“You didn’t steal me. I was never really his,” she says calmly. “And how did you steal me if I didn’t even get to be with you again for three years?”
It’s too late for more questions. We can’t keep doing this.
“I have to go,” I tell her. If I stay, she may convince me not to end things. If I stay, I may convince myself. “It has to be this way.” I pick up my coat, the fabric bunching up in my tight fist as I walk over to her door. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” Her controlled demeanor slips and her voice trembles. “Good luck with the other fifty billion lesbians out there.” She pulls back her arm and hurls her glass of red wine at her pristine white wall. It shatters, the red liquid sliding down in blood-like drips to her floor. “I hope one of them loves you as much as I fucking do.”
I step outside, and the door slams behind me with such force that the walls of the hallway shake. I stand there frozen, unable to move. I hear another glass shatter. I’m in tears. Trembling. Back to broken.
Why does doing the right thing feel so wrong?
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
“And I want it up and to look good, but I also want it to look messy. Do you know what I mean?” my client asks.
“Yeah. A messy bun updo.” Very original. Same thing my last six clients asked for today. It’s New Year’s Eve; everyone wants the messy bun updo.
“Did you see I got engaged?” Remi walks over and flashes her new ring, waving the diamond in front of my client. This girl isn’t even a regular. She’s a walk-in getting squeezed in for a ten-minute updo that I can charge full price for because it’s amateur night out. Aka New Year’s Eve.
“Oh, congrats,” the girl squeals, to Remi’s absolute delight.
“Henry’s here. Should I tell him you’ll be a few minutes?” Remi asks, but there’s no need to reply. Henry walks up to our stations, his eyes never meeting mine, and he takes a seat in Remi’s chair.
“I know today’s a busy day, so if you don’t mind, Remi, perhaps you can take care of me instead,” he says.
Remi raises a brow, glancing over at me, then back to him. I bite down on my lips and blink to prevent any tears from forming. A week later, and he’s still so angry he won’t even come near me.
“Get the fuck out of my chair.” Remi smacks him on the shoulder and tries to physically push him back up. “I’m not getting involved in whatever bullshit nonsense the two of you are going through. I have enough shit with my own brother. I don’t need to deal with yours too.” She continues to rant, twisting her engagement ring, making sure the diamond is facing up. “Just because I’m marrying into this family does not mean that I’m gonna get caught in the middle of all the sibling drama.” She throws her hands up, walking away, leaving Henry to make the decision to stay and wait for me or leave. I hold my breath while he seems to contemplate his next move.
“Will you be much longer?” he asks.
“Just a few minutes. Are you going to stay?” I glance at his reflection in the mirror, and he meets my eyes.
“Yes. I’ll wait.” A hint of a grin flashes.
It’s not much, but I’ll take it. My shoulders relax and I finish loosening and pulling on strands of hair to execute the messy look requested.
“Done,” I announce, and my client looks pleased. She folds a bill and tucks it into my open drawer and runs off to settle up with the receptionist up front.
Henry takes a seat in my empty chair. I wrap the towel around his neck and drape the cape.
“You know she could care less about the drama. She just didn’t want to cut my hair,” he says, referring to Remi.
“I know.” I smile, and it’s the first one all week. Remi wants clients who don’t know about the engagement yet so she can relive the night of the proposal, explain her vision for the wedding, and spill all the delightfully dirty details of what she has in store for the honeymoon.
“I’m sorry for the way I acted.” His eyes close as the mist of water I spray over his hair settles. “Hearing Sasha tell me that she was in love with someone else and that our relationship wasn’t real stung. But that has nothing to do with you. That’s on me. I knew things weren’t right.” He lowers his voice and tips his head. “Granted, I didn’t know she was a lesbian. That came as quite a surprise.”
I straighten his head, ready to make the first cut.
“Henry, I’m sorry I never said anything when I suspected.” Suspected. Participated. What does it matter? It’s all over now.
