by Anne Jolin
He has dark-brown hair—in some light, it almost looks black—and it’s just long enough to run your fingers through. I know from experience. He’s sporting his usual five-o’clock shadow and sipping on a longneck beer. I watch the muscles in his throat as he swallows and squeeze my legs together. Just watching him turns me on.
He’s fit from all the outdoor activities he loves so much and his hands are callused from years of making guitars. Today, he’s wearing dark-blue jeans, and a grey, long-sleeved Under Armour shirt is stretched over his muscular chest and arms. If you haven’t seen him shirtless, you wouldn’t know that his back and chest are covered with brilliant tattoos that Jay has done for him over the years.
I make my way back up his body only to find him watching me. I blush because I just got caught ogling him, and he winks at me. I feel a smile tug at the corners of my lips, but as quickly as it came, it disappears as Barbie presses her very full chest up against his arm. I look away and try to focus on something else, but it doesn’t work.
Jami and I have always had chemistry, an electric current that buzzes just under the surface of our friendship. That’s all we’ve ever been though—friends. Up until a few months ago, anyway. We had one incredible night together and it ruined everything.
Jami is not a one-woman guy. I knew that going in, which is why it surprised me when he started acting like he wanted more. Sure, I did relationships now and again, but never with anyone like Jami. Someone who I could love. Someone who could ruin me.
We haven’t been the same since then, constantly doing this awkward song and dance around each other. It’s why these dinners are like torture to me. No one has ever made me feel the way he does, and every time we’re together, I have to pretend like I don’t want him.
I am doing an absolute shit job of it tonight though.
I don’t last much longer. I am exhausted, and watching Barbie run her hands all over Jami is getting to me. I feel like I am going to be sick. I’ve never been a jealous person—ever—but I’d rather claw out my eyes with a rusty spoon than watch Jami with another woman.
I know, I know. It’s such a typical girl move. I don’t want him, but you can’t have him either. It doesn’t matter though. Even if I want him, I am never going to allow myself to have him. Not again. I don’t do love, and my feelings for him are already walking that fine line.
THE NEXT WEEK at work went by quickly. The salon was a revolving door of women getting their hair done for various holiday events, and that meant I hardly had a moment to myself.
The woman currently in my chair must be in her late fifties and obviously takes that whole ‘hairstylists are like therapists’ reference very literally. I am working on trimming her bob when she abruptly bursts out crying. I am so not good at crying people.
As her shoulders are heaving with sobs, I look around the salon in a panic. It’s almost empty because it’s the end of the day and there is no one around to save me. I awkwardly start to rub her back. She must have some serious shit going on, and who am I to judge? A few minutes later, she calms down enough to speak.
“This year has just been so stressful, dear,” she says. I nod my head sympathetically. “I’ve lost nearly thirty percent of my hair this year.”
“It still looks lovely,” I coo and go back to cutting her hair now that she’s calmed down.
I’ve moved on to blow-drying and styling her hair when the owner of the salon, Maria, sits down in the chair beside my client. They must know each other because they start talking and it doesn’t take long for the conversation to get personal—very personal.
“My vagina is just so dry, even during sex now.”
I almost burn myself on the flat iron as my client speaks.
“Menopause is the devil’s work, I tell you.” She directs her attention to me in the mirror now. “Mark my words, dear. Enjoy that vagina of yours while it’s still working properly.” She nods her head at me through the mirror, and it takes everything I have to let out a laugh instead of curling up in a ball on the floor.
What do I handle worse than crying people? People who over-share personal information. Why is this a problem? Because it happens all the time at my job. People will tell their hair dressers literally anything. I’ve perfected the ‘fake face,’ and that’s a good thing, because right now, I am dying on the inside.
This woman is traumatizing me. To top it all off, she’s talking about my vagina and her vagina. Oh my God. No one should ever have to hear a strange woman say vagina this many times.
I’m wordlessly finishing up her hair as fast as I can when she speaks again.
“I can tell you are a very open person…” she trails off.
“Lennon,” I answer.
“Oh what a unique name.” She smiles. “I can tell you are a very open person, Lennon, and this conversation isn’t bothering you one bit.”
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. I chant in my head as I return her smile and answer.
“No.” I wave the flat iron back and forth in the air. “Not at all. Please,” I tell her kindly even though I am seriously considering cutting off my ears so I don’t have to listen to the chronicles of her vagina anymore.
“I’m so glad, dear,” she croons as I take her cape off. Then she stands. “I’ll be back to see you again soon. Don’t forget what I told you.” She winks and I have to forcibly stop myself from gagging.
I am not an open person whatsoever.
It takes me a little over thirty minutes to clean up my station and lock up the salon. I’m exhausted and traumatized. All I want to do is go home, eat dinner, and watch TV. I make my way across the parking lot and climb into my SUV. While waiting for the windows to defrost, I check my phone.
Hannah – Lunch tomorrow, butthead?
I laugh and answer her back. We’ve really become ‘ladies who lunch’ over the last few days. It will be nice to spend some one-on-one time together. We don’t get to do that as much anymore now that we no longer live together.
