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“Just do it,” Luke mutters dully, bowing his head at a more severe angle. “Please. Get it over with.”
I meet Danny’s gaze with a shrug. With a deep sigh, Danny consults the instruction booklet before placing the clippers on a head more accustomed to a crown.
It takes a few false starts, but then Luke’s hair begins to be shorn off in coarse sheaths, falling straight to the floor and onto Luke’s pajama front. After a moment, I attach a paper towel for Luke to hold against him; he shoots me a moderately grateful look, though seems surprised that I don’t want to stand beside him and hold it against his chest permanently.
Danny works methodically, biting his lip whenever the clippers get stuck at an awkward angle. More often than not, Luke winces in discomfort. I watch the two of them in fascination until Luke taps Danny’s side.
“Yes?”
Whatever it is, it’s too quiet for me to make out, but from Danny’s frown at me I can guess the subject.
“He wants you out of the room,” Danny informs me, and Luke’s brows descend with indignation.
“If you simply insist ontellingJessa, then what is the point in me telling you?”
“Beats me,” Danny answers, shaving off another chunk of Luke’s hair with a small, victorious flourish. “You’ve already got me cutting off your hair like a servant. I’m not going to coddle your words, either.”
“Fine,” Luke says huffily, and he raises his head in my direction, much to Danny’s chagrin. “I apologize, Jessa, but I have never quite felt such a stinging lack of dignity in all my life, and as such, I have no wish for you to bear witness to this insanity.”
I don’t blame Luke for feeling this way. I’m sitting backward on one of the high-backed kitchen chairs, gazing at Danny and Luke like this is a theater performance of some kind. And in a way it is. I’ve never seen the two of them interact like this, and Danny somehow salvaging the upper-hand while Luke acts like the spoiled and demanding prince he is, or used to be… I can’t help but be intrigued by the pair of them.
Nevertheless, I stand from my chair. “If that’s what you want,” I say, crossing over to the door. Danny shoots me a pained look, like he doesn’t want to be trapped alone with Luke.
I hold back my laughter. It’s fine. I have books to read.
When I leave, I assume I’ll be allowed in sooner rather than later. But hours pass without anyone saying anything to me. Rory and Finlay eventually return, grim-faced and exhausted from their walk around town, but even they’re barred from the living room by Danny and Luke.
By the time the doors open and we’re allowed to check they haven’t murdered one another, night has fallen and a new Luke rises.
