by Debby Mayne
“My business makes a huge difference in a lot of people’s lives. Our clients feel better about themselves, and I keep a couple dozen people employed so they can feed their families.”
“Well, there is that.” Mother pauses as she reloads. “At any rate, why would you even want to go?”
“Because I want to?” I can’t help the fact that I’m starting to sound like an adolescent.
“That’s a shock. Your father and I were wondering why you haven’t shown your face in town in the past year. Then it dawned on me that you didn’t want folks to see you wearing braces. I’m surprised you even have a salon left. You know what the mice do when the cat’s away.”
“I hire people I can trust,” I tell her through gritted teeth.
“So are you going to the reunion or not?”
“Like I said, I’m not sure.”
“Do you want your old classmates to see you in braces? After all, since you’re so into appearances, I would think—”
“I’m getting them off soon, so that’s not an issue.” I suspect she’s annoyed that I got braces for cosmetic reasons. I begged Mother to let me have braces when I was a kid, but after the dentist assured her it wasn’t necessary for good dental care, she told me I was just being shallow. Throughout high school, I smiled with my mouth closed so people wouldn’t notice my overlapping front teeth.
Mother lets out one of her long-suffering sighs. “Okay, well, if you do decide to go, give us plenty of notice so we can clear our schedule for your visit. Your father and I have social obligations, since he’s the head of his department.”
“Yes, I know.” Ever since Dad’s promotion, Mother likes to remind me of his position. And it’s been at least three years. “Whatever I decide, there’s no need to clear your schedule.”
“You know you’re always welcome to stay here at the house,” she adds.
I wish I really did feel welcome. “Thank you, Mother.” But I’ve learned to live with the tension.
“And don’t forget to bring your church clothes. We’re not like your church in the city. We still show our respect by dressing nicely.”
“Yes, I know.”
I hear Dad calling out to her, so I’m relieved when she tells me she needs to run. After I hang up, I lean against the wall and slide to the floor. Talking to my mother is exhausting.
On my way to the office the next morning, Mother’s voice rings through my head. “Someday you’ll thank me for this,” she’d said when she dropped me off on the steps of my dorm at Ole Miss, her alma mater. She reminded me it’s always good to start out away from home to get a taste of being on my own but with a safety net—as if I was arguing about where I was going to college. The real argument happened when I dropped out.
See, ever since I entered my teenage years, I dreamed of doing something with clothes and hair and eventually turn it into my own business. I never minded studying in high school if it meant making my parents happy, but college wasn’t the path that would lead me to where I wanted the rest of my life to go. Just do it, right? Some of the most successful young entrepreneurs either skipped or dropped out of college. Look at Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg.
I pull into the parking lot of my Jackson shop and open the car door. And pause. I sit there and stare at the two-story, red-brick building with an upscale salon on the ground level and my office upstairs. This is the first salon I built from the ground up, and I’m mighty proud of its success in the two short years since I’ve been there. The Jackson newspaper did a story on me once and claimed I’m lucky in business. I might not have finished my first semester of college, but I’m a logical thinker and planner. I did a year-long study and determined this location had the most potential for growth. The old mansions in the neighborhood are being bought for a song, divided up and renovated into apartments, and sold for a fortune. Then there’s all the twenty-something, fresh-out-of-college hipsters moving into those apartments. My success isn’t luck—it’s knowing what I want and being willing to work hard for it.
Finally, I get out of the car, grab my briefcase, and head up the side staircase to my office. Before I open the door, I know Tim is here by the fresh scent of Abercrombie and Fitch’s latest cologne for men.
“Looky what the cat drug in.”
“What are you doing here so early?” I toss my briefcase into the tiny office behind my assistant, Mandy, who is too busy opening mail and acting like she’s minding her own business for me to think she’s not getting a kick out of my annoyance. “Any messages?”
“Just got here, Prissy. You got a ton of mail from yesterday.”
“I need to talk to the mailman. It’s just not right for all our mail to get here after we leave.”
“I know, right?” Mandy cuts a glance over at Tim then rolls her eyes toward me.
“So are you here for my order?” I ask Tim. He’s still in one of the three chairs across from Mandy’s desk.
Tim is a sales rep for his uncle’s beauty supply company, and he covers most of the center of the state. If he gave all his customers the attention he gives me, he’d never have time to sleep. Even Mandy has noticed.
“I thought I’d take you to breakfast.”
I fold my arms and arch an eyebrow as I study him. “What’s the occasion?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. I thought maybe we could talk about your reunion.”
“Are you kidding me?” I shriek. “You know about the reunion?”
“Um . . . ” He glances over at Mandy who shrugs and busies herself with some paperwork that’s been sitting on her desk for a week. Finally, he turns to me and meets my gaze with challenge. “Yeah. I talked to Sheila last week when I stopped by your salon in Piney Point.”
Sheila’s the hairdresser I put in charge of the Piney Point salon when I left to open the Jackson office. “Why did you stop by there? I do all my ordering here.”
If Tim doesn’t stop shrugging so much, his shoulders will get stuck. “Old time’s sake, and all that.” He stands. “So if you don’t have a date, I’m available.”
Tim has a crush on me. We dated for a while, but after he started getting serious, I resisted all his advances. I have a business to run, and I don’t have time for romantic distractions. Besides, the chemistry isn’t there for me. “It’s almost two months away. I have no idea what I’m doing that night.”
He follows me into my office. “At least think about it. We’ve been friends for a long time, and you can totally be yourself with me.” He holds both hands out to his sides and makes one of his goofy faces. “My mama taught me good manners, so I won’t embarrass you. I know which fork to use for the salad, and I even have my own tux.”
I can’t help laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Yeah, you start with the outside silverware and work your way toward the plate.”
“No, Tim,” I say slowly. “I’m talking about the tux. You seriously own one?”
He nods.
“But why?” I leave out the part about how he has always fancied himself a redneck, and even if he hadn’t come out and said that, I would’ve known the instant he told me he owns every single book Lewis Grizzard and Jeff Foxworthy ever wrote.
All satisfied and full of himself, he replies, “It’s from my stand-up comic days, back before I came to work for Uncle Hugh.”
That explains a lot. “That might be rather ostentatious.”
“Osten-what?”
Oops. “Showy.” He looks so eager to please, I can’t tell him no right now. “I’ll have to let you know, but first, tell me why my last hair color order is taking so long.”
“I take it you don’t want to go to breakfast?”
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