ONE
SELENE
My hair wasa rat’s nest, my tits were out, and I had exactly twelve minutes until I was late for my virtual meeting with the maritime museum.
I glanced at the clock again.
Where the hell is Amanda?
Amanda—my less-than-reliable babysitter—was supposed to be taking my daughter, Winnie, for the morning. I had hoped an outing like the park or even an ice cream cone would be enough to occupy and tire out my precocious five-year-old.
A deep ache settled between my ribs. I hated how much I missed her, even when she was right upstairs.
I would have loved for that person to be me, but post-divorce, I had bills to pay and a to-do list that seemed to grow with every passing moment.
“Mama!” Winnie’s shriek flew down the stairs and slammed into my chest, right where my anxiety already lived.
I bristled and tamped down the urge to yell back up at her.
With a sigh I set down my coffee mug. I could always reheat it in the microwave later. I hastily buttoned my blouse as I walked upstairs.
“Win, how many times have I told you, we don’t yell at each other in this house. If you need something from me, you can walk downstairs and?—”
I stopped, staring at my five-year-old, who was standing on a step stool in the bathroom. Her hair was glistening wet and dripping with some kind of ... goo.
Please be hair gel, don’t be glue. Please be hair gel, don’t be glue.
Her sticky hand smeared across the bathroom vanity as she leaned in closer to look at herself with a pout. “I want my curls bouncy like Auntie Elodie’s.”
Sadly, while Winnie’s dark hair color did match my sister’s, she had gotten my texture—a sad half-flat, half-frizzy mix that had always made me envious of my sister’s effortless bounce.
I exhaled and offered my daughter a soft, understanding smile as I moved toward her. My hands cradled her face, squishing her cheeks and accentuating the pout across her lips. “I think your hair is perfect just the way it is.”
I swallowed the echoes of the voices from my childhood.You’d be so much prettier if you did something with that hair. Have you ever tried styling it like your sister?
I looked down at her sweet, glum face. “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “If you really want to try to coax a curl, we’ll bring in the professional.” I tried to glide a few fingertips into her hair, but the sticky mess made it impossible. “We can cook dinner for Auntie Elodie and Cal, and I bet she would be more than happy to give you a few pointers.”
Crisis averted, Winnie’s big brown eyes lit up. “And Levi too?”
I chuckled. “Levi too.” Levi was Cal’s fourteen-year-old son and, in Winnie’s eyes, the coolest kid to ever exist.
I stood behind my daughter, my hands on her shoulders. “What did you use so I know how to fix this?”
“Guh-ell,” she said proudly.
Winnie had been adamant about wanting to learn to read before starting kindergarten, so I knew immediately she meantgel. Her phonics was strong, but she was still learning.
I heaved a sigh of relief.Thank goodness.
I mentally calculated the extreme lack of time before my meeting.
Our eyes met in the mirror—mine tired, hers impossibly hopeful. “How about this?” I got to work brushing her hair back into a ponytail. “Today we can try a slicked-back pony.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Very chic.”
Winnie eyed herself in the mirror as though she wasn’t entirely convinced, then broke into a wide, gap-toothed grin that made my heart twist.
Crisis 1 of 876 averted. Check.
Once her hair was sufficiently slicked back, I gave her shoulders one more loving squeeze. “Time to go. Amanda should be here any minute, and I have a work call.”
