Chapter 7 Nisha
seven
nisha
Calm Down, Hannibal Lecter
With my mouth pursed to one side, I stretch the partially knitted sweater over Hector’s broad back, gauging it for size. It needs to be larger to fit him.
“You’re knitting that for me?” Hector asks, his blue eyes connecting with mine through the mirror. “That’s very kind of you, Ms. Arora.”
I frown. “Hector, how many times have I asked you to just call me Nisha? Anyway, I was hoping to have it done before your interview at the warehouse, but it might be another week before I can finish it.”
He smiles, the lines around his mouth deepening. “That should be plenty of time. The interview isn’t for ten days.” He pauses, examining the gray and blue colors of the sweater. “I can’t remember having something so nice before.”
I place the sweater back in my bag, mentally calculating how many more rows I’ll need before reaching for my clipping shears.
I picked up knitting over seven years ago.
And while the reason I started carries the weight of a loss—multiple losses, in fact—I still can’t completely shake, my hands continue to reach for the yarn.
Maybe it’s my way of calming my racing mind; maybe it’s the only connection I have to the version of me from that time.
A version that used to be full of promise and hope.
A version of me who used to dream.
Squeezing his shoulder, I give him a tender smile. “You deserve all the nice things, Hector. Including a fresh cut that’ll show off those beautiful eyes of yours.”
His weathered freckled cheeks tint pink. “It’ll help me look more put-together, that’s for sure. And if I get the job, who knows? I might be able to take Abby on a date. Though, it’s like pulling teeth to get her to even look at me.”
My eyes soften. “She’s a tough nut to crack. I get the feeling she’s a little . . . standoffish.”
“That she is. But I think I’m wearing her down. She even whispered a hello to me in the lunch line today.”
I run my fingers through his towel-dried salt and pepper hair, thinking about the frail woman who I’ve seen around here recently.
She’s likely no more than fifty, but her pale green eyes, almost translucent skin, and thinning dark hair makes her look much older. And it’s clear that with her hollowed cheeks and several missing teeth, life hasn’t been kind to her.
I started volunteering at this homeless shelter nearly five years ago, giving out haircuts to all who needed it.
About a year in, they converted one of the storage closets into a makeshift salon for me.
While the shelter installed a shampoo sink, I donated a salon chair, mirror, and continue to keep it stocked with products.
The space is shoebox-sized and bare-boned, a far cry from the opulent luxury salon I co-own, but it has everything I need to get the job done.
I start on Hector’s sides, snipping away what seems like two months of growth. He’s in his sixties and has been one of the regulars here for the past two years. Like many others, sometimes he stays at the shelter, sometimes he doesn’t.
He doesn’t volunteer his reasons as to what brings him in from time to time, and I’m not one to push for answers. Everyone deserves to tell their story on their own time, and if they don’t, well that’s a fair choice, too.
God knows, there aren’t many who know my entire story.
The thought makes me smile because, even as it occurs, I realize staying tight-lipped about anything has become increasingly difficult considering my group of girlfriends.
They’re like nosey FBI agents with carte blanche access to every interrogation tactic known to man like wine, memes, and emotional manipulation.
I’m already regretting letting it slip that I had dinner with Patton last year. Ever since then, our group chat has lit up. Apparently, we’re all meeting tonight for the sole purpose of making me “spill the tea”.
They all already know the reasons I left him seven years ago.
Sarina, Piper, and my dad held me through the loss and heartbreak. Even now, I just need to think about that very last night—with my back against the bathroom door, trying to gulp in air as tears streamed down my face—for the grief to come bubbling to the surface.
It was the type of heartache I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
And I dealt with it on my own.
And while I only met the rest—Rani, Bella, Mala, and Kavi—at Piper’s wedding a couple of years ago, we formed a bond not unlike mine with my sister and best friend. So, during a girls’ night out last year, over a few tubs of ice cream and boxes of tissues, I told them everything.
And in those tears we shed together, I realized that my circle had expanded, and so had my heart. Because I can confidently say that while these women might not have known me through every chapter, they love me as if they have.
But none of them, not even Sarina or Piper, know what happened last year. That I barely managed not to slip under the same tide again—a tide I’d almost drowned in the last time.
Fifteen minutes later, I unclasp the cape around Hector’s neck and brush the loose hair from behind his ears.
