even when we don’t want to, we still have to show up,” she said. “We mask everything. The stress. The fear. The loneliness. The doubt.Because if we don’t do it… who else will?”
She shrugged lightly. “We have to make it happen regardless.”