Page 13 of When Love Takes Root

Ms. Lorraine looked up from beneath her dryer.

“The dating pool got piss, oil, and antifreeze in it. You need a hazmat suit to love somebody nowadays.”

Laughter rolled through the room.

Chantel didn’t miss a beat.

“I went on a date last night, and this fool asked if I’d ever considered adding another woman to the bedroom.”

“Oh Lord,” I muttered.

“I told him the only thing coming to my bedroom was peace, prayer, and a good night’s sleep.”

The shop exploded. Even I had to put my comb down.

Then the lights flickered. Once. Then again. Half the salon dimmed, and the dryers along the back wall died in the middle of their cycle.

“Oh, Lord, not today,” I whispered.

Ms. Lorraine peeked out from beneath her dryer hood.

“Baby, I’m too old to be sitting in half darkness. Y’all not finna send me to glory early.”

Nervous laughter scattered through the room.

“Miss Celeste,” one of my clients said, holding on to the section of hair I’d just parted, “my curls are literally in your hands.”

“I know, baby. Give me two seconds.”

Leilani sighed.

“Celeste . . . this is happening too much.”

“I know.”

“No. You’re managing it. That ain’t the same thing.”

She was right.

The lights near stations three and four had been flickering for days. Breakers kept tripping whenever too many dryers ran at once. Yesterday, an outlet sparked near the shampoo bowls, and this morning, I’d caught the faint smell of heat where heat had no business being.

Big J would’ve taken the flashlight from my hand before I ever thought about touching the breaker.

“Let me check it.”

Leilani stood.

“And I’m coming.”

“You’re eight months pregnant.”

“And still got sense.”

“I could argue with that.”

The hallway felt warmer than the rest of the salon.

We both stopped.