MOTHER

The salon was already in full swing by the time I came in to work after school.

      No one but Josephine greeted me while the others instantly pointed me to either the ringing phone, or an item from the back that they were in need of. The steady buzz of business radiated throughout the air, barely making the music heard it seemed.

      I fell in step quickly, rushing here and there as commanded with each new order barked out at me. Manual labor was for the birds, but something about Angela had me not questioning her or backtalking her.

      My first two hours blew by in a blur of gossip, the hairdryer going on and off, nail drills, and the echoes of the phone ringing. The smell of hair products permeated the room, but it was no match for the plug-ins in the free outlets. A fruity scent hung about, making me want candy.

      "You know Jacqueline single again," Ms. Josephine said to Angela, a sneaky look in her eye.

      Angela's face twisted up as she styled her client's hair with a rat tail comb. She'd taken the woman's thick hair and straightened it to where it was fine. The world of Angela's salon was very much new to me. I was in no way familiar with Black hair, but it fascinated me watching the women create magic in each different chair. From straightening hair, to braiding it, to cutting, to curling, there was so much to do with Black-American hair texture I admired more and more.

      "If you don't leave my son alone, Jo," Angela warned sternly.

      This got a cackle out of Ms. Josephine.

      Angela was protective of Dreux, and he seemed to be just as loyal to her. It was admirable.

      A piece of my heart throbbed as my eyes glided to where my phone sat on the front desk in front of me.

      The door to the shop opened and Dreux breezed in. The sight of her son caused Angela to lighten up, going from murky night sky to bright morning.

      "Hey," she greeted him with a friendly smile.

      Dreux went and kissed her cheek, causing the women in the room to swoon in a chorus of "awws."

      And then he looked at me, even more, he came over to where I sat at the front desk. He pressed his hands down on top, resting his weight into them, his muscles bulging. "How's it going?"

      They were looking at us, making me nervous and all too aware we were not alone.

      "It's been busy," I said. "Hectic."

      "You haven't seen a weekend," Dreux teased. His dark eyes appraised my books. "Studying?"

      "Nothin' else to do," I said.

      He glanced at the ceiling and back to me. "Wanna head up to the roof and do homework?"

      Immediately my gaze cut to where his mother hadn't stopped watching us, unsure. Gone was her easy spirit and little joy at Dreux's arrival, completely replaced with a steely guard.

      "Um, can I go on break?" I was brave enough to stare her in her eye, to take whatever response she gave me.

      Angela's attention swung from Dreux to me, her hesitation palpable. In the end, begrudgingly, she said, "Go ahead."

      Dreux was oblivious to his mother's coldness as he gathered my books for me.

      "I got it," I told him.

      This was Dreux, he collected my things anyway.

      Nervously, I tucked some hair behind my ears, sweeping a glance to the left of me to the women in the room. Some were back to work; Ms. Josephine was offering me a gentle smile and a nod of approval while Angela's eyes were on Dreux as he handled my books.

      I followed Dreux out of the salon and over to his car where he grabbed his school bag. He held on to my things as he led me over to the barbershop. Inside, a basketball game was on and the couple barbers around weren't paying it no mind as they argued over something loudly.

      "Get outta here with that shit, Rick!" one man with a clean, bald scalp said as he lined up some boy in his chair.

      The officer in the room, Rick St. Julien, smirked, easing back in one of the chairs that lined the length of the wall on the waiting side. "I'm tellin' you, it's either draft Williamson, or trade in Banks. We do that and the Falcons gettin' a ring next year."

      Another barber, one who was simply seated in his chair, wasn't convinced. "Banks ain't comin' to no Atlanta. I don't know what you talkin' 'bout."

      Dreux cast a look back at me. "This is all they talk about."

      All at once the men in the room turned our way, noticing us—me. Rick St. Julien was older than Dreux, but you couldn't tell by his youthful appearance. Whereas Dreux was tall, with toffee brown skin, and a strong build from his baseball games, Rick was tall, slim, and brown skinned. Unlike Dreux's clean face, Rick bore a moustache and goatee which worked for him. He was the third St. Julien male I'd met, and it was safe to say that gene pool was a force to be reckoned with, as all the men were good-looking.

      Dreux pointed to the barber with the client, Antwon, and to the one in the chair, Grady, and finally to his cousin, Rick.

