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Darcy unzipped the leather bag. “I brought the works.” She pulled out a pair of hair scissors. “I used to do this for a living. I thought you might let me clean things up a bit…”
“I still haven’t seen how bad it is,” I admitted.
“You haven’t?” Darcy asked.
I shook my head. “Peyton wouldn’t bring me a mirror. I didn’t really have the energy to fight her about it.”
“Don’t look,” Allison suggested. “Just let Darcy work her magic so the next time you look in a mirror, you see a version of yourself that you love.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “See a version of myself that I love,” I repeated. “I don’t know if I’ve ever loved myself.”
I hadn’t meant to be so honest. But there was something about the Old Ladies. Their mere presence pried the feelings out of me, whether I wanted it to happen or not.
“I’m really good,” Darcy said, her tone gentle. “And I think you have the perfect bone structure to pull off a pixie cut. What do you say?”
“Go for it,” I said.
Dive into the unknown.
An hour later, Darcy held up a mirror for me to peer into. Before I faced myself, I took a deep breath. I didn’t look like me at all. My blonde hair was cropped short. It highlighted my cheekbones and made my eyes appear bluer and bigger. I turned my head to the side to study myself.
“You have the daintiest ears,” Joni commented.
“Like a little elf.” Rachel smiled.
“I think you look amazing,” Mia added. “Short hair really suits you.”
I ran my hand down the column of my neck.
“You hate it.” Darcy groaned, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“No,” I interrupted. “I don’t hate it. I don’t hate it at all.”
And then I began to cry.
“Shit,” Rachel muttered, tossing her chicken leg onto a paper plate and setting it aside.
The Old Ladies crowded around me. Their arms embraced me as I cried out the storm that was swirling inside me.
“It’s just hair,” Darcy said. “It’ll grow.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. “Iloveit. I love it so much, and I never would’ve cut my hair. You were trying to fix a mess—and you did. You fixed it, and now it’s beautiful again. I just wish someone could fix what’s inside of me. What’s the version of a haircut for your soul?” I asked on a sob.
I felt their tears on my skin as they held me, and we cried as one.
Rachel was the first to gain control of her emotions. She leaned away and swiped a hand across her eyes. “Fuck this shit,” she snapped. “I’ve cried so much since I’ve gotten knocked up, and it just keeps getting worse.”
I let out a soft, watery laugh. “Are there any more mashed potatoes?”
“Yeah. They’re cold though,” Joni said.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Joni riffled through the picnic basket and pulled out a plastic container. She removed the lid, stuck a spork into it, and then gave it to me.
“Any word?” Allison asked, her tone soft. “About the extent of damage to your hand?”
I inhaled a sharp breath, unprepared for the honest question. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to perform surgery again. And that, in and of itself, is the reason I’m contemplating a morphine addiction.”
