Juked

by M. E. Carter

Her question gives me pause. I know I should want Geni to come over and relieve me as soon as she can. I mean, I have to work again tomorrow. And we’re just dating, not in an official relationship or anything. But strangely, I don’t want to leave her like this. I want to stay and take care of her and the baby. It’s a strange feeling. “Uh… I think we’ll be okay for one more night. I have an out-of-town game this weekend, so I definitely can’t stay past tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take over for you starting tomorrow night. Will that work?”

  “Perfect.” The thermometer beeps, and I pull it out of Quincy’s mouth. She settles in on the couch again as I read it out loud. “One oh two point seven.”

  “Damn,” Geni says.

  “I gotta go. I need to get some more medicine in our girl and feed the baby before my mom gets here with dinner.”

  “Your mom is bringing you guys dinner?” Geni sounds overly excited by this tidbit of information.

  “Her chicken noodle soup.”

  Geni laughs. “Quincy is gonna kill you when she’s coherent enough.”

  “Why?”

  “Your mother meeting her for the first time when she’s got the flu, and she looks like death? Oh, Daniel. You really haven’t dated in years, have you?”

  I snort a laugh. “She’s gonna have to get over it. Yes, she looks like death.” Geni laughs again. “But this boy needs to eat, and there’s nothing my mom loves better than taking care of a sick person. This will totally buy Quincy brownie points with her.”

  “Whatever you say, lover boy. Now go take care of my girl.”

  We say our goodbyes and hang up. Quincy barely opens her eyes when I give her Tylenol and Motrin, but Chance makes it clear he’s not happy he’s still waiting for dinner.

  “Okay dude, what’ll it be?” I ask him as I look at the jars of baby food on the counter. “You can have squash or mixed vegetables.” He lets out a frustrated squeal as the doorbell rings. “I know. Those choices suck. I’ll look for bananas in a minute.”

  I lift him out of the ExerSaucer and go to the front door. He gets his mitts on my nose again. “You’re starting to make me feel self-conscious,” I say to him. “Is it really big enough for you to get your uncoordinated little hands on all the time?” I swing the door open. “Hi, Mama.”

  “Hi, mijo.” She whisks through the door, shoving a tote bag full of food at me and snatches the baby out of my hands. “Mi chiquito! How are you, baby boy? Daniel, put that in the kitchen.”

  She vaguely gives me instructions on how to finish preparing the food, busy getting wet, slobbery baby kisses from a very squeally and happy baby.

  “Since you’re having so much fun in abuela-mode, can you put him in his high chair and give him some dinner?” I would offer to feed him myself, but I know my mother. Once a baby is in the room, the rest of us may as well not exist.

  “Of course, mijo,” she answers nicely. I’m not fooled. She’s not doing it to help me. She’s doing it to spend more time in baby-land.

  After putting hot soup in a mug, I return to Quincy. She still feels feverish but nothing like she did a while ago.

  “Hey, baby,” I say, pushing her bangs off her forehead. She stirs a bit. “I need you to sit up.”

  “Hm?” she asks, barely cracking her eyes open.

  “Let’s sit you up for a minute,” I say, helping keep the sheet in position over her. If it was just me, I’d let it fall, but I don’t need my mom accusing me of doing it on purpose so I can get an eyeful. She knows me well enough she just might. “I need you to drink some of this.”

  “What is it?” she croaks. “My throat really hurts.”

  “I know, baby. It’s my mom’s famous soup. She swears it’ll cure you.” I wrap her hands around the mug and help her lift it so she can take small sips. The first couple of sips are slow going, but once she gets a little of the broth in her system, she easily finishes the whole thing. “Good. We’ll see how you hold that down. You lay down again and rest some more.”

  “Okay,” she says, eyes closed and already snuggling into the pillow.

  I turn around to go back to the kitchen and my mom is standing there with a strange look on her face.

  “What?” I cock my head.

  She grins at me. “You like her.”

