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I know what it's like to be pushed aside for something better, Blondie. It's, uh, a different kind of pain. One that's impossible to ignore. You can't just put a band-aid on it and wait for the scrape to heal. It's like a broken bone. It takes a long time to get over, and the bone doesn't always go back into place right away. Sometimes, you have to re-break it. Then, you wrap it in a cast and hope you don't have to wear it forever.
He said all those deeply profound things and then he kissed me. It was... it was terrible timing after our golf course fight, but still thoughtful and honest. Cash and I rarely talked about our feelings. We talked about everything else. Sports, his parents, music, and Johns Hopkins. We barely scratched the surface.
But Wilder and me? It's like we dove into the deep end of the pool without testing out the shallow end first.
Is it possible to spend four years with someone and never really know them? Then, turn around and spend four minutes with someone else and feel like no one has ever understood you better.
I groan as I drop my head into my hands. Wilder kissed me. And I liked it. Then, he acted like it was no big deal.
You're Cash's. Not mine. You've always been Cash's.
I was Cash's, but Wilder was always there. I was never really just Cash's. Wilder and I spent more time arguing than Cash and I did talking.
What if... what if all this time I was dating the wrong friend?
No, Ingrid. Don't do that to yourself.
What Cash and I had was great until it wasn't. It was young, puppy love. Then, it was over.
Now, I'm still fighting with Wilder but there's less arguing and more talking and feelings and words that are deep and meaningful, and then there's the kissing. Explosive, orgasmic kissing. The best kiss of my life. But I'm not supposed to read into it.
So, I guess I'm going to get a wax. Maybe a painful diversion will clear my head.
I flush the toilet and head up the stairs. The Cave of Corruption is awfully quiet. I throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top before heading out the door hoping to avoid Queen Isla before her tireless tirade continues.
The drive through town on a Sunday morning is serene and slow. Everyone is still slumbering inside their quiet, peaceful houses. Houses not terrorized by Isla and Frank's regrettable relationship.
"What do you mean Loretta isn't in today?" I say when I make it to Loretta’s. My eyes widen as Pierre adjusts the skin-tight black sleeves on his shirt.
"She doesn't work Sundays anymore," he rolls his head back and forth on his shoulders. "I have a 30-minute window open now. No charge."
I inhale sharply. I could always wait until Monday to ask Loretta about a wax. But if she doesn't have any openings next week, and Wilder wants to skinny dip at the lake Friday night, then the bush will be on full display. And I'm not sure after that racy kiss I want to introduce Wilder to the tangled mess of pubes I've let grow out of control.
"Fine," I swallow hard.
Pierre leads the way into the back. My palms begin sweating instantly. I prefer Loretta and her gentle, grandmotherly touch to Pierre's quick, questionable torment.
"You sweat a lot last time," Pierre fondly remembers. "I'll go get the baby powder."
I want to die. Someone, please hand me the sharp, jagged end of a sword.
"Get on the table!" Pierre hollers from the closet.
I take off my shorts and climb onto the table. Everything is sweaty. My hands, my legs, my armpits.
"You know the drill," Pierre tsks me as he swirls the purple wax in the warmer. "Put your feet together."
I close my eyes, mortified, as I press the heels of my feet together and give Pierre access to the part of me I swore he'd never touch again.
It's not that Pierre is gross or unprofessional. He doesn't make uncomfortable comments or let his eyes linger too long in places they shouldn't. It's just that he's a boy. One that graduated three years ahead of me. It feels weird.
Pierre spreads the first patch of wax and I grip the sides of the table with force.
"Relax," Pierre instructs. "It'll be over soon."
"Not soon enough," I grunt as he rips off the first strip.
What follows is a painful ten minutes of removing every last stubborn hair down there.
