Page 7 of Mahogany 1

“Seriously dad,” he mocked, as he lifted her from her feet to carry her slow tail down the stairs. “Yeah, seriously. Come on.”

Really mom.

Seriously dad.

My baby girl was transforming into her big sisters more and more every day. Luckily, I had a good fourteen, thirteen years beforeshewould be running around looking for keys to her car.

Honesty and Aubry followed them downstairs, and I stayed right where I was. I needed a damn break. I was overwhelmed just that easily. But, stress did that to me. Pivoting a little, I turned to rest against the wall, leaning my head on it. My mother would have called me rude for not thanking Duke for taking over. And I would have given her a blank stare and told her it slipped my mind. Wasn’t it funny? How they were thanked for being a parent, but the only time we were shown a bit of appreciation was on Mother’s Day? The scales were imbalanced as fuck, weren’t they?

“Gabriel!” I yelled, about to get on him a little bit for picking with Honesty.

“Yes ma?” He yelled back, before I heard the PlayStation boot up. The bass in his voice broke my heart bit my bit every time he talked.

He was fourteen and loved to hop on that game at any given time. Should’ve forbade it before school, huh? Well… again… I let my kids do what they wanted to do for the most part. They were good kids. And if Gabe was even touching that game that meant he woke up early and was already ready to go.

“Stop calling your sister ugly! And I know you better be ready!” I checked because of course I had to make sure.

He sucked his teeth. “Okay, I was just playing! And I am!”

My babies were growing up. And as contradictory as it might’ve been, considering all of the complaining I’d done all morning, their growth was truly bittersweet.

“Okay. Grab something to eat before it gets too late!”

We were menaces, yelling above all of the sounds in the house. This was us though. Chaotic, loud, and all over the place.

About two hours later,I was walking through the towering glass double doors ofCouturewearing a smile, as if my kids hadn’t driven me crazy this morning.Couturewas one of my baby’s. Work, as odd as it might’ve been, was my happy place. Growing up, I’d always been fascinated by all things beautiful. Especially home décor. Whenever one of those Home and Garden magazines would come in the mail, I’d lay in bed, daydreaming about how my future house would look. I was a dreamer. Had to be where I came from. We weren’t bad off but baby we were in the hood, hood. Off six mile and Davison. So, dreaming the way I dreamt felt like aliteraldream. Like it would never happen. Never in a million years did I think I’d have myown interior design company. And we were doing pretty good too. I was no Thomas O’Brien, but I was the best andonlyAfrican American woman designer in my region.

“Good morning, Mrs. M,” spoke the receptionist, Claire, greeting me with a cup of coffee.

I was a hyphenator. Mahogany Mills-Morris. Didn’t want to drop the Mills. Because of the relationship I had with my father, I wore it with pride. But that complicated my name so at work, I went by Mrs. M.

“Good morning, Claire. Thank you,” I said with a smile, taking the cup from her before heading for the elevators.

I launched Couture about seven years ago. Since then, I’d been striving to make it one of the top producing interior design companies in thecountry. I was ambitious. Had to be. Without ambition would I even be Mahogany? I had a nice roster of clients. Had even managed to snag a few local rappers. It was cool. Because I’d connected myself with one, they plugged me with more. However, I didn’t want Couture to only be associated with that. Them niggas loved that loud, over-the-top shit. Did that mean I’d turn them down if another came knocking? Hell naw. I was a hustler baby. Good money was good money.I just wanted my brand to be in alignment with more prestigious clients, too.

“Good morning, boo,” Greeted my assistant, Tamia, once I got off the elevator.

Tamia had been working at Couture for about six and a half years, starting shortly after I started the company. Back when Couture was in a suite at The Greenfield Plaza and I was using the work I’d done for family in my portfolio. The bottom. She was a single mother with no experience, and I was a barely making it dreamer that couldn’t pay her but about one hundred dollars a week. She was with it. Saw my vision almost as clear asI could see it. We came up together. I didn’t use the term friend loosely, but I considered Tamia one.

“Hey bitch,” I mumbled, standing at her cubical. I took a sip of my coffee. More than a sip—a long drag. The large wasn’t enough. “I need another latte. Medium, two shots.”

Tami eyed me up and down. “Long night?”

“Girl yes,” I complained. “Sparkle was up shittin’ all night. I didn’t get but a couple of hours of sleep before I had to get up and get them ready.”

“Aw dang, boo,” she said as she tapped around on her phone, likely ordering my latte. Caramel with oat milk. “You should’ve just stayed home.”

I cut my eyes at her and made a face. “You know how important this week is.”

Like I said, I owned Couture—it was mine. I started it, ran it, and everything in between. I had a trusted team, but I refused to sit at home while they handled most of the work. I didn’t know what an off day, outside of the weekends of course, was. I couldn’t imagine leaving important projects to my employees just because I didn’thaveto work. It wasn’t about that. It was about passion. I thoroughly enjoyed it and couldn’t imagine not being as hands on as I was.

“Girl,” she stressed. “Nowyouknow?—”

“I’m good. I got it. I’m on my shit,” I interrupted, giving her a quick twirl. “You can’t even tell.”

“I can,” she mumbled. “You’re tooMahoganyright now.”

I laughed and placed a piece of hair behind my ear. Bitch this, bitch that. Girl this, girl that. We didn’t do that at Couture. While most of my employees were black, I was adamant about leaving personal outside of the business. Because Tamia was my close friend the lines could blur just a tad bit. I never wanted that. So, I kept my professional hat on at work. Laughed here and there, cracked a couple of quiet jokes but neverthis. I left Mahogany,the hood chick from the east side of Detroit, on the other side of the entry doors, too. I was the poised, professional, headstrong, black woman here.Well rested I was at least.

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