But it’s easier when it’s not me. “Just because it makes sense doesn’t mean it’s easy to accept,” I say. “Penelope says I should take stock of everything in my life that I’m grateful for. Focus on that to counterbalance what work can’t provide.”
As the wet hair falls away, I remember strolling the boulevard with Astrid, fresh spring air in my lungs, waking up a little more with each breath.
“Therapists usually know what they’re talking about,” Emma says, her tone soft and warm. When we first met, stuck in the same BS workshop for the day, I was fascinated by her— a little distant, a little spiky, downright gorgeous— but in minutes, I realized how much more there was to her. A tongue as sharp as her mind, and underneath it all, a big, squishy heart. “Let me grab my phone,” and I hear her rummaging around in her bag. “Okay, let’s make a list.”
“Don’t ever change,” I laugh, but I take a deep breath and don’t overthink it. “Top of the list is you, obviously, and Fil. Mom and Ciara, definitely.” Arguments come and go, but we’ve stuck together this long. We’ll get through this too. “I’m grateful for my body,” I add. “This flesh sack puts up with a lot.” Including that awful year of college where I subsisted on diet soda and no sleep. “But it’s also strong as fuck?—”
“And beautiful,” Emma adds.
“That goes without saying.” I’m determined to love this body in every way I can, and while I can’t complete a pull-up to save my life, my ass is flat-out dangerous, and I love it.
“I’m going to go ahead and addbrave,creative, anda wonderful friend, and don’t even think of arguing, because they are facts, not opinions.”
Thankfully my eyes are already closed, because it’s easier to hold back the tears. Penelope was right. This is exactly what I needed. I might have to time my showers to keep my bills down and track grocery sales to make every cent count, but I am rich with the parts of life that outweigh money.
“Do you think I should learn to crochet?” Maybe learning something new will help. Plus, Bruno in 37F is expecting his first grandchild soon, and baby booties can’t be that hard, right?
“I think you can do anything you put your mind to,” Emma says, proving she’s the human equivalent of a sugar cookie.
My foot taps in rhythm with Jen’s cuts.Snip, snip, snip.
Nonna used to warn me against impatience. She hated teaching me to make pasta from scratch, because I’d hover over the pot, continuously checking for al dente too soon. “Trust the wait,” she’d say.
I still can’t. I want to find what I’m searching for, and I want to do it as soon as possible. Why put off happiness? Take it now, because we never know how long we have to enjoy it.
Except rushing the pasta before it was fully cooked always made it take twice as long, and it never once tasted as good as hers.
I don’t plan to keep my eyes closed, but by the time Jen is tapping my shoulder and telling me she’s finished, it’s as though no time has passed.
My heart stutters when I finally open my eyes, and I blink back hot tears.
“There you are,” Jen says, fluffing the ends of my now chin-length waves.
Yes. There I am.
For a second, all I can do is blink at my own reflection. It’s been so long since I’ve seen myself like this— short wild hair, full of volume and life.
Huh. I’d forgotten I looked like this.
Warmth floods my veins. It’s like coming home.
My smile arrives on a fresh wave of happiness. I’m shocked I haven’t floated away.
This is me. Suddenly the shaky ground I’ve been teetering on solidifies under me, a brick laid in place, secure. Ready for more.
I can almost see the steel set in my own eyes. This is act one. Now I just have to figure out the rest.
“Oh, Ivy. You’re radiant. More so than usual. I can’t believe I’ve never seen you without straight hair before.”
Emma gives the kind of compliments that warm like the summer sun, forever soaking themselves into my skin and etching their presence on my heart like a love note on a tree.
Jen’s cut is so precise I can’t even hide my blush under the sweep of my hair anymore.
I can’t even let myself imagine what Lincoln’s reaction will be, otherwise I will melt into a puddle so large they could use me to power wash the floor.
“I love it,” I manage through a giggle. I can’t help it. The happiness is bubbling up in me like a kid blowing into a milkshake. “It’s perfect.”
“Your boyfriend’s going to love it,” Jen jokes as I pay, and though I’m smiling, I shake my head.
