Sweet Nothing | Aaliyah x J. Cole

8

"Debit or credit," asks the checkout clerk.

Liyah had returned to the boutique, this time with a slightly greater budget. For a nicer dress, and a new pair of heels.

"Debit," she smiles, handing over her card. Her total rings close to the amount she'd received from Jay. He'll never get his money back so she hopes he never asks about it.

She thanks the saleswoman and makes her way to her car again.

Yesterday had been a blur. After confronting Jay about the chaos he's brought into her life, she'd had no choice but to fulfill influencer requests to get marketing refreshed.

It's a part of the game, but influencers can be picky, and there's no control over what they say in their reviews. She'd sent out ten wigs to ten different women, costing close to four thousand dollars.

But if everything goes through, the partnerships could result in triple that amount in new sales. Enough to hire a lawyer to sue Regine if this dispute isn't resolved in the next week.

Coordinating deals and preparing orders to ship had taken all evening. She'd stayed late at the salon last night, working busily in the inventory room as she satisfied her munchies and listened to Marvin Gaye.

She'd fallen asleep on the cold floor, and when she'd woken up, it was almost one in the morning.

Liyah arrives at the salon again, sucking in a deep yawn. Parking the car in the back parking lot, she takes a moment before getting out to approach the employee entrance.

Her only hair appointment of the day is arriving in an hour— a wig install for a known upcoming female rapper. She'd normally be excited, but fatigue has her by the throat.

And worry. Had she been overreacting towards Jay?

As she goes inside and sets up her booth, she reflects on the confrontation yesterday.

She hadn't meant to scratch him. She would never hurt him like that.

If he approached her at the club tonight, she would apologized.

It's not like he can control what someone else does. Be that as it may, Regine wouldn't be a part of their picture had he not touched her, regardless of how long ago it had been.

December meant Liyah and Jay were doing their thing, too. She remembers faintly around that time he was acting distant for about a week. She'd figured he was having his holiday fun of course, and what could she have said? He didn't owe her any loyalty. They weren't together.

She couldn't bring herself to ask if he'd wrapped up with the other woman. He was mostly responsible, always wore condoms with her. But there'd been one time, when he'd showed up to the salon after-hours, and took her to the inventory room. They hadn't used to protection then.

Unable to bear the what-if's, Liyah double checks the vanity, ensuring all the supplies are in place. At least she's been getting her period consistently since then.

She hopes for things to go well tonight: the client has paid in full already, she has her outfit, and it'll be her first time getting out since...who knows how long. Nothing could go wrong.

Sitting down in her styling chair, she pulls out her phone and opens Instagram. The first thing on her timeline is Jay. It's a picture of him posing next to the owner of the new club that's opening. They're standing inside the venue, looking handsome.

She notices the animation around his small profile picture: he's live streaming right now. Her best guess is he's at the club, steaming to promote. If she drops in, will he notice her? There's usually thousands of people watching his lives.

Against her better judgement, Liyah turns down the volume on her phone and opens his stream. She instantly regrets it.

He's sitting on a sofa as he holds the phone up, showing himself next to a beautiful, mixed-looking woman with striking eyes and voluminous curly hair.

His arm is around her. They're laughing and seems like they're in the middle of telling a story. Must be someone he'd went to school with.

He shifts as though he notices her name enter the stream. He takes his arm off of the woman, and leans forward, taking her out of the frame.

Liyah rolls her eyes. Too late. She closes the stream and puts the phone away into her purse.

She observes the stylists and clients in the salon, taking in the smells of hot straighteners and hairspray. As usually, everyone is booked and busy since it's Friday, with nothing but good hearted banter and personal venting going on as women get their hair done. She can't lie, it's her favorite place to be, as hard as it is sometimes.

And thankfully, she has a needed distraction in this new client. This wig install should keep her mind and her hands busy for the next few hours.

A sinking feeling starts to take over her.

Am I moving on or not?

The styling goes well, as intended. Busy hands, quiet mind. She'd braided the woman's hair down, installed the customized wig, and gave it an extra straightening before turning the woman around in the chair to face the mirror.

Moneice, her client, even pulled out her phone and recorded a short video of both she and Liyah posing in the mirror as she ran her fingers through her new hair. She'd promised to recommend Liyah to her friends and return, and had added a nice tip before leaving.

If Liyah had been feeling bad about the Regine situation before, she wasn't anymore.