Georgia
It's Saturday morning and I'm late again.
I'm lucky my boss likes me because I am the worst at waking up early.
There's a reason I take night classes—I physically cannot function before noon.
But Saturdays are the exception. I do my best, even though the snooze button and I have an unhealthy relationship.
A double macchiato from The Daily Brew, my favorite coffee shop is a must.
I wouldn't survive without it.
Julia keeps telling me I don't need to waste my money on "fancy coffee" when we have a perfect coffee maker at the salon, but I need the good stuff.
And if I'm bringing coffee for myself, I have to get some for her, too—because that's just who I am.
I walk into the salon, balancing my bag and a tray of coffee.
"I'm here," I announce, heading straight for Julia.
"And I brought coffee."
Julia is already in full swing, dressed in her usual all-black ensemble—sleek, sharp, and effortlessly put together—blow-drying Betty’s perfectly white curls.
Her heels click confidently against the tile floor as she moves around the chair with practiced ease.
Betty, our first client every Saturday, is already here, of course—fifteen minutes early as always.
At eighty-five, she swears sleeping in is for the dead, and she looks like she walked straight out of The Golden Girls with her bright white hair and matching personality to boot.
"We have a perfect coffee maker in the back," Julia says, kissing me on the cheek. "You don't have to spend money on this."
"Julia, you make me get up early on Saturdays which means good coffee is necessary," I reply, placing the tray on the counter. "Betty, I got one for you, too. I knew you'd be here early."
Betty beams. "You are so sweet, Georgina. And you got me the sweet stuff I like so much. "She takes a sip, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. "You know, this one's a keeper."
"Oh, I know," Julia replies, winking at me. "I keep telling her dad I will keep her and never give her back."
Julia and my dad have been friends since elementary school.
She's been in my life forever, and when I was fifteen, she offered me a job.
One hundred dollars every Saturday? I couldn't say no.
At fifteen, that kind of money makes you feel independent.
What started as a simple cashier job turned into answering phones, scheduling appointments, cleaning stations, shampooing clients, coloring, and even styling hair.
Julia taught me everything I know, and she constantly insists I should learn how to cut hair because, as she puts it, "I have a great hand."
The salon itself is cozy and familiar, with five styling stations—four permanently assigned to the regular stylists, and one left open for guest professionals who rotate in on a weekly basis.
There's a room in the back with two hair-washing stations where clients lean back into warm, soothing water, a single bathroom tucked between walls of product shelves, and a tiny employee kitchen that smells like burnt coffee and hairspray.
The floors are always swept clean, and the sunlight pours through the front windows in the morning, warming up the dark hardwood floors.
I love Julia.
I love this job.
The salon gossip is entertaining, but this isn't my future.
If there's one thing my childhood taught me, it's how to pretend everything is fine, which makes me great at customer service.
But I don't want to do this forever.
I'm studying law.
As the daughter of Latin American immigrants, immigration law is deeply personal tome, and I want to help my community.
When my parents came to this country a few years before I was born, they didn’t have the right support.
They trusted attorneys who charged them thousands of dollars and offered very little in return—people who didn’t have their best interests at heart.
I’ve seen firsthand how overwhelming and confusing the immigration process can be, especially when you're navigating it with limited resources and no one to guide you.
I want to change that.
I want to be someone families can turn to—someone who speaks their language, understands their fears, and will fight for their right to build a better life. My goal is to make sure no one else has to go through what my family did.
"Lupita," I call, walking to the back, where my coworker is slumped over, sunglasses on. "Rough night?"
She groans. "You're too loud."
"I'll take that as a yes." I hand her a coffee.
She takes it, groaning in gratitude. "Ay, Dios, how did you know I needed this?"
"I've known you for six years, Lupita. Your daughter's birthday was yesterday. Even though she's only twelve, I knew there'd be a party."
She sips her drink. "Well, the party ended at ten, but Jorge wanted to go out, so we went to the club. Had a few Coronas. And now, I think I need menudo for lunch."
"Oh no, "I say immediately. "You know how much Julia hates the smell, and it'll stink up the whole place."
"A Bloody Mary sounds good, too. Think the restaurant next door will make me one this early?"
I stare at her. "Lupita, we're in Texas. There are alcohol laws. Get it together and drink your coffee. "I start the coffee pot. "And don't let Julia see you like this. You have that wedding party coming. The bride will be in at nine."
Lupita groans again, rubbing her temples. "Is Taylor coming to do the makeup?"
"Yes, she'll be here at ten to set up. She's doing the whole bridal party. I scheduled your lunch between the bride and bridesmaids. And I put the mother of the bride last because she seems like the type to micromanage."
Lupita groans again dramatically. "Oh, God bless you."
"I know, "I smirk. "Now, drink your coffee and get it together."
Four hours and countless clients later, the salon is in chaos. Lupita finished with the bride, took her lunch break, and is working on the second bridesmaid. Julia juggles back-to-back clients, and I'm running between stylists, clients, and walk-ins. Julia has a problem saying no. She always overbooks herself, and I'm left to manage expectations.
As I'm handling a scheduling disaster, Rosa, another stylist, looks at me. "Your chest is flashing."
"What?" I glance down. Oh. My phone is in my flannel pocket, flashing like a strobe light. My four-year-old nephew thinks it's hilarious to change my settings.
I pulled it out and saw four missed calls from my best friend, Valentina. My stomach clenches. Valentina doesn't call that much unless something's wrong.
"Julia, "I say, already walking toward the door. "I need ten minutes."
"Take a lunchbreak," she calls back.
"I'll be right back."
I step outside and call Valentina back.
"Finally!" she shrieks.
"Val, what's going on?"
"I have amazing news!"
My stomach settles. It's not an emergency. "Tell me."
"Tom asked me to marry him and I said yes!"
A smile spreads across my face. "Oh, Val, I'm so happy for you! Congratulations!"
"Wait, there's more—we're getting married next Sunday!"
"As in a week from tomorrow?"
"Yes! It will be small, just the people we love."
I pause. "Are you sure? Does it have to be so soon?"
"It was my idea," she insists. "Big weddings are overrated. This is my second one—I don't need a huge party."
Valentina was married before, young and in love with the wrong man. Her ex-husband was a serial cheater, and she's been through hell and back. Now, she has Tom. A man who adores her. And if she says she's sure, then I believe her.
"Tom makes me truly happy," she says dreamily. "I just want to be with him forever."
I smile. "Then I'm happy for you."
Journal Entry
Date: January 12th, 2019
I'm happy for Valentina. She deserves this—someone who loves her, makes her feel safe, and looks at her like she's their whole world. She's been through so much, and if Tom is the one who finally gives her that kind of happiness, then how could I not be thrilled for her?
But something about it feels… sudden. A one-week engagement? I know Valentina isn't the type to dream about a big wedding, but this feels rushed, even for her. I know her well enough to sense when she's holding something back.
Still, when she says, "Tom makes me truly happy. I want to be with him forever," I see it—the way her face lights up and softens when she talks about him. Maybe that's all that matters. Perhaps I'm overthinking.
And yet, as much as I focus on her excitement, there's a small, selfish part of me that wonders if I'll ever have that certainty—the kind of love that makes you sure, that makes you want forever.
But this isn't about me. This is her moment. And if this is what she wants, I'll be right by her side, ensuring her wedding day is perfect.