“I can’t call you before then?”
“I just said call me when you’re getting discharged.”
“Damn, Ne. You still don’t want to talk to a nigga? I’m laid up in the hospital?—”
“With a few broken bones,” I pointed out as I looked up at the building with a sigh.
It was late in the evening. I’d just left the office. I had a couple of meetings today, finished a few projects, finished upwith Crescent, and had to sign off on a couple of renders. It was a busy day. An okay day, but a busy one. Felt like the minute I got out of the car and walked into that building, my okay day was going to turn into a bad one.
With a deep breath, I looked up at the building and tossed my head back against the headrest. I was at therapy. I was supposed to be here a week ago but a week ago I felt like shit. A week ago, this with Duke was very fresh and I was running. Felt like I was still running. Hell, I’d been in the parking lot bullshitting for the past ten minutes. Five minutes ago, I was supposed to check in. But I was stuck. Not only because I was on the phone with dumb ass but because I was cemented by the fear of being judged. She couldn’t do that though… right? All she could do was listen. But because I was insecure, her opinion meant a lot. And I just… I was in no mood to be judged. I wanted and needed understanding. Would she give me that? Or would her eyes read that I told you so I couldn’t stop thinking about. I mean, Chanté hadn’t told me a damn thing. Not for real. This came from left field. This fucking baby. This got damn child. A child he was acting like I’d forgotten about.
She didn’t say he would have a baby on me. So, I told you so didn’t apply here. Still, failure tormented me. We failed. I failed. The marriage I worked so hard at keeping together failed and that fucked with me. Sometimes more than the fact that he had a baby on me. We were supposed to work. It was supposed to last. I was supposed to move past my issues, and we were supposed to grow old together.
What the fuck was this?
“I could have lost my life.”
Right, right. I knew that. That fact was the only reason I’d answered the phone for him. Didn’t mean I wanted to talk to him. Didn’t mean things were just… erased.
“You didn’t,” I paused. “Look… like I said, just call me when you’re discharged.”
“That won’t be for a few days.”
“Okay well… call me in a few days.”
“You’re not coming up here?”
“If I just said call me in a few days, what do you think?”
“You can’t bring the kids? I talked to Honesty earlier and they miss me.”
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This situation would have been a lot easier without kids in the equation. Having a family with children who were very close to their father during a time like this was difficult to navigate.
“I’ll see, Duke. I have to go,” with that, I hung up.
Just as I was about to turn the phone off, it rang. I just knew it would be him, but it wasn’t. It was Chanté. Instead of answering it, I hit the ignore button and grabbed my bag to get out.
My stride was unrushed. I basked in the feel of the warm spring sun beaming down on my face. Enjoyed the cool breeze that swept across my face when I pulled the door to the building open too. I appreciated the small things. Sat in the feeling of having an okay day because I knew… I just fucking knew… things were going to come raining down on me once I sat on that couch.
I sighed and did the whole check in thing. Waited about a minute or so and then Chanté called me back. I wasn’t surprised by the questioning look on her face. Didn’t run when she asked me where I’d been either. I stopped lying. Told her I wasn’t sick. Not ill anyway. Told her things were bad and heavy, and I was too stuck in my head to talk about it. But talking about it was exactly what I needed. She nodded and got right to it.
“Duke?”
I grabbed the pillow and fondled with the tassels. Nodded instead of using my voice. She scribbled in the iPad. For asecond, I wondered what she wrote. Did she call me a dumb ass bitch? Did she write LOL?
“Did he cheat?”
Again, I shook my head. Stared at her through cloudy vision. Almost cried. If I were to blink, I would. Quiet tears though. That was all I’d cried these days. Didn’t get hysterical. Didn’t hyperventilate. Didn’t give anything but quiet tears.
“It’s okay, Mahogany. You can let go,” Chanté said before handing me a box of Kleenex.
I didn’t take it.
I didn’t want to move. Felt like if I moved a muscle, they would pour out, and I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted these sessions to go differently. Before… I wanted to be able to walk in here with my head held high. I wanted to gloat. I wanted to show her that we were doing good. That I didn’t need a divorce attorney, and that marital counseling was all we needed. But… I couldn’t. I wasn’t allowed to get to that point. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
I blinked.
I fucking blinked and the levee broke.
