Page 44 of When Love Takes Root

I can sit at the shop.

Calista:

I’ll supervise the electrician.

Corbin:

She means flirt.

Calista:

Both are spiritual gifts.

I laughed despite myself.

Me:

Love y’all.

I set the phone down.

The bell chimed again, and Ms. Denise stepped inside, carrying her signature satin pouch.

She paused and looked toward the darkened back row. “Are you still having electrical trouble?”

“They’re behaving for now.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I sighed. “Yes, ma’am. They’re still acting up. Somebody’s coming.”

“Good. Because the Lord gives wisdom.”

I draped the cape around her shoulders and started separating the first section of locs. Sisterlocs always held a special place in my heart. I wore my own waist-length sisterlocs, and every retie reminded me that healthy growth couldn’t be rushed. It demanded patience, consistency, and gentle hands.

She watched me through the mirror. “You tired, baby.”

“I’m okay.”

“Long day or long season?”

My hands slowed.

“. . . Both.”

She nodded. “You’re still a woman, Celeste.”

The words settled somewhere I wasn’t ready to visit.

I admitted quietly, “Sometimes, I don’t know if I’m living or just surviving.”

Ms. Denise reached for my hand. “Grief will make you feel guilty for resting, laughing, needing people, even hoping again. Don’t believe everything grief tells you.” My throat tightened. “God don’t need you pretending you’re fine,” she continued. “He already knows the truth.” I blinked hard. “Take it one day at a time. I’m praying for you.”

“I appreciate that.”

The salon emptied. Starr packed her bag. “Miss Cee, you want me to stay until the electrician gets here?”

“No, baby. Go ahead. You have class tonight.”