“Yes! Many. I’m a teacher, so it needs to be appropriate. I’m a mother of four, so it needs to be easy to maintain. I’m newly single, so it needs to be cheap.” Alejandro stares at me, his pursed lips growing tighter, and his eyes squinting a little more with each comment.
“I’m paying, so give her the works. And make sure you do the eyebrows and mustache too, please. Jeanette is here, isn’t she?” She glances around the room.
“Oh yeah, girl. She’s here. I was actually going to recommend it.” He squeezes my face between his fingers as he hones in on my facial hair.
“I bleach,” I say, turning red.
“Now, you will wax,” Alejandro replies. “That chair, over there.” He points to the shampoo station. “You just sit back and relax, Mallory. I’m going to transform you into the sexpot you secretly wish to be.”
“No, no. No sexpot. Teacher and mother, please.”
“Hush, girl.” He finishes snapping a drape around my neck and eases me back into the shampoo chair. The woman massaging my scalp does such a great job of relaxing me that I damn near fall asleep in the chair. Groggily, I stumble with a towel wrapped around my head over to the waiting Alejandro. It takes him about two hours, of which I’m not allowed to peek in the mirror, and after one last spritz of hairspray, he turns me in the chair. My jaw drops when I see the finished product. I’m unrecognizable to myself. My hair is shiny, shorter, and sassy. The color is bold and vibrant, but not wild. The shock wears off, and a single tear rolls down my face.
“I never knew I could be so pretty,” I whisper through the knot in my throat. Iris beams at me, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. She comes near and gently places her forehead to mine.
“You’ve always been beautiful, Mallory. You’ve just done your best to keep it hidden away.”
“Wait! Sorry to break up this precious moment, but Jeanette’s free. Time for there to be two distinct and different eyebrows to frame that gorgeous face of yours. Oh, my! Look at how that color makes your eyes pop! Just you wait until those brows are finished. Supermodel, indeed. Uh huh.”
I survive the waxing, though I’m convinced it was once an ancient torture technique that was modernized for aesthetic benefit. I look as though I’m wearing pink eyeshadow the rest of the afternoon, but that’s okay because I’m makeup-free, and the color is actually kind of complementary.
Iris brings me to clothing stores, accessory stores, lingerie stores, jewelry stores, and our last stop is at one of the makeup counters in a huge department store. She piles the bags of purchased goods around the mirrored vanity, and after a brief talk with the makeup consultant, I’m slathered with a variety of products. She spins me to look in the mirror, and I’m once again left speechless. I’ve worn makeup before, but either the technique, product, or both has changed tremendously since then. I can barely breathe when looking at my reflection.
“She’ll take it all.”
“What? No, Iris. You’ve been WAY too generous as it is. No way can I accept this.” Iris nods to the woman who looks between us for instruction. “No.”
“Yes. All of it. Even the lotion.” I shoot her a look. “Don’t. Howard insisted. It’s our gift to you, Mallory.”
“You guys are too good to me.”
“You underestimate how much you do for us, Mals. We love you.”
I grip Iris around her neck tightly. This woman has been my lifeline since college, and she’s my sister in every way except DNA. The woman behind the counter finishes packaging all of the products, and with that final bag in hand, we make our way back to her car. I insist she let me buy her dinner, and she accepts, so we have a quick meal at a nearby bar and grill.
“He’s looking at you,” she whispers.
“No, he’s not,” I return without glancing up from the menu.
“Oh, and another one. Totally checking you out.”
“Iris. Stop. I got the clothes, I got the hair done, I got the makeup. You won.”
“I’m being serious, Mallory. Look,” she says through clenched teeth. She very casually angles her head to the right, and I follow the movement until I see who she was mentioning. A well-dressed man in his mid- to late-forties smiles broadly, and my first instinct is to look behind me. After peeking over both shoulders and seeing no one else, I scrunch my eyebrows. His smile grows. The waitress stops at his table to return his check. He offers her a smile, then rises from his chair to put his card back into his wallet, and then his wallet into his pocket.
