Page 32

. . .

The door of the jet opened with a hiss. The humidity of Emerald City kissed Aku’s skin before her feet even hit the ground. Sunlight spread itself across the tarmac. It felt good to be back home even if she was already missing Malik.

The scent of jet fuel faded fast, replaced by a breeze that smelled like the end of summer and nostalgia. Aku pulled her oversized Chanel shades down the bridge of her nose and squinted across the landing zone.

Posted up against a matte black Chevy Tahoe with the windows down and music playing low, stood her daddy, French - still tall…

still too fine to be somebody’s father. Light-skinned, golden almost, like a Cartier watch left out in the sun too long.

Tattoos covered both his arms, dark ink sprawled across them.

Over his right brow, slightly faded but still bold, was her name. No frills - just her…his baby girl.

He didn’t move, just pulled a toothpick from his mouth and twisted his lips into a grin so cocky and cool, it made her heart swell.

He wore a white tee so fresh it could’ve come out the plastic, a pair of designer joggers, and black and blue sneakers.

She didn’t have to see his full outfit to know he’d matched the blue trim on his hat to the logo on his socks.

French was never half-stepping. He taught her how to put that shit on too.

Aku didn’t walk, she ran. “Daddy!”

Her carry-on dropped behind her with a thud.

Security guards yelled after her, and the pilot laughed to himself, but she didn’t hear none of that.

She leapt into her daddy’s arms like it had been a year, not just some months.

Her legs wrapped around his waist like she was still fifteen and going through a breakup he swore he’d handle himself.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, the scent of Tom Ford cologne and peppermint gum sinking into her memory like a lullaby.

“Damn, lil’ girl,” French chuckled, his arms holding her like he wasn’t gonna let go. “You actin’ like I died.”

“You did ,” she sniffled, lips brushing the gold rope chain around his neck. “In my heart, every time I ain’t see you, you’re missing.”

“Girl, get the fuck outta here with that.” He kissed her temple, then the top of her head, then pulled back to look at her face. “You got grown woman weight now. I almost dropped yo’ heavy ass.”

She smacked his chest and laughed, still clinging to him. “Shut up. You ain’t even miss me for real.” Aku fake pouted.

French twisted his lips. “Nah, you right. I been too busy watchin’ your lil’ stylist videos go viral. Can’t even scroll Instagram without seein’ your lil’ lip gloss poppin’ and some lame ass nigga holdin’ in your comments. Who he is, huh? Got my baby forgettin’ where she from?”

Aku slid down from his arms with a guilty smirk, brushing off her pants and grabbing her bag. “You always in my business.”

“And you always lettin’ niggas be in your face.”

They walked side by side toward the car, his arm draped around her shoulders, pulling her close every few steps like he had to make sure she was really there. He opened the car door for her like she was a princess, because to French, she was.

Inside, the AC cooled her damp skin. A playlist was already going—nothing but old school R&B. He adjusted the rearview before peeling out smooth, his hand resting casually on the wheel, the other already pulling out another toothpick.

“You still listenin’ to the same playlist?” she asked, settling in, legs crossed, sunglasses back on.

“You still my same lil’ girl?” he shot back.

She smiled. Her daddy stayed sharp. Never missed a beat.

Minutes passed with casual talk about her flight, the turbulence, the jet snacks she didn’t eat.

French nodded along, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. His smile faded into a curious squint as he tilted his head toward her neck. “So…we doin’ neck hickeys now?”

Aku’s whole body flamed. “What?”

He sucked his teeth. “I’m askin’ a question.”

“I wear makeup, Daddy - maybe it smeared.”

He gave her a look so un-impressed it belonged on a meme. “Don’t play me, lil’ girl. I know a hickey when I see one. Nigga got you floatin’ or what?”

She turned toward the window, hiding her grin. “We not talkin’ about this.”

He barked a laugh. “You grown now, huh? Can’t tell you nothin’. That why you too busy to come home? Out there in L.A. gettin’ hickeys from God knows who?”

His teasing didn’t sting. It felt like home. Like safety. Like the one man in the world who would put anybody six feet deep behind her, but still make fun of her just enough to remind her she was loved.

“I was busy working,” she mumbled.

He shook his head with a smirk. “Mm hmm. He a Crip or a Blood?”

Aku gasped, clutching her imaginary pearls. “ French! ”

“What?” He grinned. “I gotta know what side to shoot first.”

“You’re a menace.

He reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m your daddy. That’s what I am. Ain’t nobody gon’ ever love you the way I do, not even that hickey-giving ass nigga.”

