Maria
Hi Maria!
I don’t know if you remember me but we were at St George Beauty Academy together! How are you? I found your page when I was scrolling through online and stumbled on Mila Mills’ photos. I was like: “I know that girl!” You did such beautiful work on her, I’m so happy for you. I had a look at your website and your salon is gorgeous! I knew you’d be a success. I’m up in New York now, do you come here often? If you’re ever in town, let’s meet up! Would love to have a catch up with you. I’ve attached my details x Gena
I re-read the email as a slow smile spread. Of course I remembered Gena. She was from the next county over and wemet on our first day of beauty school. We’d partnered up a few times, styling each other's hair and trying make-up trends. She had me to thank for her cherry red hair, which she still maintained today. Gena was a natural blonde, so when I made an off-hand comment about how her coloring would suit red hair, she begged me to be the one to color her locks.
The school had been about an hour and a half drive for me; no easy feat with a car that died more than it started. But even if I had to beg, borrow, or start walking at 5 AM to catch public transport, I made it to each class; rain or shine. There were beauty schools closer to me, but St George's was the best in the area and highly rated. It also didn't hurt that the salon I was apprenticing in at the time supported a good chunk of my fees.
Gena moved to New York soon after graduating, while I chose to stay behind to take a Special FX Make-up and Prosthetic course just because I wanted to see how far my talents could take me. Not as far as Gena, it turned out. She started teaching at a highly regarded hair and make-up academy in New York. The last I saw, she’d worked hair and make-up on a sleeper Indie movie that had swept international awards.
Our seminar was coming up soon, so it was the perfect opportunity to meet up with her. I quickly replied, eager to lock her in before she had a change of heart. I knew Gena had likely forgotten about little old me while her light shone in New York, and I only came into her orbit when she spied my name attached to a well-known celebrity; but I wasn't too proud to accept her offer. I wanted to pick her brain.
I sat back with a satisfied sigh, and my eye fell on a line in her email: "I knew you'd be a success."
All my life, I drilled it into myself that having a romantic partner who adored me was the ultimate pinnacle of success. If I could find a guy who loved me despite my flaws; who was faithful; who didn't just see me as a sex toy; who genuinelywanted to spend time with me and could see their forever with me, well then I’d hit the jackpot. That was all I needed in life to consider myself a success.
The fact I had worked my ass off on my own to open my business,andmake it profitable was something I’d dismissed. If I could go back to old me and slap her upside the head, I would.
I opened our appointment log and noted the influx of bookings we’d received—thanks to Mila Mills' little post. We had brand inquiries, and our social media page was on the verge of becoming monetized. I wanted to be smart with our money, so I was taking my time on the offers, but I also knew that if I didn't catch this wave now, it could flatten at any moment.
My main priority was to take care of my team; making sure they were paid and charging clients adequately based on their level of service and experience. I was also looking to support our junior members in order for them to gain as much knowledge and experience as possible, both in studies and on-the-job practice. The best way to keep your employees loyal to you was to treat them well and not gatekeep.
As it stood, we were booked out solid for at least three months. Our social media page had grown to 10K and climbing; which was unbelievable to us. Mila Mills helped, of course. But one of our style videos where I consulted a girl who wanted her long, straight hair permed with a layered bob somehow ended up on the randomized algorithm. Our viewership and followers skyrocketed from there.
Stretching widely, I finally shut down my computer and started to pack up. Even though my romantic love life was on an extended hiatus right now, I was pretty upbeat about my personal relationships. I had a session with Dr. Anna yesterday. It was now getting to the stage where I enjoyed meeting with her. With Dr. Anna's professional approval, I moved my appointments to every two weeks, which I saw as a success.
I’d grown so much. I knew my worth. I had no problem using my voice against other people—at times lacking decorum; a habit I was attempting to soften—but I also felt comfortable using my voice against men who used and discarded me.
An old fling reached out recently, making small talk; which I knew would segue into asking me for a booty call. He wouldn't call it that, of course. He always appeared like he genuinely wanted to catch up. And I fell for it every time. Not this time, though. Once he got over his frustration that I wasn't picking up what he was putting down, he changed his tactic to coaxing seduction. I blocked him. And I felt damn good about it.
I was also coming to peace with what happened with my mom. There was a little compassion in regard to her addiction. She’d clearly gone through a traumatic experience of having her husband leave and her nice, suburban life blown to pieces. Once addiction held you in its grasp, it was hard to pry yourself out; especially when you had zero support and were surrounded by enablers.
But I still couldn't forgive her or my father for allowing me to be collateral damage. I couldn't envision myself as a mother, but the thought of a helpless child being cast aside, forgotten, and abused…it would not have happened on my watch. I was proud that I was breaking the generational trauma by not continuing to fall into the trap my mom did when my father left.
Instead, I concentrated on things I could control—my career and the friendships that I was cultivating. For the first time since I was fourteen, a male was at the bottom of things I needed in my life. Did I miss sex and intimacy? Of course. But I couldn't force that, and it wasn't my priority right now. Plus, I had a drawer full of toys.
After hopping over to the bookstore across the road to pick up the latest Karin Slaughter novel, I finally trudged home with a bag of Thai take-out under my arm. I was looking forward tocrashing on my couch with a glass of wine, my take-out, and probably watchingMy Cousin Vinnyfor the fortieth time.
My mind was already in relaxation mode by the time I reached my apartment; so when the door down the hall opened, and Simon stepped out into the hall, I was so surprised I froze. He was holding a trash bag, and I would've laughed at his comical double-take if I hadn't been so tense at seeing him. All thoughts of relaxing promptly tumbled out of my body.
I hadn't seen Simon or his fiance, Sofia, much. I figured they were spending all their time at his place in Helensville. I used to get anxious every time I came home, wondering if I would run into them. I was happy that my apartment was again my sanctuary and safe space, when it hadn’t been for so long. Gone were the days I would rush through the door, avoiding eye contact with anyone passing by. Progress.
"Ah…hey, Maria."
"Simon." I shifted my bags from one arm to the other in order to fetch my keys.
"Here, let me." He dropped his trash bag and rushed forward, taking my bags off my hands before I could say a word. His behavior surprised me. I would've bet my bottom dollar that Simon would be eager to scatter away by now.
Our hands brushed when I handed him my take-out bag, and I almost flinched at the contact, wondering if…
No spark. The air deflated out of me in relief.
No denying it, Simon was gorgeous. He still had the same build that he spent hours maintaining in the gym. He also had the same boyish, charming smile that could melt the panties off any straight woman. I couldn't fault his performance in bed; he was no selfish lover. But I realized that after knowing him on and off since I was seventeen, I didn'tknowhim.
I was surprised that his relationship with Sofia lasted and that they were now engaged. I'd always pictured Simon dragging outhis bachelor status until he became that creepy, old playboy who tried to fuck girls less than half his age. He'd obviously met the right girl for him.
I used to wistfully wonder in moments of weakness:"Why not me?"But I had to remind myself that it wouldn't matter if Simon or any other man wanted more from me; my past trauma would have held me back from forming healthy relationships. I hadn't been able to regulate my emotions, and sex was used as a bandage to fix something that had deeper cracks.
