The One Who Holds Me (Sovereign Love #4)

15. Olanna

15

OLANNA

NOW

B ack-to-back meeting days are my favorites now, not only because they keep me distracted, but because they keep me hidden in my office, so I don’t have to bump into Alex. One thing Manny advised me to do when I first took over Madu Health was to take a break from my computer. As an ex-workaholic himself, he only had to list out what stress did to him when he was the managing director and I took his advice seriously.

I used to spend my break going downstairs to check in on everyone in the open plan office, but since Alex showed up last week, I’ve been spending my breaks on the first-floor balcony instead. Not many people know about it because it was the secret hangout spot for Manny and Heather when they used to work here. It has the best view of the Jersey city skyline and Hudson River, so that helps calm my nerves.

I’m on a mission to be a girl boss and still live a soft life—which means I need to identify stress triggers and avoid them. Trigger number one—aka Alex Obeng—is already being dealt with, as my avoidance technique is working.

But with today being a Saturday, I couldn’t settle for my usual routine of Bible study, workout, bath, and cooking all day. My scalp has not recovered from my rainy day shenanigan last week, so I called Wendy and booked a hair appointment for this afternoon.

“There’s my favorite girl.” Dressed in a cute puff-sleeved black blouse tucked into a floral red skirt, Wendy, my loctician, greets me as I step in through the doors of Luscious Beauty hair salon. The customers and stylists turn their heads to face me as I do my walk of shame across the shiny wooden floors to give Wendy a hug.

No matter how long I’m away from this place, my favorite things are still the same when I come back; the white walls and the gold chandelier on the ceiling, which is surrounded by drawings of black women with afros.

The smell of tropical fruits and coconut wafts into my nostrils and the sweet melody of the old school R&B songs playing from the overhead speakers grazes my ears, transporting me to my childhood days when Mom used to pin me down between her legs to comb my hair while I screamed my lungs out. Sigh. Those are bittersweet memories, which Wendy helped me expel because she taught me that taking care of my hair doesn’t have to be painful.

“Hi Wendy.” I only have a few seconds to show her my bright smile before she engulfs me in a big hug and lifts me off the floor with her petite but strong arms. What kind of weights has she been lifting at the gym?

“Girl, you had me trippin,’” Wendy says as she sets me back on the floor. “How you go’n up and leave me like that for months?” She leans back and places a hand on her hip as she twirls her own locs with her fingers.

Wendy was the reason I started my loc journey five years ago. I used to complain about how much of a chore it was to look after my natural hair, but I didn’t want to chemically straighten it. I grappled with the guilt for a long time, but when Wendy suggested I loc my hair, I was too chicken to do it alone, so she did it with me and we have not looked back ever since.

“I’m so sorry, Wendy.” I hide my face with both hands. “Work has been busy. You know your girl is still getting used to this CEO thing.” I rattle out my excuse as Wendy pulls out the seat close to the shelf of hair products.

“That’s right, boo.” Wendy takes a step back, her block-heeled boots pounding against the floor. “Did y’all know this young lady right here is not just beauty, but brains?” She turns to her attentive audience. “She’s the CEO of a multimillion dollar healthcare marketing company and she has been bringing it on.”

“Wow. Girl, you’re on fire.” A stocky woman says with her hair inside the hair dryer and a magazine on her lap.

“I love to see people like us win.” One stylist clicks her fingers at me before returning to washing a woman’s hair at the sink. This stylist must be new because Wendy tells this story every time I come here.

“Yes, and especially us women,” Wendy adds. “I love it when we win. I’m so proud of you, Glo.” Wendy is probably the only other person who refers to me by my middle name, Gloria—the other person was Mom.

My cheeks warm up as I struggle to keep up with everyone’s kind words. Man, I missed this place. “Aww, you flatter me too much, Wendy.”

“But girl, you deserve it for all the hard work you do. So relax and let me give you a pampered hair day.” She chuckles before running her hands through my hair and doing her assessment.

Unlike me, who likes to try every hairstyle under the sun with my locs, including deciding to change the color to burgundy while I was in college, Wendy keeps hers simple—gold hair cuffs and always wearing it in a half-up and half-down style. I keep waiting for the day when Wendy will tell me off for not following our agreed hair care regime, and today might be that day.

After what seems like forever, Wendy sets my loc strands down and walks to the shelf to get some hair products. For a second, I convince myself I’ve gotten away with it, but when Wendy lets out a heavy sigh, I realize at that moment that her experienced eyes and hands must have found something.

“Girl, have you been stressed? Coz your scalp be looking all crusty,” Wendy says, and if it was any other person, embarrassment would’ve ravaged my being. But it’s Wendy, and I braced myself for this. I nod and lift my head slowly until our eyes meet in the mirror.

“Kinda.”