She looked at him, the way the sun dipped through the windshield and danced across his faded “Aku” tattoo.

The one he got the day she was born, ink still fresh by the time her Mama was being wheeled out the hospital.

He had been just eighteen, already half in the streets and half in love with being a father.

Her Mama used to joke that French had two addictions - tattoos and Aku.

“You and Malik got too much in common,” she murmured under her breath, not even realizing she said it out loud.

French arched a brow. “Oh, so now he got a name?”

Aku bit her lip.

“You let a nigga named Malik put hickeys on your neck?” he deadpanned.

She smacked his shoulder and broke into laughter, her joy echoing through the car. The city passed them in a blur—green trees, expensive houses that housed rich black people. Emerald City was the Black mecca and a world away from Crescent Park.

But in the car, in that soft bubble of basslines, breeze, and banter—Aku was just a little girl again. A daddy’s girl, full of love, forever safe in the arms of the first man who ever showed her what loyalty looked like.

French pulled into the driveway of their family home—a mansion big in space and love. Aku’s heart swelled already knowing she would leave Emerald City full of love.

French cut the engine, and left the music on low, the silence between them warm and intentional. “You good, baby girl?” He looked at her in a way only a father could—all knowing and seeing through everything.

“Yea,” she nodded. “Even better now.”

He leaned back, studying her like he could see everything she was holding in and carrying around. “You know…your mama told me I should give you space, let you figure life out on your own.”

Aku tilted her head. “You…disagree?”

He grinned. “Hell yea, I disagree. You mine. I don’t care if you forty with three kids and a husband. You always gon’ be mine and it’s my job to help you figure things out when you can’t.”

She swallowed something thick in her throat and reached for his hand again. “I love you, Daddy.”

He kissed the back of her hand, rough lips pressing soft hands. “I know. But I still might beat Malik ass.”

He remembered the name she slipped up and shared.

Aku gave him a crooked smile and nodded, knowing he would make good on his promise.

As soon as Aku stepped through the door, the sound of a show she didn’t recognize blasted from the living room TV, and voices bounced off the high ceilings.

“Akuuuu!” Solar’s voice flew in from the kitchen before her arms did. “My baby’s home!”

Aku barely got her bag set down before her Mama wrapped her in a grip so tight it made her ribs fold in.

Solar smelled like honeycomb and pressing comb heat—her usual scent that hugged tighter than the perfumes in Aku’s suitcase. Hair laid like always, lashes still on like she just left somebody’s red carpet, and diamond studs catching the light from the kitchen chandelier.

“I swear, you be actin’ brand new like you too famous to come home,” Solar said, kissing her cheek twice before pulling back to study her. “Let me see you. Turn around.”

Aku twirled half-heartedly, rolling her eyes. “Mama, I ain’t no damn Barbie.”

“Don’t lie,” Solar clapped back. “You was always my Black Barbie. Just mad you ain’t patent it first.”

Before Aku could respond, two heavy-ass bodies came crashing down the stairs.

“Ahhhhhh! Big Sis done landed!” Frenchy, sixteen and full of mouth, ran up with his arms out, socks sliding on the tile like he wanted to bowl her over.

Aku opened her arms wide and braced herself. “Here go my annoying ass child.”

Frenchy crashed into her, squeezing her like he hadn’t just texted her yesterday for gas money. He smelled just like their daddy, looked like him too.

“Yo, you getting thicker in the thighs,” he mumbled, stepping back. “I’on like that.” His face bawled.

“Say that again and I’m putting you in a headlock,” Aku warned, twisting his ear just because she could.

Frenchy yelled, “Apollo! Come get yo’ little sister!”

Aku laughed. They liked to joke that Apollo was the oldest because he was so tall with grown man facial hair.

Apollo strolled in from the den, shirtless with sweats slung low and waves hitting like moonlight on water. At 19, he had French’s cool and Solar’s bone structure. His girl, Kiyah, trailed behind him, chewing gum and holding a glass of sweet tea with both hands like it was wine.

“What’s up, superstar?” Apollo grinned, walking up and grabbing Aku in a one-arm hug that felt like they hadn’t argued in weeks. “Too Hollywood to answer a text, but never too bougie to come eat up our food.”

“You miss me,” she smirked.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, swiping at her cheek. “You still got glitter on your face. You went out last night?”

Solar popped her son with the towel she’d been drying dishes with. “Don’t make me start tellin’ stories about when you came home lookin’ like sin. Aku got her own grown woman business.”