"Thalia, baby!" Veronica's Italian accent filled my ears as she walked around the counter and we exchanged air kisses. Veronica has been my hair stylist for years, since the accident and I lost my mother.
"Hey Roni," I said, standing and facing the counter as she hurried back to her spot behind the counter. Roni...she lost her daughter in the war. Mirapole joined the Army because she felt it was her duty to serve the nation. She left for Afganistan and never came back. Supposedly she was MIA or POW but that was years ago. So now Roni and I had eachother.
"What can I help you with?"
"It's a lot...4 washes, 4 colorings, 4 cuts, 4 manicures, 4 pedicures and 4 facials. Please." I smiled at her like I did when I used to tell her how I lost a tooth or broke my arm.
"Okay sweet," she rung it up, "that will be 45 dollars, and all of you need to get into the back so we can get this party started."
I handed her my debit card, waving the girls over.