  I crinkle my brow. “You already knew this.”

  “No, mijo,” she says, grinning even wider. “You really like her. I haven’t seen you act like that with someone since, well, since you ended up with your sister at the hospital the day she had Vanessa.”

  I purse my lips and walk past her to the kitchen. “She’s sick, Ma. She has no one. What else was I going to do?”

  She makes a noise in the back of her throat like she’s disagreeing with me. I try to ignore her as I dish out some soup for myself, but she makes it almost impossible.

  “You fed her and you kept her covered out of respect for her.”

  I pick up a spoon from the drawer and try to dismiss her claims. “I didn’t think she’d appreciate you seeing her half-naked before you’ve been formally introduced.” I pull out a soft carrot and blow on it before putting it on Chance’s tray. He eyes it skeptically before doing his best to pick it up, but the carrot keeps getting away.

  “You really like her,” she says, coming around the counter and putting her arms around my waist. “There’s nothing wrong with that, mijo.”

  I relax and hug her back. “I know, Mama. We’re just hanging out right now. Being friends and dating. Don’t get all excited.”

  She pats my cheeks. “Just don’t hurt her,” she says and walks away.

  Why does everyone keep saying that to me?

  “I’m so glad I got my flu shot,” Geni says over the sound of her clippers. “You looked terrible.”

  “Uh-huh.” I pretend to ignore her and sweep the hair from my last client into a pile on the floor. Geni’s been making it a point to lecture me all week about how dumb it was not to get vaccinated. Never mind that it’s the only time I’ve been sick the entire five years I’ve known and worked with her.

  “I’m serious,” she says. “I’ve never seen you look so bad. You’re lucky Daniel was there to—”

  Her voice is drowned out when I start up the vacuum to get rid of the hair. The timing doesn’t go unnoticed by her, and she glares at me. I glare right back.

  “I’m just saying,” she says as soon as the noise dies down, making me huff in annoyance. She’s not going to let this go. “It’s a good thing Daniel was there to take care of you. I don’t know how I would have been able to do it without him. Don’t you think it was dumb for her not to get her flu shot?” she asks her client, Mike.

  “I haven’t had a flu shot in twenty-seven years,” he says in a southern drawl. “Never had the flu.”

  “Hmph,” Geni says. “You got lucky.”

  “He also saved himself about five hundred forty dollars in copays,” I say snottily.

  “Flu shots don’t have a copay,” he says.

  “See?” Geni says.

  “But that’s twenty-seven times I haven’t been poked with a needle,” he continues.

  “See?” I say.

  “Hmph,” she says again.

  “As much as I’d love to continue this delightful conversation,” I say sarcastically, “I have a new client I need to greet.” I do a final check to make sure my work station is presentable and move to the front of the salon.

  There’s only one person sitting on the bench, so I walk right up to her, assuming she’s my new client.

  “Mary?” I ask. She jumps up with a bright smile on her face. “I’m Quincy,” I say and reach my hand out to shake hers.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” she says enthusiastically. “I’ve been really looking forward to this.” Her hair looks like it’s been recently colored and like it doesn’t need much of a trim, and I wonder what she’s doing here, but clients fire their hairdressers all the time. Maybe she wants a different color.

  I take her b
ack to my station. We spend several minutes discussing the chestnut lowlights she wants but didn’t get last time and how she’s hoping for a more choppy, stylish cut.

  Once I get her colors mixed and set to go, we begin the tedious and time-consuming process of painting it on her hair.

  “I can’t wait for my boyfriend to see my new hair,” Mary says excitedly. “I just knew when I made an appointment with you, you’d know exactly what a man likes.”

  I crinkle my brow but smile as I fold a foil around one of her locks. “I wouldn’t say I necessarily know what a man likes. But I like to think I know what will look best on my client.”

  She waves at me dismissively. “That’s the same thing. I was just so surprised I could get in with you.”