Iris bites down on her lips when he moves towards our table. He glances downward, up at me, then downward again. “Pity. Whoever he is, he’s damn lucky. Have a great night, ladies.” With a wink and a sexy smirk, he walks out of view. I look down at my wedding band. I haven’t had the desire or nerve to take it off. It’s been fused to my finger since the day Brent placed it on me in the movie theater. Not even when I was big and swollen with the twins did it come off me. My finger sometimes turned a lovely shade of purply-blue, but I’d rub it until the blood flow returned.
I look up to find Iris staring at the ring with me. Her eyes meet mine, and we don’t need to verbalize anything. The entire conversation is said via facial expression, and it ends with me sliding the ring free and gently placing it into my coin purse. Once it’s snapped shut, and my purse is back in the chair beside me, I feel nauseated. Iris gives me a reassuring smile and a gentle hand pat.
“That was a huge step, Mallory. I’m proud of you.” I give Iris a weak smile. The rest of dinner is fairly quiet. We pay the check, go back to Iris’, and then I pick up the boys from Mom. All three are stunned when they see me, and David and Troy can’t stop touching my hair. I beam at their reactions. Once home, the girls freak out. Literally. Grace runs in place, screaming and wailing about how beautiful I look, and even Natalie, as rotten as she can usually be, hugs me tightly and tells me that I’m a hottie. They look happy for me. Proud even, and that makes my heart swell for the first time in a long time. Confidence is something I never really had much of, but this feels pretty damned good.
TWENTY-TWO
Plagued by a case of nerves more severe than anything I’ve felt since my very first day teaching, I reach for the handle with trembling hands.
“Let me get that for you, ma’am,” a random student says, rushing up from behind me. “Your hands are full.” I’m still fighting an internal battle with myself to be confident, so I look down to the ground as I mumble a thank you to whomever is wearing black sneakers with bright orange laces. Though I feel more beautiful than I have in my entire life, I also feel incredibly exposed. I’d grown so comfortable hiding behind the convalescent clothes, shroud of hair, and anonymity of remaining virtually faceless. Now, I’m purposefully drawing attention to myself with sassy hair, makeup, and cute clothes. I feel as if a spotlight is shining brightly upon me, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“Oh, my gosh! Mrs. Grayson! MRS. GRAYSON! IS THAT YOU?” The sudden outburst forces me to look up, and I’m stunned to hear a low buzz of chatter, as well as wide-mouthed gasps. The low buzz becomes amplified, and my cheeks grow rosy as all eyes settle upon me. Good gosh, all I want to do is hide. No. Vomit, then hide. And that’s when I hear the first clap. Then another. Then another, until everyone gathered outside under the protective awning of the school is cheering, clapping, or hooting.
“LOOKING GOOD, GRAYSON!” One of the football players yells, and I can’t help but let loose a very timid smile. Girls surround me, all giving compliments, asking questions, and bouncing around me. I glance across the way once I’ve entered the hallway, and I spot Natalie beaming at me before she gives a quick thumbs-up and disappears towards her locker.
I want to cry. I want to shed tears of happiness, and I’m on the verge of doing so when I look down and notice the tub of potato salad that I’m holding. It’s the going away potato salad. The potato salad that marks the last day I’ll see Brent in person, except for every other weekend when he picks up the kids for visitation. I’m
back to a level of mild indifference as I pop it into the fridge inside the teacher’s lounge. More ooos, ahhhs, and gasps, but they don’t really get me as flustered as the initial ones.
I want the morning to move by very slowly because I dread the upcoming lunch, but of course, it flies by. The bell rings, the class practically runs out of the room, and I’m left taking a few deep breaths before making the trip to the lounge. It all seems so final, and it scares the hell out of me. Yes, we’ve been separated for a few weeks now, but I have seen him every school day. He’s popped in and out of the house to visit the kids. After today, all of that ends. He’ll be nine-hundred miles away living a new life without me. My heart is in my stomach when I open the door, and I’m happy to see that I’m the first one there.
He’s so well-loved that nothing has been spared to celebrate his tenure at the school. Streamers sway from the ceiling, balloons are everywhere, a massive cake featuring the school’s colors sits atop the counter, and a table, filled with food, sits at the far end of the room. My potato salad is absent, so I duck into the refrigerator to add it to the collection.
