Gabriela, tugging rollers from the hair of an older woman in her chair, asked, “What do you mean? Why you home so early? It’s only six.”

Angel checked her phone. Her body was so fatigued, it could have been midnight. She flicked her eyes at Jose, who sat in a chair at Latisha’s station, and said, “Uh, Frank let me go early. How about you, baby? You feeling okay?”

“I’m good, Mama. My chest still kinda hurts, but not bad.” Angel dropped to her knees in front of him, worried, but he went on in a happy rush, “Auntie Gabriela and Auntie Latisha are gonna put my team colors in my hair!”

The boy, small for his age, had a black apron draped over him, his scrawny arms sticking out, clutching one of the kid magazines Gabriela kept around for him.

“Oh, really? Yellow and purple?” She narrowed her eyes at Latisha as she stood back up. “I’m assuming this was your idea?”

“What our baby wants, our baby gets,” Latisha crooned, running her fingernails, painted with leopard print, through Jose’s tightly curled hair, making him giggle. The seven-year-old was treated like the salon pet, and he loved it. He had more toys tucked away in the corner of the shop than he did in the apartment upstairs. Gabriela had even bought a small table and chair, so he could do his homework.

“Can I, Mama?”

“Oh, sure, now you ask my permission. It’s late, chiquito. This is going to take forever.”

“Mama! It’s Saturday! I don’t have school tomorrow.”

Gabriela paused over her customer’s head and said, “Girl, I will happily do something with your mop while that boy is getting worked on.”

“Damn! There is nothing wrong with my hair! Besides, how would you know? I have to keep it back all the time.”

“My point exactly. You blending into the woodwork. Let’s throw some highlights up in there, give some shape to those frizzy-ass curls.”

“My hair is not frizzy.”

“Are you sure about that? When was the last time you wore it down, gave yourself a little love?”

Latisha cackled. “She givin’ herself love, alright—she ain’t been letting no man in there.”

Angel flashed at her. “Seriously? You gotta do that in front of him?”

Jose looked up from his Sports Illustrated for Kids. “What?”

Latisha spun him around until he giggled again. “Your ma’s just being touchy. She jealous because we workin’ on you and not her.”

“I wouldn’t let you touch me with a ten-foot pole, Latisha.”

“As long as you’re letting someone’s pole touch you, honey. You cranky, need to take care of business.”

“Oh my God. Shut up.”