Page 208 of New Growth
She winked as she passed me the mic. The girls didn’t care that El and I weren’t married yet, and I wasn’t mad at it.Sawyer-Greene felt right.
I took the mic with both hands, steadying myself before I spoke. “Hi,” I said, blinking against the lights. “Thank you for being here. I knowthere are a million booths and hairlines you could’ve visited today, and I’m so grateful you chose to spend time with ours.”
The crowd quieted. I looked out across the sea of faces—stylists, naturals, mothers, daughters, girls with big curls and bright eyes—and took a breath and placed the mic back in its stand.
“After my father died,” I began, “I moved to Thailand. Not because I had a plan. I didn’t. I was grieving. Angry. Lost. I didn’t want to be in a city where every corner reminded me of him or what I didn’t get to say. There, I studied hair care. I learned about herbs and oils extracted directly from fresh ingredients. I studied my own texture and found pride in it.”
I held up a jar from the table beside me. “This product is inspired by that chapter of my life. I made this in my apartment in Phuket. Not because I had a dream of owning a business back then, but because I wanted to prove to myself that I could. I wanted to shake up the beauty world and make a name for myself.”
I unscrewed the lid and scooped out a dollop, rubbing it between my palms. I began gently applying it to my own hair, working the butter into each curl with slow, deliberate motions. The crowd leaned in, cameras at the ready, and people watched like they were witnessing something new.
And maybe they were.
I paused once the product was in, with curls that were soft and full, and set the jar back down.
“And I did,” I boasted slightly as I twirled to show off the refined curls. Applause rose, warm and growing. “But this isn’t just a hair product. It’s a love letter. To every girl who grew up being told her hair was too difficult. To every mother trying to learn how to care for her daughter’s curls. And especially to women who are trying to start over and love themselves again.”
I set the jar down and leaned forward just a little. “Which brings me to something I’ve been dying to get off my chest. I chose to debut this new formula here because I’ve been keeping a secret,” I grinned. “One that not even my team knows about.”
A ripple of whispers moved through the crowd. My team, now fully alert, exchanged curious looks. The suspense built. I let it simmer for a moment, my heart beating against my ribs like a drumline.
“We’re expanding! I’m opening a new salon. A full-service natural hair salon and treatment bar… here in Atlanta!”
Cheers erupted like fireworks.
I laughed, covering my mouth, tears threatening the corners of my eyes. “We’ll still be based in L.A., of course, but I’ve been wanting to expand and was too afraid to take the risk, but thankfully, my amazing fiancé convinced me to. And the timing just felt right.”
God, it felt good to finally get that off my chest. When I joked about the idea to El, he was all in. He suggested we fly in a few days before the expo to look at some spots, and we found one. I fell in love with the space and the area. It was definitely what I wanted for our new location. And, of course, he signed the lease on the same day.
I stepped away from the mic and held my arms out toward the crowd. “Well, it’s time for me to get out of here! Thank you for being here. And thank you for reminding me that even when you’re falling apart… something beautiful can still grow from the pieces.”
Epilogue.
Theairheretastedlike salt and sugar.
There was something about waking up next to El with his arms wrapped around me, and his voice still gravelly with sleep, that made this place more permanent than a honeymoon. I hadn’t worn makeup in two days. My hair was a soft puff tucked behind a scarf. El looked tan and sleepy.
We hadn’t said the wordelopeyet.
Not when we checked into the little boutique hotel with its jade green tiles and gold-trimmed staircase. Not when we called our friends and family back home and told them. Not even when we made love in the open-air shower with jasmine flowers caught in my curls hours after.
But we both knew.
The day we said our vows, it was just us and a tiny cliffside temple overlooking the Andaman Sea. I wore a white satin slip dress I bought in a rush from a night market in Patong. No bouquet. No aisle. No press, no bridesmaids, no crowd. Just the sound of the water, and El, standing barefoot in white slacks and a shirt he didn’t bother to button past the middle.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, as I adjusted the crucifix around his neck and pressed my hand over his heartbeat. I grinned as the officiant spoke in a soft Thai dialect. When El slipped the ring onto my finger, my hands shook. Not from fear. From the way he looked at me.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you more.”
“You can’t,” he whispered. “I loved you first.”
We kissed before they even told us to. And then we just stood there, forehead to forehead, grinning like fools.
That night, we danced barefoot on the beach to a Bluetooth speaker playing Boyz II Men. We shared one bottle of non-alcoholic wine to celebrate my three months of sobriety, along with a plate of tree-nut-free curry and a mango sticky rice that was so good I almost cried.
“I can’t believe we really did it,” I said, cheeks warm from the heat, eyes soft with the moonlight.
