Damn this fog. There hadn’t been an available taxi for blocks. She’d finally ended up just walking the three-quarters of a mile from Noble Towers to the restaurant. Her feet were killing her after a long day’s work and rushing in heels. To make matters worse, her hair would be a disaster from the humidity. She imagined herself at ten or eleven years old and her grandmother standing over her, wielding a comb and a flatiron like a warrior’s weapons. “You got this hair from your mother,” Grandmamma would say, her mouth grim as she dove into her straightening task. Lin had been left in little doubt as to what her grandmother thought of the potential threat of her mother’s rebellious streak surfacing in Lin herself. According to Grandmamma, hair was something to be conquered and refined by smoothing and polish, just like everything else in life. Lin plunged through the revolving doors of the restaurant and paused in the empty foyer, straining to calm her breathing and her throbbing heart.
