I stare down at the orange-tinged ends of my brown hair. I watched a few videos online about bleaching your hair and thought I had it in the bag. After all, I dyed my hair black a few times when I was a teenager. How hard could bleach be?
Big oops.
“I should’ve gone to a hair salon for this.”
I carefully move to grab the hot pink dye, genuinely afraid my hair might spontaneously fall out of my head if I make any sudden movements. Logically, I know I didn’t touch my roots, so the worst-case scenario is the bottom two inches snapping off, but I’m in a state of general panic over potentially destroying my hair. Logic has no room in this tiny ensuite.
“Nah.” Blair flips through my latest romance read. “It’s mandatory for post-breakup hair changes to be done at home.”
“This has nothing to do with Colt,” I snap unintentionally.
“Sure.” The flipping of pages stops; she must’ve located a sex scene. “Remember when you tried to dye your hair brightred after a breakup with Alex, and it turned the ugliest orange?”
Oh, I remember, all right. My mom dragged me to the salon—not to fix it, but to cover it with the mousiest brown imaginable.
“Yeah…” I scrunch my nose at my reflection in the mirror. “Mom acted like I’d committed some horrible sin. As if teenagers don’t do that type of thing all the time.”
“God, she was dramatic.”
“I think that was the first time I realized being myself wasn’t really…allowedin their house. I was experimenting—figuring out who I was—and she immediately cut me down because of it.” I glance at my sister. “If she hadn’t taken me to dye it brown again, I’m sure all the assholes in town would’ve talked shit about my hair. But…”
I give her a limp shrug.
“People are assholes.” Blair tosses the book down. “But you shouldn’t have gotten that from our parents. For what it’s worth, I thought you were so badass for always standing up to them back then.”
“I wasn’t even trying to be a badass. I guess…I wanted to feel like me. But it was clear I couldn’t be myself and be part of the family.”
“I’m sorry if I ever contributed to that feeling.” My older sister’s gaze meets mine, and we share a melancholic smile.
“You didn’t. At least…not intentionally. It wasn’t your fault Mom and Dad constantly compared us.”
“I felt that, too.” She chews at her lip. “I love you, sis.”
“Love you, B. I wish I’d had the chance to talk things out with her before…. Now my focus is on Jonas. Making sure me and him don’t end up in the same spot twenty years from now.” I gesture at my messy hair. “Anyway,all that is to say…this isn’t because of Colt. It’s about wanting to show Jonas that we don’t give a shit about what anyone thinks. That he’s free to figure out who he is, and I won’t love him any less.”
Maybe it is alittle bitabout Colt. Not because I lost him, but because of what I gained from having him in our lives—his insistence that it’s okay to take up space, be yourself, and not give a shit what anybody thinks about that. The way he never once made me feel like I was too much or not enough.
“Some kid at school has been calling him and his friend gay. And despitemanytalks about how that’s not an insult, and it doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t, he’s still in his head over the idea of people talking about him.” I sigh and stir my pink concoction around in its white plastic bowl, leaning my hip against the counter. “I know that comes from me and my insecurities. It’s been a decade since I was fodder for any exciting gossip, but I’m still paranoid about what people are saying.”
“I understand the fear. Nobody has anything better to do in this town besides gossip.”
“I want Jonas to be comfortable being himself—whoever that is. I’m trying to lead by example.”
She nods. “Walking outside looking like the Barbie we used to give makeovers to is a great start.”
I cackle, remembering the janky-looking Barbie we had with face tattoos and a skullet. “Don’t you fucking dare put that evil on me. If you see me take scissors to this, tackle me.”
“I promise to stop you before you do anything that’s going to make Colt turn and run.”
“Too late.” I twirl half of my hair around my fingers, twisting it into a bird’s nest of brunette and peach-colored strands on top of my head, and secure it with a clip. “He already turned and ran.”
Blair tosses my paperback down on the bed and watches as I painstakingly paint the tips of my hair with dye. My bleach-stained gray shirt is getting covered in pink. As is my neck, and somehow there’s already a dollop of hot pink stainon my cheek. I really should’ve gone to a salon. Especially since we’re a week away from Blair and Denny’s impromptu wedding.
“Spending time with Jonas every weekend, mentoring him with 4-H stuff, and going to a fundraiser event with you guys isn’t running. Remember a few months ago when you told me you thought Denver wouldn’t hurt me, and I should give him a chance?” She holds up her left hand, giving me afuck youwith her ring finger. “I think, given the chance, Colt won’t hurt you.”
I stare at myself in the mirror, smoothing my unstained hand over my forever barren stomach. “He wants kids, Blair.”
“Did he tell you himself that it’s a dealbreaker? Because his actions are kind of showing the opposite. Maybe he’s not as invested in the idea of having a bunch of kids running around as you think.”
