Hallmark?”
She smiles. “Got through three interviews before they decided on someone else.”
Her words are ringing in my head as we pull into a parking lot. Emma knows me well. I can’t ever say no to a dare. I continue laughing and look around at the nearby shops.
“Okay. First stop is a haircut.”
“Emma, you just got your hair done a couple weeks ago.” I glance at her short trendy red hair and wonder what else she can do with it before she goes bald.
“This isn’t a haircut for me. It’s for you.” She grabs her purse and gets out of the Jeep, motioning for me to follow. I’m glued to my seat.
“What do you mean, for me.” I ask, still confused.
Emma comes over to my side of the car and leans against the open door, pointing out my faded, torn jeans and shirt with sleeves two inches too short. “Stephanie, when was the last time you went shopping?”
“Last week. Dad needed help with an anniversary gift for mom so I went with him to Walmart.”
“No. When was the last time you went shopping for you.”
I think for a moment before answering, suddenly realizing just how long it’s been. “Um...it was in elementary school. First grade—before the first day. My mom took me to Goodwill to shop for shoes.” I keep my face planted firmly where my eyes are focused on the hole forming in my shoes passed down to me from my mother about two years ago.
Emma attempts to hide the look of surprise but isn’t very successful. She just grabs my hand and pulls me out of the SUV and stands in front of me until I look at her.
“Tonight is not about me. It’s about you. You are going to get a haircut and some make-up and some clothes. Consider it an early Christmas present from Jude and me.” She looks at me in a no-nonsense stare and I know there’s no fighting this.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Fine.” I say. I pull the rubber band out of my hair and let the brown mane fall below my shoulders. I obediently follow Emma into the salon and grimace. Am I excited? Yes, absolutely. But the thought of someone seeing these split ends and mousy color is embarrassing. I take a deep breath and look around at the pink walls with pictures of Marilyn Monroe and Lucille Ball and begin to relax. The hairstylists in the middle of their work are funky and laugh, talking to their clients. A girl walks past me with hot pink hair and I can’t help but stare.
Absentmindedly I touch my hair and Emma leans over and whispers in my ear. “Don’t even think about it.” I turn around and smile at her. “Why not? I think the color would suit me, yeah?”
I would never consider dying my hair that color—only because of the fear it would never return to normal. Or fall out. I’m deathly afraid of my hair falling out. But I can totally buy in on freaking out Emma. I laugh at her look of horror and continue inspecting my nails, letting her soak in the worry of hot pink roots.
“Hey ladies! Would you like a drink? Water? Coke? We also have some pastries from a local bakery.” My head turns to follow the voice and I see the girl with the bright pink hair smiling at us, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Oh! Um. Yes. A pastry would be great.” I say.
Emma joins in. “And I’ll take some water.”
Pink-haired girl nods her head. “Water. Absolutely. Sparkling or tap?”
I resist giggling and Emma just stares at the girl before answering, “Um, tap? That’s fine.”
I slowly begin to relax. I like the atmosphere. Everything from the music to the furniture to the decor has a vintage feel. As soon as I sit down on one of the leather couches, a girl comes from behind a curtained partition; immediately I’m distracted by the tattoo on her left arm —vibrant and colorful. It’s just a bouquet of flowers—but they are delicate and strong and if you look closely, there’s a little girl twirling her skirt. I make a mental note to ask what inspired it, because it’s absolutely mesmerizing. I
She smiles. “Got through three interviews before they decided on someone else.”
Her words are ringing in my head as we pull into a parking lot. Emma knows me well. I can’t ever say no to a dare. I continue laughing and look around at the nearby shops.
“Okay. First stop is a haircut.”
“Emma, you just got your hair done a couple weeks ago.” I glance at her short trendy red hair and wonder what else she can do with it before she goes bald.
“This isn’t a haircut for me. It’s for you.” She grabs her purse and gets out of the Jeep, motioning for me to follow. I’m glued to my seat.
“What do you mean, for me.” I ask, still confused.
Emma comes over to my side of the car and leans against the open door, pointing out my faded, torn jeans and shirt with sleeves two inches too short. “Stephanie, when was the last time you went shopping?”
“Last week. Dad needed help with an anniversary gift for mom so I went with him to Walmart.”
“No. When was the last time you went shopping for you.”
I think for a moment before answering, suddenly realizing just how long it’s been. “Um...it was in elementary school. First grade—before the first day. My mom took me to Goodwill to shop for shoes.” I keep my face planted firmly where my eyes are focused on the hole forming in my shoes passed down to me from my mother about two years ago.
Emma attempts to hide the look of surprise but isn’t very successful. She just grabs my hand and pulls me out of the SUV and stands in front of me until I look at her.
“Tonight is not about me. It’s about you. You are going to get a haircut and some make-up and some clothes. Consider it an early Christmas present from Jude and me.” She looks at me in a no-nonsense stare and I know there’s no fighting this.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Fine.” I say. I pull the rubber band out of my hair and let the brown mane fall below my shoulders. I obediently follow Emma into the salon and grimace. Am I excited? Yes, absolutely. But the thought of someone seeing these split ends and mousy color is embarrassing. I take a deep breath and look around at the pink walls with pictures of Marilyn Monroe and Lucille Ball and begin to relax. The hairstylists in the middle of their work are funky and laugh, talking to their clients. A girl walks past me with hot pink hair and I can’t help but stare.
Absentmindedly I touch my hair and Emma leans over and whispers in my ear. “Don’t even think about it.” I turn around and smile at her. “Why not? I think the color would suit me, yeah?”
I would never consider dying my hair that color—only because of the fear it would never return to normal. Or fall out. I’m deathly afraid of my hair falling out. But I can totally buy in on freaking out Emma. I laugh at her look of horror and continue inspecting my nails, letting her soak in the worry of hot pink roots.
“Hey ladies! Would you like a drink? Water? Coke? We also have some pastries from a local bakery.” My head turns to follow the voice and I see the girl with the bright pink hair smiling at us, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Oh! Um. Yes. A pastry would be great.” I say.
Emma joins in. “And I’ll take some water.”
Pink-haired girl nods her head. “Water. Absolutely. Sparkling or tap?”
I resist giggling and Emma just stares at the girl before answering, “Um, tap? That’s fine.”
I slowly begin to relax. I like the atmosphere. Everything from the music to the furniture to the decor has a vintage feel. As soon as I sit down on one of the leather couches, a girl comes from behind a curtained partition; immediately I’m distracted by the tattoo on her left arm —vibrant and colorful. It’s just a bouquet of flowers—but they are delicate and strong and if you look closely, there’s a little girl twirling her skirt. I make a mental note to ask what inspired it, because it’s absolutely mesmerizing. I
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