Abby.

“It was good today, wasn’t it?” Milton asks, walking out of the barbershop after dusting off his t-shirt.

I nod. “Perfect.” I continue counting the load of cash in my hands.

After that incident with Kenya, Milton never let me near a client’s head unless he needed me to assist by passing him tools.

But I think he gave me a better spot—I’m still his assistant, but now I’m also in charge of making appointments since the shop is thriving and he can’t handle the influx of clients alone.

I make sure payments are managed properly—transactions flowing smoothly in and out. It makes me feel important, it makes me proud to be part of the smooth running if the shop and I see it in Milton's eyes--- I'm one of the best employees he has ever had.

Sometimes, I take care of cleaning up around here, even though the space is now filled with more chairs. And with my office tucked into the corner of the room, there’s barely any space left to clean. I just tidy up after the customers in preparation for the next ones. But, with things growing so fast, Milton’s considering hiring a cleaner. It's going to be a good step ahead.

I’m not complaining though—I'm finding my new duties manageable, much easier than fumbling with scissors over someone’s hair. Doing things I've ever don't before give me anxiety, I know I could have learned to be a barber woman but Milton did not want to risk a bad reputation on his shop.

It's fair, I guess.

“Make sure you lock up when you’re done,” Milton says, grabbing his tiny black shoulder bag and hooking it around his neck.. “Goodnight.”

I nod again, focused on the number I’m counting. If I stop to say it back to him, I will lose track and will have to start all over again. It’s only five p.m., but it was such a busy day that Milton suggested we close early to get some rest.

When the last customer leaves, smiling humbly as they check their reflection one last time, the barbershop feels quieter, with more space to breathe. The faint scent of hair products and aftershave lingers in the air around me but I'm used to it now. It doesn't make me feel dizzy like it did before.

I stash the money in the safe, carefully entering the combination to lock it.

Grabbing a broom, I start sweeping the floor, pulling together the scattered bits of hair on there.

When I’m done with the floor, I move on to wipe the counters. I know it can wait until morning, but walking into a well-organized space tomorrow will feel so much better.

I clear out the tools—combs, razors, scissors, clippers—and place them neatly in their respective drawers.

Standing by the door, I take one last glance at the now tidy space. Satisfied, I turn off the inside lights, leaving just the outside one on. I flip the sign to ‘Closed’ and step out.

I’m still basking in the satisfaction of a job well done when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out eager to see the caller ID, hoping it’s Simone. We’ve been getting closer lately, with her husband out of town.

I know, I know—I’m waiting for the other obvious shoe to drop. I'm waiting for her husband to return, and this delicate bubble we’ve created to mercilessly pop. It’s a dangerous game, but neither of us seems ready to end it. I just hope the hurt will be gentle when all this falls apart.

A frown etches itself across my face when I see it’s not Simone’s name on the screen. It’s a strange number.

Hesitantly, I swipe to answer, placing the phone to my ear as I cross the street.

“Hello?” I say, walking into Scoopalicious, the ice cream parlor down the block.

The walls are decorated with pictures of ice cream, a wild mix of bright, playful colors. The chairs are equally a rainbow mix and it gives the place an attractive glow.

“Abigail,” a male voice says on the other end, calm and familiar.

It can’t be.

I don’t believe it. I don't have the strength to.

I just stare blankly at the rows of ice cream behind the glass counter.

“I’ll have a vanilla bowl with sprinkles,” I say to the guy behind the counter in a bright pink t-shirt and cap, trying to stay composed. I promised the twins ice cream, and I’ll be in trouble if I don’t bring it home.

“Abby?” the voice repeats, pulling my attention back to them.

“Sorry, who is this?” I ask, stepping back into the street. I trap my phone between my shoulder and cheek as I flag down a cab.

“How are you?”

The more I hear the voice, the harder it gets to shake the feeling of familiarity. It’s that strange sensation where you know exactly what’s happening, but you refuse to believe it.

I settle into the backseat of the cab, exhaling. The ice cream bowl feels cold in my palms, but that’s the least of my problems.

“How c-can I help you?” I stammer, my voice cracking.

It really can’t be him. Can it?

A chuckle erupts from the speaker—loud, deep, and painfully familiar. I know that ridiculous laugh. How could I forget it after hearing it for months like a sacred whisper?

A knot tightens in my stomach. I swallow, praying I’m wrong, that it’s someone else. Anyone else.

“Cuddle Muffin, I’ve missed your voice,” he says. And that’s it—the final blow. The confirmation I dreaded.

No one else calls me that.

It used to be cute, but now? Now it makes me want to puke.

I don’t even realize the cab has stopped in front of the house. I hand the driver some bills, not bothering to check the amount. I step out and stand in the driveway. Beth’s car is here, but the babysitter’s gone.

“W—” I start, but I cut myself off. I can't form words anymore. “How did you get my number?”

“Does it matter?”

I don’t respond. I’m too stunned. I squeeze the ice cream bowl, the cold biting into my palms and sending a painful shiver through my skin, but I don’t care.

He’s right. It doesn’t matter. What matters is why he’s calling—after six fucking years. After abandoning me. After leaving me to face the world alone. After—

“I need to meet my kids.”

His words slice through my heart and through my thoughts like a knife. I can barely stand.

“How dare you, Morgan?” My voice comes out weak—much weaker than I intended.

Seriously, how dare he?

+++

Abby's life starts going great.

Baby daddy shows up.

Trouble enters again.

Lol. I hope you had fun reading this piece. Kisses