Hector’s blue eyes shine a little brighter, and his jaw seems more defined than when he sat down.
It’s a small change, but the joy that comes from helping someone feel a little more like themselves again hits me every time.
“You know,” I say, smoothing some gel into a few strands of his hair. “I think this warehouse job is going to be great for you. It’ll be steady hours and pay. I have a good feeling about it.”
Hector rises from the chair, checking himself out in the mirror with a satisfied grin. “I hope so. It’ll be—” His words are cut off when both our eyes land on the woman standing at the entrance. “Oh, hey, Abby! I was just talking about you with Ms. Arora, here.”
“Nisha,” I remind him.
“Oh?” Abby asks hesitantly, her voice raspy like that of a long-time smoker. She pulls her sleeves almost to the middle of her palms, shifting from one foot to another. “Okay . . .” She looks down past Hector, as if resigned to whatever he may have said about her, convinced it was bad.
Hector takes a step toward her, but falters when she stiffens, though his smile holds. “I was just telling her that maybe my new haircut will help me land a job so I can finally ask you out on a date.”
Abby’s eyes give nothing away, almost as if Hector hasn’t spoken.
Instead, they slide down, focusing on her fidgeting hands.
My chest tightens at the way Hector’s shoulders deflate, but he turns to me with a polite smile and a murmured thanks before sliding past Abby, telling her that he’ll see her later.
I offer her a smile. “Are you here for a haircut, Abby?”
Her tired eyes find mine. “If . . . if it’s not too much to ask.”
I run a sanitizing wipe over my chair, waving her toward it before reaching for a broom. “Not at all. Come sit down. I’m Nisha, by the way.”
Abby settles in the chair as I sweep the loose hair into a bin. When I come to stand behind her, she fingers the ends of her hair at her shoulder. “I have quite a few split ends . . .”
I run my fingers through her hair, studying it.
It’s definitely damaged, likely from being in the sun, poor nutrition, or stress.
It’s probably from all those things. But while it’s wispy, it’s still soft.
“You do, but there’s nothing a little trim and shaping can’t fix.
How about you come over to the shampoo bowl with me? ”
Abby does as I ask, lowering her head into the sink.
A minute later, I’m lathering her hair with shampoo, watching as her shoulders finally relax and some of the wariness in her eyes subsides.
“Are you from around here, Abby?”
I regret my question instantly when I watch that flicker of peace she’d just obtained crash and disappear.
She moves her head from side to side. “No. From the East Coast.”
“Me, too,” I say, hoping to ease whatever tension I’d just stirred. “I grew up in Boston, but life sort of brought me to California.”
Abby’s eyes flick to mine for a moment, but she stays quiet, tugging on the ends of her sleeves.
Seriously, leave the woman be, Nisha. It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk to you. You don’t even like to talk!
Resolute, I rinse her hair, careful not to let the water spill into her ears.
But then, as if my brain no longer controls my mouth, I hear myself ask, “What brought you to San Jose?”
Jesus. Shut up! Why do you care what brought her here?
Her throat bobs, and I’m positive she won’t respond. But then she surprises me. “Just something I’m searching for.”
And this time, I leave it at that.
“Wait. He said what?” The beer bottle in Kavi’s hand freezes on its way to her mouth.
I roll my eyes before massaging a temple with two fingers. “His exact words were ‘Get rid of him’.”
Mala bursts out laughing, leaning back on the massive sectional sofa she’s sharing with Sarina, Bella, and Rani. “Oh, this is gold! And you didn’t correct him to let him know that you’re not even dating Micah?”
Shrugging, I take another sip of my pineapple margarita. “Why should I? Plus, maybe if he thinks I’m dating someone, he’ll stay away.”
Rani snorts. “I get the feeling that Patton staying away isn’t in the cards for you.”
“Man’s got it bad, sis,” Sarina adds, folding her legs under her before pulling a throw blanket up to her waist.
“Yeah, well, he’s a few years too late to have anything bad. And I’m not getting rid of anyone, especially because he said so. Seriously, the fucking nerve.”
“What did I tell you girls about having to attend two weddings this year?” Sitting on an oversized cozy chair next to me in her living room, Piper lifts her index finger off the cocktail glass she’s holding to wave it over everyone but me.
The room looks like a Pinterest board fell in love with a billionaire, adding flair and chaos to his meticulous life. Which is exactly what Piper did when she married Dev.