Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
I thumb the wetness from her face. “There’s a lot to sort out. Noah is my first concern. We never married, but to him, this will feel like a divorce.”
“His birthday is coming up.” She bites her lip, blinking damp lashes. “I already feel awful that I’ll be away on this trip for it. Could we let him enjoy his party? I don’t want this cloud hanging over it. He’s so excited about his friends coming and—”
“I agree. We’ll let him have his party.” I kiss her forehead, pull her into a hug, swallowing against the painful burning of my throat. “We’ll tell him when you get back.”
Chapter Ten
Kimba
“Mama, I’ll be there.”
I adjust my earbud and jog in heels the last few steps to my doctor’s office building since some guy is holding the door open for me.
“Thanks,” I say, flashing him a quick smile. He’s staring at my ass. “Eyes up here, buddy.”
His cheeks redden.
Awww. A blushing lecher. How cute.
He tugs at his collar like it just got tight. “Uh, sorry. I—”
“Dude, I’m just teasing you. It’s fine.”
He laughs, relief evident on his face before he ducks into one of the open office doors.
“Teasing me about what?” my mother asks. “Will you be home in time for the ceremony or not, Kimba?”
“I said yes.” My home training nudges me. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. There will be so many community leaders there, and you know we’ve named this new award for—”
“For Daddy, yes, Mama. You told me. It’s amazing.”
My family’s legacy, especially in Atlanta, is long and impressive. I’m proud of my grandfather and my father, of all their accomplishments and all the good they did. Seeing how they lived their lives inspired me to do what I do—to live my life the way I have.
Younger Kimba didn’t always have this perspective. Turning on to streets named after your father is great. Attending an elementary school named after your grandfather is great…until everyone starts expecting things from you. All the things. And the scrutiny can become so intense.
My grandfather was a Morehouse man. My daddy was a Morehouse man. My grandmother, mother, aunts, sister—all Spelmanites. When it came time for me to choose a college, it never occurred to anyone that I would detour from the prescribed path. My announcement that I’d won a full ride to Arizona State was met with shock and disapproval. I resented the suffocating expectations of everyone who knew my family. Atlanta felt like a city-wide trap. That scholarship sprang me free.
“And Kayla needs you to handle a few things for the ceremony,” Mama says.
“What things?” I’m outside my doctor’s office suite, but linger in the hall to finish my call. “What does she need me to do?”
“She…oh, Lord above. You tell her, Zee,” Mama says impatiently.
“Tru?” Kayla’s deep voice takes over the line. Even after all these years, my back straightens a little when my big sister enters the room. She manages everything from her children to our family’s foundation like a five-star general.
“What do you need me to do at the reception, Kayla?”
“Well, hello to you, too, sis,” she replies coolly.
I tap my foot and grit my teeth. I don’t have time for this. I’m meeting Senator Billingsley from Michigan after this appointment. My schedule is basically a Jenga tower that Carla carefully constructs. I get behind on any part of it and the whole day collapses.
“Sorry,” I say, forcefully scrubbing my voice of irritation. “Hello, Kayla. How are you?”
“Hmmmm. Don’t do that polite shit with me.”
“Zee, come on. I get straight to the point, and you call me out for being rude. I ask how you are and you accuse me of being polite?”
“I didn’t say you were rude. You were impersonal. There’s a difference.”
“Can you please sister-splain the difference later and get to the damn point right now so I can continue with my day? I have a doctor’s appointment like now.”
“Doctor?” Concern shades her voice. “You okay?”
“Doctor?” my mother echoes from somewhere in the room. “Is she pregnant? Please, Jesus, don’t let that child be pregnant.”
“Ma, she’s not pregnant.” Kayla drops her voice. “Are you?”
“Don’t have an abortion!” Mama screams from much closer. “We could give that baby a good home once we got past the shame of you having it out of wedlock.”
I swallow a feral scream. I need something to strangle if I’m expected to endure this.
“I’m not pregnant.” Far as I know. “Just some routine stuff. Now, what do you need me to do?”
“You sure?” Kayla asks.
I don’t answer, letting my silence speak because I may snarl if I use words.
“Okay, okay,” Kayla says. “So there will be about twenty community leaders recognized at the ceremony.”
“Who are they?”
“Community leaders. I just said—”
“No, I mean do we know who these people are being honored in Daddy’s name?”
“I’ve been really busy. You know. Protecting our family’s legacy and all.”