She had texted Deshan, told him she would pick up chicken on the way home. But that wasn’t good enough. It was never good enough anymore. You embarrassing him walking around here like you too good to cook, Candace added, dropping the hair onto the floor next to Chenise. Acting like your little salon makes you better than family.
8-year-old Amara’s bedroom door was closed upstairs, and Chenise prayed her baby girl had her headphones on, lost in one of those YouTube videos she loved watching. This wasn’t the first time things had gotten physical, but it was the worst. Usually, Deshawn would push her, maybe grab her arm too tight. But tonight, when she had walked through the door with the KFC bag, apologizing for being late, he had exploded.
“I work 12 hours at the plant while you play beauty shop,” he had yelled. The least you can do is have food ready when I get home. When Chenise had tried to explain about Mrs. Patterson, about how the elderly woman had no one else to help her look nice for her special day, Deshan had laughed. A cold, mean laugh that made Chenise’s stomach clench.
“Always somebody else more important than your own husband,” he had said. That’s when Candace had spoken up from her spot on the couch where she spent most evenings since losing her apartment 6 months ago. She thinks she all that since Grandma Ruby left her that building acting brand new, Chenise had inherited the small building that housed her salon from her grandmother who had run a beauty shop there for 40 years.
It was the only thing that was truly hers, the only place where she felt like herself. At the salon, she was boss lady chenise, the woman who could make anyone feel beautiful, who listened to problems and offered advice along with perfect relaxers and flawless braids. But here at home, she was shrinking smaller everyday.
I’m sorry, Chenise had whispered, holding up the food bag. I brought your favorite. That’s when Deshan’s hand had connected with her face, sending her stumbling backward into the kitchen counter. The sound of the slap echoed through the house, and Chenise had heard Amara’s door open upstairs, then quickly close again. Deson stop.
Chenise had cried out, but Candace was already moving, grabbing a handful of Chenise’s hair and yanking her head back. “Nah, she need to learn,” Candace had said. You too soft on her brother? Mama would have knocked sense into her by now. Their mother had been gone for 10 years, but Candace still invoked her memory whenever she wanted to justify cruelty. Mrs.
Thompson had been a hard woman who believed wives should be seen and not heard, that a man’s word was law in his house. She had raised her children with those beliefs, and now they were using them as weapons against Chenise. When Deshan had hit her the second time, Chenise had fallen to the floor.