“What’s been stressing you out?” she asks. “Talk to Mama Wendy.”

I shrug before taking a quick glance at the others in the room. The woman next to me seems to be engrossed on her phone, typing away with her long pink nails as the stylist does her single braids. The other customers are reading magazines or singing along and swaying their hips to Alicia Keys’ “This Girl Is On Fire” blasting through the speakers.

“Okay, let’s just say an old flame recently came back into my life and it has thrown me off my game.”

Wendy raises her perfect penciled eyebrows and purses her lips, which have red lipstick that matches her skirt. “Oooh, girl. Don’t tell me it’s the same brother who broke your heart in college.”

Wow, this woman’s memory is good. I remember mentioning the story to Wendy during one of my appointments here a year ago, but I didn’t think it was a story that would stick. After all, which girl doesn’t have a heartbreak story to tell? The fact that she remembers only goes to show how much she cares.

“Wow, I can see why that has gotten you all riled up.” She continues before I can respond. My facial expression must have given her enough information to start ranting for five minutes about how men need to be more considerate of women’s emotions.

Being in her late thirties and unmarried was not a deliberate choice for Wendy. But after a failed engagement and two further heartbreaks, she has decided to take a break from men. I don’t blame her because I’m in the same boat.

“Do you think God brought this old flame back to restore your relationship?” the woman with the pink nails asks. Apparently, she wasn’t so engrossed in her phone after all.

I turn to her. “Erm, I don’t know about that. I can barely bring myself to have a conversation with him because I’m so angry. He hurt me too much, and it’d have to be a miracle for us to end up together again.”

The woman places her phone on the table and turns to face me squarely as the stylist starts another section of braids. “You know, I used to think the same thing about me and my fiance. Three years ago, our relationship was in a mess and we broke up. During the year when we were apart, we matured, we grew closer to God, and He brought us back together. We’re getting married next week.” She thrusts her hand forward, showing us the big, shiny rock on her finger and everyone around the room oohs and aahs.

“Wow, congratulations. I’m glad to know that it’s not all doom and gloom for everyone,” I say to her. “If you don’t mind sharing, why did you guys break up? What did he do?” I don’t mean to compare, but I’m curious to know what struggles other couples have.

The woman smiles to herself before answering. “He didn’t do anything. I did. I cheated on him…with his friend.”

Gasps travel around the room and my jaw drops.

“Yeah, I know. It was only a kiss…nothing else. But it was enough to break us up. It was the biggest mistake I could’ve ever made, and I never thought we could recover from it. God worked on me because I had a lot of issues to address—issues that were dating back to my childhood. But once I dealt with all that, Justin and I started talking again, and God restored our relationship. It was a miracle, and an answered prayer because I can’t imagine myself being with anyone else.”

“I’m so happy for you. I have to admit, that’s a very encouraging story.” I turn to look at Wendy, who gives me a nod to show that she agrees with me.

“Yeah, so don’t be too quick to discard your old flame .” The woman makes air quotes with her fingers as she says the last two words. “Ask God why He brought him back into your life. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, right?”

For the rest of my appointment, the woman’s question lingers in my mind, forcing me to ask myself and God serious questions about the purpose of all the recent events. I have to admit that as much as I dread being in the same room as Alex right now, I still want to know why he broke up with me.

Did God really bring him back so He could restore our relationship? Can I really get through all this pain in my heart and look at him the same way I used to in college? I believe in miracles, but I just don’t see how that can happen.

Olanna, my beloved. Trust Me.

Yes, Lord. I trust You. But show me the reason for all this. Please show me what Your plan is.

After deciding to give up the battle of wrestling with my thoughts, I let myself relax as Wendy delivers what she planned for my hair.

With my head leaned back over the sink, she soaks my loc strands for thirty minutes in detox solution. Then she washes with a residue-free shampoo and conditions with a natural oil. After gently massaging my scalp and removing all the buildup, she rinses out the strands and re-twists them, leaving my scalp feeling fresh and clean.

Being the caring person she is, Wendy gives me another detailed hair regime and recommends products that won’t irritate my scalp. “Thank you so much, Wendy. You’re seriously a lifesaver.”

“Aww, don’t flatter me, girl. Please, don’t be a stranger. Stick to our regime and I’ll see you in three months.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I hug her one last time before making my way out, feeling like a new woman.

The sun’s rays hit my face and I embrace them fully to get a dose of vitamin D as I walk to the parking lot. I swing my bag over my shoulder and walk past a car pulling out. There’s a man parked on the other side of the road, bending over, and reaching for something in his car.

As I’m about to cross the road, the sound of my name causes me to stop in my tracks. I slowly turn my head around and with the good sense of humor God has, the man who was bent over reaching for something in his car is no other than my old flame— Alex Yaw Obeng.