Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
The door opens to my right, letting the chattering from the restaurant seep inside. I release my hair and fix it while a lady closes the stall door behind me.
“Everything okay?” Becca asks when I return to the table.
“Absolutely.” I smile, sitting in my chair just as the waitress sets the bill on the table. I grab it before anyone else can.
“No. I’ve got this, Josie.” Mom tries to argue with me.
I shove my credit card into the black check presenter, and the waitress scoops it up two seconds later.
“Sorry. Too late.” I wink at her. I’ve gone from trying to pull my hair out of my head to a version of chipper that makes me cringe.
In the cool fall air, we stroll down the busy street toward the bridal boutique and pass a hair salon.
“Mind if we stop in here to see if they have an opening?” I ask.
Mom and Becca share looks of confusion.
“I’ve been so busy with work that I’ve totally neglected my hair. And I’d love to have it looking nice before I try on gowns.”
They nod and offer agreeable smiles.
“Great. Uh …” I gesture to the opposite side of the street. “There’s a toy store if you want to walk around it with Reagan until I’m done.”
Again, they return slow nods. “Text me when you’re done?” Mom asks.
“Sounds good.”
I’m in luck. They have an opening.
An hour later, I meet them outside of the toy store. The door opens, and they emerge, glancing around for me. They look right past me the first time.
“There she is!” Reagan spots me.
I smile, making my way to them. Mom’s and Becca’s jaws drop.
“Do you like it?” I wrinkle my nose and rub my hand over the back of my head and my short pixie cut.
“I like it,” Reagan finally says when my mom and Becca don’t answer.
“D-do you like it?” My mom breaks her silence.
“Yeah. It will be way better for work. I can sleep in later because it will take me two seconds to do my hair. Less drying time after I shower. And on my wedding day, I won’t have to fuss over flyaways.”
“Flyaways,” my mom whispers, losing some color from her cheeks.
“It’s refreshing.” Becca smiles. “Shall we try on dresses?”
“Let’s do it.” I take Reagan’s hand. With a new bounce in my step, feeling so much lighter, I lead them to the bridal boutique.
For the nearly two hours we’re here, trying on dresses, my mom keeps looking at me. She looks brokenhearted.
When I try on dress number fifteen, I smile at her in the mirror. “It’s just hair, Mom.”
With a forced smile, she nods.
“This is the one,” I declare, turning in a slow circle. It’s a simple, long-sleeved off-the-shoulder, white dress. An elegant sheath dress. Perfect for a January wedding in the Midwest.
“It’s stunning,” Mom says, seeming to snap out of her shock. Finally.
“Colten is going to bawl his eyes out,” Becca says.
Everyone laughs.
I don’t see Colten crying on our wedding day.
Four dress orders later, we head to Colten’s house, grabbing pizza on the way.
“Looks like he’s home,” Becca says when she sees his car.
Reagan sprints into the house. “Daddy! We got dresses!” Seconds later, she trots down the stairs just as we’re shutting the door behind us, carrying the pizza and drinks to the kitchen. “He said he needs a shower.”
“Well, we’ll start eating. He won’t care,” Becca says, opening the pizza boxes on the table.
My mom sits in a chair and sighs. “Oh my achy feet.”
“Right?” Becca plops down and passes a plate to my mom.
“I’ll be right back,” I mumble, but I don’t think they hear me over their aching moans and rumbling stomachs.
As I ascend the stairs, I run a hand through my short hair. From the moment I told the guy at the salon to chop it off, right up until this very moment, I felt confident and empowered. I clearly have hair issues. I thought this would help. Now, I don’t know.
I can’t stop thinking about Colten’s reaction. He loves (loved) my hair. Running his hands through it. Burying his nose into it before taking a long inhale. Stroking it after sex.
I open the door to his bedroom then the door to his bathroom. His naked backside is to me as he washes his hair in the shower, the glass covered in condensation. When the door clicks shut behind me, he glances over his shoulder, wiping suds from his face.
I fold my hands behind me and lean against the door. I’ve never felt so naked.
He pushes open the glass door, eyeing me with an unreadable expression. Maybe it’s the steam or maybe it’s the memories of what I survived today and how out of control I felt this afternoon, but I can’t look him in the eye.
“Rough day, baby?”
I nod slowly, keeping my gaze on the deep blue bathmat.