Many casual fans would be surprised to hear that Cunningham is a father, and that he became one at 17, which is another testament to his low-key demeanor. In Detroit, Cunningham told me everything is cool between him and Riley’s mother. “I have a great situation” was how Cunningham put it. “Everything’s easy. She’s an amazing mom.” Smooth sailing, right in line with the overall theme of his life, full of grace and savoir faire.

In the suite, his mother says Cunningham has always been this way. “I say it all the time: He genuinely was built for this,” she tells me. “He has a calmness to him, a poise to him, it’s so admirable. He has such a gift, and he’s been shaped by a lot of experiences in his life, like being a father.” Back at the high school, his older sister, Kaylyn, had lauded his patient girl-dad approach to parenting. It’s not so strange having your kid brother become a father before he leaves for college, she explained, but it is a bit odd watching him become famous. “I think it’s weird to see his face on everything, just opening a random app like, what the hell?”

On that note, the 24-year-old multimillionaire still has some growing up to do. “I try not to be petty,” Carrie chides. “But he could call his mom more!”

During my interactions with Cunningham, I pick up on a few other signs of his youthfulness. When I ask about the spoils of being rich, he replies that there’s plenty, but also bemoans the “bullshit” that accompanies his wealth. “Can’t find no real girlfriend,” he says with a sigh. He walks me through the first time he saw his bank account after signing the maximum extension in 2024, a moment he shared with a cousin. “We about to go get some food. I checked and that motherfucker was loaded like crazy! I think we were going to Sonic or something. Could buy the whole Sonic, man! I was tripping on that.”

When I ask him to tell me something that the world doesn’t know about him, he pulls out his phone and asks ChatGPT. Nothing really new there. But there is one thing….

“I can sing like a lady,” he offers. “Like Whitney.”

You want to give me something?

“No.”

The self-assured young adult who’s composed beyond his years—showing no hesitancy in calling himself the best American player, or saying his Detroit Pistons are the team to beat in the East—finally betrays any hint of a lack of confidence by refusing to flex his vocals. But every once in a while when he’s bored, he’ll go to the studio. Whether we’ll ever hear what he makes is another story.

“I make the music for me,” he clarifies. “I don’t make it for other people to listen to. If I did, then I’d make it differently.”