Ash saunters over to me. She smirks at me and Theo. “Let’s go get some fucking food.” She’s speaking to both of us, and it’s not a request. “I’ll drive.”
Eight
I’m forced to sit in the backseat next to Theo because Ash claims her purse needs a seat to itself. I know she’s just paying me back for leaving her to work with our instructor. But I don’t mind. I’d much rather sit in the back than the front, since I’m not the one driving. I still tap, though, and even imagine us crashing to prevent it from happening.
“God, I’m so hungry,” says Ash, huffing when a group of students cross the street in front of us.
I lean my head against the side of the car. “I’m surprised you can even eat after last night.” I peek at Theo, but he’s staring out his window.
“Yeah, well. I just puked up whatever was left in my stomach. I’m hungry.”
We get to the nearest drive-through, and Ash orders a cheeseburger meal. I order a salad. I doubt I can keep anything greasy down right now. Theo orders the same thing as Ash and hands her cash when we get to the window. “Allow me,” he says.
“No way,” I tell him. “You are not paying for all of us.”
Ash snorts. “Speak for yourself. He can pay for me if he wants to.” She takes his money. Glancing back at me, she winks. “I’m sure I can find some way to pay him back later.”
I shake my head, mortified. But Theo remains oblivious to Ash’s blatant innuendo and insists it’s no problem, that we don’t have to repay him. “It’s the least I can do,” he says. “You’ve saved us from having to eat that awful cafeteria food by driving us.”
“Do you even have a job?” I ask him. He can’t possibly, since he hasn’t been in California that long, and doesn’t have a car to take him anywhere.
“I told you,” he says, “I used to work for my dad. That money, plus my inheritance is gathering dust as we speak.”
Ash and I are silent. “You have an inheritance?” she asks, sounding like she’s never heard of such a concept.
“My grandparents were quite wealthy,” he shrugs. “And generous, it seems.”
“Damn,” Ash sighs. “If you’re so rich, why the hell are you in beauty school?” She pays for our food with Theo’s money and hands him the change.
“Honestly,” he says, “I’m a rather creative person.” He crosses his arms behind his head, sounding as if he’s enjoying all the attention. “I know I’ll be good at it.”
I scoff, and he looks at me, wide-eyed. “You’re a guy,” I say. “It’s not as if doing women’s hair is your second nature.”
His answering grin is devilish. “No,” he murmurs. “But women, in general, aren’t a foreign concept to me, little Willow.”
My cheeks burn, and I avert my eyes. “Let’s just hope you’re able to pass the test. From what you’ve told me, you’re a hands-on kind of guy. And from what I know, the written test is entirely academic.”
Theo arches a brow. “That should be no problem with your help. You can be academic enough for both of us.” He reaches over and pulls one of my curls, straightening and releasing it so it springs back up. I flick his hand in response, and for the moment it feels like we’re children again.
“I’m sure you’d be good at lots of things,” Ash cuts in. “But why hair? It seems like such a feminine career for a man like you.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but Theo answers seriously, pondering Ash’s question first.
“My dad was controlling,” he says evenly. “He never let me choose my own path. My secondary school elective was theater and I got stuck as the hairdresser. I almost quit then and there, but to my surprise I ended up liking it. I never would have tried otherwise. There’s enough of a balance between science and creativity in hair to attract me. If my father ever knew that ...” Theo laughs, sounding genuinely amused. “As rubbish as it sounds, this is the last possible career path he’d want for me. And that makes me want it all the more.”
I stare at him.
Ash laughs. “If only he could see you now. Scrubs and all.”
Theo smiles, but his eyes are far away.
When we finally get our food, Ash grabs hers out of the bag before passing it back to us. As soon as I see the salad I ordered, my stomach churns, but after a few bites, I start to feel better. At least I didn’t throw up at school, like Ash.
We eat in silence until Ash says, “So, Theo, do you have a girlfriend?”
“No,” he says. “I have many.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, and his answering smile makes me want to slap him. “Kidding. I only wanted to see Willow's face, and it was worth it.”
Ash laughs, and I resolve to dump the quaternary ammonium solution—our utensil sanitizer—on her and Theo as soon as we get back to class.
But as we clock back in, I’m filled with a new sense of dread. It’s Theo’s turn to wash my hair. Aside from how difficult my hair can be to manage, washing Theo’s first has already given me a preview of what lies ahead.
My worries are delayed for a moment while Mrs. Harrison inspects the work of those who went first. She ruffles Theo’s hair, messing up the perfect way his soft, black waves fall naturally. “Good job, Willow.” She moves on to the next group, and Theo gestures toward the shampoo bowls, a wry smile on his lips.
I sit down, my stomach rolling.
Theo lets the warm water cascade over my scalp. I close my eyes, unable to help but feel relaxed by the warmth. Not a drop gets in my eyes, and I hear him pumping the cucumber-scented shampoo into his hands. When his fingertips touch my skin, every nerve in my body reacts. He massages my head slowly, purposefully. With the perfect amount of pressure. All my worries rinse out of my head, down the drain with the water. The fact that I feel this much pleasure at the hands of Theo is not only surprising to me, but also quite alarming. He’s good, just as he said he would be.
