Two Years Later
Lavender and vanilla clung to the air as morning crept through the blinds. My alarm blared, but I burrowed deeper beneath the comforter, unwilling to greet the day.
My hand found the cold stretch of mattress where Big J hadn’t slept in two years.
Time kept moving. My heart hadn’t.
I lit it and watched the flame flicker, thinking of Jamal, whispering a prayer, hoping maybe he could see the light from Heaven.
Donnie McClurkin’s voice drifted through the room. “After you’ve done all you can, . . . you just stand.”
Some mornings, standing was the bravest thing I managed.
I reached for Jamal’s Bible. His worn notes filled the margins, but one sentence always found me. “God’s grace > my grief.”
My thumb traced the ink.
“Heavenly Father, thank You for this day and all it brings, even the pieces I’m not ready for. Let my hands serve and my smile shine, even when I feel broken. I miss him, God, but I trust You.”
Right on cue . . .
“Mommy! She’s been in my room again! She’s so annoying! Ugh!” Maya’s voice pierced through the morning stillness.
“Lord, give me the strength and the patience of Job in this parenting journey today, amen,” I muttered under my breath as I swung my legs out of bed.
I brushed my teeth and washed my face, meeting a reflection. Exhaustion lingered around my eyes, but quitting had never been an option. God, His grace, and my children kept pulling me forward.
After my shower, I hummed “Walk By Faith” by Tye Tribbett and PJ Morton while I dressed.
“God, keep giving me strength to push on. Let me be the woman You called and the mother my children need.”
The kitchen was already in full revolt.
“Mommy, can you please keep them out of my room! Skye has my diorama for the Harlem Renaissance nearly ruined!” Maya exclaimed.
“I don’t have diarrhea!” Skye yelled back.
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing.
“My-My, I will help you fix your diorama, okay? I’ll even call your teacher if I need to. Skye, we’ve had this conversation before. We don’t touch other people’s things. Boundaries and personal space, remember?”
Her little shoulders dropped. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Maya. It was just so pretty, and I just wanted to see it. I think her is so cool and artsy! I want to be like her.”
Maya exhaled softly. “She! Ugh! Lil rugrat! I appreciate that, but this is for a grade. I’ll have to redo a part of it. But . . . we can build one together this weekend, okay?”
Skye gasped. “Cool beans! Let’s gooo!”
She launched herself at Maya, who rolled her eyes before hugging her back.
I mouthed a silent thank you.
A few minutes later, I stood over the stove, flipping pancakes while bacon crackled beside me.
Kayden wandered into the kitchen with a basketball tucked beneath one arm. “Morning, Mama!” He kissed my cheek before mushing his sisters’ heads together.
“Morning and be nice.”
He grinned.
Zuri skipped in, singing something she’d clearly learned in dance class, while the kitchen settled into its usual morning chaos. Cereal bowls clinked, laughter bounced off the cabinets, and somebody was always looking for something they’d misplaced.
“Kayden.” I tapped his arm. “We’re not leaving this house without starting our day right.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We faced each other with our palms raised, a ritual born after Big J left us.
“Together.”
“I am Black, bold, and beautiful—divinely made and dutiful.
Covered in grace, walking in light—God made me powerful, walking right.”
Kayden smiled.
“You know, Ma, that kinda goes hard.”
“It’s supposed to. Speak power before the world tries to take it from you.”
The girls stopped arguing over the last toaster strudel and were watching us instead.
“Alright, princesses. Y’all ready for y’all’s?”
Maya stood first, followed by Zuri and Skye.
“I am Black, bold, and beautiful—rooted, royal, and usable.
Blessed in my hands, faith in my tone—God stayin’ with me, I’m never alone.”
Zuri giggled.
Skye repeated the last line under her breath, touching the little gold cross around her neck.
“Never alone,” I echoed, kissing each forehead. “No matter what happens, y’all walk in grace, not fear.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.
The buses honked outside, right on time. Backpacks flew onto their shoulders.
Just before Kayden stepped outside, he looked back. “Love you, Ma.”
“Love you more. Go be bold, baby.”
The front door closed, leaving behind the hum of the refrigerator and the beautiful mess my children always left behind
Psalm 139:14, my heart whispered. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
“Thank You, Lord,” I whispered.
I grabbed my keys and the crate of hair products I’d packed the night before.
A cool Texas breeze brushed against my locs as I stepped outside. Kierra Sheard filled the car on the drive to the salon, carrying me into another day.
Arriving at Celestial Crowns always brought me back to center. The mural of women crowned in curls and locs stood bold against the brick, a reminder of what God allowed me to build.
Inside, shea butter, peppermint oil, and setting spray greeted me as I flipped on the lights.
I moved through the space, refilling bottles, straightening chairs, and lining up my tools. Restoring order here settled something inside me the outside world rarely could.
Soon, my stylists trickled in, laughter arriving before they did.
“Morning, Miss C!”
“Morning, babies. I need y’all to bring calm energy today. My patience is already sitting on E.”
Their laughter rippled through the shop.
As conversation buzzed around me, my eyes drifted toward the window. Across the lot, a young man opened his girlfriend’s car door, waited for her to settle in, then kissed her cheek before closing it.
Two are better than one.
The Scripture found me before I even realized I was staring.
Leilani wobbled in, wearing the glow that somehow came with pregnancy.
“Girl, don’t tell me you’re over here watching strangers again.”
“I wasn’t watching.”
She smirked. “You were noticing.”
“I was just noticing.”
She teased, “With a soft heart. You could have that again if you’d stop hiding behind this shop and those babies. God did not create you to only curl ends and clock out, ma’am.”