“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “How could I have expected you to make an accusation like that? There was no way you could have really known.”
I hate this. I hate it so hard. Hiding the truth is my way of not hurting him but it will always continue to hurt me.
“I’m just glad you found Tina,” I say, combing his hair between my fingers, trimming the excess.
“I’ve been looking at rings.” He lowers his voice, making sure he can’t be heard. “Only now, I’m not so sure. Sasha’s confession has left me leery. What if Tina....” He trails off, leading us back to the same fears he shared the other night.
“Henry, you don’t need to worry,” I insist.
“I know, but you can’t blame me for being nervous. Sasha’s timing wasn’t exactly great. The ghost of almost engagement past coming to visit me in the midst of almost engagement present. On Christmas Eve, no less.”
“Tina is not the same as Sasha.”
“You could not be more right about that.” He beams. “Tina is warm and loving compared to the ice queen.” It’s hard to hear him refer to her like that. The Sasha I know isn’t made of ice. “I was going to have her removed from the design project, but it’s only a few more weeks and then she’ll be out of my life for good and I’ll never have to see her again.” His face relaxes. Mine tenses back up.
“Who are ya never gonna see again?” Remi is back.
“Sasha,” he tells her. “The project at the office is almost done and then—sayonara.”
“Bye-bye, bitch.” Remi raises her palm, and Henry uncharacteristically smacks it.
It’s awful to hear them refer to her as ice queen and bitch, high-fiving while my heart is in a million pieces.
“Mom is making duck tonight. And just so you both know, Fireball does not pair well with crisp duck.” Henry chuckles.
Dinner with the family. Again. No thanks.
“Fireball goes with everything.” Remi plops down and starts twirling in her chair. Her next client is either late or a no-show.
“I’m not going tonight,” I say. “And for the record, Remi’s right, Fireball does go with everything.”
“Not going?” One of them or maybe both of them say.
“I have plans.” Crying, drinking, and passing out before the ball drops.
“Then bring your plans to Mom and Dad’s.” Henry assumes my plans are a date.
“Yes, bring her so I can finally meet whoever this chick is.” Remi makes the same assumption. “And don’t tell me there’s no one. I’ve seen you these past few months. I know there is someone.”
“There is no one.” There was. She’s gone.
“Jenn, you have to come tonight. Bring whoever she is, we’ll be kind. I promise,” Henry says, peering over at Remi. “At least, I’ll be kind.”
“There really is no one.” I concentrate on finishing the cut, Henry’s light locks falling to the floor. I need them to shut up.
“Yes, there is,” Remi insists. “I know it. Henry knows it. We all know it.”
“Yeah, Jenn, really, it’s about time you bring someone serious home to meet us. We feel bad; we hate always seeing you alone.”
I’m ready to lose it. Who the fuck are they to tell me they know I have someone? That it’s ‘about time’ for me to bring someone home. They don’t know shit.
“I have no one. But if you’d like, I can bring Tonya,” I spit at them. “That’s what I call my vibrator. I can go to town on myself at midnight while th
e rest of you all kiss the loves of your lives, that way you won’t have to feel so bad for me always being all alone.” I slam my scissors down on my station and storm away.
Fuck them. Fuck love. Fuck everything.
Guilt Made Me Do It
I lazily stick my fork into a piece of crisp duck and stuff it into my mouth.
Guilt is a powerful thing. My tantrum today at the salon had me apologizing and agreeing to a dinner I have no desire to attend.
“I think I’m going to ask Tonya to be a bridesmaid,” Remi says after her third glass of whiskey.
I don’t actually call my vibrator Tonya, but Remi is now obsessed with my tasteless joke and has turned it into one of her own.
“Who’s Tonya?” my mom asks, and Remi quickly switches gears, discussing trending wedding dress styles.
