Page 5 of Mahogany 1

I sighed again, placing my hands between my legs, where the throbbing was.

This was normal for this time of year. I liked it and hated it at the same time. Only did it because I couldn’t help myself. The longing was bad.Realbad. I was in bed, ass naked, thinking of another man while my husband sat downstairs, having his morning coffee, laughing at dumb ass niggas on a podcast. I preferred him right where he was.

Slowly, I circled my clit. To muffle my moans, I grabbed a pillow and bit down into it. I didn’t get a good feel in before there was a knock on my door.

“Ma!” My eight-year-old, Honesty, yelled. “Gabe called me ugly!”

With a light growl, I tossed the pillow away, stood up and headed to the master bath to wash my hands. A bitch couldn’t even masturbate in peace.

I only had a good twenty minutes of ‘me time’ before I had to get back to it. Or so I thought. It was the same bullshit every morning from those two. Honesty and Gabriel—my son. They were six years a part; Gabriel had no business picking on her, but they went at it all day, every day. They were practically archenemies.

“Are you ugly, Honesty?” I somberly asked, as I dried my hands on a towel.

“No, but?—”

Snatching my robe from the back of the door, I slid it on. “No buts. You’re not ugly. Call him ugly, girl.”

Did you expect something different? Thought I would coddle her? Reaffirm just how gorgeous she was? Hell no. I was raising suburban children. As someone who grew up in the hood, I was built different. Resilient. As a brown skin woman, I’d dealt withthe name calling. Had been called ugly more times than I could remember. Gabriel calling his little sister ugly was nothing. She knew she was beautiful. We—her father and I—spoke life into her on a daily. She knew she wasn’t ugly—just didn’t know a damn thing about holding her own against people coming for her. Brother or not, she was going to know how to go toe-to-toe with people. I refused to enable that soft shit. Couldn’t—I was preparing them for the real world. For real people, with real jealousy in their hearts. Honesty knew better.

My patience was thin this morning.

Thin as one ply toilet paper. I had shit going on. All I had were a couple of minutes to myself before I had to drop them off at school and scroll into the doors of Couture Interiors—my self-made, self-paid, luxury interior design company.

The start of my morning was rocky—my youngest, Sparkle, keptmeup all night with the runs soIdidn’t get much sleep. Notice the emphasis on me and I. Yeah… despite having to be up at five-thirty, I was the only one up every thirty minutes trying to make sure she didn’t shit herself again. Yes,again. She came to my room, told me she didn’t feel well, and “sharted” before I could get her to the toilet.

I had a night, so it was one of those mornings. The time I spent reminiscing was a nice little break, I probably wouldn’t get again until it was bedtime.

“I did but?—”

“Honesty,” I interrupted with another sigh. “Are you ready?”

She sighed. “Yeah. I was going to ask if you could help me with my edges but…” she paused, and her tone dropped. “Never mind.”

With yet another deep breath, I finished my lukewarm tea, sat it on my side table and untucked my legs from underneath me to stand. Just like that, I felt bad. Like a horrible mother for taking my rough morning out on her.

“Sorry, boo. Come on, I can do them,” I told her after finally opening the door for her.

The flatness in her expression when I opened the door faded a bit, and we headed into the master bath where she sat on the bench at the vanity. As a mother… an overwhelmed mother… it was easy for the effects of stress to spill over into my parenting. Most times, I was able to step outside of my body and look at the bigger picture. Sometimes, I wasn’t. I was human, after all. The cape I wore didn’t say ‘super mom’, if anything it said, ‘trying mom’.

I was doing the best I could with four children. Three girls, and one boy. Each one of them had their own little personalities. And while I thought it was cute, observing them, noticing the differences… it drove me up a wall too. Honesty was my sensitive baby, who cried at the drop of a hat which was why I was trying to help her with getting thicker skin.

“I know I’m not ugly, ma,” she mumbled. “I was irritated because I couldn’t get my edges right and Gabe kept coming in the bathroom, messing with me. That’s all I was saying. I wasn’t trying to bother you. That’s why I kept trying.”

“It’s okay, baby,” I interrupted, sinking deeper in that pile of shit I felt like. “Sparkle kept me up all night, that’s all.”

“Yeah, she was waking me up too,” Honesty said with a giggle before telling me how her baby sister woke her up three times to help her wipe.

She took the big sister role seriously. Reminded me a lot of myself at that age, except I was the oldest. My sisters and I were only a year a part. Spark and Honesty were four. It was the cutest little dynamic to witness ever.

After helping her with her edges, she raided my perfume stand. While she searched for the perfect fragrances to layer, I headed out of the room to check on the other three.

Shaking my head, I followed the sound of Peppa Pig coming from the bathroom. I wasn’t surprised to see that four-year-old sitting there, laughing. Whatever had torn her stomach up last night stopped, otherwise, I would’ve been following the smell of shit, instead of the sound of Peppa.

“What did I tell you about having this iPad in the bathroom with you, little girl?” I asked before snatching the fingerprint covered iPad from her hands.

She sucked her teeth, and her jaw dropped. “Really mommy?”

I tucked the iPad under my armpit and turned the corners of my lips up at her. “Yes,really. In here wasting time. Hurry up off that toilet, wipe, wash your hands and come on so I can fix your ponytails,” I told her before walking out, closing the bathroom door behind me.

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