Tony had been cutting Ethan’s hair since he was seven, and Ethan trusted him completely, which is no small thing for a kid who doesn’t warm up to people fast. We walked in a little before ten, and Tony was still finishing another customer, snipping around the man’s ears with that careful little frown he gets.
Ethan flopped into one of the waiting chairs and immediately announced, “Mom, I’m starving. I’m literally going to die.”
“You had two waffles an hour ago.”
“That was forever ago.”
There was another barber in the shop that morning, one I hadn’t seen before. Younger than Tony, maybe thirty, with a friendly open face and forearms covered in tattoos. He was standing by an empty chair, and he laughed at Ethan’s dramatics.“I can take him if you want,” he said. “Get him out of here before he starves to death.”
I hesitated. I don’t hand my kid over to strangers as a rule.
Tony must have caught it, because he glanced over his shoulder. “He’s good, Megan. I promise. That’s Marcus. He’s been helping me out a few weeks now.”
Ethan shrugged at me, which in nine-year-old means I don’t care, can we just go, so I nodded.