We make plans to meet at the River House restaurant in town at one. By the time I’ve finished answering all my messages, the windows are clear and I pull out of the lot.
When I pull up outside our condo, I notice that Peyton, our new roommate and also my coworker’s car is here, but Beth’s Mazda isn’t. She’s gone all the time these days, but I never know where she is. Hannah and I are eventually going to have to grill her about it. I walk inside the front door, dumping my purse, coat, and boots in the entryway before heading straight for the kitchen.
“How was work?” Peyton asks from the couch.
We’ve worked together a little over a year now at the salon, but we have different shifts. When Hannah moved in with Greyson and I bought her half of the condo, Peyton moved in as Beth’s and my third roommate. It helps keep costs down for everyone, and she needed a place to stay.
Peyton is beautiful. She has honey-coloured, shoulder-length hair with caramel streaks throughout. It looks stunning on her. And I’m not just saying that because I did them either. She is petite with the most unique grey eyes, and she is incredibly soft spoken. To be honest, I don’t know that much about her. She’s sweet but keeps to herself most of the time, only coming out with us on the rare occasion.
“Traumatizing,” I answer back, and she laughs. I proceed to fill her in on the entire terrifying story as I rummage through the fridge. By the time I’m done, she’s in stiches on the couch.
“I don’t even know how you managed to handle that so well,” she gasps still laughing.
“I barely made it. Trust me.” I smile. “Where’s Beth?”
“Uhm, she left just before you got home. Didn’t say where she was going though,” Peyton answers. “Why? Is everything okay?”
Bless her heart. She really is such a doll.
“Oh yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just wondering,” I respond reassuringly. “There’s nothing in the fridge. Have you eaten?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “Want to order Greek food?”
I order our food before changing into a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweater. Then I plop down onto the couch next to Peyton and flick through the DVR recordings. We finally settle on watching Teen Wolf. So sue me. I’m not sad about seeing a shirtless Tyler Hoechlin on my TV screen. Just sayin’.
Two episodes of Teen Wolf and a massive helping of chicken souvlaki later and I’m down for the count. I’m working up enough energy to move from the couch to my bed when Peyton starts talking.
“What are your plans for New Year’s?” she asks hesitantly.
“We all have tickets to that black-and-white party at Bill’s.”
She looks down and starts to play with her hands in her lap.
“Do you have plans?” I ask.
When she softly shakes her head no, I instantly kick myself for not having asked her to come with us in the first place.
“We have an extra ticket. Why don’t you come with us?”
She lifts her head up and smiles brightly. “Really? I’d love to.”
I nod my head and reach over to pull her in for a hug. Something about her seems so fragile, but she’s even more closed off than I am. “Of course really, you goose! It will be fun.”
“That sounds like fun!” Peyton beams.
“Bet your bottom dollar it will be fun! Just don’t be surprised if the girls rope you into helping them do their hair.” I wink at her and she laughs. I always do the girls’ hair before we go out, especially for something like New Year’s Eve, and if Peyton is coming, she’ll no doubt end up helping too. “I’m going to head to bed now though. Do you work tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Do you?” she asks.
“Nope. For once, I actually have a Saturday off.” I stand and stretch.
After we finish saying our goodnights, I head into my room. We don’t actually have an extra ticket for the black-and-white party, but I’ll talk to Hannah about it tomorrow. I’m sure Jayden has slept with someone at that bar who can help us land an extra ticket. We’ve been going to Bill’s for New Year’s Eve since we were legally old enough to do so. Each year has a different theme, but they are always a ton of fun. Peyton’s not from here, and I’ll be damned if she’s sitting alone in our condo when the ball drops.
Come hell or high water, the girls and I will find her a ticket.
I almost always work on Saturdays, so I took advantage of having the day off. I got up early, cleaned my bedroom, did the laundry, and went grocery shopping. We don’t really have a formal system or anything. We just take turns buying food and cleaning when it needs to be done. By the time twelve thirty rolls around, I am ready to go for lunch.
Being that I’m a hair dresser, I very rarely leave the house without doing my hair. No makeup? Not a big deal. Bad hair? That’s a deal breaker. I never want to bump into one of my clients in town sporting the ‘homeless hairstyle’ I sometimes have at home. No one wants a hair dresser who can’t even keep her own hair looking nice. Today, I styled it in a high ponytail and matched it with some light day makeup. I’m dressed in fitted blue jeans, a pullover knit sweater, boots, and my black jacket. I snag my purse off the kitchen counter and head into town to see my bestie.
It doesn’t take me long to find parking, and as soon as I enter the restaurant, I see Hannah waving like a madman from the corner booth. I’m not late, but she’s always early, so it doesn’t surprise me that she looks like she’s been waiting for a while.
I sink into the booth across from her. “Hey, butthead.”
“Takes one to know one,” she quips back, leaning over the table to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before plunking back down in her seat.
We don’t get a chance to talk before the waiter comes to take our order. We always order the exact same thing every time we come here. Cajun chicken sandwich with Caesar salad and a diet Coke. No tomatoes for Hannah, no bacon for me. I mostly eat fish or chicken. I’ve never been a big meat eater.
