I don’t really care if Brooke ever cuts my hair again. The single time she did so—when we were just barely out of high school—will stick with me like a wild, fever dream for the rest of my life. The touch of her fingertips innocently combing through my hair often replays in vivid detail. The chills running down my spine. The sudden breath of space between our lips, giving me hope that we were finally on the brink of something big—something forever—followed by the way she gasped when I captured her mouth with mine, and how that all hit my gut with a resounding clarity. Even at eighteen, when I couldn’t clearly foresee what I wanted for my life outside of baseball, I knew I wanted Brooke. And for the fleeting moment she let her carefully built walls waiver, I believed she’d be mine. Only to have those hopes crushed when she jerked back and stepped away, saying that if we wanted to maintain our friendship, we could never let it happen again.
Naive and optimistic, I thought she’d eventually change her mind. But one of the things I love most about Brooke is the very trait that’s doomed me to the friendzone forever. She’s formidable in her determination. Once that beautiful mind ofhers stubbornly sets on something, it’s impossible to change it, and I respect her too much to press the matter.
I’d rather be in her life as her friend than be forced to a colorless life without her.
But it’s a blatant lie to say I’ve never fantasized about having her hands in my hair in entirely different ways. Ways that are decidedly not friendly.
Brooke’s“Never”encompasses so much more than a simple haircut. It’s aperiodat the end of a run-on sentence. One I realize I’ve been praying would eventually become a favorite book I’d never have to put down. The problem is, I’m writing an epic, novel-length, love story with my best friend, while she’s busy penning a short rule book to keep us in a place that makes her feel safest. There’s little Brooke and I don’t share with each other, so I recognize this boundary as her last line of defense against the bond tying us together. One she’s obviously afraid of.
Being her safe place in life—her person—has been one of my greatest accomplishments, but I wishsafetymeant I could call her mine.
In every way.
So Brooke’s intimacy theory definitely has some merit, because as much as I’d love a private appointment with my best friend, I’ve been almost content with the way things have been. Though, right now, the thought of her cutting and styling my teammates’, brother’s, dad’s, and friend’s hair, when she refuses to touch mine, makes me want to lube up all their heads with Nair while they sleep, then set up residence in her chair until she can’t refuse me.
Cut my hair, woman… and while you’re at it, marry me.
When I swing the door to Petals open more aggressively than I intend, bringing in a gust of spring wind with me, both my siblings’ heads pop up at attention. It smells like a mixture of wildflowers and my childhood, with the additional sweet aromaand eclectic playlist of my sister-in-law’s pretzel shop, Knotty & Nice, drifting in from next door. Winnie is perched on the wooden countertop while Jack sorts through buckets of flowers, seeming to ignore our baby sister’s presence.
“Oh, good! You’re here!” Winnie announces, kicking her feet and clapping her hands from her favorite spot in the shop. It’s a strange comfort to see them both in this room that holds so many memories for our family. When she was too small to climb up herself, our late grandfather would often sit Winnie on that same counter while he worked. Although Petals belongs to Jack now, that spot is hers and hers alone.
“Jacky’s in a mood,” she says, rolling her eyes with a loony-bin smile on her face.
Our brother grumbles under his breath and slams a drawer shut, nodding his head in hello.
It’s obvious they’ve been at this for a while.
“Jacky has a headache… and a pest on his counter all afternoon.” Jack swats a towel at Winnie, only earning a bout of her laughter, but I jump into concern mode.
My brother suffers from debilitating migraines after a freak accident and a traumatic brain injury four years ago. Though he has more good days than bad, lately, stress and any number of factors can exacerbate those symptoms. And when they do come along, the memories of what it was like to watch my formidable big brother nearly lose himself completely to an unprecedented challenge resurface. I’ll do just about anything to fight any future battles alongside him so that he knows he’ll never be alone in them again.
“You okay, bro? You need anything?” I step further into the shop and search his face for the telltale signs of pain I’ve grown accustomed to for years. His beard is a little longer than usual and dark circles rim his eyes, but his color looks good, and he seems strong otherwise. He must see my concern, because Jack’seyes soften before he smiles slightly and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m alright, Owen. The baby just hasn’t been sleeping this week, and I’ve been giving Dinah breaks so she can rest. I just need a nap. Which is why Win is here and Danger is coming in later to help.” He pulls me in for a hug, a simple gesture but one I missed during his complicated recovery. “Everything’s alright… especially now that I’m not alone with the loudest member of our family.”
“First of all, you love me here with you. I’m darling. Everyone thinks so. And Daniel and I are the reason you get your nap this afternoon, mister. Don’t you forget it.” She puckers her lips and smacks a kiss at the back of Jack’s shaking head. “So, I may be the loudest, but I’m definitely your favorite sibling. The prettiest, for sure.”
He only snickers, then studies me. “I don’t know, Win. Owen’s awfully pretty today. Did you do something different?” Tilting his head to change perspective, he narrows his eyes. “You get a new shirt?”
Winnie jumps off the counter and skips over to give me a proper hello, hugging me quickly. And then, without warning, she shoves her hands through my hair, scruffing it up. “Could you be more of a dude, Jacky? It’s his hair.” She smiles up at me, an all-knowing smirk lifting the side of her face, making her look a whole lot like our Gram. “Did Brooke finally give you a haircut?”
Jack’s headache must not be too bad, after all, because his tired eyes light with mirth at the mention of my best friend. “Yeah, Owen… Did you finally break her down and tell her—”
I narrow my eyes at Jack while swatting away Winnie’s hands. “I don’t know why I bothered coming here. Is Dinah next door? She and Lola aremyfavorite members of the family.”
Winnie laughs, totally unphased. “Liar.”
“Brat,” I rebut, because I’m nothing if not mature.
“Bet you stared at Brooke in the mirror like a long-lost puppy dog the entire time her mama cut your hair.”
“Bet you’re the third wheel to the date Danger will definitely bring to the shop tonight tohelp.” Winnie’s best friend, Danger—or Daniel, as she calls him—is a serial dater. Though I suspect his dating habits have more to do with his parents’ expectations, and less with who he’s actually interested in. I get the feeling it annoys my little sister to compete with any of them for his attention.
They’ve been friends since she could toddle off after him, and while I should be more empathetic to her plight, I’m finding it particularly difficult to take that impulse seriously at the moment. Dressed in floral Doc Martins, jean shorts, and a “Goonies Never Say Die” T-shirt, she looks like she’s either preparing to scratch my eyes out like a rabid, tattooed raccoon with painted, sparkled claws or starting her life as the lead singer in a ‘90s punk rock girl band.
“Alright, alright, you two… No more Brooke talk. How you pine for your best friend isn’t our business,” Jack says facetiously in a way I’ll only accept from him. Growing serious, he returns his attention to sifting through flowers in the upright buckets. “You ready for the game tonight? Your shoulder okay?”
“Yes, Jackson. I’m fine. Shoulder’s fine. Like always.” I’m embarrassed at the defensive clip in my voice, so I grab a pink peony from one of the buckets and hold it out to my brother in a weird peace offering. A language we all understand, having grown up in this shop. “This will look good in that grouping.”