I suddenly understand exactly why a woman would want a male hairdresser. Especially an attractive one, whether he’s straight or not. To be touched by such a man, be told how pretty she is, and have him listen to everything she says—one of the fundamental reasons people like to get their hair done by someone—and all without cheating on her partner. The arrangement could be too tempting to deny.
Theo is exactly the type of guy who would have his books filled to the brim with clients who’d want him for those reasons. They would take one look at him in a salon full of mostly female stylists and note his elegant jaw, his soft and full lips, set in an arrogant smile. His thick, dark hair, begging someone to mess it up. His body, tattooed, flawless, strong. And his eyes. His blue eyes, like windows to the ocean, captivating anyone the moment they fell subject to his gaze.
Theo Tate as a hairstylist has never made more sense. In fact, he’ll probably make a killing with his psychology background, since most hairstylists in the industry unintentionally double as therapists for their clients.
Theo traces his thumbs along my temples, making slow circles. I sigh a little without meaning to. When he rinses out the shampoo, I peek through one eye. I can’t see his face, but his arm is right in front of me. His sleeves are rolled up, and I see the hard lines of muscle making up his forearms as he flexes with each movement. Watching him work does nothing to slow the racing in my veins, so I let my eyes fall shut again.
“Your hair is so soft,” he tells me. His voice is husky, too deep.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat. “So is yours.”
He chuckles softly. With him so close, I catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells like it was made for his skin.
I need him to stop washing my hair. I need to get away from him. From his voice and his hands on me and his scent. But as his fingers move across my scalp, I am liquid. I am spilling out of my skin, splashing from the chair to the ground, yet somehow still corporeal enough to feel his touch. And I can’t help but think to myself, this is the most sensual thing I’ve ever experienced. I don’t
even notice when he turns the water off and wraps my hair in a towel. My eyes flutter open, bringing me back to reality.
He steps aside so I can stand up, but my bones have turned to jelly. I can’t move. As if he senses my physical state, he reaches for my elbow, helping me to my feet. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I don’t even know where to look. My eyes refuse to choose somewhere to land. I find my seat while Theo fetches Mrs. Harrison to check his work, and I take the time to gather my bearings.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
I realize after the fact that I’ve just performed a ritual. But why? Like Theo said, I should probably start trying to catch myself before it happens, if I’m ever going to prevent it in the future. But this one happened before I could stop myself. I vow, internally, to try to stop myself from performing another today.
Theo comes back with Mrs. Harrison, and she approves his handiwork. I can’t let him touch me again today if I want to avoid tapping for comfort, but he’s supposed to style my hair next. I make for the bathroom. I add the styling cream myself, making sure each curl is evenly saturated. To make up for the tapping, I use two paper towels instead of my usual three after I wash my hands. It’s extremely hard, and it makes me want to rip off my skin and scream aloud, but I do it. I suppress the anxiety coursing through me, because I can’t help but notice that this is the appropriate amount of paper towels I should have been using all along.
Something splashes in one of the stalls, and a groan follows. I consider leaving before whoever’s in there can come out, but the door opens. It’s Ash. Her forehead is covered in sweat, and she wipes her mouth sluggishly.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She touches a hand to her stomach. Closes her eyes. “Just lost the lunch Prince William bought us.”
“No more drinking for you,” I tell her.
She smiles, her eyes still closed. “No promises.”
We enter the classroom, and Theo raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you already style your hair?” he asks me. “I’m supposed to do that.”
I’m suddenly interested in my shoes. “I just ... I figured it would be easier this way. You know, since my hair is curly. And you can just say that you did it.” Part of this is true, but I mostly just needed some distance from him. It was also the perfect opportunity for me to attempt eliminating one of my rituals in private. I’m still trying not to react to the fact that I used the number two instead of three, but it’s itching me like a rash. I hope it’s not obvious. I look up at him.
Theo smirks. “While I appreciate your consideration, love,” he murmurs, “it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Can you two stop flirting for a sec?” Ash rests her head in her arms on the desk. I wonder why she’s still feeling so nauseous. Though I was under the impression we drank nearly the same amount last night, I must have had much less than her. “I’m going to be sick.”
My cheeks heat. I can’t even look at Theo, but he laughs.
“No,” Ash grunts. “I’m actually going to be sick.” She promptly stumbles out of her chair, running for the shampoo bowls. The entire class watches her retch into one, her body convulsing with each upheaval. I’m instantly at her side, holding her hair back like I know she would do for me, should the situation be reversed. The snickering coming from more than one mouth makes me want to punch whoever thinks this is funny.
Mrs. Harrison scurries over to us, panicking at the possibility of the shampoo drains clogging. “They just aren’t meant for this sort of thing,” she mutters.
I ignore her, making sure Ash’s slumping body doesn’t hit the floor. She gives herself over completely to emptying her insides. I don’t think she’ll even remain upright if I let her go.
“Someone should call her doctor,” Mrs. Harrison says. “I’ll excuse the hours if she has a note.”
I stare at Mrs. Harrison incredulously. We don’t get our hours excused for anything. Not even illness. Mrs. Harrison must really want Ash out of here, away from her salon equipment.
