“Change is hard,” Angie says. “But you look beautiful. And … I don’t say this often, but it’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it will grow out and we can do something different next time.”
“Nope,” Hazel says, standing. “I love it.” She takes out her phone, taps it on Angie’s to pay her, and turns to leave.
“See you next time,” Angie says at the same time as Hazel passes by me, saying, “Hi, EJ.”
I nod at Hazel. “Your hair looks nice.”
She smiles softly, thanking me, and then she walks out the door.
“Did you need something else, EJ?” Laura asks me.
“No. Um …” I stare at Angie and she stares back, popping a hand on her hip.
This burning sensation fills my throat, spreading into my chest. Angie’s so beautiful—ten times more when she’s just a little irritated at me. Not that I want to make Angie mad. I’d like to make her happy—if she’d let me.
I clear my throat. “I just wanted to check on you.”
“We’re good,” Laura says. “Thanks, EJ.”
“Okay. Yeah. Well, have a good night,” I say, turning and practically shaking my head at myself for chickening out and for coming. Both.
I shouldn’t have come. And, since I did, I should have been more … something. Less tongue-tied, that’s for sure.
Angie starts a conversation with Laura when I’m a few steps from the door. I slow my walk to listen.
“I don’t know what I’m going to feed the boys tonight. Mom’s got Bunco, so I’m in charge of pulling supper together.I’ll be running home and straight out the door to the festival meeting.”
Laura says, “No one ever died of eating cereal for dinner. At least not that I’ve heard of.”
Angie laughs softly. That laugh.
I stall in front of the door, my hand on the knob.
Angie sighs and says, “They might die if it becomes a habit. I don’t know what I was thinking, volunteering this year.”
“You were thinking with your heart, as usual,” Laura says.
I pull the door open. Laura’s right. No one has a bigger, more generous heart than Angie.
As I’m stepping out of the salon, the last thing I hear is Laura saying, “And you said you felt like you could swing it now that the twins are four.”
I walk to my truck, a plan forming. It’s harmless. Anyone around here would do the same thing.
I drive to Mad River Burgers, put in an order for three cheeseburgers, fries, and a side of orange wedges. Then, because I don’t even know if the boys like burgers, I ask them to throw in some fried chicken and sides of macaroni and coleslaw. Then I jump back in my truck and drive back to the Dippity Do. My knee bounces the whole drive.
I hop out of the truck and grab the food. The bag’s the size of a grocery bag. This time when I walk into the salon, I’m not hesitant. I step right up to Angie’s station.
She’s squatting low, sweeping hair cuttings into a dustpan.
Laura’s not at her station. The last customers have all left. We’re alone—at least for the moment.
Angie looks up at me from where she’s squatting next to her chair.
I hold the bag out with one hand.
Angie’s face scrunches up, brows drawing in, eyes narrowing in confusion.
“I brought you dinner. For the boys.”
