monica's hair is thick and wet between his coarse fingers, blessedly steady thanks to the duopa implant his doctor had talked him into a month ago. a barber with a shaky hand is as good as a surgeon with a shaky hand.
his scissor work at the ends of her hair is quick and neat as it is precise. most of the boys who circulate through the place keep their hair buzzed in fades, short on top. in fact, a girl hasn't sat in this chair since rosie's feet couldn't touch the floor, but that's neither here nor there.
"why aren't you married?"
santiago catches her glance in the mirror, unused to such forwardness. the silence is made more pregnant by the pause of his scissor work and the closed barbershop around them. his apprentice's spotify playlist had left the shop with him, leaving them with a soundtrack of the old vents and the sound of passersby on the street outside.
his gaze flicks from monica's to the worn picture of sarai holding rosie, fresh and new. most notably, the man behind the camera had not been santiago.
"well, i'd be bullshitting you if i said i didn't want it," santiago admits, because he appreciates monica's candor and wants to reciprocate it in some way. bartering needs to make a comeback somehow, after all. "but—things just didn't work out that way. i've made my peace with it."
he resumes trimming her hair, happy to divert.
"luckily for you, that shit ain't an expectation. not anymore."
pachinko dialogue prompts. // @defloweir
