Chapter 10 What I Smell Like
Good morning for me, afternoon for you, Issac texts. You’re officially my girl, and I might’ve made a photo dump of us for my socials. Hope business is booming. I’ll call after my shoot. Bye babe lol 3
The message makes my chest hot. I’m not parked across the street from the shop anymore. Suddenly, I’m home and Issac’s standing in my doorway saying he forgot to show me how good kissing can feel. I blink the fantasy away and berate myself. What would my best friend think if he knew I was on the other end wondering if his lips feel better in real life than they seemed to feel in my dream? I send a wide-eyed emoji back before sliding my phone in my pocket and glancing out the window. Is that…Pete’s car in front of the shop? If Broadway wasn’t busy, I’d have panicked and practically dove across it to get to Mom. Neither of us prepared for the landlord to stop by the shop, and I can’t imagine the reckless things coming out of her mouth.
I’m anticipating customers when I throw the door open, but there’s not one. Instead, Mom turns to give me a small wave, Lex is nowhere in sight, and Pete doesn’t smile when he sees me. Worse than that: the wrinkles on his forehead are unusually severe when he frowns.
“Neither of you thought to tell me you decided to stay open?” he asks.
Relieved there’s still time for damage control, I open my mouth to respond, but Mom beats me to it. “We would have called you had we had the time yesterday, Peter. But you’re here to hear the news now, aren’t you?”
At the insulted look on his face, I rush to cut in. “This was a last-minute decision due to an influx in customers and some potential for investors. We were—”
He shakes his head. “Don’t bother with details. The only thing I need is the rent you can’t pay, which is why you said you’d be out the first week of the month. And well, it’s the first week of the month and you’re still here.”
“Peter, can you—”
“Listen, Vanessa,” Pete says, “I’d appreciate you calling me Pete like I’ve asked you to.” A quick laugh almost escapes my throat. Mom insists on using his full name. Sometimes I wonder if it’s her way of flirting with him like a teenager, but I can’t imagine she’d admit it. “And I’m supposed to list the space for rent today, but I can’t if you’re trying to squat. Is that what you’re trying to do? Just tell me now.”
Mom lets out a long breath, but I give her a warning nudge. “No, no,” I say. “We appreciate renting from you. We know we owe you money; we’re going to get it for you. Fast.”
“With interest,” Mom adds, then punctuated and with pursed lips, “Peter.”
I grit my teeth but agree. “Can you give us the rest of the month?”
When he starts to protest, I hold a finger up. “Three weeks. Just three weeks to pay you and make sure we’re solid enough to sign another lease.”
Pete mumbles under his breath, glances around the shop. “For an influx of customers, it sure seems dead in here, but if you’re sure.”
Dread coils in my stomach over the possibility that people don’t care as much as Issac thought they would. He might be in magazines as the sexiest man alive, but who am I to them?
“We’ll see you in three weeks,” Vanessa Thompson says to Peter Scott, and with a smooth smile and an impressive bat of her lashes, extends her hand for him to shake.
Pete’s not the friendliest man, but every time she smiles at him, he gets this goofy look on his face. I think he secretly enjoys her calling him Peter. “Alright, three weeks,” he says, then shakes on it.
As soon as he’s out the door, Mom explains how she and Lex opened the shop at 11:00 a.m. but have only had two customers. Both pretended like they were looking around but were really looking for me, then they left. Somehow, the thought that the focus was on only me makes the whole situation worse. Lex comes out of the back room after a damn nap, and I wonder how the hell we’re going to pay him next week as promised.
He strides through the shop with a smile on his face. “The deliciousness that is you and Issac posted on his page was the perfect thing to wake up to,” he says, and my worry balloons to new heights. The post is probably littered with insulting comments about me, about Issac not choosing Melinda. Did we do this for no reason? But before Lex can shove his phone in my face, the bell on the door jingles and four customers walk in.
“Issac was sent from the heavens,” Mom says, doing a little happy dance.
And it’s not a trickle after that, it’s one after another, groups of teenage girls, and before we know it the store is full of people. Most are buying more products than necessary, but who are we to tell them they shouldn’t?