Remi is my best friend. I love her dearly, and right now is the happiest time of her life. She’s beaming, glowing, overjoyed, and twice the amount of silly that she usually is. If she wants to have a vibrator stand up on the altar with her at the wedding, that’s an epic win. But I’ve hit my limit with the romantic, dreamy wedding talk. I tried my best to fake enthusiasm all week because they don’t know about my heartache. Another downfall to secret relationships is secret breakups. Hide the pain and play along. No sympathy, no breaks. Hence why my ass is in this chair force-feeding myself duck.
“And I downloaded the app on my phone and yours. I wanted to figure it out first so I could show you,” Henry says to my father. “All you have to do is pull it up and press on a room in the house. It can even show you the perimeter in case of an intruder.” He presses his finger into his phone, showing my dad whatever nonsense he’s talking about. “It all synced with the new security system you had installed.” He concentrates on his phone. “This is better than the system I have at home now. I may switch to this.”
I have no clue what they’re talking about. It doesn’t look like Dad does either. Their conversation bores me more than the wedding dress one.
“That’s how to compartmentalize the numbers in order to figure out the profit,” Adam drones on. “Oogie boogie farts numbers kangaroo.”
Okay, he doesn’t really say that last part, but that’s all I hear.
He and Tina are discussing his job. If I keep listening, it may just put me right to sleep. I don’t even know what it is exactly Adam actually does for a living. No one really does. The discussion they’re having doesn’t sound like it’s going to make things any clearer.
I stretch into a yawn. There’s no way I’m staying here until midnight. At the very least I thought coming here might be a good distraction, but it’s not. My mind still races with thoughts of her.
Where is she tonight? Is she with family? Friends? At a party with her colleagues, all dressed up and catching the eye of someone new? Maybe she’s at her apartment, on her hands and knees still scrubbing cabernet from her white walls?
“What do you think, Jenn?” Remi interrupts my thoughts and stops me from mentally scrubbing the wine-stained wall with Sasha.
I plaster on my caring friend smile.
“Think about what?” I ask, leaning in.
“For the bridal party, all black dresses but everyone dyes their hair a different color. You’re the maid of honor, so you get first pick.”
This is the sixteenth bridal party idea regarding attire that I’ve heard this week. I’m guessing there are another three hundred ahead of me if they plan on waiting until the summer for this wedding.
“Purple, of course,” I say, knowing I’m committing to nothing. “And mark Tonya down for pink.” She loves the added humor and tosses her head back, laughing.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I ignore it. It’s probably a desperate client in need of a last-minute emergency blowout. It buzzes again a minute later with a message and then again and again with two short buzzes indicating text messages.
I retrieve the phone, discreetly placing it in my lap. Using my hand as a visor to shield my face, I glare down at the screen. Sasha missed call. Sasha text. Sasha text. I want to ignore the notifications and shove my phone back into my pocket, but no amount of willpower in the world is that powerful.
Sasha: I’m here. I need to see you.
She’s at my apartment? What is she doing there?
Sasha: I see your car. I know you’re here. Come outside. Please.
My car? My car’s here, at my parents. How can she see my car?
Fuck. Nooooo.
“I need to get some air.” I stand up quick, almost knocking the dining room chair over in the process.
“Are you okay? Do you feel sick? Is it the duck?” My mom looks concerned; she goes to stand up too.
“No, please, don’t get up. I’m fine. It just got really warm in here.” I wave my hand toward my face, fanning away the nonexistent heat. I need to get out there before anyone else does. Why is she here? Here! The others are giving me funny looks. “Seriously, everyone stay put. I’m fine.” I back out of the room, making sure I’m not followed, and when I’m sure it’s safe, I race outside to find a staggering Sasha swaying her way up my parents’ driveway.
“Happy New Year!” She sees me and throws imaginary confetti up toward the black sky. She’s drunk. I can smell the alcohol on her breath from here.
“What are you doing here? You can’t do this,” I hiss, turning just my head to make sure no one has followed me or is peering out the window.
