by Carian Cole
I poise my fingers over my phone. Do I say something silly to diffuse this, or say something more in line with his romantic flirting?
Lord help me. Tim was right. I have no idea how to do any of this. We didn’t have cell phone flirting when I was dating years ago. Is this why Macy is attached to her phone 24/7? This is so crazy.
Me: Between the photo and the poem, you’ve rendered me speechless. I can’t even think straight to reply.
Lukas: Mission accomplished then. ;-)
Ack! He makes me crazy, and I can’t deny the fact that I’m enjoying every minute of it.
CHAPTER 10
IVY
TODAY I TOOK A PERSONAL DAY, something I haven’t done in years. I thought I could see my hairdresser and get my hair cut and colored, but she’s booked for two weeks. So now, I’m standing in the hair color aisle of the local beauty supply store, completely confused and overwhelmed.
“You just mix two of these with this and put it on,” the salesgirl tells me, handing me three little boxes. “Mix it in this,” she says, handing me a little plastic dish. “And put it on with this.” She throws in a little brush thing. “And wear these.” She adds some black gloves. “Then use this conditioner.”
“That’s it?” I ask, skeptical. “Is it hard?”
She shakes her head of pink hair. “Yup, that’s it. It’s not hard at all. I do mine all the time.”
I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad sign. She kinda looks like twenty things not to do to your hair.
“I’ve never had my hair colored before, not even at a salon,” I say as I follow her to the register, clutching all the products she piled in my arms, and she glances back at me like I’m an alien.
“Leave it on for half an hour then rinse it. Don’t use shampoo. Leave the conditioner on for five minutes. Then just dry it and style like you normally do. Piece of cake.”
Okay. That sounds easy enough.
Next, I stop at the mall and buy a few new outfits and shoes, as well as a cute pair of black boy shorts with red hearts on them. I’m seeing Lukas tonight for my tattoo appointment, and I’m going to agree to have dinner with him tomorrow night if he still wants to. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, and he continues to send me flirty text messages at all hours of the day and night. Screw the age difference; I’m determined to have some fun for once.
The house phone is ringing as soon as I walk through the front door after my shopping spree. “Hello?” I say breathlessly, wondering who would be calling me at home now, when normally I would be at the office this time of day.
“Hey, it’s me,” he says. “What are you doing home?”
I throw my shopping bags on the couch, annoyed that he had to call today of all days. “How did you know I was home, Paul?”
“I called your office, and your assistant told me you didn’t come in today. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. I just felt like taking a personal day off.”
“Hmm. That’s not like you.”
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk about Christmas. It’s next week”
“I know when Christmas is,” I reply, kicking off my shoes and sitting down on the couch next to all my new clothes.
“We haven’t talked about what we’re going to do with the kids.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my stomach already burning just from hearing his voice.
“Do you want them on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day? I’ll let you pick.”
Let me pick? “Paul, what are you talking about? The kids are staying with me both days. We’re going to my mother’s house on Christmas Eve, just like we’ve been doing for the past eighteen years, and Christmas Day, I’m making breakfast and dinner, like we’ve always done.” Does he seriously think I’m going to let him take the kids away on the first holiday since this mess started?
“So when the hell do I get to see them?”
“You can see them the day after Christmas.”
His voice rises. “What the fuck? That’s not the same.”
“Well, you should have thought of that before you left us for your girlfriend. Think of the kids for once, Paul. I am sure they’ll be much happier doing what they’ve always done on Christmas. They love seeing my parents and getting all those presents.” I press my fingers against my forehead, my head starting to pound. “And where are they going to sleep? Macy said you have one extra bedroom, and it’s filled with Charlene’s clothes.”
“There’s a bed in that room. We just have to straighten it out and put some things away.”
“Okay, you have two kids.”
“Then one will have to sleep on the couch.”
“Neither one of them is going to like that. Why disrupt them on Christmas? Just let them be to get used to all this before you go disrupting even more of their lives.”
He sighs on the other end of the phone. “Fine. This time, we’ll do it your way, but I’m going to talk to my lawyer about a set visitation, holiday, and summer schedule for Tommy. And the divorce. Have you gotten a lawyer yet? We’re going to need to sell the house and divide our assets and money. You can’t just keep everything.”
“I’m not trying to just keep everything. You left. I didn’t have a choice, remember?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out.”
I laugh sarcastically. “Stressed out from what? All the fun you’re having with your new girlfriend?”
“Look, this has been hard on me too, Ivy.”
“I’d like to feel bad, Paul, but I can’t because all of this was your choice. The kids and I are the ones who have had to deal with the side effects of your affair.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Ivy. We never used to fight.” I can’t believe he just said that to me. It’s true, though. Paul and I rarely ever fought the entire length of our relationship. We always talked things over calmly and reached decisions together. Neither one of us were ever the type to get mad and yell at each other. It wasn’t until he started to ‘work late’ that the arguing began.
“Isn’t that strange?” I ask him. “We never fought and were always happy together, yet you still had an affair and left.” I know I should stop making comments, but I can’t seem to control myself.
