My family’s legacy, especially in Atlanta, is long and impressive. I’m proud of my grandfather and my father, of all their accomplishments and all the good they did. Seeing how they lived their lives inspired me to do what I do—to live my life the way I have.

Younger Kimba didn’t always have this perspective. Turning on to streets named after your father is great. Attending an elementary school named after your grandfather is great…until everyone starts expecting things from you. All the things. And the scrutiny can become so intense.

My grandfather was a Morehouse man. My daddy was a Morehouse man. My grandmother, mother, aunts, sister—all Spelmanites. When it came time for me to choose a college, it never occurred to anyone that I would detour from the prescribed path. My announcement that I’d won a full ride to Arizona State was met with shock and disapproval. I resented the suffocating expectations of everyone who knew my family. Atlanta felt like a city-wide trap. That scholarship sprang me free.

“And Kayla needs you to handle a few things for the ceremony,” Mama says.

“What things?” I’m outside my doctor’s office suite, but linger in the hall to finish my call. “What does she need me to do?”

“She…oh, Lord above. You tell her, Zee,” Mama says impatiently.

“Tru?” Kayla’s deep voice takes over the line. Even after all these years, my back straightens a little when my big sister enters the room. She manages everything from her children to our family’s foundation like a five-star general.

“What do you need me to do at the reception, Kayla?”

“Well, hello to you, too, sis,” she replies coolly.

I tap my foot and grit my teeth. I don’t have time for this. I’m meeting Senator Billingsley from Michigan after this appointment. My schedule is basically a Jenga tower that Carla carefully constructs. I get behind on any part of it and the whole day collapses.

“Sorry,” I say, forcefully scrubbing my voice of irritation. “Hello, Kayla. How are you?”

“Hmmmm. Don’t do that polite shit with me.”

“Zee, come on. I get straight to the point, and you call me out for being rude. I ask how you are and you accuse me of being polite?”

“I didn’t say you were rude. You were impersonal. There’s a difference.”

“Can you please sister-splain the difference later and get to the damn point right now so I can continue with my day? I have a doctor’s appointment like now.”

“Doctor?” Concern shades her voice. “You okay?”

“Doctor?” my mother echoes from somewhere in the room. “Is she pregnant? Please, Jesus, don’t let that child be pregnant.”

“Ma, she’s not pregnant.” Kayla drops her voice. “Are you?”