Chapter 7

Narrative: Aisha Johnson

We were gathered around the dining table with Marcus, Naomi, Dominic, and Chloe when the front door creaked open. My pulse quickened; I leapt to my feet and rushed forward, relief washing over me as Ian and Aisha stepped inside. Without hesitation, I threw my arms around Ian, pulling him close in a fervent embrace. “Are you alright, baby?” I murmured against his shoulder. He offered a reassuring smile and said gently, “We’re both fine.” Still clinging to him, I lifted my gaze to meet Aisha’s eyes and exchanged a tender nod with her.

I studied Ian closely and noticed the exhaustion etched across his features. My heart swelled with relief as I pressed a tender, lingering kiss upon him. “You both must be hungry,” I whispered softly. At that very moment, Marcus approached and wrapped Aisha in a comforting embrace; she appeared visibly rattled by their ordeal. Turning to her with genuine warmth, I inquired, “So! How was your first adventure with Ian?” Aisha nodded slowly, her voice measured as she replied, “It was intense—we nearly got caught by those racist pigs.”

As Ian and Aisha entered the living room heading toward the dining area, Aisha froze mid-stride when her gaze fell upon Chloe. Her eyes sharpened with recognition and disapproval. I quickly intervened, hoping to ease the sudden tension. “Aisha,” I began in as welcoming a tone as possible, “this is Chloe. Dominic introduced us to her.” Chloe blinked in surprise; we hadn’t had time to explain any of this earlier—it all happened so fast.

“Dominic?” Aisha demanded sharply, “What is she doing here?” Dominic pleaded urgently, “Mom! She had nowhere to go—please don’t be mad!” Confusion clouded Chloe’s expression as she glanced between us and asked, “Dominic, what is going on?”

“Chloe, this is my real mom!” Dominic declared, gesturing toward Aisha. That word—”real”—pierced me like a knife twist. With the air thick enough to choke on, I swallowed my reaction and held my tongue. Confusion flickered across Chloe’s face as she stammered, “I thought she was your mom?” Dominic exhaled heavily and mumbled, “Yes and no.” I forced a dry chuckle and interjected, “There’s plenty you haven’t been told.” Aisha pinned me with a glare and accused sharply, “I suppose you’re alright with all this?”

“It’s not harming anyone Aisha, Dominic should pursue whomever he wants!” I shot back fiercely. “It’s not your business,” she snapped, her tone biting. “And it’s not yours either,” I retorted with equal force.

Narrative: Ian McGregor

I observed the heated exchange between the two Aishas, a scene all too reminiscent of our disastrous encounter at the café. I braced myself, silently praying that this confrontation wouldn’t devolve into another round of hair-pulling chaos.

“I told you your mother would flip, Dominic,” Marcus said, his tone heavy with resignation. “Perhaps we could all just sit down and eat?” I suggested, hoping to defuse the mounting tension. My Aisha immediately raised her hand in a silencing gesture. “After all these years,” she challenged the other Aisha, “you still can’t move past your prejudices?” The room fell deathly silent as real world Aisha delivered her final blow: “Well, I haven’t spent fifteen years isolated on some island fucking a white man.”

My Aisha advanced, poised to strike, her eyes blazing with fury. This time, however, I intervened—seizing her arm firmly as I called out for Marcus. In response, Marcus swiftly moved in to restrain his wife. Both Aishas glared at each other with venomous intensity while I pleaded, “Please, everyone—let’s all just try to relax. It’s been a terribly long day.”

Although the crude “fucking a white man” remark stung after everything we’d endured with real-world Aisha, I recognized that it might actually serve to dispel any lingering suspicions that we’d ever shared anything more intimate.

Narrative: Naomi McGregor

As everyone crowded around the small dining table, silence hung thick like fog. My gaze drifted from one person to the next, noticing how most kept their eyes cast down, avoiding any further conflict. But Chloe—her expression was the picture of confusion as she watched our mothers glare at each other.

I turned to the woman I’d come to accept as a second mother and asked, “Mom, can you pass me the white granules?” I forgot what they were called, but they added some taste to the food.

Before I could even finish my sentence, my mother snapped at me, “She’s not your mother!”

My other mother shot back sharply, “And Dominic isn’t your son!”

My father buried his face in his hands while Chloe abruptly stood. “I should head home,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, “it’s far less chaotic there.” Dominic immediately rose to follow, calling out, “Wait, Chloe! It isn’t usually this intense.” But Chloe was already halfway to the door; it seemed her own family drama was simpler than ours.