Hours later, Lex cashes out another customer and I lean over the counter to whisper, “What did Issac say to get all of them here so quickly?”
“With a man that fine, anything he says can draw a crowd,” Lex says. “But the caption under the pics he posted said you smell like baked peaches and pineapples, and I’m pretty sure everyone here wants to smell and taste like you too.”
My face must be redder than Mom’s lipstick. I open my mouth to say something, but Lex slaps the counter and points. My eyes dart to the door.
“Let me send the damn paparazzi away,” he says. “I’m not going to let media-attention-seeking whores ruin your relationship for me.”
For me.He saunters away to deal with them and I laugh. When he finds out none of this is real, he might just throw a bottle of conditioner at my head. I turn to watch Mom open test jars for customers while swinging her hips to the old-school music playing. She even gets some of them dancing too. She’s so fun; she radiates and glows. I wonder if people who came in just to be nosy have forgotten all about me by now.
When they do ask if I’m really with Issac, the most I do is nod my head before directing them to a product they probably weren’t considering picking up. It’s fine. Better than fine. It’s the most business we’ve had in years, and I’m starting to get excited. Especially after Issac calls as promised to happily soak in the good news before our busy day pulls us apart again.
I’m by the leave-in conditioner section when a teenager with beautiful 4c hair comes up to me. “I love your curls,” I tell her, admiring the high puff on her head.
Her braces flash when she smiles. “I wish I could wear it out, but it’s so flat and dry.”
I smile, say, “I think I can help with that.”
We spend the next few minutes discussing her hair routine. I tell her that curly hair doesn’t have to be shampooed or trimmed as often as straight hair, and ask her if I can touch it to feel the texture. “I know how it is when people touch my hair, so if you’re not comfortable it’s okay.”
She seems to appreciate that we have shared a similar experience, bends a little so I can touch it.
After deciding what products might work best, I hand her a leave-in conditioner. “Start with this. It’s lighter than the curl creams you use, so it should help you get some bounce. I love it because it’s not sticky and doesn’t cause dandruff. Your hair isn’t dry, it just needs to breathe.”
She reaches up to touch her curls again, as if testing for the dryness while she examines the bottle. “But how will I know if my hair likes it?”
“You can return it if it’s not for you,” I offer, but I can still see the hesitation on her face. “What’s your name?”
“Destiny,” she says, the braces blinking in her mouth again. “But most people call me Des.”
“Well, Des, how about I test it on you right now?”
Her posture changes, her eyes brighten. “You’d do that?”
“I would,” I say.
Des sits in a chair near the sink at the back of the shop and tells me about school and a girl she used to have a crush on. Says, “My braces are coming off soon. I’ll miss changing the colors.”
While we talk, I do my best not to get water on her, but we both laugh when I do. She asks if I’ve ever wanted to be a licensed hairdresser, and I tell her no. Not the kind that does blowouts anyway. When I begin diffusing her hair dry, people in the shop start to notice and walk over to peek, some stay and watch.
Destiny’s curls look more defined than they already did. When I’m done, she takes a hand mirror from me excitedly but doesn’t turn it over to see right away. “No wonder Issac loves you,” she says instead. “I was going to tell you how lucky you are. He’s so nice. And he’s really cute too.” She looks shy when she says it, and it makes me smile. “But so are you. I’m happy he finally has his match. I hope I’ll meet mine someday.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. I want love for her, but something squeezes my stomach considering a real match for myself. I push the thought away and the guilt down with it for the lie she’ll never know about, then tilt my head to tell her, “You will, Destiny.” I reach out to touch her beautiful hair. “And that person, they’re going to love you for everything you are.”
She smiles the cutest silver smile and takes a breath before looking in the mirror. “Oh my God.” She laughs, fluffs her hair, shakes her head. “How did you do that?”
“It wasn’t me; it was my mother’s magical recipe.” I put the leave-in and the oil I used in a bag and slide it onto the counter in front of her. “Just don’t tell her I gave you this.”
She stands to give me a hug, and my heart blooms the way it used to when I would watch Mom do Issac’s hair and help other people in the neighborhood.
