Page 79 of Collateral Love
Her mother turned away, busying herself with nothing. “Just don’t let her meet Zayden’s brother.”
“So she can meet you,” Kenya said quietly. “And your friends. And your church ladies who gossip and lie. But not my people?”
Her mother’s voice dropped. “Zayden King is not your people.”
Kenya smiled again, but this time, there was grief in it.
“I see,” she said.
But I could feel her mother’s energy.
This wasn’t prejudice.
It wasn’t morality.
It was the fear of proximity.
When we left, her mother didn’t say goodbye.
Outside, Kenya exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time.
“That wasn’t about you,” I said.
“I know,” she replied.
“It wasn’t about Chanel either,” I added.
She looked at me then. Really looked.
“No,” she said softly. “It’s about what she’s hiding.”
That was the first time I understood.
Kenya’s mother didn’t hate her.
She feared her.
Because Kenya didn’t just survive systems, she saw through them.
Chanel hadn’t asked any questions yet, but Kenya did every time.
The Devil might be busy,but so was I.
Chanel thought I planned this night because I loved parties.
But the truth was, I planned it because I needed to keep her close enough to watch…and far enough from the wrong people to survive.
She didn’t know the real reason I insisted we go.
She didn’t know the real reason I insisted we lie to our uppity ass mama.
But Mama and her moods had been getting worse, unpredictable like weather patterns that only I could feel coming.
And Chanel, my Baby Bear, floated through the house like the sun didn’t burn her.
So I made sure it didn’t.
I zipped up my cheetah print mini, the one Mama would’ve fainted over, layered the respectable denim skirt on top of it, and checked myself in the mirror.