As Chloe’s footsteps faded, Dominic burst into the room, his voice raw with anger. “It’s all your fault, Mom—I hope you’re happy!” He shot those words at her before storming off into another room.

Narrative: Aisha Johnson

I watched Dominic rush away, my heart twisting in worry. I glanced at Aisha, who appeared utterly unmoved by his distress; she almost seemed pleased to see Chloe leave. “My poor Dominic,” I murmured silently, tears gathering in my eyes. Was Aisha truly so unyielding? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

I pushed my plate away, the clatter of silverware loud in the tense silence. My appetite vanished as I watched Dominic disappear, his anguish a knife to my chest. How could Aisha remain so cold, so unfeeling towards him—and towards Chloe too? The unfairness of it burned inside me. I slipped out quietly, retreating to the solitude of my room where I could finally let my tears fall freely.

As I lay on the bed, Aisha’s cruel taunt—”he’s not your son”—echoed in my mind, each word carving fresh wounds. I remembered every detail of giving birth to both Dominic and Naomi; their cries still rang clear in my ears after all these years. And now, with those five bitter words, she tried to erase everything. My body shook as sobs tore from deep within me, the pillow muffling my anguish as hot tears soaked its surface.

Narrative: Ian McGregor

My gaze lingered on Aisha, astonished at how easily she dismissed Dominic’s pain, lashing out with harsh words at my Aisha. I realized then that her fierceness was something I’d never witnessed before—I’d only seen the gentler version of her over time. Our eyes locked, and she snapped at me, “What are you staring at?” It was as though the tender moment we shared on that bench had been erased from her memory; to her I was just another white man. Before I could respond, Marcus interjected calmly, “Baby, relax.” In that instant he became the voice of reason.

I decided it was better this way, allowing myself to distance myself from the real-world Aisha and focus on my wife. “Excuse me,” I said as I rose from the table and walked into our bedroom. There I found Aisha in tears, her complete vulnerability exposed as I approached and took her fully in my arms.

As I held her tightly, Aisha’s body quivered. “I can’t believe I was ever like that,” she murmured softly. I gently reassured her, “You weren’t—not the Aisha I know and love.” My thoughts turned to the other Aisha. “Perhaps she will adjust; maybe she’s fighting an internal battle with herself. It needs time.”

Narrative: Naomi McGregor

Marcus had gone to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my other mother. We sat facing each other across the table as her eyes remained fixed downward. I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone else had deserted me, abandoning me with the one person radiating anger. Unsure what to say, I finally spoke. “She’s wrong,” I blurted out. Her head lifted slowly and she asked, “What?” in a bewildered tone. I clarified softly, “My mother is wrong—you’re my mother too, and I’m glad we met.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she rose and moved closer, folding me into her arms. “Thank you, Naomi,” she whispered softly, and I returned the embrace as she added, “I’m so glad I met you too.”

The following day, the house bustled with hurried activity as everyone scrambled about. Amidst the chaos, I continued working diligently on my tools and weapons, carefully preparing each piece for our impending voyage aboard the boat. My heart swelled with warmth as I reflected on the precious moments shared with my other mother, Marcus, and Dominic—they had enriched my life immeasurably. Though excitement stirred within me for the journey ahead, a bittersweet ache lingered; I knew I would deeply miss their comforting presence once we parted ways.

My mother was on the phone with Tasha, the woman who had assisted me during that unsettling encounter with the police officers. Yesterday’s heated words were left unmentioned as we focused solely on our pressing preparations.

Narrative: Aisha Johnson

“I’ve submitted your recording of those officers to both the LAPD’s Internal Affairs division and the District Attorney,” Tasha explained methodically, her tone firm yet measured. “Furthermore, I personally conveyed to the LAPD that they must treat this matter with the utmost seriousness—not only will I be pursuing a civil lawsuit against their predatory actions and misuse of authority targeting the Black community but also be played out on all the news outlets and social media. Believe me, those cops will either be terminated or shamed to the extreme where they’d never be able to show their faces ever again. Either way, they won’t be bothering you again.”

The relief washing over me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced—a heavy burden lifted, leaving me nearly weightless. Tasha had truly exceeded every expectation in safeguarding us, and I couldn’t hold back my gratitude. “I don’t know how to thank you properly,” I told her sincerely. In response, she simply said, “It’s what I do—this sort of thing comes up all the time—but that recording certainly helped matters along.” As I listened, it struck me just how crucial Ian’s quick actions had been in resolving everything.