  I pull up another portion of her hair with my comb and paint the color on all the way from root to tip. “I have some steady clients, but I’m not that hard to get an appointment with.”

  “Really?” she asks with a look of disbelief. “I would have thought Daniel Zavaro’s girlfriend would be booked up months in advance!”

  My whole body goes still. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Geni freeze as well.

  “I, um….” I try to regain my composure and focus on the work in front of me. “I wouldn’t call myself his girlfriend.” Geni snorts. I shoot her a dirty look.

  “Oh.” Mary looks crestfallen but quickly brightens up again. “But you are dating him, right? Just not at that point yet.”

  I look at Geni, whose eyes are as wide as mine feel. I have no idea where this girl came from or how she knows anything about my relationship with Daniel, and it’s a little unnerving.

  “We’re friends,” I say vaguely. “But how do you know anything about that?”

  “I saw your picture in the paper.”

  I spend the next thirty minutes trying to concentrate on getting the right color on the right sections of hair, all while trying to field questions about the Mutiny players I know (which is one) and keep all my answers short. It’s more exhausting than a normal lowlight would be.

  Once I get her situated under the dryer and before I attend to a client who needs a touch-up, I race back to Geni’s station.

  “What the fuck was that about?” I hiss in her ear.

  “I don’t know,” she hisses back, folding foil on the top of her client’s head. “Daniel was recognizable in those pictures, but I didn’t know you’d been identified, too.”

  “I appreciate having new clients, but really? Like this?”

  Geni shakes her head. “I don’t know, babe. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

  “Thank goodness Sue is next.” I quickly clean up the bowls and brushes, all the while wondering how many new clients I’m going to run into who have figured out my relationship with Daniel. How many of them would have made an appointment with me if Daniel wasn’t in the picture?

  I understand now why professional athletes are always complaining about never knowing if people like them for themselves or their profession. I also understand one of the reasons why Daniel and I may have clicked in the beginning. There must have been something nice about me having no idea who he was when we first met.

  I wave Sue over when I see her check in at the front. She strides over like she’s on a mission, newspaper in hand.

  “Girl, you are the talk of the town right now,” she exclaims and plops herself down in my chair. I wrap the cape around her neck and start brushing out her hair.

  “Nice to see you, too, Sue,” I deadpan. “And what are you talking about?”

  “You haven’t seen yesterday’s newspaper?”

  “No one reads the newspaper anymore, Sue.”

  “Well maybe you should,” she says pulling the paper out from under the cape. “Since you’re the star of a giant exposé.”

  I look over her shoulder, and there it is, the answer to why my new client knows about my relationship with Daniel.

  Houston’s Latest Heartthrob: The Woman Who Keeps Daniel Zavaro Warm Between the Cleats

  I snatch the paper from her and scan the article, vaguely aware Geni is reading over my shoulder.

  Step back ladies. It appears Daniel Zavaro is off the market. Maybe even for good! Last week, the twenty-nine-year-old captain of the Texas Mutiny, and one of last year’s most eligible bachelors, was spotted in the company of twenty-five-year-old Quincy Watson, a local hairdresser.

  Seeing Zavaro with a beautiful woman on his arm isn’t anything new, but what is new is his relationship with the seven-month-old nephew Watson has full custody of. Sources tell us that last week, while Watson was apparently recuperating from the flu, Zavaro spent all his free time with the tiny tot, including dropping him off and picking him up from day care.

  “He was a real sweetheart,” our anonymous source said in a phone interview. “He doted on baby Chance like he was his own son.” Who is this new woman in Zavaro’s life? We did a little digging.

  “Hailey,” I grumble to myself. “You are in so much trouble.”

  The article gives the details of my job, including which salon I work at, and goes into detail about my work history. It covers Sarah’s death and my subsequent custody of Chance. It even covers my dad’s death and my mom ditching us.

  There are pictures of Daniel going in and out of my apartment, Chance in tow. Them at the day care. Me walking into work.