I drape Ash’s arm over my shoulder and haul her away from the watchful eyes of the classmates we still hardly know.
“Theo,” I say. “Can you follow us in my car? I’m going to drive us in her car to the hospital, so she has it with her.”
He nods, and I practically throw the keys to Mitten Chip at him. He catches them expertly. I drag Ash to the parking lot, but half her weight lifts from my shoulder. Theo has her other side. Together, we get her into the passenger seat of her Mustang. She moans, barely able to lift her head.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “You’ll be fine. We’re going to the ER.”
She moans. Heart racing, I repeat the words again, but this time, to myself instead of her.
Nine
The waiting room has green walls. I remember reading about the subconscious effect colors have on the human brain, once. Apparently green reminds us of health, and that’s why a lot of hospitals and medical centers utilize it. But the walls don’t make a difference to me. This place is full of illness, of virus, and of disease.
I burn a path in the carpet as I pace back and forth. A lady in the corner of the room blows her nose into a tissue and then fans herself with it. A mom tries to mollify her feverish son, still in his racing car pajamas. There are so many germs here, and the hospital is lying to us, trying to make us feel safe within its confines, where germs are festering and traveling. If the walls weren’t green, we would all probably be thinking about how easy it is to catch an airborne virus in this place. But thanks to the walls’ illusion of good health, it’s probably just me.
“Sit down, Willow.” Theo watches me pace with his head resting in his hands.
“I can’t.”
He offers me a face that says Suit yourself, and picks up a magazine.
“It’s just that,” I begin, my thoughts forcing their way out, “this happened because of me. This is all my fault.”
Theo frowns into his tabloid, turning the page. “What are you talking about, little Willow?”
“I stopped myself from reacting to a compulsion.” I’ve been replaying the chain of events from school since we arrived. All was well until I went to the bathroom to style my hair and washed my hands. “I used two paper towels instead of three,” I tell Theo. I’m unable to keep the weariness from my tone.
He pauses his reading to look at me. “And?”
“I always use three. And,” I continue, “as soon as that happened, Ash threw up in the shampoo bowls!” I throw my hands in the air for extra emphasis.
Theo laughs at my enthusiasm. “Sit down, love. Please.”
I narrow my eyes at him but take a seat in the chair to his right. “Why?”
“You’re working up a sweat.”
I stare at him. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“Of course she will. At most, it’s probably alcohol poisoning. They’ll likely give her fluids.”
I nod several times, trying to convince myself that he's right.
The doctor comes out, and I spring to my feet. “Is she okay?” I ask before he’s even in front of us.
The doctor adjusts his glasses. “She needs to stay hydrated. Letting her body become too deprived of fluids can be dangerous.”
Theo smirks and holds up his hands, as if to say, I told you so.
“How far along is she?” the doctor asks. Dr. Evans, according to his name tag.
I frown. “In school? We just started. It’s still our first week.”
“What?” He blinks at me, and then chuckles. “No, I mean how far along is she in her pregnancy?”
“Her pregnancy?” The words feel foreign on my tongue.
“Her urine sample is positive, but we haven’t done a trans-vaginal ultrasound yet.”
I stare at him. There must be some kind of mistake. Maybe the doctor accidentally mixed up his patient files or something. I know for a fact Ash gets the Depo-Provera shot every three months, and she would have told me if she was pregnant, the sec
ond she found out.
Unless she didn’t know.
But I shove the thought down. I’d rather believe there’s been a mistake, that she’s not really pregnant. Ash and I have plans after graduation. We’re going to travel to Europe—her idea, not mine—and then we’re going to open a salon together.
“I don’t know how far along she is,” I tell Dr. Evans.
We follow the doctor through the large double doors, down the hall that smells like hand sanitizer, and into the room with the bed that holds Ash.
She’s sitting up with an IV in her wrist. She has the gall to look annoyed, like she didn’t ask to be here in the first place, but her rigid posture eases when she sees us. “Ugh. Willow, thank God. Did the doc say when we can get out of here?”
“After the ultrasound,” I say, crossing my arms.
Ash breaks our eye contact and shrugs. “I was going to tell you,” she says.
So, she knows. She knew, and she didn’t tell me.
The ultrasound technician holds up a long, hard-looking instrument. “I’ll be inserting this ultrasound probe into the vaginal canal, giving us a visual of the baby.”
“You know what?” Theo says. “I’ll be out there.” He gestures toward the door.
I’m tempted to follow him out, but I imagine the terror I would be filled with in Ash’s situation. I would want her to stay with me.
Ash makes an uncomfortable sound as the probe enters her. A static-like noise comes from the screen next to us, and several indiscernible lines appear on the screen.
“There you have it,” the ultrasound tech tells Ash. “That’s your baby. You’re measuring at about six weeks.” She points to a blob on the screen, and Ash glances at it briefly before looking away.
The ultrasound technician prints out a picture of the baby for Ash to take home. Ash stuffs it into her purse without looking at it. When the room is empty save for us, Ash removes her hospital gown and puts on the scrubs she was wearing before.
One Carefree Day Page 9