Before I could answer, the salon found its usual rhythm.
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.
“You feel that?” she asked.
“I do.”
“And you’ve been back here flipping the breakers like you work for Self Ridge Power?” I opened my mouth. She lifted one finger. “Don’t answer that.”
I reset the breaker. A second later, the dryers hummed back to life.
“Come on, Lord,” I whispered. “Help me keep this place standing.”
Leilani didn’t smile.
“Celeste.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t get to ‘I know’ me with your sweet little voice.”
I looked at her.
She softened, but only a little.
“I know Big J used to handle this stuff. But breakers tripping, sparks flying, and that hot smell near the back wall?” She shook her head. “You need an electrician.”
My throat tightened.
Laughter drifted down the hallway from the salon while I stood there, carrying the weight of a business, my children, and a future I never expected to shoulder alone.
Leilani saw it on my face.
“Call somebody.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
“I said I will.”
“Celeste.”
The way she said my name carried years of friendship. She wasn’t trying to control me. She was trying to protect me.
I nodded.
When we stepped back into the salon, the lights were on, but nobody trusted them anymore.
Leilani reached into her purse and handed me a black-and-silver business card. “Here.”
J. Brooks Hardwire Electric & Co.
Josiah Brooks | Master Electrician
“Onyx had him do some work last month,” she said. “Professional. Clean work. Even Jaya noticed how neat everything was.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Before I could say anything, the dryer on the back row died again with a dramatic wheeze.
The client beneath it threw both hands in the air.
“Now, what we not finna do is have my silk press halfway cooked.”
Several women laughed, but I didn’t.
“Alright, y’all. My apologies. We’re going to move everyone from the back to the front dryers. Starr, unplug everything on that wall. Stations three and four are closed until somebody checks them.”
Starr’s eyes widened. “Closed?”
“Closed,” I said.
Leilani nodded hard. “Thank You, Jesus.”
Ms. Lorraine lowered her magazine. “Baby, put me wherever the power is faithful.”
That got a laugh out of me.
As Starr unplugged dryers and moved clients, I stared down at the business card. I didn’t want to make the call. Not because I didn’t need help, but asking for it still felt unfamiliar.
Leilani had already dialed Onyx.
I gave her a look. “You calling your husband like I’m not standing right here?”
“Yes, because you’re standing right here thinking too hard.”
“Leilani.”
“Celeste.”
I stopped talking.
The moment Onyx answered, she got straight to it.
“Hey, baby. I’m at Celeste’s shop. The lights are flickering, breaker keeps tripping, and there’s a hot smell near the rear wall.
” She listened while looking straight at me.
“And the kids are here after school sometimes.” My eyes dropped.
“Exactly. I gave her J. Brooks’ card. Can you call him too?
She’s over here acting like asking for help is a felony. ”
I rolled my eyes.
Leilani pointed at me without missing a beat.
“No, she’s shutting down the back stations now . . . Okay . . . Text me his number.” She hung up and looked at me. “Onyx said call Josiah. He’s reaching out too.”
“I’m sorry to bother anybody.”
Ms. Lorraine slowly lowered her magazine. “Baby, . . . did you just apologize for a building trying to barbecue us?”
Chantel snapped her fingers. “Because I rebuke medium-well edges.”
The salon cracked up, and even I had to laugh.
Leilani shook her head. “A sparking outlet is not a bother, Celeste. That’s a warning.”
The laughter faded just enough for that truth to be heard.
I looked down at the card again.
“Okay.”
Leilani’s phone buzzed. She turned the screen toward me. “Onyx already gave him the basics. He sent his direct number.”
I entered it into my phone and listened while it rang until the voicemail picked up.
For a second, I almost hung up. Then the lights flickered again. That made the decision for me.
“Hi, Mr. Brooks. This is Celeste Coleman. Leilani gave me your number. I know Onyx already explained what’s happening, but I wanted to update you.”
I paused, glancing toward the back row where Starr was unplugging dryers and moving cords away from the wall.
“I shut down the back stations and turned off the dryers on that side. The lights flickered again, and there’s still a smell near the rear wall. It’s not strong, but it’s there.”
The salon moved around me in pieces. Faint music from the speaker near the register. Women murmuring. Starr guiding Ms. Lorraine toward a front dryer. Leilani standing close enough that I could feel her support without her touching me.
I drew in a breath, careful and measured.
I continued, “I don’t want to make this bigger than it is. I just don’t want anybody getting hurt. Leilani said you were coming, so I’ll be here. Thank you. And again, I’m sorry for bothering you.”
I ended the call gently, set the phone down, and released a slow breath.
Leilani smiled gently. “You said sorry twice.”
“I was being polite.”
“You were apologizing for needing help.”
I picked up a pen from the desk and set it back down because my hands needed something to do. “Those can both be true.”
“They can. But only one of them is trying to choke you.”
Before I could answer, Chantel had everybody laughing again, adding dramatic hand motions to her story while Ms. Lorraine was hollering about tax brackets.
The sound helped. So did the hum of the front dryers.
Leilani squeezed my arm. “Onyx’s on his way too.”
I nodded. Of course he was.
Onyx had been Big J’s brother in every way that mattered. He was godfather to my babies. If something threatened this shop or my children, Onyx was going to move like the promise he made to Big J still had breath in it.
I swallowed hard.
“My grace is sufficient for thee,” I whispered.
2 Corinthians 12:9.
The verse didn’t fix the breaker. It didn’t erase my grief, but it steadied me. Sometimes, steadied was the miracle.
I smiled at my client in the mirror, picked my comb back up, and went to work while we waited for help to walk through the door.