We didn’t do anything wrong.
But…
My stomach rolls and my mouth waters dangerously.
I pause, my eyes on the trash can in the corner of the room as the nausea almost gets the better of me.
It’s always the same when I’m stressed and anxious. And that’s all it is.
But it’s not, the all-knowing little voice in my head says.
Once I’ve got a handle on myself, I grab my purse, throw it over my shoulder, and rip the office door open.
The scent of bleach hits me along with the sweet floral scent of the air fresheners Sienna bought recently, making me want to run back to the trash can. But I take a deep breath, hold my head high, and walk through the salon.
Lessy is busy at the basin, washing her client's hair; Savvy is deep in conversation as she does an intricate set of nails, and Sienna is sitting behind the reception desk, working on social media content while she waits for her next client.
“I need to cancel my appointments this afternoon,” I say, stepping up to the desk.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
She scans my face, looking for the answer.
“Another migraine?” she asks, incorrectly guessing why I probably look like a train wreck.
“Yeah.” It’s not entirely a lie. My head does hurt—it has for days. But it’s not a migraine. I haven’t had one of those in a while, but I can’t lie, I’m pretty sure I’m due one. They’re worse when I’m stressed, and right now, I’m just about as stressed as one person can get. I’m not about to tell her that, though.
The little bit of denial that still lives within me allows me to believe that I’m wrong, that I’m not hiding anything from her.
“I’m gonna go home and go to bed. You can hold down the fort here, right?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll call your clients and get it sorted. Go,” she says, shooing me away. “I’ve got everything covered here. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod as a lump of emotion crawls up my throat.
Sienna is too good to me. She has no idea how much her friendship and support have meant to me over the last few years. But, honestly, I’m not sure I could have done it all without her.
Owning my own salon has been a dream of mine since I was a little girl, and without her, I don’t think it would have happened.
“Thanks, Si. I owe you.”
“Nope. Never. Now go. Rest.”
I nod as I back away from her, afraid she’ll be able to tell that I’m lying to her if I stand here too long.
With my head lowered, I hurry out of the salon and down the street to my car.
As I pass the store, I consider going in and getting what I need. But the fear of being seen by a client stops me.
Instead, I climb into my car and head in the direction of one a little closer to home.
My heart is in my throat as I walk down the aisle I need, my hands trembling and my stomach constantly rolling.
I’m almost twenty-five, and this is the first time in my life I’ve had to think about this. It’s a fact I was very happy about until I discovered that I have no idea what I’m buying. There are too many options. All of them claim to be the best and give the fastest, most reliable results. But surely, they can’t all be.
All I know is that I shouldn’t go for the cheapest. I have no idea if the saying “you get what you pay for” works in this department, but I’m not willing to be a test dummy for it.
Voices hit my ears from the other end of the aisle, and I panic.
