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Quinci Everly
June 2019
When my eyes popped opened,I blinked a few times so my sight could adjust and read the digital clock on the ceiling.
5:59 a.m.
Mybody knew the time because, without fail, my eyes popped open one minute beforemy alarm was to go off every morning. If I fell asleep attwo in the morning, my eyes would still pop open at 5:59 a.m. When the dial changed, I reached out and turned the alarm off.The minute I satup,my hair fell over my face.
“Fuck.” I sighed.
I’d slept mysilkscarfoff myhead.Aftersearching throughthe pillows, I found my scarf and rushed into the bathroom to see the damage. My edges had already started to curl right back up. I got my hair straightenedand trimmed every quarter, and the silk press lasted at least three days, but this time, I didn’t even make it to day two.My mother and I both inheritedlongblacktype-fourcoilsfrom my grandmother,and any amount of perspiration, my hair curled right up.Instead of trying to save the rest of the wrap, I brushed itallout and pulled my hair into aballatop my head. I turned the shower on to warm up and then moved over to the sink so I could wash my face and brush my teeth.
After completing my facial routine, I peeked out into the room to see that the digital clock read 6:10 a.m., which meant I had twenty minutes to get showered, dressed, and downstairs to start breakfast for ourguests.
Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed in my dailyattire;anorange topand blue jean shorts.Slipping into my sandals, I headed downstairs.
Walking intothe kitchen,I saw my mother standing at the fridge.I walked over to her and kissed her cheek.
“Good morning, Ma.What areyou doing up? I told you I was going to get breakfast started this morning.”
“Good morning, hot stuff.I am getting your dada smoothie together, so he can take his medicine. He woke up in a little bit of pain. You know he saysphysical therapy irritates his back more than it helps.”
“Hmm. You know grandma say if he got out of that bed and moved aroundmore, he’dfeel better.”
She laughed. “I know that’s right.”
Several months ago, my dad injured his backreallybadand had to have surgery,and he’s been down for a while. Since he been down, I stepped up in his place atour other family businessand around the bed and breakfast.He was always a busy bee, so he hated to be down, but he was getting better and better every day. Nevertheless, he still had some bad days.
When she finally turnedto look at me, she looked taken aback.
“Now, why you put your hair up in a ponytail? One day, yougonnastop wastingmymoney on silk presses.”
“I slept my scarf off, and you know how that goes. At least you can see my highlights better.”
I kepthoney blondeand magenta highlights in my hair. I thought it made mydarkskin pop even more.
“Uh-huh. Let me get this medicine up to your father before hegetscantankerous.See you in a few.”
My family owned two Bed and Breakfasts called Tranquil Haven. There was one in our small inner city of Citrus Grove and then our other one was at Citrus Grove Beach, which was a few miles up the road, whichboth of mygrandmothers looked after.Both houses were six bedrooms and six bathrooms. We rented out four bedrooms, so we’ve never had more than eight other people in our home at a time.It was weird at first, but eventually,living here and helping my mom became one of my favorite things to do.Getting to know different people from all over the world kept methoroughly entertained.
Once my mom was out of the kitchen, I walked over to the fridge to look at the small magnet white board that held theguests’dietary information.We had two couples andtwosingle peopleoccupying the rooms. They didn’t have any allergies,restrictions,or specifics,so it was going to be easy to make breakfast for them.Most times, wegot great guestswho mostly wanted to be left alone and eat alongourstrip. Very seldom wegot people who were rude and hard to please.
BeforeI started cooking, I walked over to my mom’s iPod setup and turned onher normal morning playlist. It consistedof old school R&Bmusic. I thenlet the kitchen window up in case it got a little smoky.
When I was younger, my momwouldn’t let me help as much as I wanted. She wanted me to focus on school, but that was boring, especially when I already knew what I’d be doing with my life. However, I kept my grades upanyway.She started off giving me small duties like making the beds and stocking the bathrooms; small stuff like that.She only recently let me start cooking breakfast. I hadn’t graduated to dinner yet, and I was twenty-four years old.
I was nearly done with breakfast when a nice, floral scent overtook the smell of the baconthat I’d just pulled out of the pan. I looked around and saw a short womanwith a phone pressed to her ear looking around the living room area at our family pictures.
“Good morning. Breakfast willbe—”
She cut me off a with a slight wave. “D, that’s your own fault. I can call around and see what happens, but…” Sheblinked slowly.
I could tell that whoever ‘D’ was, was annoying her. Moments later, a tall,semi-heavy, football player-built guy came down the stairs and stoodbehind her.
“You said you wouldn’t be working,” the man hissed.
She pressed her phone against her shoulder. “I’m not. Dishavinganotherassistant issue and—”