      Each man lifted a hand to greet me or nodded in acknowledgment.

      "We're just going up to the roof to study," Dreux informed the men as he cut down the center of the room, leaving me to follow his lead.

      Antwon's lips curled, his gaze sliding over to Rick. "What y'all studying, anatomy?"

      Rick snorted and shook his head, staying out of it.

      Dreux was cringing, but still, he took one look at me and another at Antwon. "Maybe if you got new material, a sense of style, and, I don't know, maybe some chivalry, you wouldn't spend your Friday nights alone, 'Twon."

      Grady had to cover his mouth to hide his chortling while Rick made no effort to stop himself from blatantly laughing at Antwon's expense.

      Put on the spot or not, Antwon took the insult on the chin as he chuckled himself. "Easy."

      At the other end of the room, towards the back door, Dreux cut a corner and opened a door that held a staircase leading up. Dreux led me all the way up the steps, stopping to collect a colorful duffle bag, before opening up access to the roof. Once outside, the Georgian sun graced us in full force. I watched as Dreux tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, basking in the sun's rays.

      Dreux unzipped the duffle and pulled out a blanket. He found a spot to his liking and spread it out and set his things down along with mine.

      "You mind music?" Dreux asked with his phone in hand. "I know some people can't function with noise, but I like a soundtrack."

      I shrugged. "It's okay."

      Dreux's fingers glided across his screen and soon music was playing, filling the space between us. He got down on the thick colorful striped blanket and dug into his bookbag for a notebook and a textbook. Dreux soon sat cross-legged, going and scribbling some essay for what looked like an English assignment. For a while I watched him, simply existing, admittedly mesmerized by the sight of him.

      I let go and sat down, eyeing my own books and not feeling up to the task of buckling down like Dreux was.

      The nice day all around us mixed with Dreux's soundtrack were too distracting.

      "What is this?" I wondered.

      Dreux kept writing, not even bothering to check his music as he said, "Fleetwood Mac."

      The name sounded familiar, definitely an older band I'd heard referenced somewhere before.

      I went and lay on my back, soaking in the lyrics as some woman sang about silver springs. It wasn't too deep into the song that I realized I liked the sound and the band. "This is amazing."

      Homework could wait, in that moment, all I cared about was becoming better acquainted with Fleetwood Mac. Their lyrics washed over me in melodic waves, taking me under their majestic sea. Some songs, were sung by a woman, others by a man—all of them were fantastic. The harmonies, the instruments, that classic sound packed into each record. Man, I loved older music.

      "Well that's enough of that." Dreux came and lay beside me, facing the same blue sky I was. "Fleetwood is the shit."

      I couldn't deny the truth in his words. "They're honestly fucking incredible."

      Dreux nudged me. "See, when you stop listening to—"

      "Stop!" I blurted out, unable to stop myself from laughing at his repeated taunting. To get him back, I grabbed his arm and peeled the beaded bracelet off his wrist and put it on.

      I held up my wrist, examining the bracelet against my pale skin. The turquoise little beads reminded me of the sea. The specs of white marbled in reminded me of storm clouds. It was fitting really.

      Call me a thief, but I wanted the bracelet. It matched me through and through. I was a storm—a hurricane, and Dreux was a calm summer breeze. It was better off with me.

      "Hey." Dreux's hand covered my wrist.

      I slipped through his grasp, sliding my hand until it was in sync with his palm. Our hands lined up, and slowly our fingers entwined. Dreux's grip was strong, firm, and he was holding my hand.

      Peeking at him, I fought a smile.

      He was blushing too.

      Our hands lowered to the ground and he didn't let go.

      This was new for me, friend or not, I'd never held hands with a boy before. Kevin hadn't been the affectionate type in that regard. Soft. Soft wasn't Kevin's demeanor. He was a more go-with-the-flow type of guy. Flowers, candy, and all that romantic stuff wasn't his vibe.

      I decided that all that cheesy shit I once wrote off as vomit inducing and lame, actually wasn't. It was probably really nice and endearing to be showered with affection and gifts. To have a guy give you a teddy bear. Cliché to some, but still, the idea sounded cute and nice.

