Page 36 of Not My Type
I sit down. “Gracias Mama,” she hands me $5000 and I shake my head no with a smile. Mi nah tek no money from nobody, if it isn’t my mom. I hate it. It makes me feel like I’m worthless.
“Thanks but that’s okay,” I tell her.
“I insist,” she tries. “The pictures are so good and you gave me the seat willingly.” Generous, but no.
“It’s really fine,” I give her my best smile, the billion dollar one, I think. You are something else.
“Okay, thanks though,” she finally gives up. After saying her goodbyes to everyone and showering Clova with tips, she makes her exit.
“Alright, lemme continue your hair now,” Clova gently tilts my head.
Soon after, I’m skipping through random IG stories. The room is awfully silent – that man is definitely missing. When him even leave? Nosa.
He must’ve went out when I wasn’t looking. Just by the silence of the shop, I could tell he left. Feeling restless, I go on a shopping binge on Shein – window shopping of course. Spending almost half an hour on their beachwear section alone. I’m gonna have to plan some excursions with my cousins, just so I can wear these trendy new pieces.
Lordt. Mi excited.
When I see Clova finally doing my edges, happiness spreads through me. I sit up with a heavy sigh, gently touching the cornrows. It’s so tender. “A you that!” Clova exclaims.
She spins the seat and I smile at myself. This hairstyle really brings out the ‘Indi’ in me —especially with these Dearra edges.
Angleeee dat! My subconscious starts.
“Nah lie this really fit yuh!” Clova blurts out, with her phone on me.
“She really look pretty,” the other hairdresser compliments as she puts rollers in her client’s hair.
“Thanks,” I smile charmingly.
“Yuh wah the video go up pan ig?” Clova asks. I shake my head no. She steps back dramatically, eyeing me from head to toe. We have this conversation every two weeks when I’m here. I look away laughing. “Girl! Look how you nice? Nuh tell me say you still fraid a take a likkle picture!” Clova is playfully fuming.
“Wah this mon,” I giggle.
“Look how much ugly gyal a post pan Instagram? Zara! Who post nuff like dem ugly gyal yah?”
No mon Clova.
While chuckling, I throw my hands up in surrender. “Post it mon cause you nah stop til’ you get what you want.”
“Yesss, cause nice gyal supposed to get post!” She sticks her tongue out, averting her attention to the phone in her hand. “You too nice fi nuh wah deh pan the gram mon,” she mutters to herself.
After a while, she mentions that she’s going to leave. It’s my perfect opportunity to get her input on my situation. I ask her and she follows me out. “Den nuh muss? Look how long me and yuh nuh sidung and talk?” My smile grows. I didn’t expect this.
“We can buy lunch first.” I suggest since I’m feeling a little hungry.
“No, I have a better idea. Mi ago carry you up a mi nice clean house weh mi husband buy me and cook up some food.” She’s exuding so much contentment.
“Alright,” I agree and watch as she moves to the door — saying goodbye. Standing behind Clova’s tall figure, I wave to the hairdresser and her client.
“I’m gonna leave now ladies,” I beam.
“Alright baby. Take care you hear?”
“Yeah,” I bob my head.
“Marie a you last client this right?” Clova questions.
“Yeah, when mi done me lock the shop,” Marie retorts.
