“This is our stop,” he says, ignoring my question. We get off the train and climb the stairs to street level. “Nevaeh’s meeting us at her friend’s shop.” Jamal leads me to a storefront with black wigs and long lashes in the window.
“Who the hell didja bring in here?” a petite Black woman with her hands on her hips calls out.
“Be nice. I told you.” Jamal wraps her in a hug. “Theo, this is my cousin, Nevaeh.”
I stick out my hand, and she looks between my hand and eyes before saying, “Shit. Sit over there, pretty boy.” She points to a chair a thousand miles from where Jamal has taken a seat.
No one’s talking. They’re all staring at us. I rarely feel self-conscious, but this attention makes me sweat. In the elite social circles of Boston, I am constantly judged for my looks, clothes, and manners. I don’t give a shit about them, but here, I’m unsure and uncomfortable.
“Stop staring at the fine white boy. Y’all act like you never seen one before.” Nevaeh huffs and fastens a cape around Jamal. Everyone resumes their conversations, but I’m out of place.
Nevaeh moves deftly as if she’s done this a million times. She sprays a mist over Jamal’s hair and then works oil into the braids. She clucks her tongue as she holds it up for inspection. “Not bad.” She snips the ends off each braid, and I watch them float to the floor.
“Told you she’s got skills.” Jamal meets her eyes in the mirror.
They talk about family and gossip while I soak it in. From what I can tell, Nevaeh’s all bark and no bite. She clearly loves him. It takes well over an hour for all the braids to be undone.
I’m drawn to him, unable to stop myself. His hair…it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s crimped and sticks out in all directions.
Nevaeh’s slap on my hand brings me out of my comatose state. “Can I?” I ask Jamal’s permission to touch his hair.
I run my hand through the strands by his ear, but it’s too tangled to get to the ends. Jamal leans into my touch.
“We’re not even a quarter done, Mr. Pretty. Go sit down like a good little boy.” Nevaeh waves a comb at me. “Combing this out is a beast.”
Jamal’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I don’t go sit like I’m told. I stand behind them, out of Nevaeh’s way. We stare at each other until I feel my pulse in my throat, and I don’t recognize the smile on my face.
Jamal shifts. I bet he’s hard, but I can’t see under his cape.
“We ain’t playin’ this game.” Nevaeh steps into my view. “You all can send each other fuck-me eyes when I’m done.”
My mouth drops open, and Jamal slaps the arm of the chair.
“Nevaeh,” he hisses. “Enough.”
“I call it like I see it.” She shrugs and gets back to conditioning and combing Jamal’s hair. “I got plans tonight. I’m not letting you spoil my fun.” She sticks her tongue out at Jamal.
“Plans?” He sits up straighter in the chair.
Nevaeh turns her lips inward and clenches her jaw.
“Who does my cousin have plans with?” Jamal asks everyone in the shop who can hear him.
They bicker for another hour, and I can’t stop smiling. I’m an only child, and so is he, but they must’ve grown up like siblings.
“Whew, all combed out. I need a break. Stretch your legs.” She walks away without a backward glance through a door markedEmployees Only.
Jamal takes a couple of steps toward me, and my hand rises with a mind of its own. Before I ask permission, Jamal ducks his head under my hand.
“It’s so fluffy-soft. I want to touch it all night,” I say without thinking. Now when I sink my fingers in, they can make it through to the ends without snagging.
Jamal stands straight but moves closer to my touch. I bury my other hand in his hair and groan.
“Nevaeh,” Jamal calls with his eyes on me. “If you don’t braid me tonight, when can you fit me in?”
My body flushes from head to toe, and if it were safe, I’d kiss him. He’s asking for me, but I don’t understand why when he had a panic attack last time some of his hair was loose. It’s a big thing.
“Day after tomorrow,” she says with the tone of an eye roll.