“Ivy, please.”
“Fine. You can pick the kids up the day after Christmas. You’re supposed to have Tommy this weekend. Are you picking him up today from school? He has a bag of clothes with him.” Macy has decided she doesn’t want to spend alternate weekends at her dad’s house, and I’m not making her. She’ll be going to college soon; I can’t force her to spend weekends with Paul and his girlfriend.
“Yes, I’ll be there to pick him up.”
Biting my lip, I’m not sure if I want to ask him what I’m thinking about. “Paul . . . How is Tommy when he’s with you?”
He takes a few long moments to answer me, which fuels my suspicions that I’m not going to like his answer. “Well . . . he seems confused. He asks me to bring him home a lot. He asks me why I won’t come back home. He’s only seven, Ivy, so he really doesn’t understand what’s going on, but I think in time he’ll be okay. Charlene is trying really hard to be nice to him.”
I empty the bag from the beauty store onto the coffee table. “Trying to be nice?” I repeat. “Is it hard for her?”
“She’s not really used to kids. She wasn’t expecting to have a seven year old every other weekend. We’re working it out.”
I want to smack both of them for being so selfish and thoughtless. “She was having an affair with a married man who has two kids,” I say, trying to keep my tone calm. “Obviously, she thought, someday, she was going to get you to leave me. What did she think was going to happen to your children?”
“I don’t know.”
“I suppose this is what happens when you date someone so much younger without any children,” I reply, and immediately turn those words around on myself. Would I be getting into th
e same mess by dating Lukas?
“Charlene likes kids. It’s just a lot all at once.”
Poor Charlene. “I have to run. I have plans tonight, and I have some things to do. Try to remind Tommy to call me before he goes to bed. I like to say good night to him.”
“Where are you going tonight?” he questions, suddenly sounding interested in the conversation, but I’m not going to give him any information about my personal life. It’s none of his business anymore, and I don’t need to hear his negativity. It will just ruin the confidence I’ve worked so hard to build in myself.
“None of your business. Goodbye.” I end the call and immediately notice that I have a text from Lukas on my screen.
Lukas: Knock knock
Me: Who’s there?
Lukas: Orange
Me: Orange who?
Lukas: Orange you glad you’re gonna see me tonight? ;-)
Laughing, I type back.
Me: Yes, I am. You’re a goofball. ;)
His cute text has instantly lifted my mood, something he definitely has a gift for. It’s impossible to be in a bad mood with Lukas around.
I grab all my hair stuff and take it into the bathroom, placing it all on the vanity. I mix up all the bottles, take my blouse off and put an old tee shirt on, comb my hair straight, and then put on the black latex gloves, which remind me of the ones that Lukas uses.
The mixture is thick and a weird reddish-pink color, but the girl assured me this would come out the cool auburn color that I want. Using the little black brush, I start to paint it onto my hair. The front around my face is easy, but when I start to get it on the sides and back, it becomes increasingly difficult to figure out if I’m actually getting all of my hair because my hair is so long and thick. The brush seems useless, so I put it aside and use my fingers instead to spread gobs of the colored goop through my hair. But it quickly becomes sticky, stiff, and weird, making it hard to spread apart. How the hell is my hair ever going to be soft and silky after this? There’s just no way!
I have no idea if I’ve gotten the color onto the back part of my head, so I flip my head upside down and spread more of the mixture with my fingers, panicking at how long this is taking. What if I’ve gone past the half hour? And do I start counting the half hour when I’m actually all done or when I started? I start to cry, thinking I’m going to be bald when this is over. Why did I do this? Gray hair has got to be better than this mess.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
I flip my head back up to see Macy standing in the doorway, her eyes wide.
“I wanted to dye my hair, but I don’t think it’s working. I think I’ve missed a bunch of spots, and I can’t tell where, and now it feels all sticky and . . . hard.” I hold out my gloved hands, covered in stray hairs and pink goop. “And I think my hair is all coming out!”
She rushes forward. “Geez, Mom, you totally need supervision!”
I nod, feeling ridiculous. “I’m scared I ruined it. And look at all the strands that are coming out!”
My daughter’s sweet side makes an appearance. “Mom, it’s okay. I dye Shelly’s hair all the time. This is normal. Let me just finish it for you.”
I sit down on the toilet lid while she takes over my messy situation. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before,” she says softly.
I reach for a tissue and wipe my eyes with it. “I know. I just didn’t think it would be so hard. The girl at the store made it sound easy. She just said mix this stuff, put it on, and rinse. She never said it was going to get all sticky. I thought it would just go on like conditioner.”
“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make sure it looks gorgeous.”
“Are you home early?” I ask, not sure what time it is. How long have I been in here messing with my hair?
“No, I get home at two every day. I was worried when I saw your car in the driveway.”
For the first time, I see my daughter as a grown up, easing my fears as she works on my hair, telling me about her day as we wait for the color to process, then walking me to the kitchen sink to rinse the color off.
“Do you think it’s going to look okay?” I ask her, still worried about what color it’s going to be.
