Bait (Wake, #1)(26)
“I don't know. I want to cut it. I think I need a change.”
“I hear you,” she said, “but every time I cut it too short I always regret it. Then it grows back and I do it again.”
“I know the feeling.”
She grinned a small smile. “Right?”
“Maybe I'll get bangs.” I'd always wanted to try them and hopefully they would be enough to pacify the urge I had. It was decided. A trim and bangs.
“I think they'd look nice on you. You have a good forehead for it,” she complimented and then was embarrassed again. It was a weird thing to say to a perfect stranger.
“Thank you,” I said to reassure her and I laughed. “I think that's what I'll do. How about you?”
“Oh no. I'm only getting a trim. My husband would kill me. He likes it longer.”
I nodded. But something about that sentence irritated me. Sure. Her husband's allowed to have an opinion on what he likes, but the way she was so quick to shoot it down was a little sad.
“If he didn't have a preference, then would you get it shorter?” I asked. I continued to smile, humoring her. I didn't want her to get defensive, I was only curious.
She looked up at the large poster behind me, which showed the nail polish colors that were available, as she squinted in contemplation. “I don't know. He's never told me to not cut it, but he always reminds me of how much he likes the length when he knows I'm coming in.” She smiled thoughtfully and it eased my unnecessary concern. “I don't know what he'd do.” She continued to look off into space, probably imagining the conversation they'd have if she came home with a short cut. “Is it strange that I like that he likes my hair a certain way? I'm sorry, my name is Annie.”
She leaned forward and offered me her hand to shake, making our acquaintance official. “Blake. And no. On the basis that he does things that you like. Does he?” If it was a mutual thing for them to please each other, like that, then I thought it was great. If it wasn't, then I thought it sucked. “It's none of my business. I'm just curious.”
“Oh. You're not married?” she asked and looked at my ring finger.
“No. I'm not. God, no.” My reaction surprised me. I could have left God out of it. I'd have to think about that more later.
“It's okay. Let me think. Does he do things like this for me?” She swung her foot at a more rapid pace, almost like she was shuffling through memories with her shoe. After a minute or so went by, she said, “Ah, ha! He cleans the toilet for me, because he knows I don't like it. I know he doesn't like it either, but he does it anyway. Does that count?”
“I think so.” Even though it wasn't the same thing, I thought that was a compromise.
We went back to our comfortable silence and she just sat there staring at the same nail polish poster. A woman with bright blonde, shaggy hair came out to the desk and looked at her list. “Annie?” and then she looked from me to Annie to decipher which one of us she was attending to next.
Annie lifted her hand, but didn't say anything.
“Hi there. As soon as I finish ringing her up,” the blonde stylist said, “I'll take you back and get you shampooed.”
She straightened a few magazines and collected her things. She took out her phone and, presumably, sent a message. Then she pocketed it again.
Annie walked over to me and said, “It was nice chatting with you, Blake, I'm sure your bangs will look great.”
The stylist, upon finishing with her last client, walked around the counter and ushered Annie to the back saying, “So what are we doing today?”
I heard Annie say, “Cut it all off.” And then she laughed. “I can get used to cleaning toilets.”
I had the stylist cut my bangs thick and not too short. She said the part that I normally wore would train to lay flat, but the way she fixed it, after she gave me the trim and some new face fringe, I didn't see that there would be any problem with me styling it on my own.
When I got home, I put on a little more makeup and slipped into an amber sheath dress and paired it with nude pumps. I was a little overdressed for Michael's, the restaurant my parents were taking us to, but I didn't care. I felt great.
On the way over, the conversation between Grant and I mostly centered on my new job. I told him that I didn't want to tell him everything in the truck, because he'd just be bored at dinner, hearing everything twice. But honestly, it was because when I told him I would be traveling a few times a month, he didn't share my enthusiasm like I'd hoped.
I said, “I'm excited. I'll be going places I've never been. I'll be meeting so many awesome chefs.”
He only answered with, “Your hair looks different,” and kept looking at me oddly. It wasn't the most comfortable drive.
My mom, dad, and Shane met us there and were already at a table waiting when we arrived. Mom stood up to hug me when we approached the table on the restaurant’s outdoor dining deck. They knew I loved that place. It had decadent food and I loved eating outside. The weather was perfect for dinner on the patio.
I didn't miss the look my dad gave Grant or the slight head shake with which he returned it. My intuition said it had something to do with my ring finger, but I put it out of my mind.