“That’s right,” he says.
I play it cool and take a sip of my perfectly made coffee and say, “Let me give it some thought.”
And he smiles, because he can see through my bullshit just fine.
Grandma can stay silent no longer. “June, you can’t be serious. And Nash, you said you wanted some normality. This is not what normal people do. They date for an extended periodand get to know one another. You don’t just do things on a whim.”
“Haven’t lived with a girlfriend in years,” he says. “This is going to be great. Anyway, it’s getting too noisy to sleep here at night. What with your grandma sneaking into people’s rooms at all hours, getting up to who knows what.”
Charlie gives him a dour look and says a whole lot of nothing.
Meanwhile, Grandma clears her throat and avoids everyone’s gaze.
Huh.The way I could have happily lived without ever knowing those details. Just existed in a place of blissful ignorance. Someone needs to focus on finding peace and fulfilment at this family breakfast. And it just so happens to be me.
“How about we reach an agreement? We acknowledge everyone here is a consenting adult of legal age. And that we’re permitted to make our own decisions regardless of whether other people believe them to be a mistake or not. Stay out of our business, and we’ll stay out of yours.”
“Works for me.” Charlie turns his gaze to Grandma. “Aud?”
She sighs heavily. But she doesn’t disagree, which is good enough for me.
“Quick question, Junebug,” says Nash. “I’ve been thinking about it, and your grandma is right. We should do this properly. Want to go on a date with me tonight?”
“You want to take me on a date?”
“Very much so.”
“I would love that,” I say.
He smiles and I smile and well, at least there are two of us smiling. Nash and I are moving next door to have sex. And to spend quality time together, of course. This is going to be great.
CHAPTER TEN
Ican do this. I can make new friends.
Watching Nash build a different life has emboldened me. Also, my lopsided breakup bangs have finally annoyed me into booking an appointment at the hair salon. Getting a blowout for our date is also a good idea.
It’s easy to be outgoing when you’re under the influence. Vodka worked as social lubricant and loosened my tongue on my first outing to the local bar. I shared both my rage at my ex and thoughts and feelings about life with a variety of people. This was the night Nash arrived in town. Since then, however, I’ve tended to keep to myself. Spending time with Grandma and Nash and working.
With time and distance, I’m seeing my life in Phoenix differently. There’s a strong chance I’ve been slacking. Just coasting along, allowing my ex to organize things. What bar he wanted to be seen at and which restaurant he wanted to try. Who among his acquaintances we should spend time with this week. I allowed myself to be towed along in his wake instead of standing my ground and making my own choices.
That shit needed to stop. Sabrina said Rose and Carmen would also be there this morning, which is why I walk into the hair salon with a box of cookies from the bakery down the street.
“Here’s a woman who knows what she’s doing,” says Sabrina with a smile. She’s painting Rose the bartender’s hair brilliant shades of purple and orange. So cool.
“Only when it comes to carbs.”
Rose reaches for a chocolate chip. It’s a solid choice. There’s a reason why they’re a classic. And Carmen from the food truck goes for a coconut shortbread. She’s busy having herhair washed by an apprentice named Hiro. He’s a young Asian American man with the sides of his head shaved and his long hair tied back in a ponytail. Hiro and Sabrina both set aside oatmeal and raisin cookies for later. And lucky last is Bernadette, a petite woman with white skin, a very large purse on her lap, and her gray hair in rollers. She declines joining in the sugar rush with the rest of us and keeps reading her magazine.
Sabrina sings along to the country song playing over the speakers. It isn’t by Aaron Porter, which is a good thing. We don’t want anyone to be reminded of him.
I don’t know what it is about sitting in a salon chair and coming face to face with your reflection in the mirror. It’s some unfortunate magic. The way you seem to have suddenly not slept in a week and your formerly clean hair goes limp.
Sabrina appears behind my chair and meets my gaze in the mirror. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, fine,” I say.
“So you cut your own hair, huh? The last person I saw who tried to give themselves bangs was three.”