“I can’t do a lot of things.” She lets out a drunken giggle and stumbles. “I can’t be with you. I can’t come to your parents’ house.” She curls her fingers into loose fists against her chest. “I can’t even go to my own parents’ house anymore.” The empty laugh that follows contains no mirth. “Because, and this is a big one, I can’t like girls. Not as long as I’m their daughter. So my choices for this new year are”—she dips her hands down one at a time, representing a scale, weighing her options—“lonely lesbian orphan or sickening straight family girl?” She gives another hollow laugh, and my heart beats a path up my throat that I try and swallow down. Even though we broke up, she still told her parents, and it’s obvious how it went. “Which one do you think I should pick?”
“Sasha, how did you get here?” There’s no sign of her car, or any car for that matter.
“I just doot doot doot.” She mimics typing on her phone. “And poof, a car came and brought me here. You can doot doot doot everything. In fact, I doot dooted and saw that you were here. I even knew you were wearing this shirt.” She steps in and starts playing with the top buttons of my blouse. “And you didn’t even post anything. Remi did. And I don’t even know Remi. How fucked-up is that? I’m stalking you. Wait—” She steps backwards and spreads her arms out to the sides. “I was researching you. Isn’t that what Henry always says?”
“I’m taking you home,” I say, watching her sway pick up momentum. I reach for her arm to steady her.
“And then what?” She tilts her head up to me; it’s a stare-off and I look away first.
“Then….” I keep my gaze focused over her shoulder, away from her face. “I say goodbye.”
“Then, no.” She snatches her arm away from my grasp. “You can’t take me home. I’m going to go into your parents’ house right now and tell Henry everything.” Her arms extend and she tries pushing me out of the way.
“Stop!” I hold her back, swiveling my head back to make sure we’re still unseen. “I told you we can’t do this.”
“You know what, Jenn?” Her nose crinkles up in disgust. “If I had feelings for you and you didn’t feel the same way, then I’d understand, and this would be over. But you love me. You’re-in-love-with-me.” She enunciates each word. “And I am in love with you.” She throws a hand toward the house. “And even fucking Henry is in love with someone else. So what the fuck are we doing?”
I hate this. All of it. My head is spinning.
“Sasha.” I sigh her name, expelling a white cloud of mist into the chilly a
ir. Her dark hair falls over her pale blue coat, and her heeled boots click in closer. Sad brown eyes bore into mine, and I shiver.
“I love you,” she says again. Her gloved hands warm up my cheeks, and she rises up to kiss me. I don’t fight it. She’s drunk and bombarding me at my parents’ house on New Year’s Eve, but everything she’s saying is right. Kissing her feels right. Being with her is right. Loving her is right. But even with all this right, how do we get past all the wrong?
Right now, none of that matters.
“I’m going to take you home,” I say once our lips separate, the sting of whiskey coating my tongue.
“And then what?” she asks me again.
“Then, I’m going to come inside and enter the new year exactly the way I want to with the person I want to.”
She smiles and is up on her toes, once again pressing her lips to mine. “Let’s go,” she says, holding on to my hands.
“Okay.” My purse, my keys, even my coat are all inside. “I just need two minutes to get my things and say goodbye. Are you okay out here?”
“I’m fine.” Her drunkenness still lingers, but without the rage she appears steady enough to stay on her own while I run back in the house.
“I’ll be right back.” I have her step back behind my car where she can stay hidden in case anyone looks outside.
My belongings are in the back room, and I sprint to collect them. I’ll say a quick goodbye and dash, using a headache as my excuse.
Henry is on the sofa in the back room; his eyes are glued to his phone. His face is beet red and his eyes are wide.
“Are you okay?” I ask, slowing my steps. He is all alone back here. Fuck, did I walk in on him watching porn and about to...? No, he wouldn’t. Adam, maybe. Remi, definitely. Henry, never.
His eyes drag away from his screen and over to connect with mine. He stares at me until I’m so uncomfortable, I need to look away.
Whiskey Flick Page 8