The shelves are half bare as proof that we had an unbelievable day. We pay Lex for the workweek up front. He claps and says, “Gonna buy me and my man a full rack of ribs tonight.”
Sometimes Lex feels bad that his cardiologist boyfriend pays for everything. I smile knowing that won’t be the case tonight. “Tell Shane we said hello.”
Lex winks at me. “Thanks for smelling like peaches, babe.”
With my neck burning, he blows us both kisses and he’s out the door.
“What was he talking about?” Mom asks, arriving with takeout.
I tell her it was nothing but pull on a lock of hair, wondering if the fruit smell from this morning’s conditioner is still lingering there.
While we eat behind the counter, there’s a strange energy buzzing between us, like if we talk too much about our success today it’ll somehow evaporate. So I text Katrina and we make plans to see each other tomorrow.
Can’t wait to hear the juicy details of the relationship I warned you not to have, she says.
My mom puts down her fork to wipe at her tired eyes. “I feel bad, baby,” she admits. “I don’t want you and Issac to feel obligated to do this for me.”
After swallowing a big mouthful of lo mein, I pull her into a half hug and say, “It’s for us. For you, me, Lex, and even for Issac. I want the shop to stay open with all my heart. Don’t worry.”
She might be crying into my shirt. She’s been a crier my whole life, and I’m pretty sure she passed the habit on. But I say nothing about it. We hug awhile, the smell of food surrounding us, the strange energy gone.
When she pulls back, she touches my cheek. “Good, because I’m really, really happy.” I want to tell her I am too, but I’m already thinking of how to use this attention to sustain our happiness. “Oh, and we’ll need to make more pineapple shea body butter for tomorrow,” she says. “It flew off the shelves. I swear two women were about to fight over the last one.”
A warmth pools in my belly. I try to concentrate on the way Mom smiles while she talks so I don’t think of all the things Issac will tell the world this summer.
When it’s time to lock up, she asks me to wipe the counter one more time, but as I reach for the paper towel, white dots float across my vision. I blink, but I’m suddenly drowning in dizziness. My mom begins calling my name, but I shut my eyes against the world shaking around me and focus on keeping my feet on the floor.
Mom rushes to my side the way she used to for my father, pulling a stool toward me and forcing me to sit. “Is it your blood pressure, baby?” she asks.
At the strained sound of my mother’s voice, I exhale and steady myself by gripping the bottom of the seat. “My doctor said I shouldn’t notice any symptoms,” I tell her, willing the world back into focus. When it comes, I reach to squeeze her hand in the hopes that it’ll reassure her, but I realize how clammy my skin must feel.
“What if this really is just anxiety?” I ask between deep breaths. Because while she was smiling over our success, I was stressing about making it last.
She rubs my shoulder. “I want to say there’s no one who knows our bodies better than we do ourselves, and if you feel like something is off, then it probably is. But, baby, you have been worrying that pretty head of yours since you were old enough to count. You used to tell me to put on my seat belt when you were still drinking from a bottle in your car seat.”
My lips curve. “So, what you’re saying is I was always this annoying?”
“Yes, that, and if it’s anxiety, maybe you should take the meds. They help with mine.”
I nod. “After the doctor calls with my blood work results, I’ll talk to him about prescribing me something.”
“You do that, and in the meantime, please take it easy.”
I can see the fear in her eyes and hope she’s not nervous that the pressure from the shop is making me sick. I hope she’s not thinking about my father, his high blood pressure, his heart failure, like I am.
“I will,” I say. Then: “You know what we should do before we head out of here? Count all the money we made again today.”
“You’re trying to distract me, and it’s working,” she admits with her signature eye roll. “Speaking of money…don’t think I didn’t notice you slipping free products out the door.”
I give her my most innocent look. “Just to a few kids.”
“We can’t make it a habit,” Mom says. “Not until we’re steady, okay?”
“So you’re saying you didn’t give out any free products today? That’s always been your specialty.”
“Why do you think I used we, Laniah? Don’t get dumb with me.”
We laugh, and I let the good feelings chase away the bad. Hoping Mom is doing the same.