Page 4 of When Love Takes Root

“I know,” I confirmed.

“Happy anniversary again, Mrs. Coleman,” Jamal said.

“Tomorrow, baby,” I teased.

“Everyday with you, love,” he proclaimed.

My face warmed. “Drive safe,” I replied.

“Always,” Jamal said.

The front door opened, and my house filled with backpacks, gym bags, footsteps, arguing, laughter, and one last, “Bye, Mama,” before the door closed behind them all.

I cleaned up, grabbed my purse, and headed to Celestial Crowns.

I sat in my car for a moment, one hand on the wheel, Jamal’s kiss still warm on my cheek. Some mornings, I had to pause before stepping into the life I’d prayed for. It wasn’t perfect. Bills, inventory, payroll, hard clients, and long hours kept me busy. But it was mine, and every inch of it carried my fingerprints and God’s grace.

I climbed out, locked my car, and smiled at Celestial Crowns beneath the morning light. Lavender walls glowed through the windows while the plants stretched toward the sun.

“Thank You, Lord,” I whispered as I unlocked the door.

Shea butter, shampoo, hair oil, fresh linen, and eucalyptus greeted me the moment I stepped inside. I turned on the lights, tucked away my purse, tied my apron, and settled into my opening routine. Towels. Products. Appointment book. Coffee. My ’90s R&B playlist drifted through the salon while I checked on my plants before the day began.

Black women walked through my doors, carrying jobs, marriages, grief, babies, church news, receipts, secrets, and strong opinions. Hair got done at Celestial Crowns, but spirits got tended to. Edges were laid, locs were retied, and hearts found room to breathe.

Fridays had their own rhythm. Blow dryers hummed, rattail combs tapped against trays, and somebody always swore she was done with a man we all knew she’d answer by Tuesday.

I loved every bit of it.

By midmorning, every chair was full, and Ms. Daphne sat beneath her roller set like royalty preparing for a grand entrance. Her Pekingese rested beside her in a rhinestone collar, looking almost as judgmental as she did.

Celestial Crowns was more than a salon. It was relief on hard days, edge control with testimony, a lavender room where women remembered who they were.

Ms. Daphne lifted her chin toward the mirror. “Y’all know I’m trying to look cute tonight. It’s the anniversary of my divorce. Freedom Day. I finally broke free from that abusive fuck nigga. It’s a celebration, bitches.”

The whole shop hollered.

She’d been in my chair since I opened in 2012. Back when my savings stayed on life support, she’d shown up with snacks, encouragement, and enough referrals to keep me believing my dream would survive.

I smiled through the mirror.

“Ms. Daphne, your cussing always takes me out because it sounds so foreign coming out your mouth.”

She fluffed the front of her roller set. “Baby, freedom changed my vocabulary.”

I checked one of her rollers. “If freedom was a hairstyle, this right here is emancipation.”

She cackled. “That’s why I come to you, Celeste. You don’t just do hair. You do deliverance with a rat-tail comb.”

Ms. Brenda lowered her magazine with a knowing smile. “Celeste, you’re celebrating something too, aren’t ya? I saw that little heart emoji post this morning.”

I laughed. “Mm-hmm. Fifteen years of marriage tomorrow. Big J keeps telling me to pack a bag, but he won’t tell me where we’re going. The kids know something too. They’ve been whispering all week.”

Ms. Brenda smiled. “Girl, that man loves you openly and fiercely. I love that for you.”

Warmth spread across my face. “Yeah. He does,” I said softly.

The bell over the door chimed. My fingers paused around the comb.