Do not let strangers touch his hair.
When Aisha died from complications of lupus three years earlier, Marcus became responsible for all of it.
At first he was terrible.
Caleb once attended preschool with so much coconut oil in his hair that his teacher asked whether he had fallen into something.
Marcus learned.
YouTube.
Aisha’s sister Renee.
Barbers.
Other fathers.
Eventually wash day became theirs.
Sunday mornings.
Caleb on a stool.
Cartoons playing.
Marcus working through curls slowly while his son complained theatrically about every knot.
Three months ago, Caleb asked to grow his hair longer.
Marcus said yes.
Vanessa disagreed.
Marcus thought the disagreement ended there.
Apparently it had not.
He looked at her.
“I told him that because you kept asking to cut it.”
“He needs structure.”
“He needed a haircut in your opinion.”
“And yours.”
“No.”
Marcus shook his head.
“I said we could shape it if he wanted.”
“Marcus.”
Vanessa pointed toward the mirror.
“Look at him.”
Marcus looked.
His son had one side partially shaved and the rest still covered in curls.
He looked terrified.
Vanessa continued.
“He was going to a formal gala like that.”
“Like what?”
“With hair that hasn’t been cut in nearly five months.”
Marcus stared.
“And?”
“Don’t make me say things you already understand.”
Something cold entered his voice.
“No.”
He shifted Caleb higher.
“Say them.”
Vanessa looked away.
“Marcus.”
“Say exactly what was wrong with his hair.”
“It was messy.”
“It was washed this morning.”
“It was too long.”
“For what?”
“The photographs.”
“For whose photographs?”
“Everyone’s.”
Marcus took one step toward her.
“What was wrong with my son looking like my son?”
Vanessa’s face reddened.
“That is not fair.”
“Then answer.”
“I wanted him polished.”
“He was wearing a tuxedo.”
“Hair matters.”
“To you.”
“Yes.”
Vanessa’s frustration finally surfaced.
“Yes, Marcus. To me.”
She spread her hands.
“I have spent six months planning tonight.”
Caleb pressed his face against his father’s shoulder again.
Vanessa continued.
“I arranged interviews. Press photographs. Seating. Sponsors. Your mother is coming. The governor is coming. The Harringtons are coming.”
Marcus stared.
“You shaved my son because the governor is coming?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It is exactly what you said.”
“No.”
She pointed toward Caleb.
“I am trying to help this family present itself properly.”
The room became completely silent.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed.
“Present itself.”
Vanessa immediately knew the words were wrong.
“Not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Marcus.”
“Say it.”
“You know I didn’t mean race.”
“I didn’t say race.”
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Marcus looked at her for several seconds.
Then down at the hair.
Something pale caught his attention.
Not hair.
An envelope.
A small white envelope partly hidden beneath the vanity stool.
He frowned.
Vanessa followed his gaze.
Her face changed.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Marcus noticed.
He lowered Caleb.
“Stay beside me.”
The boy grabbed his hand.
Marcus crouched.
Picked up the envelope.
Vanessa moved forward.