Page 12 of Mahogany 1

I raised my brows. “You want me to answer?”

She lightly giggled. “Yes, Mahogany.”

I shrugged my shoulder. “I don’t think people look at the clock at the mention of fears because they want to run. I mean... it’s huge, Chanté. Eye-catching. And... if I’m being honest, a conversation about fears could run over?—”

“Cut it out,” she interrupted with the corners of her mouth turned up in dismay. “You want to run. Your entire disposition changed once I circled back to the topic of fears?—”

“Because I don’t see how that has to do with this story, you’re supposed to be telling me about the clock. Two completely unrelated things.”

She shook her head with raised brows. “Two very related things, Mahogany. The clock,” she looked over her shoulder at it. “Is to put emphasis on time. But not for the reason you all assume. Shameek. The designer... his name is Shameek. I told him I needed a clock. Something huge to symbolize the value of time. It’s the only currency of true value here. Think about it. It’s the one thing you cannot get back, yet we waste so much of it on things like fear.

You come here every week to talk about things that are directly linked to it, yet... when I ask you what you’re afraid of... you want to run. That’s your biggest culprit. You want happiness, you want freedom. Before you get there, you have to conquer that fear. Time is precious. How much longer are you willing to allow fear to rob you of it?”

I sat there quiet for a couple of seconds before sighing. “Chanté, all I asked about was recommendations for a marital counselor. I don’t know how we ended up talking about a clock and fears. None of these things are related to?—”

“With all due respect, Mahogany. You don’t need a marital therapist. I honestly believe you need a divorce attorney. But because you keep running from your fears, you’re going to keep jumping on that merry-go-round you reference every session, wasting invaluable time.”

The drive homewas spent in a blur. I was on autopilot the entire fifteen minutes in. It was a blessing that I made it in one piece, to be honest. Chanté rattled me. In a way that I’d never been rattled by her. We’d talked about a lot of shit but today was just... it was different. The way she referenced time. The conversation was a true eye opener. It wasn’t that I was in denial about the time I’d spent chasing potential. Hell, my eyes were opened years ago. I saw shit for the way they were. I just didn’t like to talk about it. My complacency. Those ugly fears.

I didn’t come out of the fog until Honesty greeted me at the door with a hug. “What’s for dinner, mommy?”

I looked down at my watch.

It was close to seven.

“What’s for dinner? Huh? Daddy didn’t cook?” I asked with a light frown.

She shook her head. “No. Daddy said you were.”

Here we go. We were like a seesaw—up and down, and down and up. All of the time. The highs were exhilarating. Filled with laughter, good sex, and mind-blowing orgasms. The lows? The lowest of lows crept up on me. We hit the bottom at a slowpace. Descended from the top with the speed of a turtle, little inconveniences pulling us down, building on top of one another, until the weight of it held us down completely. And then… we’d go up. That climb was usually slow too. Slower. Snail slow. But the more we ascended, the clearer that potential would become. Just for us to be dragged right back down to the bottom. We were like a rollercoaster—up and down, down and up. It was exhausting. Marriage. Ours at least.

I worked my ass off. Woke up before the sun, got the kids ready for school, dropped them off, and then spent the majority of my day at the firm. I lived the life of a stay-at-home mom, but I was the furthest thing from it. I worked long, hard ass hours just like his ass. But expectantly, he was the only one of us who were afforded a fucking break.

I peeled my jacket off and hung it on the coatrack at the foyer.

“Can I have macaroni and cheese?” Honesty asked.

“I want spaghetti!” Sparkle shrieked, rushing up to me with opened arms. “Hi mommy!”

“Hey baby,” I responded, wrapping my arms around her. “Okay, okay. Tonight gon’ be a go for what you want night. Mac and cheese cup for you. Microwave spaghetti for you. Because who cooking? Not me! No ma’am!”

The doorbell rang and I peered through the peephole. DoorDash. Fast food for Aubry. Noodles for Gabriel.

A couple of seconds later, Aubry emerged from the stairs. “Hey ma!” She pulled her lips into her mouth and looked towards the door. “Did they leave yet?” she whispered.

“You got DoorDash huh? Must be nice,” I said with a cocked brow, as I sat on the entry way bench to pull my heels off.

She tilted her head to the side and the corners of her mouth turned up into a light smirk. “Yes, ma. I got DoorDash. Why you lookin’ at me like that?” She giggled. “I got enough foryo kidstoo.” She paused and yelled, “It’s here Gabe!”

I lightly smiled and leaned back against the wall with closed eyes. Aubry was my baby. When I found out I was pregnant with her, there was a lot of resentment. Never in a million years did I think my baby would turn out the way that she had. I was a teenaged mom for crying out loud. A baby, raising a baby. I doubt anybody knew she’d be an A and B student with a part-time job, and her head screwed on right.

“Thanks boo-boo,” I joked with a light smile, eyes still closed.

About a minute later, Gabe walked down the stairs and greeted me with a hug. “Hey ma.”

“Hey Gabey. I hope you haven’t been sitting on that game all day,” I messed with him, getting on him about how much he stayed in the room.

He sucked his teeth with an awkward smile. “Nooo. I just got on, ma.”

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