Chapter 1- Nadine
“There you go, Mrs. Sanders. Perfect.” The old black lady stood up and ran her fingers over the short cut I’d given her. She was one of my most frequent clients, coming in once a month to trim off the one centimeter of grey frizz she gained in the three weeks I didn’t see her.
“Thank you, Nadine,” the old lady said and flashed a gummy smile. “You always do such a great job.” I walked Mrs. Sanders to the front desk. I was the reason the salon could take clients of every race now. The white girls weren’t able to do corn rows and afros the way I could, but the owner had wanted to expand.
“Who else do I have for today?” I asked Sonya who was at the front desk, taking Mrs. Sanders’s payment. Mondays were quiet at the hair salon, with only four of the six ladies coming in.
“You’ve got a Hannah at two and a…” she squinted at the book. “I don’t know what this says, but another one at three for a weave.”
“I’m going to shoot off and pick up Trevor now then,” I said, grabbing my keys and handbag. The preschool had half-day and full-day options but I couldn’t afford full day on my hairdresser salary. It was cheaper to pay Dianne, my next door neighbor, to watch Trevor for the next four hours of my shift.
When I walked into the preschool, Trevor’s name already echoed down the halls. He would know I was here long before he saw me. Every kid in this place knew which mothers belonged to which kids, and which things belonged in which locker. I couldn’t remember ever being that vigilant when I was in preschool, but it was a good twenty-two years since I’d been five.
“Why did you come so early?” Trevor asked, tipping his head back on his shoulders.
“It’s the same time I come every day, sweetheart,” I said, running my hand through his soft black curls and down onto his chocolate cheek. It was amazing how I was a hairdresser but I never got a chance to cut my own son’s hair. What was it they said about a shoemaker’s kids? “Do you have everything? Lunch box? Jacket?” I looked down at his bare feet and shook my head. It was heading on towards winter and he still insisted on taking them off. “Shoes?”
He nodded and slipped his hand into mine. It was warm and sticky, his morning mapped out on his soft skin.
“What are you going to do at Dianne’s today?” I asked when he was in the car on his elevated seat. I always asked him. If he chose something that he could look forward to, I pretended I could feel less guilty about having to leave him there.
“I want to watch cartoons on the new television she got again,” he said. “It’s really big, five times bigger than ours, even.”
“That sounds really big. I’ll have to come see it sometime.”
“Like today?”
I shook my head and glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Not today, angel. Mommy has to work, remember?”
He looked out the window. This look on his face was the one that hurt me the most. He wasn’t upset that I’d said no. He wasn’t sad I couldn’t come. He wasn’t even angry, trying to twist my arm with a temper tantrum. All of those I would have been able to handle – a lecture on how to act right made me feel like I was still being a good mother.
When he looked out of the window he was just resigned. He knew what the answer was and he knew there was no use arguing or fighting about it. It was such a grown up thing to do for a five-year old. And it shot guilt through my chest like an arrow.
“You always have to work,” he said. It was true. I worked a lot, often putting in double shifts at the salon. But I didn’t have a choice.
“Remember how Bryce at school told you that his daddy made a lot of money so he could have all those toys you asked me about?”
Trevor nodded.
“Well, we don’t have a daddy that makes a lot of money. So I have to work hard to make up for that.”
Trevor knew Marcus had left before he’d been born. I had to tell him why his
“There you go, Mrs. Sanders. Perfect.” The old black lady stood up and ran her fingers over the short cut I’d given her. She was one of my most frequent clients, coming in once a month to trim off the one centimeter of grey frizz she gained in the three weeks I didn’t see her.
“Thank you, Nadine,” the old lady said and flashed a gummy smile. “You always do such a great job.” I walked Mrs. Sanders to the front desk. I was the reason the salon could take clients of every race now. The white girls weren’t able to do corn rows and afros the way I could, but the owner had wanted to expand.
“Who else do I have for today?” I asked Sonya who was at the front desk, taking Mrs. Sanders’s payment. Mondays were quiet at the hair salon, with only four of the six ladies coming in.
“You’ve got a Hannah at two and a…” she squinted at the book. “I don’t know what this says, but another one at three for a weave.”
“I’m going to shoot off and pick up Trevor now then,” I said, grabbing my keys and handbag. The preschool had half-day and full-day options but I couldn’t afford full day on my hairdresser salary. It was cheaper to pay Dianne, my next door neighbor, to watch Trevor for the next four hours of my shift.
When I walked into the preschool, Trevor’s name already echoed down the halls. He would know I was here long before he saw me. Every kid in this place knew which mothers belonged to which kids, and which things belonged in which locker. I couldn’t remember ever being that vigilant when I was in preschool, but it was a good twenty-two years since I’d been five.
“Why did you come so early?” Trevor asked, tipping his head back on his shoulders.
“It’s the same time I come every day, sweetheart,” I said, running my hand through his soft black curls and down onto his chocolate cheek. It was amazing how I was a hairdresser but I never got a chance to cut my own son’s hair. What was it they said about a shoemaker’s kids? “Do you have everything? Lunch box? Jacket?” I looked down at his bare feet and shook my head. It was heading on towards winter and he still insisted on taking them off. “Shoes?”
He nodded and slipped his hand into mine. It was warm and sticky, his morning mapped out on his soft skin.
“What are you going to do at Dianne’s today?” I asked when he was in the car on his elevated seat. I always asked him. If he chose something that he could look forward to, I pretended I could feel less guilty about having to leave him there.
“I want to watch cartoons on the new television she got again,” he said. “It’s really big, five times bigger than ours, even.”
“That sounds really big. I’ll have to come see it sometime.”
“Like today?”
I shook my head and glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Not today, angel. Mommy has to work, remember?”
He looked out the window. This look on his face was the one that hurt me the most. He wasn’t upset that I’d said no. He wasn’t sad I couldn’t come. He wasn’t even angry, trying to twist my arm with a temper tantrum. All of those I would have been able to handle – a lecture on how to act right made me feel like I was still being a good mother.
When he looked out of the window he was just resigned. He knew what the answer was and he knew there was no use arguing or fighting about it. It was such a grown up thing to do for a five-year old. And it shot guilt through my chest like an arrow.
“You always have to work,” he said. It was true. I worked a lot, often putting in double shifts at the salon. But I didn’t have a choice.
“Remember how Bryce at school told you that his daddy made a lot of money so he could have all those toys you asked me about?”
Trevor nodded.
“Well, we don’t have a daddy that makes a lot of money. So I have to work hard to make up for that.”
Trevor knew Marcus had left before he’d been born. I had to tell him why his
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