Page 103 of Just Like Summer

“Hey, baby, you okay?”

“He’s fine. I’m calling to tell you he took a little tumble,” Fredo spoke, turning the call into a FaceTime. Kamilla hurried to answer.

“His little tumbles are never little,” she huffed, watching her screen show the knot on Kairo’s head. “What the hell did he run into?”

“I was going fast, mommy!” Kairo cheered while Cherayne pressed the slab of steak on his knot.

“Too damn fast. I told Fredrick about that got damn toy car. Had my baby flying,” Cherayne fussed. “Mila, he’s fine. It just scared your Pop. It’s the guilt that made him call you.”

“Do I need to come home?” Kamilla asked. She was a mother first and if she had to run out of here to hold her son, she would without question.

“No, girl, that’s not necessary. He’s happy, he has ice cream; I’ll float with him in the pool until he’s tired. But he’s fine. Are you having fun?”

Kamilla answered Cherayne with a sigh. “I got what I came for.”

“And you’re leaving with what?” she asked.

“I have to tell him. And I don’t want to do it here so…”

“I understand. You can do anything. You know that. You’ve already done the hardest part. Now it’s time to put your family back together. Don’t be afraid of swimming in the deep,” Cherayne spoke. “I love ya.”

“I know. I love you too. Call me if anything changes,” Kamilla directed.

“Like if Poppa cries again?” Cherayne asked. “I’ll record it. Go have some adult fun. Kairo needs a sister.”

“Oh, bye, woman,” Kamilla huffed, hanging up. “Let me tell Cairo about Kairo first.”

forty-two

“I knew you was about to disappoint me,” Cairo stated, sitting in one of the LBMF tent studios he booked for this session with East.

One thing he could appreciate about this festival was that they made it easy for artists, labels and producers to have immersive experiences while keeping the fans involved. Each recording tent allowed a screen where the fans could pass by, stop and lounge while watching the ins and outs of recording a record— if the artist and producers chose to. Right now, Cairo had everything blacked out, very particular about his processes.

East dropped his bag in seat. “Nah, never that. I ran to get back here.”

Cairo fused his brows. “Where the fuck you staying?”

“Like thirty minutes away at a pay by day,” East spoke like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to get in your business, how the fuck you get in this festival?”

“I had to do a little one two,” East shared. “The guy who owns this festival got a daughter who is cute enough.”

Cairo muffled his laughter. “You fucked his daughter to get in?”

“Listen, not my proudest moment but I needed to get here so I had to use what I had to get what I needed,” East shared.

“Gahhhdamnnn,” Cairo blew out. “Get in the booth. We got to get you out the fuckin’ for a spot struggle. Hope you didn’t knock her up ‘cause you gon have more on your head after this.”

East laughed and got into the booth. “Always strapped.”

“Uh huh,” Cairo laughed, feeling like he was looking at a young version of himself. This had to be how KP felt. The shit was waking up parts of himself he didn’t know were there. No one got in. Cairo was a vault and somehow, East had cracked the door and was trying to wiggle in.

While Cairo worked to give East something solid to have to the sound stage tomorrow, he was impressed by his ability to spit off the dome. Hitting a few keys to pause the music and stop recording, Cairo asked, “Why you using a ghostwriter?”

East pulled in a deep breath. “I told that nigga I’d keep his shit low.”

“Give it to me without the names and particulars,” Cairo replied.