      The image of my parents in that booth came to mind and a weird fluttering erupted in my belly. I bet Scott was real sweet to my mother. Soft. Before the poison of my grandfather's words drove him away.

      Fleetwood Mac continued on in the background against my random thoughts, and I definitely could love this band.

      Curiously, I wondered if Scott knew them, and if he liked them, too.

      Of course he did. One thing I admired about Scott was his apparent love for music. I didn't know much about him, but at least I knew my father was cool.

      Gently, Dreux's thumb rubbed the skin on the back of my hand. A new sound was playing, a younger artist stealthily mixed in with Fleetwood. A man was singing, talking about stepping into the light, and not going back.

      "Who's this now?" I asked.

      Dreux's eyes were closed. "Harry Styles."

      Instantly, my face twisted up. "You mock me, but you listen to Harry Styles?"

      "Not drawing the connection," Dreux said matter-of-factly.

      "Oh come on!"

      "So you don't like this song?"

      I couldn't outright say that. "No, it's good."

      "So let's circle back to that point you were trying to make."

       He angled his head, peeking one eye open at me, waiting, it seemed, for a response.

      A stupid smile captured my face and I hated myself for laughing.

      Dreux let my hand go to grab his phone. He scrolled through it and found another song by Harry. This one was atmospheric and bluesy.

      I got closer and laid my head on his chest, taking in the song. It was official, I liked Dreux's taste.

      Soft.

      Pink.

      Completely out of the box Dreux St. Julien was.

      "Thank you, for being nice to me, even when I didn't deserve it," I said. "I was real nasty to you when I got here, taking out all my issues on you for no reason. I'm sorry."

      "I mean, as long as you acknowledge that and you don't do it again, it's fine. We're good now, right? Friends?"

      "Yeah."

      Things were fine, well, almost.

      "Marcel?"

      Her voice shot through the air, startling us. Angela was on the roof, standing in the doorway behind us, her eyes on the scene we were in.

      Dreux sat up and gathered his phone, pausing Harry before standing and facing his mother. He answered to what was possibly his middle name. "Yeah?"

      She didn't look pleased, but then, when did she ever? "I need your help carrying in this new chair we ordered."

      Dreux bobbed his head. "Yeah, one minute."

      Angela paused, and then she went back inside, leaving us alone.

      Dreux turned back to me. "Be right back."

      "It's okay." I waved him off. I went and grabbed my math book. "I need to be on this anyway."

      He regarded my abandoned books, and then me. "Can you swim?"

      "Yeah."

      "There's this place I'd like to show you, a getaway. I know there's the local swimming pool, but some of us go to the Pier."

      "The Pier?"

      The sun was shining down on him. Dreux grinned, squinting at me. "You'll see."

Scott was in the middle of cooking dinner when I got in later after my shift at Angela's. The smell of fish let me know what was on the evening's menu. I greeted him briefly with a wave from down the hall before climbing the stairs for my bedroom, my heartbeat pounding hard and heavy in my chest.

      Sitting cross-legged in the center of my bed, I tucked my hair behind my ears and calmly and slowly released a breath before calling my mother on FaceTime.

      It was almost five-thirty back in L.A., wherever she was, my mother wasted no time in answering my call.

      She came on screen, her blonde hair up in a messy bun, her young face surprised to see me. Around her neck I could see where she was wearing an apron. I'd caught her in the process of a pottery project.

      "Bad time?" I wondered.

      She vigorously shook her head. We hadn't spoken in forever it felt like. "Oh no, honey, no. Is everything okay?"

      My eyes watered and I had to look up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay. "No."

      "Saylor what's wrong?" concerned leaked into my mother's tone and that broke me even more.

      I wasn't even surprised to find my voice cracking as I spoke. "I've been a terrible daughter."

      When I looked back at my phone, I could see my mother was already tearing up as well. She was quick to conceal this as she swiped at her face. "No, you haven't."

      It was a lie. "I talked to Scott. He told me about you guys, and h-how...how he left you—us."

      Against her efforts, tears rolled down my mother's cheeks. "He told you about that?"

      I bobbed my head, wiping at my own wet face with my arm. "I didn't know. I didn't know. Fuck." My heart poured out of me; the lock was broken on all the guarded pain I felt about being abandoned. "You are the strongest woman I know, and I'm so sorry I wasn't good to you. Your father. Scott. You're so brave, Mom.