  By the time I’m done reading, Sue and I have switched spots, me in the chair and her standing next to me.

  “Well,” Geni says, looking as shell shocked as I feel. “That’s not an annoying invasion of privacy or anything.”

  “Invasion of privacy or not, you come out looking like a wonderful human being,” Sue says, patting me on the shoulder.

  “I guess this explains that weird feeling I had of being watched the other day. And all the new clients I have booked for the next couple of weeks,” I say, rubbing my temples. “And here I thought word of mouth was getting out and people were hiring me because of my work.”

  Geni walks around and stands in front of me, leaning against the full length mirror on the wall. “Honey, are you okay?”

  I wave her off. “They didn’t say anything that’s not already public information. Although Hailey and I are going to have words when I pick him up at day care tonight.”

  Geni and Sue both nod.

  “But I’m not distraught or anything. I’m just… I don’t know,” I say, standing up and ushering Sue back into the chair. “I’m a little stunned to see my entire life history in the newspaper. I think I feel more sorry for Daniel than anything, though. Can you imagine having your private life in the news every single day? You want the same color, right, Sue?”

  “Yep. Just a touch-up.” She settles in, and I collect the colors I already had set aside for her. “I’m sure it’s something he’s used to by now. But can you get used to it, too?”

  “That’s the thing.” I get my gloves on and stir the colors together. “I don’t know if I’m going to need to get used to it. Maybe that’s why it’s so jarring. I don’t even know what’s going on between me and Daniel, and now this giant newspaper practically has us engaged.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know what’s going on between you two?” Sue asks. If any other client asked me that, I might be upset by the personal nature of the question, but it’s Sue. “I thought you guys were dating.”

  “We are.” Geni laughs from her station. “Shut up, Geni. What I mean is we haven’t really talked about it.”

  “Please,” Geni interrupts. “His mother dropped off food several times and played with the baby while she was sick.” Sue’s eyebrows raise in interest.

  I try to downplay it. “She’s a nice woman who loves babies and thinks her soup is the magic cure for illness.”

  “And she wants you to marry her son,” Geni sing-songs.

  I shake my head in amusement. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Geni.”

  She shrugs. “I call it like I see it.”
>
  “You and the newspaper,” I grumble under my breath. Luckily, Sue shifts the conversation to talking about her grandbabies and gives me a reprieve from discussing my love life. Temporarily.

  All too soon, her touch-up is ready to set, and I have to retrieve Mary and field more questions. But now I’m ready for them.

  “So you really have custody of your nephew, huh?” I glance in the mirror and see Geni trying to discreetly take calming breathes. I know she’s biting her tongue, too.

  “Uh-huh.” That’s the only answer she’s going to get.

  “That must really suck,” Mary continues.

  “Not really.” I’m trying to get her cut done as quickly as possible so I can usher her out of here.

  “Daniel seems really good with him.”

  “He is.” Now that I know why Mary chose me, I have almost no interest in conversation, but I also know it’s part of my job. I try a new tactic and switch the conversation to her. “How long have you and your boyfriend been dating?”

  “Over a year now!” Her eyes brighten, and I know we’re in the clear for a while. She talks almost exclusively for the remainder of her haircut, and before I know it, I’m letting her out of the chair and walking her to the door.

  “It was really nice meeting you, Mary,” I say and get ready to walk away. Before I can turn, she pulls me into a giant hug.

  “It was good meeting you, too, Quincy. Oh!” she exclaims and lets me go to pull her phone out of her back pocket. “Can we take a picture? My friends are going to die when they see you’re the one who did my hair!”

  I oblige, secretly wondering how quickly it’ll end up on Instagram and hoping my hair is still holding up from when I did it this morning. The receptionist gives me a questioning look but I ignore her.

  I finally get back to my station and start cleaning up. Geni is in between clients, sitting in her chair reading the article again.

  “That was one weird, uncomfortable haircut,” she says.

  “Tell me about it,” I reply. “This is going to be a long week.”