She laughed. “You know me too well.”
Then she started speaking business. “That was Mrs. Nikki. Again.”
I exhaled slowly. “Of course it was.”
“She wants to know if you’ve scheduled any new viewings for her yet.”
I rolled my eyes and rubbed my face. “I’ve already shown her four homes that were perfect with almost all the things she asked for.”
“Mmhm,” Kemi said while eating a donut.
“But now she wants a house that’s already built with shit that realistically she needs to have built and add herself” I continued. “She wants a finished vision without the process.”
Kemi nodded in agreement. “That part.”
“I’m tempted to call my mama and tell her she needs to get her friend.”
Kemi laughed. “Well… she’s adjusting to a newly divorced life. And yeah, she walked away with money, but that doesn’t take away what that kind of change that does to you mentally.”
She gave me a serious face.
“She’s probably just trying to find a place that feels right,” Kemi added. “Somewhere that feels like a reset and everything she wants.”
I got quiet because Kemi would know.
I didn’t know her back then, but over time she’d shared pieces of her story. I knew she was divorced and how draining it was with the court dates, paperwork, and the constant explaining. It would all eventually wear you down mentally, especially when you have a child watching everything unfold.
She and her son moved in with her aunt after the divorce until my dad helped her apply for grants and eventually buy her own place. That kind of resilience stayed with you.
I stared down at the floor for a moment. “Maybe I’ll call Mrs. Nikki later,” I finally said. “See where her head’s at.”
Kemi nodded. “That’s probably best.”
I walked to my office and closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a second. My mind drifted to Khloe. It had been happening a lot lately—little moments where she slipped into my thoughts out of nowhere, so I pulled my phone out and called her.
It rang once and then went straight to voicemail. Before I could even call again, a message popped up automatically.
Can’t talk right now, can I call you later?
I frowned at the screen because that was weird. She never scheduled meetings early at work. And even when she did, she’d still answer my calls. I stared at the message for a second, then figured it was a glitch or some random shit and hit call again.
She picked up almost immediately, laughing.
“What’s up, baby?” I asked.
“Oh—hey,” she said, like she’d been pulled out of something.
“I was just calling to check in on you.”
“Well, aren’t you too sweet.”
“You’re at work?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m at the post office, picking up a package.”
“What’d you order?” I asked, opening emails on my computer screen.
“A record player.”
