“There’s an art to this – or you’ll end up with snarls and tangles…” Mimi admonished, pulling on Heidi’s hair as she deftly unrolled the prickly rollers one at a time. With each move, she put the curl into place like she was building a bouquet, fussing over each one almost lovingly. “Don’t touch or else they’ll fall. You have to nurse them, work it, and then style it into place with a little hairspray or a hairnet.”
“I’m not wearing a hairnet…”
“Me neither, but you don’t see me making faces each time I unroll one – now do you? Didn’t your mama, aunt, or grandmother ever put pigtails in your hair or braid it when you were a girl?– And stop flinching. I’m not pulling… or I will just so you can see what it feels like.”
Heidi stared at the little old woman in disbelief. “Are you threatening me?”
“Land sakes no, child. I’m willing to teach you a valuable lesson that someone should have taught you by now,” Mimi chuckled, smiling as she continued to work.
“Quit moving, or I’ll hurt you even worse? That’s the lesson?”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t come here to get maimed or have my hair yanked out –Ow!- one by one…” Heidi flinched, tears stinging her eyes as the woman tugged on a snarled knot hard, causing a burst of pain to race across her scalp. “I need that, you know.”
“You came here for a fresh start – and a man.”
“The fresh start, yes… a man – no.”
“Why can’t both happen?” Mimi paused, looking at her curiously.
“Because one would bring me joy and the other would give me a migraine.”
“Then it’s the wrong man.”
“And I suppose you have someone in mind?” Heidi asked drolly, already aware that Jack’s grandmother was trying to play matchmaker.
“Me?” Mimi said innocently, pushing up her glasses. “Heavens no. I don’t believe in matchmaking. People need to mind their own business.”
“Whew,” Heidi sighed openly in relief and sagged as the last curler was extracted from her hair with a ‘Ta-Da’ from Mimi in triumph.
“No, I believe in fate, a little luck, some good ol’ boys raised right, a little magic and spark between two people when it's time, and some charming kisses that leave a woman breathless,” Mimi said wistfully with such longing written on her face that it caused Heidi’s words of protest to die off in understanding. The sweet little lady was talking about her own relationship, her own husband, the photo of him that she’d lovingly touched on the wall to say ‘good night’ – and no one had to explain that her husband had passed away.
Before Heidi could say anything, Mimi cleared her throat and smiled at her. “Come. You’ve gotta let those curls set before you brush them, and I’ve got the coffee ready. The skillet is warming in the oven for some good ol’ egg gravy like my mama used to make me. Have you had egg gravy on toast?”
Heidi chuckled, following the little woman down the hallway and not bothering to check her hair. No, things were certainly different here, and there was no pressure, no rushing to get on the road before traffic picked up… and it was kind of strangely nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a hot breakfast at the table, talking over coffee. In fact, every morning was rushing to get to her job, eating a granola bar or a Pop-Tart in stop-and-go traffic while in a full-on mental road rage that she swallowed back to keep from getting the finger, yelled at, or worse yet - shot.
No one wanted to be a statistic.
“You should stay a while, find your place, take a break from all that,” Mimi said, waving a hand off to her left. “That mess…”
“I am,” Heidi chuckled. “I’m going to be here for four or five days.”
“Girl, please. It’s gonna take that to get that stick out of your butt…”
It was so unexpected, so crazy, so out of the ordinary coming from a little woman who was barely five feet tall with a little tremor to her as she stood there at the stove.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m trying to use your terms, so you understand. When my George used to go on vacation, he used to say, ‘The first five days were to unwind – and the sixth day was to dread getting back to the store.”
“What did George do?”
“Oh, we had a sweet little bakery,” Mimi smiled. “We made pastries, breakfast muffins, little tea cakes, but you want to know what my favorite was?”
“What?” she asked, utterly fascinated at the life this woman must have led. She couldn’t have imagined her running a bakery after all the fuss about the curlers – a hair salon would have been more like it.
“My grandmother’s buttermilk donuts,” Mimi sighed happily, closing her eyes at the memory. “There’s no smell like it, you know? I remember her mixing the batter in aceramic bowl, rolling out the dough with her wooden pin, and then cutting them into squares…”
