Chapter 5
MAHOGANY
“Hello. Okay, one sec,” she paused, typing away at her keyboard before looking up at me. “For Mahogany Mills-Morris and Ducati Morris?” Briefly, she scanned the room for him.
Today was therapy day one. Our fifth day one, with our fifth therapist to be exact.
We ran through therapists like socks. There was always something wrong with them.
I prayed like hell that Nicole ended up being the fix we needed because at this rate, we were running out of black therapists in Michigan.
“Yes,” I said with my eyes locked on hers. “My husband’s running a little late.”
“Ah, he’s okay. You’re a little early,” she cheerfully dismissed before going back to her screen. “But Mrs. Mitchell has a fifteen-minute grace period; in case anything comes up.”
I was well aware of the fifteen-minute grace period.
Didn’t give a damn about it though. Being on time today was very important to me.
I’d stressed to him how important it was for us to be.
We already looked bad enough. I wanted to at least come off as reliable, like we had our shit together a little bit.
“Help yourself to the refreshment room while you wait. There’s donuts, coffee, and tea,” she continued before giving me that tightlipped smile I hated.
I gave it right back to her before pivoting on my heels to do what I did best when I was stressed—pace. As I walked back and forth, I pretended to admire the paintings on the wall. Meanwhile, my anxiety was through the roof. It wasn’t just him being late that bothered me, it was therapy period.
I was on edge, because we were finally at a therapy session and it could very well be our first and last. That had kept me in a vicious cycle of anxiety all week.
Because, well… I made a promise to myself.
Another promise. And this one, I said I wouldn’t break.
Said that if it did not work this time, I’d leave.
I’d file for divorce. But… I was afraid.
Scared of again, letting myself down. And…
like always… afraid of losing him. Sick right?
As exhausted as I was, the fear of losing us petrified me beyond belief.
So much that, that fear of breaking another promise to myself tripled because I knew…
deep, deep, deep down that if it didn’t work…
if Nicole couldn’t fix us… I’d stay. And well…
I was afraid of doing that. Just as afraid of that as I was of losing him.
Confusing, right? I know. I was confusing. Our love, confusing too.
Tilting my head back with a sigh, I put my eyes on the ceiling.
Wow . Art. I stopped pacing and stood there, with my arms wrapped around my body, head back admiring the hues of dusty blue, green, and ivory.
I could almost feel how each stroke of the painters’ brush had been intentional, the colors meshed so well together. The mural was absolutely breathtaking.
“Ah, right on time,” The receptionist said with a smile pulling my attention away from the ceiling. Looking over at the entrance doors, I was relieved to see Duke walking in.
His ass wasn’t right on time. To me, on time meant late.
However, I did appreciate the fact that he wasn’t actually late.
That meant a little something. I was just bitchier than usual because although I talked shit to him about it, I didn’t want to be in therapy neither.
I just wanted us to work. But to get there, we had piles and piles of shit to shovel through that we couldn’t shovel through on our own.
He looked stressed. Eyebrows furrowed, face slightly frowned up, stressed.
I knew why. His ass didn’t want to disappoint me.
He walked on eggshells daily, but I couldn’t be upset with him about this, I was just very on edge.
I could cut him some slack, considering I knew why he was late anyway.
Still didn’t cancel out the fact that he should’ve left work earlier to beat construction traffic he knew about since he worked on them.
That was neither here nor there though. Seeing him did give me a sense of peace, calming my anxiety a bit.
“My bad,” he whispered into my ear, embracing me. “I know you wanted me here earlier.”
I smiled a little as he dropped a kiss on the side of my head. “It’s okay.”
Before we could walk off, he grabbed my hand. “We got this.”
With raised brows, I nodded. He was trying.
Like me. We were trying. It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t.
Maybe not in the same way that I tried, but to the capacity that he could.
To the capacity that I allowed him to, at least. I noticed.
The effort. And he noticed the draw back every time I did.
I didn’t draw back because I wanted to. I drew back because well…
regardless of how many times I said I forgave him, the ego kept score.
So, it wasn’t me. It was it. The deepest part of me.
Which was why we were here. To see if I could get ‘ her’ to forgive him too.
“Mr…. Mrs. Morris.”
I looked past Duke at the woman standing at an opened door.
