Page 50 of Autumn on My Mind

“No,” she says absently, tugging a dress off its hanger. “That won’t work, sweetheart. I need you to come with me today.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she turns to me again, reaching for her towel turban. Her expression is tight and frantic as she gives a tug, and almost in slow motion, the towel falls to the floor⁠—

Revealing a cascade of horrible, brassy, orange-blonde hair.

Alvina does not see Daryl for two whole days. It is an October miracle—albeit a miracle we are a little concerned about.

“So his hair is totally normal?” I say in disbelief, resting against a scratchy bale of hay at the top of the hay bale mountain.

Dominic’s confirmation is accompanied by a sigh when it filters down the line. “I checked today in between jobs. His hair isn’t bleached at all.”

It’s Friday evening, and I am wiped out from hosting an elementary school field trip at Bugelbach’s. Despite my exhaustion, though, my grip tightens on my phone. I extend my legs, wiggling them to get the blood flowing, because I’ve been up here for a while. There’s enough room on this top platform for several people, but I’m the only one now that Bugelbach’s has closed for the day.

“Well, Alvina stayed inside at Nathan’s all day yesterday. But as of noonish today, her hair should be on its way back to normal,” I say. “She tried to get me to skip work yesterday so I could babysit her.”

The silence from Dom reminds me how strange this will have sounded.

“I just meant—she likes to be taken care of when she’s upset,” I say, but my voice is hesitant, and the evening breeze feels suddenly chilly against my heating cheeks. “Sorry, it’s hard to explain.”

My laugh is embarrassed and awkward, but Dominic’s isn’t. The gentle huff of amusement that finds me is soft but natural, and something relaxes inside of me—something I didn’t realize was painfully tense.

“You don’t need to explain,” he says. “So what next?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t have anything to say; I’m too surprised.

We’ve had that conversation before, the conversation about weird things my mother does. But it’s never gone so smoothly. Dominic never moved on when I struggled to find words; he wanted to understand what she was like, or why I humored her.

And every time I failed to clarify, I died a little inside, a combination of humiliation and embarrassment and defensiveness I couldn’t explain.

“Berkeley?”

I startle at his voice intruding on my thoughts.

“Yes,” I say automatically. I clear my throat past the inexplicable lump trying to grow there, because it is absolutely ridiculous to be tearing up over something like this. Completely insane, and uncalled for, and unwanted. So I clear my throat again, more aggressively this time, and then take a deep breath. “Yes,” I repeat.

“Next steps. Let’s figure them out.”

“Right. Okay. Good.”

“I think we can assume they’ll go back to being attached at the hip.”

“Better than attached at the lip,” I say absently.

Dominic lets out a snort of laughter, and I wince when I realize what I’ve said.

“Unfortunately,” Dom says, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were attached at both the hip and the lip.”

“Me either.” I tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear. “Do they have plans for tonight?”

“No—I do know that much. My dad’s working late.”

I hum thoughtfully. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Prime date night. Let’s figure out if they’re doing anything then, and we can go from there.”

“Sounds good.” An awkward silence falls, one I feel keenly as a pang in my chest, and then, at the same time, we both speak.

“Well—”

“I guess⁠—”