“Absolutely.” He grins and does a little hand clap. “I’ll get my shears.” He looks like a kid who’s been offered a pile of toys. All excited. For the first time since Lucy moved away I feel like maybe I’ve met someone who could be a friend. Even Luce was more of a big sister than a buddy. I’m afraid to get hopeful, but I feel myself getting there anyway.
Even if it’s only for today, I’d kill for someone to laugh with and talk to about normal things. Things that don’t hurt.
“What the hell,” I say. “Let’s go whack off my hair.”
He’s back before I can reconsider, waving a wicked-looking pair of scissors, the ones with the tiny finger holes and the long blades. I only flinch a little.
They’re not the same, the scissors. It’s only that I have a vivid memory. Even after what felt like a billion years of therapy, things like scissors or the song that was playing on Mom’s car radio the day I found her can make me stop short.
Scissors can be such useful objects, but one day they were the reason my life turned upside-down. And it never felt right again.
When tears sting my eyes I have to remind myself that this trip is about proving that I am mature enough to take care of myself. Crying on a stranger in a hotel room doesn’t scream “grown up,” even if he has offered to cut my hair. Maybe especially then?
But then AJ is wiggling in his skinny jeans, humming the latest boy-band single. “This is gonna be fun,” he says as he drapes a towel around my shoulders.
He’s right. This is supposed to be fun.
I suck in a breath and blink back the memory of Freddie, the guy who tried to save me, in that pool of blood. The giant pair of office scissors next to his body that I was afraid to touch. The burning fear, the aloneness... At least for now, I’m not alone. Not entirely. “Maybe I could change the color, too.” My voice sounds thin and scratchy. I’m trying to think of anything else but the worst day of my life.
“With that olive skin tone? No way. You’ve got a healthy head of gorgeous hair. Let’s not mess it up with chemicals. Trust me. Lemme do this cut, you’ll have the boys falling all over themselves to get at you.”
I take a deep breath. I know I’m supposed to want something like that, but all I want is to feel safe. Or like myself, whoever that really is. I’ve tossed out a lot of my baggage—at least I’d like to think so—but I know deep down I’m still kind of a hot mess. Nobody wants to take on all of me.
“I’d settle for being able to style it in under five minutes.” I push my mouth into a half smile as we stand there looking in my bathroom mirror, regarding each other with raised eyebrows. I do think this AJ kid may have friend potential, but that doesn’t mean I want to sob all over him while he cuts my hair.
“I can do that for you.” He grins and rubs his hands together. “This is so great. I love Mrs. Choi, but I’ll take cutting hair over odd jobs around the Inn any day. I’m gonna start. You ready? Wanna close your eyes?”
“I think I can handle it.” Those six words may be the most sure I’ve been of anything since Mom’s funeral. Doesn’t say much, but I suppose it’s something.
He laughs at my answer, so I laugh, too. I try to use humor sometimes to cover my issues, but I don’t for-real laugh much at all. Boy, it feels good.
Maybe if I can handle a haircut, I can handle the rest of this unplanned stop in my life, after all.
Jake
I had her number on the shop paperwork. I could have, should have, left a message on her voicemail and called it good. So she’s in a hurry to get out of town. She’s been here a few days already. What’s a couple days more?
Not my problem.
She’s got my jacket, which is what I tell myself is the reason I’m stopping by her motel room personally after work. I could wait until the next day. Except something in me had to stop. Maybe it was the memory of her smile and the cute-looking flour handprint stuck in my head all day. Or I just wanted to do the right thing and get her the info about her damn car. Yeah.
I knock on her door and hear laughter inside. I question myself a second, third, fourth... twentieth time. This girl’s young, but she’s no kid. Found a civics textbook inside her car and a visor from Pritchard U. Clearly, she’s at least old enough to be hitting the books, maybe even old enough to have done a keg stand or two. I don’t need to be here checking up to see that she’s okay.
Except I saved her ass once. I’d like to at least be sure it gets back out of town safely.
I knock against my better judgment. What I have to say won’t take long, and I should’ve said it already. Once I do, I can get home and change for work at the bar.