Keri’s right. I need to get out of my head.
I also need to get out of this bathroom.
The sound of the door being pushed open disrupts the silence.Hallelujah!I lean down to try to catch a glimpse of the woman’s shoes beneath the stall door. I hope for Keri’s black Mary Janes but am met with an unfamiliar pair of white-and-black-checked Vans.
This is going to be embarrassing, but I don’t see a way around it. “Hello? Umm ... can you grab me some toilet paper from the other stall, please?” I wave my hand under the stall divider.
“Sure.” The voice is younger than any of my coworkers’.
A wad of white tissue lands in my palm. “Thank you.” See, Idoknow how to say it correctly.
I’m at the sink washing up when my rescuer emerges from the other stall. She’s young, not quite a teenager, and I wonder who she belongs to.
“I love your hair.” She looks at me through the mirror as she lathers soap on her hands. “How did you get it like that?”
I touch the braided crown at the top of my head. “It’s just a simple inside-out French braid, and then I loosen the hair to make it appear thicker.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip, her braces glinting in the overhead lighting. “I don’t know how to French braid.”
“Do you ... do you want me to show you?”
Her eyes go wide. “Would you?”
I dry my hands and toss the paper towel in the trash. “Sure.” I stand beside her. “Should I do yours or mine?”
“Oh, mine, please.” She reaches back and pulls out the elastic band holding up her ponytail.
“My name is Mackenzie, by the way,” I say as I gather the hair at the top of her head and divide it into three strands.
“I’m Natalie. My uncle works here. Maybe you know him? Jeremy Fletcher?”
My fingers pause. “Sure. I know him.”
“He’s great as a parental, but braiding is outside his wheelhouse, and Grandma’s arthritis keeps her from being able to do it.”
Parental?
“Mm-hmm.” Words are beyond me at this news bomb, but I manage the hum as I gather more of her hair to add to the braid starting to march down her head.
“So it’s basically a regular braid, you just add a portion of hair on both sides after each twist?”
“Yeah. It’s a little awkward to do on yourself at first, but you’ll get the hang of it with practice.”
The door to the bathroom opens a fraction. “Natalie?” A male voice enters the female-only domain. “You didn’t fall in, did you?”
“No, Uncle Jeremy.” Natalie’s cheeks redden. She looks at me through the mirror again. “Sorry.”
I smile, though I feel I’m on a two-second delay. “So, Jeremy is your ... parental?” Man, do I feel old using that term.
“Yeah. My parents died in a car accident when I was three, and Uncle Jeremy has been taking care of my brother and me ever since.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I don’t know how to respond at first.
“My dad died in a car accident when I was young too.” Not what I’d planned to say. While she seems to have no problem talking about her parents’ death, I rarely ever talk about mine.
“Sucks, right?” She eyes my progress with her hair. “Oh, you’re almost done.”
I tie the end with the elastic band. “Done.”
She beams. “Thank you!”