Nicole. I recognized her from the company’s website.
Okay, Mrs. Nicole Mitchell! I sized her up, with a smile, very, very pleased at what I was greeted with.
Her headshot was misleading. Her picture sat at the end, the only brown face in a sea of whites.
Her headshot was a headshot. I was skeptical because she didn’t give power to the people.
The last thing I needed was a valley girl, whitewashed therapist. To me that mattered.
And she was plain. Hair slicked back, nice corporate smile, white button up top.
The basics. Baby girl screamed ivy league, PWC.
But because I was desperate, I scheduled an appointment with her anyway, hoping for the best.
But honey, today was proof that I had read her all wrong.
She wasn’t just ‘African American’. She was bold, black and beautiful baby.
Cornbread fed, Cartier glasses, silk press, brown liner, clear gloss black.
Okay? Nothing like the headshot. No ma’am!
Up close in person, she gave HBCU. Through in through.
That made me happy.
“That’s us,” Duke said with a smile, before leading me toward her.
We weren’t naturally this touchy. He’d never admit it, but I could tell he was very nervous about therapy too.
Duke had a poker face and often hid his true feelings behind sweet gestures, obnoxious jokes, or my least favorite, lack of emotional availability.
Today, he gave me sweet gestures and accountability.
That was him trying. Letting him hold my hand was me trying.
“Hi! I’m Nicole,” she greeted, extending her hand. “But please call me Nikki. Never call me Mrs. Mitchell. I want everyone to be comfortable.”
I shook hands with her. “Nice to finally meet you, Nikki.”
Duke nodded and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Y’all didn’t check the refreshment room out? Really should have. Today we have Dutch Girl and?—
“Dutch Girl donuts?” I interrupted with raised brows. “Y’all got Dutch Girl donuts? Here ? I know you lying to me!”
We were deep in the suburbs, in downtown Rochester, MI; nowhere near Detroit. Dutch Girl was nostalgic for me. Growing up, we got Dutch Girl Donuts every Sunday after church. I couldn’t remember the last time I had them. I was tempted to turn around to make a quick stop at the refreshment room.
She giggled. “Listen… I made them take that twenty-five-minute ride for those donuts, girl. Kept coming up in here with that sweet ol’ Krispy Kreme!”
I laughed. “I know that’s right. I sure wish I had stopped in.”
Had I known they had something worth eating in there, I definitely would have gone inside to at least curb my anxiety.
“Stop in on your way out; I’m sure they’re plenty left,” she said with a smile.
“If not, we can swing through the hood and grab some, Muffin,” Duke generously offered.
Muffin was a nickname I hadn’t heard in years .
He was putting on. I didn’t know why when the damn lady had our file for weeks and was very well aware of every foul thing he’d done to me to get us here.
Instead of picking, I just smiled and said okay.
Duke didn’t do that. He didn’t cater to my wants and needs like that.
Not anymore, he didn’t. He’d probably DoorDash me some though just for them to be cold by time they made it to my doorstep.
Stepping into her office, my jaw dropped.
Wow. Her space was massive—nearly the size of the lobby, if not bigger.
I immediately began to take it in. She went with golds, nudes, and greens.
Beautiful. I could hear her and Duke chattering, while I walked around, noticing things no one else would.
Like the detail on the gold, barrette style, tiebacks she had attached to the drapes.
As an interior decorator, intricate design, thought-out pieces, and color schemes fascinated me.
When it came to decorating, it was more than what met the eye.
We looked at rooms, color schemes, fabrics, and patterns differently. Decorating was an art.
“Did you hear him, Mrs. Mills-Morris?” Nicole asked, pulling my attention from the drapes.
Letting it go, I turned to face her. “No, I didn’t. What did he say? And Mahogany is fine. We don’t like formalities neither.”
She nodded and gestured toward the couch where Duke had sat.
Since being introduced to Nikki, it didn’t feel like we were about to start a therapy session.
Felt like we were catching up with a distant cousin or some shit.
Before, out there in that lobby, was a different story. Nicole had a very comforting aura.
Duke lightly laughed. “I asked if y’all went to college together or something. This feels like a set up.”
Here he goes. He was nervous for real; we were heading towards obnoxious jokes territory.