Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Hendrix circles an arm around my shoulders and tilts her head to press against mine. “We believe in you, Sol. If there’s anybody on the face of this earth who can make something out of nothing, it’s you. You just need a little time to make your something.”
“Thank you.” My voice breaks and I give up on that steel backbone, abandon that tough shell, and cry. Hendrix doesn’t shhh me or spout platitudes. She lets my tears flow until there is nothing left.
“Love you, Hen,” I say, linking our fingers on my knee.
“Love you too.” She grins at me, the usual teasing glint restored to her eyes. “Now did you say frittata?”
An hour later, we’re seated in her kitchen nook, enjoying the last crumbs of our meal, when my phone lights up with a text from Lupe.
“Let me see what this girl wants,” I mumble into my sangria. “She and Inez better not be fighting. Can’t leave them alone for one night.”
Hendrix chuckles and licks her fork clean. “Thank her for lending you to me for dinner.”
I smile and open the text message.
Lupe: Mom! Have you checked your last post? It’s blowing up.
Me: Which one?
Lupe: The vinaigrette! Like… really blowing up.
“Lupe says my last post is doing well.” I navigate over to my account, and a gasp escapes me. “Oh, my God.”
“What is it?” Hendrix leans over to check my phone with me. “Does that say two million views?”
“Yeah.” I laugh, covering my wide smile with my hand. “It does.”
“Get it going.” Hendrix nudges me, grinning and doing a shoulder bounce. “I told you it was only a matter of time.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JUDAH
Can we have pizza when we’re done?” Adam asks.
I consider his request while we cross the parking lot to the Cut, the barbershop in Castleberry Hill where we’ve been going for years. A stack of paperwork I didn’t get to this week in the office waits, so it has crept into my weekend. I’ll have to get right on it as soon as we get home, but I think I can spare the time for pizza. After I drop them off at Tremaine’s, it’ll just be me, so I’ll be able to focus.
“Sure,” I tell him. “Guido’s on the square sound good?”
He nods, but Aaron tugs my sleeve and starts scrolling on the communication device hanging around his neck. It’s more portable than his old one, not much bigger than a phone. He pulls up a picture of Hops, his favorite game shop. There’s a new special-edition Megaminx twelve-sided cube he’s been asking for, and Hops usually carries all the toys and games he prefers, even the obscure ones I have trouble finding online. His teacher mentioned he got stuck a few times this week, perseverating and mentioning the cube repeatedly. It interfered with his work some, but she didn’t have much trouble redirecting him.
“Hops is right across from Guido’s,” Adam implores on his brother’s behalf. “One of the guys at school said they’re the only ones who still have it in stock. It won’t take long.”
“It’s not how close it is to the restaurant,” I say dryly. “It’s how hard it is to get him out of there once he’s in, but okay. Twenty minutes at Hops. That’s it.”
I’ll have to use the timer on my phone to help Aaron transition out of the store because that place is like heaven to him.
When we enter the Cut, Preach greets us with a smile over the head of the customer he’s finishing.
“What’s up?” he asks. “Man, thanks for being flexible with the time. Had a wedding party this morning, if you can believe. All the groomsmen wanted fresh fades.”
“It’s fine. The boys enjoyed sleeping in.”
We’ve always been Preach’s first customers on the Saturdays when we come because the later it gets, the more crowded and loud the shop becomes. Neither of my boys responds to all that stimulation well. They carry noise-canceling headphones in their backpacks in case it gets to be too much.
“Who’s up first?” Preach asks, patting the barber chair.
Aaron takes one of the seats in the waiting area, puts his headphones on, and pulls out his cube.
“Guess that means you, Adam,” Preach says, amused. He’s used to my boys by now. When they were much younger, haircuts were hell. They were incredibly sensitive at their napes and around their ears. I could write a thesis specifically on haircut meltdowns. A mom mentioned Preach to Tremaine in the waiting room of the boys’ speech therapist. The rest is history. Preach is patient and not intimidated by the sensory issues that defeated so many barbers before him.
I check emails on my phone while Preach cuts the boys without incident. He’s still cutting Aaron’s hair when the bell dings above the door to herald a new customer.
“What’s up, Si?” Preach shoots a wide grin at Josiah Wade. I don’t know him well personally, but we’ve often been in the shop at the same time. Preach cuts his son, Kassim.