“…and that’s why I lock up the…” I pop up from behind the refrigerator door when I hear Brent’s voice. He fumbles for words as he blinks repeatedly. In the meantime, I stand like a deer caught in headlights, precariously dangling the stupid freaking potato salad container between my fingers.
The tall, handsome guy behind Brent bypasses him and eagerly makes his way towards me with an outstretched hand. “Well, my day just got a little better. Let me take that for you, sweetheart.” His large hands mold around the container I’m barely hanging onto, and he offers me a brilliant smile when our hands touch. “I’m Colt Hansen, and I’ll be taking Brent Grayson’s place as head coach.”
“Welcome,” is all I manage to say. Brent finally finds his voice.
“Mallory, you… you look. Uhm. Mallory…” He looks confused, and it’s clear he’s uncertain of what to say.
“Mallory, huh?” Colt props up on an elbow against one of the free counters, grinning while swinging the whistle around his neck in a circle. I finally get a good look at him, dark hair with silver splattered heavily around his temples and occasionally throughout the rest of his short hair. Dressed in typical coach attire, he is another one who likes to keep in shape. Taut calves, thick thighs, protruding pectoral muscles, broad shoulders, definitely an ex-football star. A large scar winds around his right knee. Another career likely cut short in his prime. Football is an unforgiving sport all too often.
“Uh, yes. I’m Mallory Grayson. I teach English.”
“Grayson?” Colt stands a little straighter. “Oh, are you two…”
“NO!” I realize I’m shouting and grow embarrassed. “No, not anymore we’re not. Separated, we are. Now. Separated. Yes.” I sound like Yoda, so I clamp my mouth shut while awkwardly looking around the room. Colt looks between me and Brent.
“What did I miss?” Brent asks, pointing at me.
“Iris had her way with me.” Brent offers a knowing look, then his face returns to a semi-scowl. Colt’s grin actually broadens, and he waggles his eyebrows at me. I realize he’s mistaken my Iris comment, and I turn bright red. I was going to correct him, but decide to let him think what he wants.
Another bell rings, and a slew of fellow faculty members join us in the room. I’m steadily pushed further and further to the back as more people crowd in, but I’m okay with it. At least they acknowledge me when they move in front of me. Usually, I’m just rammed into my little corner with not even a second glance. The principal sings Brent’s accolades for a while, and I look up from the floor when the ladies in front of me part to allow Colt through. He presses his back against the wall beside me, crosses his arms, and bends his knee to rest his foot on the wall. He doesn’t look at me, instead, talks through the corner of his mouth as he pretends to pay attention to what’s happening at the front of the room.
“You know, it’s the naughty kids who like to hide out in the back.”
“Not always. Sometimes, it’s the shy ones.” I correct.
“Fair enough. You okay?”
“Fine. Why?”
“I know we don’t know each other, but it doesn’t really take a rocket scientist to figure out that this has to be incredibly awkward. You two obviously aren’t on the best terms,” he says in a hushed voice.
“What exactly does any of this have to do with you?”
“Nothing.” He spreads out his hands and shrugs briefly before crossing them over his chest again. “I just thought that maybe you needed a shoulder to lean on.”
I giggle as I bring my eyes to him. “And you’re volunteering to be that shoulder?”
He turns to look me in the eyes. “What can I say? I’m a giver.” This guy is such a huge flirt!
His comment draws a full laugh out of me, and right at a time when the room was practically silent. All eyes are on me, and I quickly redden as I clamp my hand over my mouth.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I compose myself. Colt stands beside me with a sly grin on his face, and Brent, well… Brent is obviously battling with a series of emotions judging by the look on his face. Brent thanks everyone for the party and quickly makes his way over to our side of the room.
“So, did I miss some big joke?” he asks.
“No, not at all,” I say, shifting my eyes towards Colt.
“South Carolina, huh? Nice place. I’m from North Carolina, myself. Played football in Texas for quite a few years. Went through a divorce of my own, and now I’m settling here. Some friends took me to party in New Orleans once, fell in love with the place. I have a condo in the Quarter, and I’ll get to use it more often now that I’m living here.”