      "A-And, you picked me. You had your whole life ahead of you and you chose me. You're so fucking brave." I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed for how I'd treated her for so long. For how entitled I was to treat my own mother this way for so long. She gave me everything and I took it all for granted. "All I've ever had was you, and I wasn't good. I wasn't good, Mom."

      My mother had to look away from the camera, her wet blue eyes glistening. "Oh baby. It's okay." She took a breath, gathering herself together. "I never...I never wanted to talk about that. About my parents, about how ashamed of me they were. I never wanted you to feel like an accident or mistake, or a burden. From the moment I first held you in my arms, you became my only family, the only thing that counted to me. You were wanted, you were loved, and that's all that matters. You can come home."

      My sadness halted. "W-What?"

      My mother attempted to clean herself up, leaning over offscreen to gather a tissue. I could hear her blowing her nose soon before she came back to me. "I shouldn't have sent you away. I should've talked to you, I should've listened, I should've done more. I just thought this was what you needed, and oh Saylor, I miss you so much. You can come back; we'll figure it all out."

      Everything stopped and I didn't know how to feel or what to do. I was free. Able to go back home to where it all made sense—but then, it made sense here, too.

      I sniffled, unable to block out my treacherous thoughts. "I...I can't."

      "Why?" she asked.

      Squeezing my eyes shut, I felt awful and whole at the truth of it all. "I've been so angry for so long, and I never knew why. And coming here I realized that I never knew myself, because I never knew my father. I have Scott's temper. I have his eyes. He loves music. There's so much about myself that makes sense now."

      That damn Harry Styles song circled my brain and I cursed Dreux. "I don't completely know who I am, but I feel like I'm finding out." God, here came the worst of it. "I want to learn more. I want...I want to know my father. I want to have a dad."

      Betrayal didn't surface on my mother's face. Instead, a smile, love—understanding. "Yeah?"

      Scott was ashamed of himself for what he'd done to my mother, to himself. Twenty years old or not, he had been just a kid. I was just a kid, screwed-up, finding my way. In so many unknown ways, I was just like my father, just like Scott. Unlike me, he didn't seem to have a malignant bone in his body. Not the man who didn't deny my coming to live here. Not the man who reached out to Dreux and gave him a place of refuge. Not the man my mother who at a time had fallen in love with.

      "I love you," I told her. "You did the right thing in sending me here. I wasn't on a good path back home; I see that now. And even though I want to stay, there with you, in L.A., is home, Mom. Thank you for choosing me, for taking care of me, for loving me."

      Her hand fell upon her chest, over her heart. "Saylor."

      Slowly, I loosened up. "God, look at us, so sappy."

      She chuckled. "Stop, it's been a long time coming. I love you, too, baby."

      "We get a week off at the end of the month, maybe I can come visit?"

      "The door is always open."

      I told her I loved her once more and we soon ended our call.

      Better. I felt better. Full. Deep down, I'd probably always feel like shit for the way I'd mistreated her, but this was a fresh start. So many incredible things possible to still happen.

      Soft knocking on the wall behind me turned me around.

      There, awkwardly, in the doorway, was Scott. He hung his head, gazing at my tan carpet. "I, uh, heard you crying...was worried."

      I wiped at my face. "I'm okay."

      "Didn't mean to eavesdrop." His brown eyes found me, matching my own. "She said you could go back?"

      "Yeah."

      "And you're choosing to stay?"

      I was. "I get my strength from her, and my fight from you. I barely know you, Scott, but I'd like to. I have my mom and she's my rock, the one person constantly in my corner. But I need a dad."

      Scott came more into the room. "You don't know how sorry I am for what I did in leaving, Maddie—Madeline. When she said you could come back home, I got scared that you would. I missed seventeen years of you, and I just got you back." He looked around my room, at my newly black walls. "You're my kid, Saylor, through and through. I'd love to have my daughter, because I need you, too."

      On my nightstand was the teddy bear he'd gotten me as a welcome present.

      The first guy who got me a teddy bear was my father.

      I stood from my bed, going and throwing my arms around him, burying my face in his strong chest, feeling tingles when he wrapped his arms around me, firmly, as if he'd never let me go.

      I needed that. To be never let go.