Page 6 of My Girlfriend is Not the Father

Lucy lifted her hand in a sort of awkward half-wave goodbye, spun on her foot like a slightly uncoordinated dancer, and speed-walked from the aisle.

Jade strained her neck to see if she would turn back and give a wave.

Nope, nothing.

Good. No look back was good. Jade had moved here for several very specific reasons – to settle into her single life and shield her recently mended heart from any potential heartache, to open a business, and to rediscover her damn self. Not to flirt with the cute woman in Aisle Five.

She self-scanned a can of tomato soup, an apple, two chocolate bars, and the wasabi sauce – a lunch of champions if she said so herself – and raced back to the salon.

Sunbeams ricocheted off the sea of foiled hair, and the scent of bleach wafted into her nose. Seeing all ten chairs fully occupied in the middle of the weekday did something sparkly to Jade’s insides. If she were more on speaking terms with her family, she’d snap a picture and send a group text.

‘There you are.’ Mrs Dieterman folded the lifestyle magazine in her hand and set it on the side table. ‘Thought you forgot about me.’

‘I would never. You’re my favourite.’ Jade slung Mrs Dieterman’s jacket around her forearm. Eighty-five degrees in August, and she still brought a light coat. Jade held out her arm, and Mrs Dieterman gripped her, shaking a bit as she stood. After making their way across the sand-coloured mesquite hardwood floor to Jade’s station, Jade spun the black leather chair and eased her into a sitting position. ‘Would you like coffee, extra sugar, splash of cream?’

‘That would be delightful.’ Mrs Dieterman tilted her head and Jade fastened a smock. ‘Got any of those tea cookies?’

‘Just for you.’ Which was not a lie. Jade had them on opening day, along with champagne, a charcuterie board that cost almost as much as her rent, and an espresso stand. Mrs Dieterman walked in and downed five cookies. Jade promised to have them on hand for when she visited – which turned into a strict weekly shampoo set, monthly trim, and every other month perm.

Jade grabbed a mix of yellow and blue rods – never again making the mistake of using all yellow like back in her early hairstyling days. The client had stomped out with a scowl, a few choice words, and what looked like a poodle on her head.

The back-room door flung open and Shayna, Jade’s top stylist, flew through, balancing colouring bowls, brushes, and a smock.

‘Whoa? When did you do that?’ Jade circled her hand towards Shayna’s face, which sported fresh, sharp, razor-edged blond bangs. ‘I leave for twenty minutes and it’s a whole new you.’

Shayna tossed the items in the sink and pinched the edges of the hair grazing her red chunky frames. ‘You like it?’ She dipped her head and looked in the mirror. ‘You don’t think I look like Thelma from Scooby-Doo, do you?’

First, Thelma was the cutest of the detective squad if Jade said so herself – not that she’d say that to her employee. Second, Shayna was a natural pale blond, with such fair skin that it sometimes looked translucent. And she was never without deep red lipstick and black pencilled-in brows. So no, she looked nothing like Thelma. ‘You mean because of your glasses and bangs? Nah. But it looks great. Nice change.’

‘Cool, thanks.’ Shayna grabbed a stack of sanitised combs from the drawer. ‘My next client is gonna be late. I’m grabbing a bubble tea. Want one?’

‘Dear God, yes. Thanks. I have some cash in my drawer.’ Jade popped a small chunk of granola in her mouth. ‘You’re the best.’

‘I know …’ Shayna laughed and floated out as quickly as she floated in.

Among the zen-like atmosphere of the salon, with its cream-coloured walls, tan and white stone accents, and more plants than the local nursery, Journey’s greatest hits thumped through the salon speakers and Jade’s mind drifted. Lucy Sunshine Green. Hmmm. She added the activator and neutraliser to the tray, and pictured the cute, flustered woman waving her rainbow wallet in the air like some sort of lesbian fairy. Not that she’d normally guess someone’s identity. Especially with femmes. But Lucy’s ‘Queer AF’ T-shirt gave Jade the intel she needed.

Why had that conversation been so refreshing? Jade talked to people all day. She even enjoyed most clients. But this felt … different.

The bucket of rods clicked as she walked. She handed the coffee to Mrs Dieterman, who responded to her first sip with a sharp wince.

‘What happened to a splash of creamer? Tastes like you dumped the whole carton in there.’

Dammit. She was totally doe-eyed, distracted in the back room. ‘Oops, sorry. Must be the chemicals getting to me.’ Or maybe a random stranger with great hair and a pouty mouth? ‘I’ll make you a fresh one.’

‘Nah, this is okay.’ She took another sip. ‘So now, where did I leave off last week?’

Jade separated Mrs Dieterman’s hair and clipped strands to the side. ‘You were telling me about your grandson going off to college in the fall.’

‘Oh yes. So, he chose Iowa. Can you even believe that? He’s gonna take classes in the middle of a damn cornfield.’

‘That’s not true.’ Jade spritzed her hair with water, layered the tissue, and wrapped the rod. ‘Iowa is a thriving state. Des Moines is beautiful. Great food, culture …’

‘Pfft. Nothing like my homemade dumplings, that’s for sure.’

She sliced the next section of hair. ‘You’re gonna miss him, huh?’

Mrs Dieterman rolled her eyes, but fessed up a short while later that, of course, she was going to miss him, and even though you weren’t supposed to say it, he was one of her favourite grandkids. Jade warmed at the words, thinking briefly of her own feisty grandma back in Chicago.