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I gasp, clutching my chest. “OhmyGod, girl, your ring is gorgeous.”
To be honest, I’m still shocked over the fact that her ass had a baby, and now to learn she’s engaged. Talk about surprises. Not that we’ve ever been close friends, but when you’re someone’s hairstylist for as long as I’ve been hers, you start to develop a certain rapport. And, although Bianca has always been a very private woman, we’ve had conversations over the years about men and relationships and whatnot. And she’s shared some things to me about her personal life. Not much, though. But there were two things she was clear on: One, she had no use for men, or a serious relationship with one; and, two, she had no interest in having children.
“My how fast things have changed,” I say, leaning her back at the sink. I turn the water on, make sure it’s the right temperature, and then begin wetting her hair. “What ever happened to your ’I’m Done with All Men’ speech?” I ask as I’m shampooing her hair.
“Girl, life happened,” she says, smiling. “A handsomely stubborn man came into my life and refused to be pushed aside, or dismissed. And, in the end, he won me over.”
I smile, genuinely happy for her. She tells me how the pregnancy was unexpected and how she had thought about having an abortion, but couldn’t go through with it. About how she thought about not telling him about the baby and raising it on her own, but felt that keeping it from him wouldn’t have been fair to him because he had the right to know.
“Sounds like you did the right thing,” I tell her, wrapping a towel around her head, then sitting her up in her seat.
She nods. “Yes, I did. I can honestly say I have no regrets.”
I smile, understanding all too well her comment.
As I’m giving her a deep moisturizing conditioning, Shuwanda walks through the door. She spea
ks—actually mumbles—as she heads toward her workstation. And as usual she looks pissed off about something. But what do I care about her moody ass. She brings in a lot of money so she can mope around here every-damn-day if she wants, as long as she keeps her appointment book full. I don’t bother to ask what’s wrong ’cause: One, she’s the type of chick who likes attention; two, I’m not in the mood to know; three, everything is always a damn crisis for her; and four, if I ask her what’s wrong, she’s going to say “nothing” any-damn-way. So why even bother. That bitch is real pitiful, I think, combing out Bianca’s hair. It has gotten thick and is now almost past her shoulders since she’s had the baby. But her ends are a hot mess! Just like I said they’d be. Lucky for her, there’s not a lot of damage.
I part Bianca’s hair into thin sections, then run it through my middle and ring finger. “Girl, you haven’t been in here in months, and these ends are showing it,” I say, pulling out my scissors.
“I know, girl.”
I add, “You should really have your ends trimmed every eight weeks or so.”
She winces at the thought, like so many other chicks who come into my shop. But they realize I know my shit when it comes to hair. I’m not like some stylists who are “scissor happy.” If I tell you I’m going to trim your hair, that’s exactly what I do. One-quarter to a half-inch; that’s it. You will leave this chair with a trim, not a haircut, unless that’s what you specifically ask for.
“So when’s the big day?” I ask Bianca.
“We haven’t actually set a date, yet. But if Garrett had his way we’d be married—yesterday.”
I laugh. “He sounds like Jasper. Every time we talk, he’s asking”—I dip into a deep voice, mimicking him—“’when we doin’ this, yo?’”
She laughs. “Speaking of that fiiiine-ass man of yours,” Bianca says, “he should be coming home soon, right?”
Everyone knows Jasper’s locked up, so it’s no secret that I’ve been more or less a prisoner’s wife for the last four years. I nod. “Girrrrl, not soon enough. This shit has been hectic.”
“I’m sure it has,” she says, lowering her voice. “Personally, I don’t know how you’ve done it. Lord knows I don’t think I could have been as devoted and committed as you’ve been.”
“Chile, it requires a whole lot of patience and a drawer full of double-A batteries.”
She chuckles. “Good thing it’s almost over.”
“You got that right.”
Shuwanda butts in. “Girlfriend’s good ’cause I couldn’t do it either. Melvin knows if his ass gets knocked, someone else is gonna eventually be taking his spot. This kitty needs to be stroked every two to three days; otherwise it starts clawin’ my insides out. So ain’t no way I’d ever be able to go four years, hell four weeks, without sex.”
Bitch, every other week someone else is taking his spot. I keep my mouth shut.
“I’m with you on that,” Bianca says, shaking her head. “It’d drive me crazy.”
The door opens and in comes this very attractive, brown-skinned female I’ve never seen before. Behind her is this deliciously, tall, dark nigga with a neatly trimmed beard and dreads. He takes a seat while the chick is at the receptionist desk talking to Felecia. I cut my eye back over at the dude.
For a brief moment, he looks vaguely familiar to me. Damn, I know I’ve seen him somewhere, I think, taking another section of Bianca’s hair and running it through my fingers. I snip the ends; then, again, maybe not. I erase the thought from my head as she walks over to him, then kisses him lightly on the lips. Clearly marking her territory and letting the rest of the bitches in the room know—he’s taken. Shuwanda waves her over.
“New customer?” I ask her, knowingly.
She nods. “Yeah, we met a few weeks back. Her daughter goes to my son’s school.”