“I think it’s going to be awesome, Mom. I’m going to get some cold cream. You have the color all over your neck.” She runs to the bathroom while I wonder what that means. “You’re supposed to put cream around your face and neck because the color dyes your skin, too,” she says when she comes back.
I’m pretty sure I turn white. “What? Are you serious? The girl didn’t mention that.”
“Yes, it’s all over your face and the side of your neck.”
“Oh, shit. Can you get it off?”
She laughs. “Mom, you never swear. What’s going on with you? Crying and swearing? Dying your hair?” She uses a cotton pad to wipe cream along my forehead. “Is this about Dad? Did something happen?”
I shake my head. “No, nothing happened.”
She continues to scrub at my face and neck. “You have your tattoo appointment tonight, don’t you?” she asks, quirking a perfect eyebrow up at me.
“Yes, so?”
She stands back and looks at me. “I think you’re going to have to take a shower to get the rest of that off, and maybe use some witch hazel. I’ve used that before to get it off.”
“All right.” I look up at the clock to see that its three pm. My appointment is at six, so I still have enough time to shower and eat without being late.
She throws away the cotton and rinses out the sink. “Mom. It’s okay for you to have fun, ya know.”
“Macy-”
She interrupts me. “I’ve seen you smiling at your cell phone. I saw the new clothes in the living room. You don’t have to hide from us. Tommy and I want you to be happy.”
I give her a quick hug. “Thank you, sweetheart. That means a lot to me. Life is just a little hard right now.”
When I go back to the bathroom to shower, I’m horrified to see that I dripped the hair dye onto the floor, and some is on the wall and in the porcelain sink. How the hell did I do that? I grab a bottle of spray cleaner from the kitchen and scrub at the splatters, but most of it is not coming off, leaving a faint red stain in several places on the floor and wall. Shit. Paul will freak when he sees this if he wants to sell the house.
I vow never to try to do things with my own hair again. Grey hair seems much safer than this art project I turned my head into. The new color probably won’t even be noticeable.
CHAPTER 11
LUKAS
MY COUSIN STORM is the lead guitarist of Ashes & Embers, a kick-ass rock band his brothers and my brother, Vandal, are members of. When Storm found out that I play the violin and the piano, he had this cool idea to add some classical elements with a metal edge to a few songs the band was working on. I laid some tracks with them at the studio for those songs, and agreed to play live with them at the local clubs where they play occasionally.
I love music, but I love the tattoo parlor more. Owning my own business and having steady income is something I’ve always dreamed of and never thought I would really have. Call me boring, but I like stability. While some people may think living the rock star life, and touring around the country—or the world—would be amazing, it’s not a lifestyle I want. It would only feed my demons and dredge up my past issues with feeling unsettled and unwanted. I’ve seen how Vandal has to juggle the band, working at the shop, and his daughter. I just don’t want to split myself that way.
So now, Storm is here to make sure I’m going to play live with them in a couple weeks at a club across town.
“I said I’ll do it, man,” I assure him for what must be the tenth time.
He’s excited and jumpy, as usual. “This is special. I’m singing a song to Evie,” he says, following me around like a little kid.
I look up at him as I clean my work area, trying to remember why that name sounds familiar. “The girl from the blizzard incident?” I a
sk him.
He nods, clapping me on the shoulder. “That’s the one. I gotta get this girl, Lukas. I’m fucking mad crazy over her. And your intro to the song is gonna kick fucking ass.”
“It’s gonna be sweet. No worries. So what’s the deal with the chick?”
He leans against the wall, right on top of one of my paintings. “She’s got a fucking douche-bag boyfriend she’s been with for like half a fucking century,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But she’s not happy.”
“Are you sure about that? Is that your assessment or her own?”
He glares at me. “Don’t use big fucking words with me, Lukas. She’s not happy. Period. I know it, and she knows it. I just have to get her to admit it.”
“I think I know the feeling.”
The front bell rings, meaning Ivy is here. Finally. “Look, that’s my next appointment, so you gotta go, Storm.”
He turns toward the waiting area, grins at me, and leans toward me, lowering his voice. “The one you were telling me about? The older chick?”
I push him out of my work area. “Yes. Be gone.”
I follow him to the waiting area, where Ivy’s sitting in one of the red velvet chairs, looking fucking amazing. Her hair is now deep burgundy, and her face is glowing as she smiles up at us.
“Hi,” she chirps happily when she sees us.
“Hey, Ivy, I want you to meet my cousin, Storm. And Storm, this is Ivy.”
Storm shakes her hand and looks back at me. “Dude, you were right. She’s beautiful.” I’m going to kick his ass if he embarrasses me. Or her.
Ivy laughs. “It’s nice to meet you, Storm. I love your name.”
“Yeah, it’s very fitting,” I interrupt, grinning. “He was just leaving.”
Storm puts his arms up and waves his hands. “I get it. I’m going. I’m going.” He turns to me. “I’ll see you soon, man.” He looks down at Ivy. “And hopefully you, too. Have a great holiday.”
“You too.”