Page 58 of Coming Up Roses

Cash

“Preston,Lucas—shoes on and to the truck. We don’t wanna be late for our appointment.”

“We’s waiting on you, Uncle Cash,” Preston informs me as I walk into the living room, and sure enough, both boys are on the couch, ready to go.

“Okay then, let’s go,” I tell them, grabbing my keys from the hook by the door. They hop off the couch and race out the door, neck in neck the whole way.

“SHOTGUN!” Preston yells loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.

“Try again, little man. It’s the backseat for both of y'all.”

“But Dad lets—”

“Your dad isn’t here, dude, and your mom left strict instructions. What Mom says, goes.” I open the back door and make sure they’re both properly buckled before getting us on the road toward Southern Roots.

It’s only about a fifteen-minute drive, but in those fifteen minutes, they’ve asked every question known to man. From Why is the sky blue? to Where do babies come from? I swear, I’ve never been so glad to see a hair salon.

“Now listen,” I tell them as we approach the door, “Use your manners, sit still, and for the love of God, don’t call Myla Rose my girlfriend. Got it?”

“Got it,” they reply in unison.

“Good mornin’, Cash and company. Y’all can take a seat. It’ll be just a few,” Seraphine says, directing us to the waiting area. I’m about to tell her that sounds fine when I feel someone staring at me.

Surveying the salon, I immediately find the culprit—a blonde middle-aged woman sitting in . . . Myla Rose’s chair. Interesting.

Azalea shuts off her blow dryer, allowing me to hear a snippet of their conversation. “Myla Rose, would you take a look? That man is a cool drink of water on a hot, hot day. I mean, gracious, if I were single and maybe twenty years younger . . .” Myla freezes and then slowly looks over her shoulder at me. I attempt to catch her eye, but she whips her head back around so fast I'm surprised it doesn't spin.

That doesn’t stop me from hearing her words though. “Yes, ma’am, he sure is something, all right.” Even more interesting.

“We don’t mind waitin’, Seraphine. Just call us when you’re ready.” I take a seat by the twins on the couch that's positioned across from the reception desk and thumb through some chick magazine while we wait.

Not even five minutes later, our names are being called. “Come on, boys, Myla Rose is ready for Preston. Azalea will be ready for Lucas in just a bit. That okay?”

“Sure thing.” We all stand and follow Seraphine back to Myla’s station. She attempts to introduce the twins to Myla Rose, but they just stand there and stare at her—and damn if I don't get it. I get awestruck by her too. After a few seconds, Seraphine shrugs her shoulders and retreats to the front desk.

“Well, boys, looks like the cat’s got your tongues. Which one of you cuties is Preston?”

Preston ever so slowly raises his hand. “Me. I’m Preston.”

“Nice to meet you. You wanna hop up into my chair?”

“You’re so pretty—like a princess!” he blurts, his cheeks taking on a pink tinge from embarrassment. “I–I mean . . . yes, ma’am, I can do that.”

The booster seat she has in the chair makes it a little difficult, so it takes him two tries to get up into her chair, but when he does, she smiles at him like he’s just crossed the finish line in first place.

“Good job, P. Can I call you P?” she asks him as she mists the water bottle over his hair.

“Like a nickname?”

“Just like a nickname.”

He beams at her. “I like that.”

Not one to be left out, Lucas pipes up, “I wants a nickname too!”

“You do, huh?” Myla asks him. He gives her three sharp nods. “Well, how about . . . Lou?”

“Lou. Lou. Lou,” he says, testing it out. After rolling it around a few more times, he gives his approval.

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