“Wow, you have a condo in the Quarter?”
“Yeah. I’ve made a few successful investments here and there. Coaching is my passion, and that’s the main reason I accepted this job. It occupies my time, gives me a chance to give back to the community, and also allows me to keep an eye on some of those kids who might slip through the cracks otherwise.”
Brent looks like he wants to barf, but I’m intrigued. “That’s very altruistic of you,” I say. Colt shrugs.
“Hey, I do what I can.”
“You want some cake?” Brent asks.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” I answer.
“Dude, I’d love some,” Colt pipes up. “Make it a corner piece with extra icing if you can.”
I want to laugh so badly, but I hold it in. Brent had no expectation of fetching cake for his replacement, but now he’s stuck. Brent is the kind of guy you serve cake to, not who does the serving, and it’s awkward to watch the exchange.
Brent stares at Colt. “I’m not good at cutting cake. Mallory…”
“Whatever, Brent. Yes, I will go help you cut your damned cake. Corner piece, extra icing. I’ll be back shortly,” I tell Colt. He gives a hand salute while nodding.
“I’ll be waiting.”
“I don’t like him. You stay away from him, you hear?” Brent whispers as we walk over to the cake table. His hand clutches the back of my arm as he practically pushes me along. I move away from him.
“He’s harmless. A flirt, yes, but he’s nice. Plus, who the hell are you to tell me who I can and can’t talk to, Brent? You dumped me. Remember? You’re leaving tonight to move to a different state. Remember? You won’t be here after today, and…”
“Yes, I remember. I remember every bit of it, Mallory. I remember you throwing in the towel. I remember you rolling over and playing dead with our marriage, our kids, our life. I remember you giving up without a fight.”
“What? I gave up? Brent, I was there. I was the one who did everything while YOU hid away, sneaking around doing god knows what, like getting a job a thousand miles away. You’ve wanted out for a long time now, and that reunion was just the catalyst for you to achieve it.” Our hushed whispers slowly become louder.
“I refuse to argue about this. What’s done is done.
Yes, I’m leaving, but it doesn’t mean I’m out of your life completely. We have four kids, and until the twins reach eighteen, we’re still tied together. So, yes, I’ll be very vocal about who I think you should be around and who you shouldn’t.”
“Oh, really? So I can tell you right here and now that Whitney best not ever come into your line of sight again, right? That’s fair for me to say using your logic, Brent.”
“Why the hell are you bringing up Whitney?” The whole room is staring at us, and as soon as I realize it, I dash away from the embarrassment. Heavy footsteps follow me, and when I turn, it’s not Brent; it’s Colt. Brent is in the hallway near the lounge door, his face red with anger as he watches me from afar. He’s testing me to see if I’m going to listen to his advice.
“Hey, Mallory. You okay?” Colt asks, slowing his run to a walk as he approaches the spot where I’m standing. My chest heaves because the weight of everything smashes down upon me.
“Uhm, I…” I search around for a sign. “I…”
“I’m here if you want to talk. My divorce was so nasty. My offer in there is good whenever you need.” A sign. I need a sign. What do I do? Brent continues to stare down the hall at me. I glance up. Nothing. I glance down to see the Nike emblem on Colt’s shorts and shoes. Nike. Just do it. My sign.
“Talk. Yes, thank you. I just need to get out of here. Some fresh air would be good.”
“Not a problem. Let’s go for a walk.” Colt opens one of the double doors that leads outside at the end of the hall. I look back just before crossing the threshold to see Brent shaking his head as he reenters the lounge. Good god, what have I done?
TWENTY-THREE
Brent’s been in South Carolina for a month now, and I still miss him. We rarely speak, except to arrange visitation or to discuss the kids. We realize the children won’t be forthcoming about grades, discipline issues, and such, so we discuss them candidly. Other than that, we’re pretty allusive when it comes to discussing ourselves. I can’t really come out and say things like, “The house is so empty without you” or “I want to be a better person not just for myself, but for you, too.” He’s happier. I hear it in his voice, even though we’re just talking about the kids.
The Broken Road to Forever Page 21