Page 29 of Mahogany 1

Clearing my throat, I put her down and asked where her mother was.

“In the living room with Tete Hazel! Dream and JR here, too!” Sparkle excitedly told me before running off to most likely play with her cousins.

With yet another deep breath, I came out of my shoes and slid out of my coat. Right after I did, my phone buzzed.

Fishing it from my pocket, I checked it.555-520-7418. Who the fuck? The last time I got a call from an unknown number it was the hospital. I was in no mood for any more surprises, so I ignored it. Just for them to call right back. This time, I said fuck it and answered.

“Look—”

“They sayin’ my baby ain’t gone make it!” I could barely make out the voice but because I knew what I knew, I had a good feeling it was Rochelle.

My heart raced a little, wondering if the call was about Diary. How in the hell did shit change so quick? I just left the hospital not even an hour ago. Shit could change in a New York minute couldn’t it? I hated to admit it, but if it was about Diary, that would eliminate a lot of my fucking problems. I didn’t want the little girl to die, just… wanted the shit to go away. I wondered if it would sting at all, knowing deep down inside that she was mine? Probably.

“Roch—who?”

“Erika! The…the internal bleeding is—is too bad!”

Closing my eyes, I tossed my head back against the wall and cursed under my breath. Fuck. The disappointment went twoways. It was fueled by my hopes being lost, and the fact that life had only seemed to get worst.

“I—”

“Why you ain’t came to say hi to…” Mahogany said, turning the corner into the foyer. Her voice trailed off once she realized I was on the phone, probably looking just as sick as I was.

I damn near shit on myself at the sight of her. Especially when she eyed me up and down with the corners of her mouth turned up.

“Ay, listen. I’m sure everything will work itself out. Keep me posted. Let me call you right back, alright?” I said before ending the call with Rochelle, swallowing.

“Wassup baby,” I greeted, with a racing heart, contemplating on hugging her or not. Didn’t know why I had the urge to hug her in the first place. It wasn’t like we hugged every time I came home. It was that guilt, chewing my ass the fuck up. That or God trying to force me into her arms just so she could feel how fast my heart was racing.

“That was Ramirez, calling about the job. My bad,” I continued, as I embraced her, hoping she couldn’t feel how nervous I was.

“Oh okay,” she flatly replied.

Oh okay.She didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me neither, with the history I had. But I needed her to. Needed her not to draw her own conclusions about what was going on. If she did, I could see shit going left like a muthafucka. The last thing I needed was to be put in a position where I’d damn near be forced to be honest. I didn’t know what was worst—lying, letting her think I was cheating. Or telling the truth and losing her. Shit was like a doubled edge sword, low key.

With my face buried into the side of Mahogany’s neck, Rochelle’s voice echoed through my head.“They sayin’ my baby ain’t gon’ make it.”Those words were going to haunt me the restof today. If Erika died and the results told me what I already knew, I was going to be sicker than I already was. Life would never be the same for me after that.

9

MAHOGANY

With my legstucked underneath my bottom I sat on the couch wrapped in my favorite blanket. I’d had it since I was a kid. It was unhealthy. My attachment to things. The blanket... it was harmless. But it attested to just how hard it was for me to let things go. It was worn, faded, almost twenty years old, closer to tan than it was to white, frayed, and stained with baby oil, hair gel, and only God knows what else. I washed it, of course, but some stains were harder to get out than others.

Leaning forward, I grabbed my glass of cabernet from the coffee table. It was my go to. About eighty percent of the wine in my cellar wasCaymus. While most people preferred the lighter sweet wines, I loved a good ass dark red. Tonight, I’d drank damn near the whole bottle. I wanted to polish it off, but I didn’t want to be that much of an alcoholic. Today was a day. Tomorrow would be too. My birthday. I was turning thirty-four. So, I mean, I could say I was pre-celebrating, right? More like preparing, for real. Tomorrow, I had to put on a mask I hadn’t worn in quite a while, and it would be both emotionally and physically exhausting.

Putting the glass to my lips, I took a sip. Instead of sitting it back on the table, I slowly swirled what was left, around in the glass, as my thoughts began to drift to Duke. I felt like he was cheating again. We had therapy scheduled yesterday and couldn’t go because he was held up at work. Held up at work my ass. My “spidey-senses” were tingling like a muthafucka. The house being quiet gave me a little time to decipher between what I knew to be true, and insecurities. There was a part of me that said Duke wouldn’t cheat again. But his patterns were changing. He’d shown a bit of effort. More effort now than he ever had. But on the other hand, there was the fact that men were men and most of them were stupid as fuck. That side of me told me to make my way to Pandora’s for a little bit of get back. But… for what? What’d I gain from that? I’d probably fall into a fit of tears before I even got to the VIP suite.

It felt like I was on that slippery slope again. The one that ended with me losing myself. I didn’t want to go there. Couldn’t go there. Physically and mentally, I was over it. I was reverting back to the old me. The one that let him cheat. The one that just noticed things and pretended not to until God practically forced me to see it by putting it in my face. I thought I was lightyears away from that woman but when reality started to shift, and patterns started to change, I felt it. Her. Being dug up to remind me that I hadn’t grown at all.

Life was wasting away. When I was on my deathbed, I wanted to have more than Couture and four kids to show for. Didn’t want to be the girl who’d poured into work and family, forgetting about her own life. Didn’t want to die that way. With the weight of misfortunes and bad hands hanging over my head. Didn’t want to leave the world without experiencing the type of love I desired from my husband, because I’d decided tostaywith my husband. We were back on that merry-go-round. Off the seesaw. Just, going around and around again.

I bit down on my middle nail and contemplated. Maybe I was tripping. Maybe he wasn’t cheating at all and new construction on the freeway really did have him working extra hours. Should I check his phone? Fuck that. Absolutely not. And ruin my birthday? Instead of breaking my own heart, I wouldn’t go digging. I decided to let spirit lead me, as God always had. If it was meant for me to find out… which, it would be if he was cheating, the proof would fall into my lap.

Chanté and that word came up.

Fears. Clearly I had them. Fears that ran so deep that I had even convinced myself that ‘this’ was okay. Sure, I was afraid of spiders and drowning. And losing, and failing, and settling, and… being alone. Afraid to admit that I’d done that already. Lost myself because of my failing marriage. Settled daily. But nothing scared me more than being alone. Because I had a big family, there would always be someone, somewhere. But them without him wouldn’t fill that void. He was the yin to my yang. Always there. Since I was fifteen. Was I supposed to be okay with the thought of being without him just because life was bleak?

I was afraid of what that would do to me. Though it may have been bleak now, I was afraid of what life would look like without him in it. Change… it petrified me. Couldn’t see me without him. Literally could not imagine what a future without him in it would look like. And that scared me most because, what was I supposed to do? With those fears hanging over my head? Knowing that every day, life gave me a push in a direction opposite of where ‘we’ stood as one. Was I supposed to succumb to complacency? Was I supposed to allow fear to strip me of more time? I’d lost thousands of hours already—how much more would I lose before I chose me? And not in the way I chose me before, by rummaging through Pandora’s box. Choosing me, while losing me had been detrimental to my soul.

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