Page 20 of Omar

Nene didn't hang up right away. Her breathing came through steady and quiet on the other end, just being there without needing me to explain anything yet. After a minute she said, "I'm here when you ready to talk."

"I know."

"Love you, sis."

"Love you too."

When I hung up I stayed on the wall for another few minutes. A delivery cyclist went past with a massive backpack strapped to his shoulders. Someone's dog barked inside the brownstone behind me. The sun was warm on the top of my head.

I got up, walked back to where Cee had parked, and got in the back seat. He was looking at me in the rear-view mirror but he didn't say anything, just waited.

"Take me to the salon," I sighed, praying that I didn't catch a glimpse of Omar in the window.

He pulled out into traffic.

Chapter 8

Asha

The salon in Brooklyn wasn't mine. It belonged to a woman named Gloria who rented me a station for three hundred a week, cash, no questions. She didn't ask where I'd come from or why I was paying in bills instead of a check. She gave me a chair, a mirror, a drawer for my tools, and left me alone.

I was grateful for it. Having somewhere to work kept my hands busy and my mind from spiraling. But every time I picked up the flat iron or mixed a color formula or ran my fingers through a client's hair, I thought about the salon in Atlanta. My salon. The one I'd built from nothing while living inside Supreme's cage.

It was a small storefront on Peachtree in Midtown, wedged between a nail place and a Caribbean restaurant. I'd found it two years into living with Supreme, back when he was still in his generous phase, back when he wanted to prove he wasn't keeping me prisoner by letting me have something that looked like independence. He'd paid the first six months' rent. I'd paid everything after that out of the money I'd been skimming from the household budget.

I'd painted the walls myself. Dove grey with white trim. Bought the chairs secondhand from a salon in Buckhead that was upgrading. Fixed the plumbing with a YouTube tutorial and a wrench. Built the client list one referral at a time until I was booked solid four days a week.

Mrs. Henderson came every other week for a wash and set. She was seventy-three years old, wore the same pearl earrings every visit, and told me stories about growing up in Savannah while I worked the conditioner through her silver hair. She'd been coming to me for eighteen months. She brought her granddaughter once, a girl called Tiana who sat in the waiting chair playing games on her phone and said "Your salon is really pretty, Miss Asha" before they left. I'd thought about that compliment for three days.

Mya was my one employee. Twenty-two, fresh out of cosmetology school, talked too much but had beautiful hands and a natural talent for braids that I couldn't teach. She'd show up fifteen minutes early every shift with an iced coffee from the place next door, one for her and one for me, talking about her boyfriend problems while we set up the stations.

All of that was sitting empty right now. Supreme had brought me to Brooklyn and the salon was locked up with a note on the door that said CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Mya was doing mobile appointments to keep her clients. Mrs. Henderson had texted me twice asking when I was coming back.

I didn't have an answer for her.

But that was Atlanta. This was Brooklyn. Gloria's chair, Gloria's mirror, Gloria's products. I cleaned my station between appointments, organized my tools, and checked the savings account balance on my phone under the counter. Two thousand nine hundred and twelve dollars away from the number. Close enough to taste, far enough to keep me up at night.

My phone buzzed while I was between clients. Nene's name on the screen. I told Gloria I was taking five minutes and went to the bathroom.

"Girl, I been calling you," Nene said before I could speak. "You alive?"

"Barely."

"You sure? Cos you been quiet for like four days and that ain't like you."

"Things been busy." I sat on the closed toilet lid with my back against the tank. "Supreme's got me on a short leash since we got to Brooklyn. Cee drives me everywhere. I can't even go to the bodega without him knowing."

"Cee. That's the driver?"

"Yeah."

"He cute?"

"Nene."

"I'm asking for research purposes." She laughed. "Okay, okay. How's the salon situation?"

"I'm still renting that same chair. It's fine."