Page 29 of Heavy Is The Crown

Traci went back to fixing plates, but he knew she wasn’t done. And he was right.

“So, what happens when this don’t work out? Then what? Back to the same old shit?”

Kenyatta clenched his jaw. “Mama, I got it handled.”

Traci scoffed, setting down a plate with unnecessary force. “Uh-huh. Just like youhad it handledbefore you got locked up, right?”

Kenyatta froze. That one stung.

For a second, he just sat there, fists clenched at his sides. But he wasn’t about to do this today. He wasn’t about to let her keep seeing him as the same lost nigga he used to be.

So, instead, he grabbed the plate she made—because even when she was mad, she still made him breakfast—and walked out of the kitchen.

Traci didn’t stop him. She didn’t have to. She had already said what she needed to say.

Chapter 7

The scent of garlic-seasoned chicken and roasted vegetables filled the air as Krys stepped into her mother’s kitchen. The warm, inviting aroma mingled with the faint citrusy fragrance of whatever candle Pam had burning on the counter; probably something expensive, because Pam didn’t do cheap anything.

The house was pristine, not in the cold, untouched way some people kept their homes, but in the way that screamed this is a Black mama’s house, where every surface stays wiped down, every throw pillow fluffed, and there’s a decorative bowl on the coffee table that you better not touch.

Pam stood at the kitchen island, chopping bell peppers with ease, her movements fluid, almost effortless. Cooking was her therapy, meal prepping her Sunday ritual. Krys used to roll her eyes at it when she was younger, but now she admired it.

Her mama was sharp, intentional, and always put together, even in her fitted jogger set and silk headwrap, she looked like she had a man with money somewhere waiting on her call.

Pam glanced up, spotting Krys as she strolled in and made herself comfortable on a barstool.

“Oh, look who finally decided to grace her mother with her presence.”

Krys smirked, reaching for a carrot stick from the plate of prepped veggies. “Oh, please. I was just here two weeks ago.”

Pam scoffed, setting the knife down with a little extra emphasis. “Two weeks too long. I could’ve been dead, and you wouldn’t have known.”

Krys gave her a pointed look. “Ma.”

Pam grinned, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “I’m just saying.”

Krys shook her head, watching as Pam moved around the kitchen with the type of confidence and precision that came from years of holding shit down.

Her mother had been both parents before, had carried a home, a career, and the weight of betrayal, all while keeping her head held high. Krys respected it but she also feared it. Because what if she ended up the same way?

Pam leaned against the counter, eyeing her daughter.

Krys eyed her back. “So, what’s on your mind? You got that ‘let me impart some wisdom’ look on your face.”

Pam chuckled. “Girl, I always got wisdom to impart. Whether or not you listen is a whole other thing.”

Krys smirked, biting into another carrot. “Try me.”

Pam studied her for a moment before sighing. “You ever think about settling down?”

Krys raised an eyebrow. “This where we’re going today?”

Pam shrugged. “I mean, I know you ain’t pressed about that couple’s night thing, but don’t act like you don’t think about it sometimes. Having somebody for real. Starting a family.”

Krys paused mid-chew. Did she think about it? More than she’d admit. She actually hated that she gave it that much thought. But it was there, intruding on her thoughts.

She tapped her nails against the marble counter. “It would be nice, I guess.”

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