Her throat tightened. She stared at the words, not sure what to do with them.
Then, to really break her out of the spell, her mom’s contact photo popped up on the screen. She swiped open the call, heart pounding. Surely someone was dead. Her brother? Her dad? Her mom, calling from beyond the grave? If anyone could figure out how to haunt her via cellular connection, it was Helen Wolf.
“Mom? What’s wrong? Everything okay?” Alix asked, feeling breathless.
Her mom made an amused sound. “Hello to you, too, Alexandra. Of course everything’s okay, why do you say it like that?”
Because you’re calling? A thing we almost never do?“Just checking. What’s up?” Alix asked.
“I was just checking in to see if you’d decided on Christmas plans this year,” her mom asked.
Dread pooled in Alix’s stomach. She hadn’t been home in… more years than she had fingers to count. “Uh, I’m not sure. My work schedule is pretty hectic, and… yeah, you know. We’ll see.”
Her mom sounded disappointed as she said, “I understand. I’d really love to have you for Christmas this year, though. Your dad and I both would.”
Yep. That settled it. Her dad had a terminal disease. Alix narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I’ll really try,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure if she meant it.
Oscar stuck his head in the door. “Hey, heartbreak hotline. Your three p.m. balayage is here.”
“Mom, I have to go. We can talk later,” Alix said.
“Sure. Have a good day, dear,” her mom said.
Alix shoved her phone into her pocket, cheeks hot. She wasn’t sure if it was Kirstin in the next chair or Grace on her screen or Christmas plans in Colorado that had her burning.
Maybe all three in combination.
The day dragged. For an hour or so while her bleach processed, Kirstin’s laughter floated across the salon, light and sharp, needling under Alix’s skin until she finally,finallyleft. Alix didn’t look up from her razor cut as she felt Kirstin’s eyes on her as she walked out the door. Alix powered through her appointments, plastering on her cocky smile, hiding the thrum of inadequacy whispering steadily under her ribs.
But every lull, every stolen moment, she texted Grace. About nothing and everything. About nightmare clients. About her mom’s call. About Phyllis interrogating her that morning over coffee. About how Simple Plan stared back at her from a poster above her station.
Grace answered every time. Wry. Clever. Steady.
By the time the shop closed, Alix was wrung out, her Docs heavy against the floor as she grabbed her longboard from the break room. She kicked off into the fading light, the streets glowing warm and quiet around her, phone buzzing in her pocket.
She didn’t know what she was doing. Didn’t know why the conversation with Grace flowed so effortlessly. Most of the time, they didn’t even text about their breakups or exes. All she knew was that seeing Grace’s name pop up on her phone made her smile and feel light in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Chapter Five
GRACE
“Why didyou take out the candy corns?” Grace’s mother shouted from the kitchen.
Sitting on her mom’s love seat and sporting the same black cat ears she’d worn the last seven Halloweens in a row, Grace tucked her bare feet under herself. “Because you can’t have unwrapped candy in a bowl where kids are sticking their hands,” she shouted back. She’d come over to her mom’s house to have a little birthday dinner before handing out candy together. It was a tradition they’d shared as long as Grace could remember. Small, quiet, unfussy. Just like she appreciated.
“What?” Her mother appeared in the living room, a massive bowl overflowing with candy resting on her hip.
Built like carbon copies, Grace’s mother was five and a half feet of naturally tanned curves and was regularly mistaken for Grace’s sister. At sixty-five, her mother wore her hair in a bob now, but she’d had it down to her waist for most of Grace’s life. Although in her over-the-top Mary Poppins wig and hat, she didn’t look like her older sister tonight.
“Mami, you can’t give out unwrapped candy,” Grace repeated when she was standing close enough to hear her over “The Monster Mash” blaring from the speakers outside.
She furrowed her painted-on eyebrows. “Says who?”
“Anyone who doesn’t want to consume meningitis pebbles?” Grace adjusted her glasses.”And they’re gross,” she muttered to herself.
She scoffed. “They’re fun!”
“So is Russian Roulette until you lose and get sued.” Grace stood at the sound of excited kids ringing the doorbell.