Narrative: Ian McGregor

As I collected the passports from Ian and Aisha, along with Naomi’s updated papers, I felt reassured knowing we met the cruise’s modest requirements. I had even printed our tickets and saved them as QR codes on my phone—a convenient use of modern technology that simplified everything.

As I exited the bedroom, I stumbled into the other Aisha, nearly colliding with her. Our eyes met briefly. “Sorry,” I muttered as I edged past her. I sensed her gaze lingering on me as I headed toward Naomi’s room. Out of caution, I knocked before entering. When I stepped inside, I spotted Naomi hunched over a block of wood, methodically carving it with a Stanley knife. “Naomi?” She glanced up at me. “Don’t you think you’ve made enough weapons?” I asked, trying to keep my tone measured. She shrugged casually. “There’s never enough, Dad.” Concern tightened my chest. “It’ll be difficult explaining these if we’re caught.” Naomi waved off my worries with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Don’t worry—I’ve learned my lesson; we won’t get caught.”

I returned to the living room where Dominic sat slumped on the couch, glaring at the television screen. His face burned with humiliation after being embarrassed in front of his girlfriend, whom he desperately hoped his mother would approve of. “Hey Dominic! You okay?” I asked. He glanced my way briefly before turning back to the TV, clearly disinterested in anything I had to say.

Marcus had stepped out, though I hadn’t caught the reason, leaving behind a palpable tension. Seeking to ease the strain, I retreated to the kitchen and began pulling together ingredients for breakfast. A good meal might just lighten the mood.

I called everyone over. As they arrived—my Aisha, real world Aisha, Naomi and Dominic—they all wondered when I had prepared this feast. “Let’s all sit down and enjoy our breakfast,” I urged, “we don’t have to talk—just eat.” I had outdone myself: a spread of toasted bread laid out in the center, sausages sizzling beside crispy strips of bacon, perfectly cooked eggs, peas and sweetcorn scattered about, a generous block of cheese, and a freshly brewed pot of coffee. Plates were already set out for everyone. “Just pick and choose,” I announced. My Aisha approached me, her eyes wide with surprise as she leaned in close. “Baby,” she whispered softly before kissing my cheek, “when did you prepare all this?”

I smiled as I explained, “Right in front of everyone’s eyes, you were all just too busy frowning.” Then I reached for the plate of sausages. Offering it to Dominic first, I watched as he took a couple and thanked me before passing it to Naomi. She gave me a questioning look, her expression seeming to ask why she hadn’t been served first.

As I ate, my Aisha sat next to me, glancing over at the other Aisha. I noticed that she was already looking my way and that she didn’t have any bacon. Reaching out, I offered her some from my plate. She nodded in thanks and took a piece.

“So,” I began, turning to my Aisha, “did you speak with Tasha about that recording?”

She nodded. “Yes, I was about to tell everyone until you surprised us all with this breakfast.” She went on to explain the positive news from their call: those cops wouldn’t be bothering us anymore. Still, as a precaution, we planned to give the keys to this apartment so that Marcus, Aisha and Dominic could use it until the danger passed.

Our plans for tomorrow were solidified; Marcus had promised to drive us to the dock in the morning. Earlier, I’d taken a stroll down memory lane, wandering familiar streets that stirred old recollections. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I thought ahead to our return trip to the island—a journey fraught with challenges yet one we faced with resolve.

As I returned home that evening, I found the entire family gathered in the living room—Naomi, Dominic, my Aisha, real-world Aisha, and Marcus—all engrossed in a movie. My curiosity piqued; it seemed to have been made during our time on the island. “What are you guys watching?” I asked.

“It’s about a plane with snakes on it,” she explained. Dominic chimed in, confirming, “Snakes on a Plane.” Naomi added with a hint of awe and fear, “It’s terrifying, Dad—I never knew snakes could be that dangerous.”

I couldn’t help but remark, “Is that Samuel L. Jackson? He’s in literally every movie!” Just then, I caught a line booming from the television: “Enough is enough! I have had it with these mothafucking snakes on this mothafucking plane!” My eyes widened as everyone burst into laughter.

I settled beside Naomi on the couch, though I knew she was far too young for a Samuel L. Jackson film where every other word was “fuck.” As the credits rolled, Naomi exclaimed innocently, “That was mothafucking good!” My eyes snapped open in shock—my impressionable daughter had just adopted a brand-new phrase to enrich her vocabulary.