Is it weird that we have cats in the salon? Yes. But they’re part of our family here and part of the contract our clients have to sign. Literally. I believe it says something like, “This salon is co-managed by three emotionally complex felines. Enter at your own risk.”
They’re well cared for, too. Each night, they’re tucked into the cozy backroom just for them, and if the salon ever closes for an extended period of time, one of us takes them home like the pampered royalty they are.
“Definitely radiant,” Piper agrees, taking another bite of her bar. “Plus, your boobs look phenomenal. Bet Patton’s having a field day with those.”
I roll my eyes at her wagging brow before moving around my suite, fluffing throw pillows unnecessarily. “He’s not because I haven’t seen him yet.”
I straighten the magazines on the small table, even though they haven’t been touched since I last straightened them three hours ago.
Some people journal; others scream into pillows. Me? I organize things with the precision of a museum curator and the nervous energy of a squirrel on espresso.
Basically, when things feel like they’re out of control, I like to keep my hands busy and pretend everything is fine.
But everything isnotfine. Not even kinda.
I don’t need to look at my sister and best friend to know they just exchanged a glance. We’ve been slammed with clients and conflicting schedules. Ever since I took the test at Dad’s house four days ago, I really haven’t had a chance to speak to either of them, aside from a couple of texts they both sent me asking how I was feeling.
I suppose my vague, “I’m fine,” replies are now catching up to me, and they’ve staged this intervention between their appointments.
“Haven’t seen him because he’s out of town or because you’re avoiding him?” Sarina asks, leaning against the doorway with crossed arms.
Have I mentioned how annoying it is to have people who know you this well?
“Look, I just need a minute, okay?”
And maybe another minute to Google“what to expect when you weren’t expecting.”
I pull a broom from the hidden area behind a tall shelf and start to sweep nonexistent hair into the built-in suction-thingy on the floor.
“I need a little time to process the fact that there’s a human growing inside me,again.”
Beaver chooses that moment to unfreeze himself and drop a ring at my feet. I pick it up to take a closer look. “Oh, my God,Beaver. This is someone’s wedding ring. He’s probably looking for it.”
I place it in Sarina’s outstretched hand. She’s dealt with this kind of thing before with my cat and will figure out how to get it to its rightful owner.
“Seriously, your cat is going to get himself on the FBI’s Most Wanted list,” Piper says, watching Beaver sit back on his haunches, looking proud of himself.
I pinch my brows at my mischievous but adorable cat, hoping to look admonishing. “Buddy, you can’t go around robbing people! This is a respectable establishment.”
Picking him up, I put him back in the cat tree to hang out with Snatch before going back to the task of sweeping my already-clean room.
Dropping the empty protein bar wrapper into a nearby garbage bin, Piper rises from her chair, taking the broom from my hands. “Babe, we know you have a lot to process. And knowing you, you’re scared shitless but too stubborn to admit it.”
“It’s okay to admit you’re scared, Neesh,” my sister says, walking inside and pulling my hand in hers. “The way you always hold yourself together is admirable, but you don’t have to with us. I can imagine what you’re thinking, given what happened before . . .”
My shoulders deflate like the rest of my body as they pull me into an embrace I didn’t think I needed.
These two have seen me at my worst, but I also hate burdening them—or anyone—with my problems. Between Piper becoming a new mom, and Sarina still in the throes of last-minute wedding planning, they shouldn’t have to worry about me.
“I just . . .” I pad over to the styling chair Piper had vacated, sinking into it with a sigh. “Since the moment I found out, it’slike I’m bracing for impact at every turn. Like I’m expecting to wake up cramping, or go to the bathroom and see blood, or God, feel that soul-deep emptiness that I felt when . . .”
I don’t finish the rest of my sentence, but I don’t have to. They’re identical expressions of empathy and sorrow tell me they understand.
“I literally thought this was never going to be in the cards for me again,” I whisper. “And I’d made peace with that. But now that it’s happening, I feel like I’m waiting for my body to betray me. For this hope to be crushed again before I’ve even had a chance to process everything.”
Piper leans on the broomstick clutched in her hands. “I know you’re scared, honey, but it’s not a bad thing to hope again. Hope isn’t the enemy here, fear is.”
“Hope didn’t get me too far the first two times,” I retort, my mind shoving away images of bloodied pajamas and the fluorescent lights of the ER.
