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We ate and talked about hockey, and the next set of away games.
We discussed which stores were having sales this week.
And who was doing what back home.
Nothing too deep.
Which suited me just fine.
After we ate, I helped her clean up. She turned up her music and we danced around as we put the extra food away and did the dishes.
When everything was done, she said, “Hair time.”
I followed her into her bathroom. She had it set up with a chair and a couple of small roller carts.
“Shut the door behind you, okay?” Jillian asked and pulled out the chair for me.
The music from the living room was muted considerably when I closed the door.
“The camera can’t hear us in here.” Jillian looked at me with warm, caring eyes.
I sat down and she picked up a silver flat iron. “They sent this to me yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to use it yet, though.”
Volunteering to be one of Jillian’s test subjects could be fun.
Or it could be disastrous.
Some of the products that beauty companies sent her were one hundred percent awesomely fantastic.
Others?
Not so much.
I crossed my fingers that this flat iron worked well—and didn’t melt my hair or something.
She brushed my hair out, then grabbed a small section.
I literally held my breath.
With the expert movements of a pro—she twisted the iron and dragged it down my hair.
I breathed a sigh of relief when my hair came out not only unscathed—but also fantastically curly.
“Love, love, love this,” Jillian said happily. She gently touched the curl with her fingers.
“That is cute.” I smiled at her in the mirror.
Her head tilted and she gave me a sad look. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in a week.”
My gaze dropped to the floor, then back to her. “You’re probably right.”
She stared at me for a few seconds. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I took a big, deep breath. “You’re a great friend, Jillybean. Always have been. But this—” I tried to think of how exactly to express what I wanted, “this mess is—a freaking mess. I want to confide in you—” I kept my eyes glued to hers in the mirror, “but I just can’t. Not this time. I’m sorry.”
Her face fell, and she nodded. “I get you, honey. Just know,” she said, sectioning out another part of my hair, “I’m always here for you. Even if you can’t say anything. Okay?”
I swallowed over my dry throat. “Thanks.”
