Page 35 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

I lift my middle finger.

“What? Think of how jealous Lennon would be.”

Delilah gives me an encouraging smile. “I cut E’s hair sometimes and could give it a shot, but don’t you want a professional working their magic?”

I considered booking an appointment at a salon. An anonymous visit where no one would make fun of me to my face, but the idea of being in public for this overhaul made me antsy, and part of this makeover is about my inside—the invisible stuff underneath my resting I-hate-the-world face. That starts here. With E. As hard as I’ve worked to alienate myself from my family, pushing them and the memories they inspire away, worried my appearance made them angry or sad, they’ve never given up on me. They keep turning up for interventions, hiring me to lead hikes, even though I’m pitiful at it. They’ve been there for me time and again, and I’m tired of missing them.

“I’d rather do it here,” I say roughly and look at E. “With you.”

Emotion turns E’s face red, as usual. The guy can’t hide a thing. “Yeah, of course. We’ll all help.”

Delilah comes over and takes my elbow, guiding me toward what looks like their bedroom. “Let’s go find the old Desmond under all that mess.”

The old Desmond’s buried so far under this ink and tangled hair no makeover will uncover him. That’s okay. This isn’t about excavating Cocky Superhero Me. This is about discovering who I am now.

An hour later, I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror, feeling naked. It’s wild what a safety net hair is, as Mirielle said. My easy air of I-don’t-care-what-I-look-like chopped off. I rub my smooth jaw, drag my hand up the short buzz at the back of my neck, through the longish brown strands on top.

My personal makeover team hovers at the doorway.

“You look hot,” Delilah says. “Even the neck ink is cool in a blurry retro way.”

Aaron assesses their work. “I second the hotness.”

“As do I, but not the ink part. The ink still sucks.” E, always there to give me a hard time.

Ricky smirks. “I still think we should give him a Mohawk.”

They’d worked as a team to delouse me. Delilah washed my hair and chopped off the bulk of it. Aaron helped with the final styling of the top. E shaved the back of my neck. Ricky heckled us and kept the mood light.

When they’re done praising their work, they leave. Except E, who puts his hand on my shoulder. “You really do look good. Clearer, if that makes sense. Your eyes are more alive.”

I stare in the mirror and try to see what he sees. My eyelashes look thicker without everything to distract from them, and yeah, my eyes maybe appear more awake and purposeful. I also look younger but harder. Or maybe hardened is the better word.

In my early twenties, when I’d step in front of a mirror before going out, I’d lift my chin, confident in my appearance. While I still have the same features, I also see my resemblance to my father and feel a twinge of hate. I see fractions of me—a man whose identity was sawed into jagged pieces and tossed in an incinerator, then hastily reassembled and slapped with a presentable cover. Like my inside still doesn’t match my outside, and I’m not sure how to get all parts of me in sync.

At least I look less like a meth dealer.

“Thanks, E.” For calling me and being the one to tell me about Max. For talking to me when I’m at my snarliest and the rest of my family backs off. For being a great brother. “For everything,” I add quietly.

“Always,” he says, ducking his head. “Also, if you have any issues with Lennon, mention Maggie Edelstein’s name. It shuts him up every time.”

I don’t remember Maggie or what her deal was with Lennon, but I tuck that intel safely away.

E leaves, and I stare at my reflection a moment longer. I think back on the good parts of today’s hike. Meeting Max. Spending quality time with Sadie. I don’t know if this GQ Joseph guy is a friend of hers or more, but being around E and Delilah, absorbing their happiness and rightness together, has a familiar determination taking root. The quarterback I once was. The tenacious law student.

Max is still priority one, but I want to be part of Sadie’s life too. Have a second chance with her. Make them both the happiest they can be, and I’m ready to fight for that chance.

Sadie and I have talked through a lot of our toughest history, acknowledged our hardest days. We have more to discuss, but I’ve also been gifted time with her, thanks to Lennon’s meddling. Hikes to remind us how much fun we have together, and there’s nothing stopping me from returning to law school. Reenrolling. Showing her I’m still a responsible guy who can provide for his family.

But I’ll start small.

Our hiking program runs two days a week, Mondays and Fridays. This week’s second session is in four days. I have a solid idea on how to keep those Camila-Cabello-and-fart-humor-loving kids entertained with more age-appropriate games. I’ll spend more time with my son, hopefully uncover why he’s drawing angry boys zooming away from Earth. I also have the added bonus of showing off my makeover to one Ms. Sadie Sprite Jones.

ELEVEN

I don’t remember the last time I woke up at the crack of dawn bursting with energy. I don’t remember the last time I woke up at the crack of dawn, period, but I rushed around this morning, brushing my teeth and getting dressed, practically tripping over myself in the process, eager to start my day. While I’m dying to see Max and Sadie again, my scavenger hunt is also to blame.

I hit up Ruby Grove’s main street yesterday morning, buying knickknacks at their cheap-and-cheerful dollar store: buttons, stickers, glow sticks, bubble wands, and the like. I’m not sure this stuff classifies as “fun” or “cool.” I mean, I’m thirty-four, and I still like playing with bubble wands and glow sticks, but I’m not a prime example of adulthood. There’s a chance my crew of preteens will scoff when they find the loot I’ve stashed in the woods. My hope is the searching and discovering will overshadow any Desmond-screwed-up-again eye rolls.