After placing our order, we dive into conversation. Having lived together for so long, we seem to have so much to catch up on every time we see each other now that we don’t live together. Even if it has only been a couple of days since we last saw each other. I tell her about my week at the salon, and she fills me in on her week at the clinic, matching my horrific menopause story with her own hairy old man story. Gross.
“I was talking to Peyton last night and she doesn’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve. Do you think there’s any way that Jay can score her a ticket?” I ask, and before she can even answer, I’m talking again. “Because I kind of already told her that we had an extra ticket.”
“That seems a little bit like putting the cart before the horse there, John,” Hannah teases, and I groan. She knows how much I hate when people call me that, and I’ve been getting it my entire life. People seem to find it very entertaining to make Beatles references when they find out my name. “I’ll text Jay right now.”
“Thank you, Hannah Montana.”
She glares at me and I snicker. Han’s bitch face doesn’t even compare to mine. Before she can whip a comeback at me, her iPhone buzzes on the table.
“It’s Jay. He says he can get another ticket,” she tells me, tapping out what I assume is a reply before looking up at me. “Now you can bring your new best friend to the party,” she deadpans.
I burst out laughing, and she’s quick to follow.
“Gosh. You think you’d be less needy now that you have your tattooed hunk of burning love,” I say, waggling my eyebrows at her.
“Oh the things that man can do with his—”
I cut her off and make a gagging face. She smiles triumphantly before sticking her tongue out at me. She knows that, unless I’ve had a couple drinks, these kinds of conversations make me uncomfortable.
“So what’s the deal with Beth?” I’m attempting to change the topic, but I do actually want to know what’s going on with her.
Hannah sighs. “I have absolutely no idea. She’s always busy but never tells me what it is that she’s so busy doing when I ask. If it weren’t for the fact that she seems so happy, I’d be worried about her.”
I lean back into the booth and think out loud. “Maybe she has a new boyfriend?”
“Maybe. I honestly have no idea,” Hannah answers, shrugging her shoulders before levelling her gaze on me. “So are we going to talk about it? Or pretend like it didn’t happen?”
I look down at my plate and start to pull apart the leftover ciabatta bun. I always pull apart my food, especially when I’m nervous. You should see me eat sushi. It’s almost ridiculous.
“Well, I’m guessing, by the way you’re destroying that bun, you don’t want to talk about it.”
“I just…” I start to speak, but I’m not sure what I want to say, so I stop.
“You just miss him?” Hannah leads.
“Yeah.” I sigh, defeated.
“I know you’re scared, Lennon, and I understand why, but it’s literally been painful to watch the two of you together these last few months. Are you sure you don’t want to try?” she asks.
“I can’t.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Just thinking about it makes my chest feel like there are a hundred bricks on top of it.
She knows me well enough not to push. “Hey, butthead. Look at me.” And I do. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I love you.”
“I love you too, Han,” I say back.
We don’t talk about it anymore after that and I’m grateful. We’ve been friends since we were children, and the Rhodes sisters were there for me when my dad left. They witnessed firsthand the damage it caused to my soul, the way it changed me, and although I know it’s hard for them to understand, they try anyway.
My only saving grace was that my mother bounced back quickly. She never remarried, and even though I could sometimes hear her crying at night, she was always there for me. She supported me and put me through school, and she was proud of me. I don’t have two parents�
��not anymore, anyway—but mom tried every day to love me as much as two parents would have.
IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE and I am running late—really late—for actually a very important date. Mom and I are having dinner at the Rhodes house and I need to bring dessert, which of course I’ve forgotten. I pull my Equinox into the first available parking space, slam it in park, and bolt across the parking lot. It’s snowing and my black pumps are making it hard for me to move quickly. I am already dressed for dinner in a dark-green dress that ends a few inches above the knee and my black coat. I was in a rush and didn’t button it up, the cold air practically chilling me to the bone before I make it inside the grocery store.
I make a beeline for the bakery, attempting to shake the snow out of my hair when I collide with someone coming around the corner. “Ooof,” I let out, stumbling backwards, teetering in my heels. When I reach out to grab on to something, an arm wraps around my waist, steadying me.
“Easy Beatle.”
My heart is pumping wildly in my chest, my hands gripping the lapels of his dress coat as I try to catch my breath.
He places a finger under my chin and lifts my gaze to meet his. “I thought I told you to be careful with this pretty face.” He smiles, brushing a melted snowflake off my cheek.
Running into him has literally knocked the wind right out of me.
“What brings you to the store this late on Christmas Eve, Beatle?” he asks.
I pull away, detangling my hands from his coat. “I forgot I needed to bring dessert to the Rhodeses’ house tonight.”
“Well, you are in luck because I happen to have very good taste in dessert.” He winks, grabbing me by the hand and leading us towards the bakery section. When we reach it, he leans down to look in the glass case. “Okay, what’ll it be? Apple pie? Pumpkin pie? Nope, never mind. You definitely need to go with the rhubarb pie. Anna and Oliver love rhubarb.” He turns his head towards me and sends me a cocky grin. “It’s not as good as the one I make, but they’ll love it.”
He motions to the person on the other side of the counter to wrap it up before I realize that he just ordered for me.