Page 81 of Digging Up Love
“Your hair is so pretty.” Her breath hit Alisha’s nose, sharp with onion and garlic from the fresh salsa Quentin’s mom had served with dinner. “Isn’t her hair beautiful, Lil?”
Dark eyes serious, Liliana nodded.
“Thanks, girls.” She swiveled around to smile at Lauryn. “Your hair is gorgeous too. And so is yours, Liliana.”
Patting a small hand along her cornrows, Liliana dipped her chin with a shy smile.
“You can call her Lily. She likes it better.” Lauryn knee-walked across the purple rug to sit down next to her sister. “Did your momma do your hair?” Lauryn flipped the end of one of her own curly pigtails, tiny nose wrinkled. “I hate sitting still for Mommy. But she lets me watch YouTube videos.”
Alisha shook her head. “No, my mom didn’t put these in, but I did have to sit in the chair for-ev-er,” she confessed. “My butt even fell asleep.”
Dissolving into giggles, Lauryn fell backward. “You said ‘butt’!” Both girls erupted in howls of laughter.
Oops.The floorboards creaked behind her, and Alisha twisted around to see Quentin in the doorway, his face inscrutable.
“Girls, we got the Switch working. Why don’t you go check it out?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. The twins shrieked and trampled over the puzzle, slipping in their rush.
“I get to go first!”
“No, me!”
Reggie’s deep baritone reverberated down the hall, telling them to calm down. Quentin sighed. “Sorry for that.”
Alisha flicked her hand. “Pfff.They’re great. All kids are loud.”
He stuck one hand in his pocket, leaning against the doorframe. “I meant, asking about your mom. Lauryn can be really pushy.”
“Quentin, she’s five. I get it.”
He nodded, solemn.
“My mom did love to do my hair, though.” Alisha played with the end of one of her twists. “She used those big plastic barrettes. Loud colors, you know? Neon green and bright yellow. And hair bands with big glittery balls on the end.” She smiled, smoothing a hand along the sunburst fabric of her skirt, but pain pooled below her breastbone.
Quentin’s eyebrows pinched together, and he ran fingers under his jaw. “Seeing the girls ... I didn’t think about how it might feel for you.”
She held up her hand. “No, no, not at all. It was really great to meet them. To meet your family.” Uncharacteristic tears welled under her eyelids, and she tucked her head, rolling the hem of her dress between her fingers, fighting to compose herself. Quentin sank down to the floor next to her, warm and solid, and one of his arms came around her shoulders.
The gesture undid her hard-won floodwall, sending tears crashing through the breach. They overflowed and ran down her cheeks. Face pricking with shame, she burrowed into his chest, and he wrapped his other arm around her, holding her tight.
No one spoke, and the room faded away, the pain thrumming but dull. Tears at bay, she trusted herself to talk again and wiped a palm down her face. Hiding in his arms reminded her of the shelter of her favorite maple tree. She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I really am fine. It’s just ...”
Tears built behind her eyes again, and she took a moment to breathe them away. “Talking to the girls reminded me. After Mom died, my dad had no idea how to do my hair. And he was so sad; I didn’t want to keep asking him for help. I tried to braid it myself, but it looked a mess. I started wearing headbands to school every day, and when that wasn’t enough, I tied on a scarf.”
She paused, remembering how embarrassed she’d been to show up to class. “My teacher pulled me aside and told me I was violating dress code. No hats or hair coverings.” She recalled the intense shame. How the teacher’s reprimand had piled guilt on her humiliation.
“When I took off the scarf, my hair was a ratty disaster. All matted in some areas, fro-ed out in others. Of course, kids thought that was hilarious.” She wiped her nose. “Anyway, didn’t matter. I only stayed at that school for a year. I got a fresh start when I moved in with my grandparents.” She didn’t mention that the first thing her grandma did was cut her hair short.
And she couldn’t blame Granny, faced with the mess her son had left behind. She didn’t know what to do. And losing her hair? Just a drop in the bucket of Alisha’s sorrows.
Hair grew back, but not parents.
“What about your dad?”
“What about him?” Hardness crept into Alisha’s chest, tightened her vocal cords. “He took us to visit Granny and Grandpa the summer after Mom died, like always. He left to go back to the city for work on Monday, and he never came back.”
There it was. The sob story she seldom sobbed over. The embarrassing, dysfunctional family history she kept under wraps. She’d watched enough friends’ faces fall when they found out the whole truth to know how bad the situation made her look. The girl whom no one wanted.
Leaning back, she detached herself from Quentin’s comfort. Good to get it out there, actually. Telling him would nip whatever this was between them in the bud. He would feel sorry for her and slowly distance himself, not wanting the stain of her past to mar his future.
