Page 62 of Mahogany 2
“Yeah. I want to do whatever necessary to make Mahogany happy.”
“Hmm,” she hummed. “And what about what makes you happy?”
“If she’s happy, I’m happy.”
“That’s not how life works.”
“Duke,” Mahogany mumbled. “Just… be honest. How do you feel? It’s—it’s okay.”
She knew I was nervous. Just as much as I knew her, she knew me too. We’d only known each other more than half our lives.
“I’m good?—”
“No you’re not,” she mumbled again. “Look… for this to work, we have to be honest about the way we feel. We locked in… remember?”
I took a deep breath and nodded. It took me a minute, but eventually I told the truth. I talked about how her leaving made me feel forgotten about. About how much it scared me. About how alone I felt and what that did to me too. I didn’t want to be without Mahogany. Couldn’t see my life without her. Literally. I couldn’t see past her. Just wanted to be with her. The more I talked about needing her, the tighter my chest got. Fear flooded me as I thought about the gravity of my secret. It weighed me down because I knew that once Mahogany found out about Diary I would lose her. And I couldn’t. I just said I couldn’t see life past her.
What would I become?Whowould I become? How would my days look if I couldn’t come home to my kids? The fantastic four? My fantastic four? What would Mahogany do once she found out about Diary? Would she fight for custody? Would she take them away from me? Would I be left with Diary, and Diary alone? How would that look for me? Coming home to the smiling face of one instead of… five? I could do five. Mahogany wouldn’t. She’d—man…
I talked about what her leaving did to me with a lump in my throat. One that grew with every thought of being without her. It was to a point where Mahogany had to rub my back, I could barely talk without choking up. Every couple of words I was clearing my throat.
“That’s a lot to process,” Nikki said once I was finished.
I didn’t say anything. Just pulled my lips into my mouth and nodded. Right after, I reached for Mahogany’s hand and interlocked my fingers with hers. She gave my hand a light squeeze and I brought hers up to my lips and kissed the back of it.
The rest of the therapy session was spent with ‘processing’. Nikki asked us a series of questions and talked about how therapy opens up old wounds and about how we had to be strong enough to prevail when things got tough. I sat there, partially listening, mainly stuck in my head, pretending I was good. I wasn’t. I was shaken. In a spot I didn’t want to be in. I took the shot to avoid slipping too much in my thoughts. But it was to no avail. A nigga was sad as hell because I knew all of the effort we were making was for nothing. All of this? The touchy feely, supportive, locked in shit? It would come to an end once my secret came out. As bad as I didn’t want it to, I knew it’d have to come out eventually and that shit destroyed me.
“What up doe nigga?”Said my brother, Deante, when I walked into my ma’s crib.
The next day, right after I got off work, I pulled up at my ma’s crib. I was desperate, needing help before shit got out of control. Did I want my ma to know about Diary? Shit no. But I felt like the only way through this would be with her help. She was all I had.
Chucking my chin, I spoke back. “What up fool?” We slapped hands and I nodded toward the kitchen. “Fuck momma cooking today?”
He dragged his hands down over his fuzzy cornrows. “I think some chicken alfredo and garlic bread. You stayin?”
I stuffed my hands into my pockets, fiddling with the envelope in the right one. “Shit, for a lil’ bit.”
“Ain’t tryin’ to eat at the crib, huh? Sis might fuck around and poison yo’ ass,” He joked, looking over at me from the TV.
I laughed and said, “Fuck you nigga I ain’t worried about shit. I’m good where I’m at.”
I was. But despite where NeNe and I were at, people still knew something happened. And to know something happened was to know that we weren’t as perfect as they thought we were. The crazy thing about that was, NeNe and I never wanted that image. We didn’t run around pretending to be perfect, we just made sure we were on one accord and good whenever we were around family and friends. The opinions people had about us were opinions they formed on their own.
“I’m sayin though.” He said before tugging on his beard. “Fuck goin’ on?”
“Nothin nigga,” I told him, hating that he was fishing in my relationship to begin with.
“You cheated? Please don’t tell me yo dumb ass cheated. You gon fuck around and fumble NeNe bad ass? Mannnn.”
“Shut yo dumb ass up nigga,” I seriously said. “I ain’t fumbling shit.”
“Yeah okay,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head. “Something happened. She ain’t skate out on the party for nothing.”
“What happened ain’t none of yo business, bitch.” I told him before sitting on the couch, watching him play 2K.
Deante didn’t know nothing about any of the things I did. Why would he? I wasn’t going around broadcasting what I was doing. I mean, he knew about a few things I did when I was a teenager, yeah because that was different. Kid shit. The real-life shit? Erika? And the other ho’s I messed around with after I got down on one knee? Nah. He knew nothing of it, and I hoped tokeep it that way. I mean, hell… until Diary came into the picture at least.
I sighed, resting against the back of the couch. This shit was going to shock the whole world. The whole perfect husband image was about to blow up in my face like a muthafucka. And that shook the hell out of me. Imagine, going years on top of years as the good husband, just to show up with a whole ass baby.
