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“Thanks for last night, Levi! I had a great time,” she says, throwing a wave over her shoulder before shutting the door. The woman notices me for the first time and gives me a shy grin. “Oh, hi,” she says, looking down at her clothes that are clearly from last night.
I don’t respond; I can’t. My heart pounds with the force of a thousand drums in my chest, my throat tightening up and making it impossible to breathe. I didn’t realize it was possible, but I think I just felt my heart break a little in my chest. The onslaught of pain is almost deafening as blood swooshes in my ears.
The woman walks to the end of the hallway and waits for the elevator. Apparently, Levi didn’t give her the same lecture about not taking the elevator in buildings where there are just a few floors. That’s because she’s not a friend; not like I am. I’m safely tucked away in the friends-only zone, where you worry about the other’s safety, but don’t ever picture them or think about them in any situation that doesn’t fall within the strict friends-only parameters.
And that’s where I am.
Friends. Only.
I slowly make my way to the elevator and push the button. It takes it a few moments to make the ascent back up to the third floor, so I use those moments to consider my options. One, I continue to pretend I don’t have the hots for my best friend and pine away for him, hoping that over time he’ll realize that he’s secretly in love with me too. Two, I move on. I accept that Levi and I are friends and nothing more will ever come. The thought makes me hurt.
No one said life was ever easy.
As I get into the elevator car, I smile a little knowing that I’m going against something he’s always said. I’m getting into an elevator and only using it for three floors. It could break down or the city could suddenly be overtaken by severe weather and I’d be trapped. But today? I just don’t give a crap.
In my car, I crank up the radio, blasting Joan Jett, as I make my way towards Hair Haven. A new plan starts to take shape, one that already has me nervous. This next stage will force me to not only step outside my comfort zone, but to jump over it and keep going. This is the start of something bigger than dull old Abby. The sister who works from home and sometimes doesn’t even get dressed that day. The one without the trail of single men following behind her (that’s AJ) or the one who can flirt as if it were as natural as breathing (that’s Lexi). I’m the one who cries at beer commercials and could never get a pet because she can’t bear the thought of losing it one day.
I’m just Abby, plain and boring.
But not anymore.
It’s time to get up and move on. Time to show myself that I can date and have fun and be carefree. It’s time I become someone different than the ordinary girl I’ve always been. Move over simple Abby because outgoing Abigail is coming.
I can do this, right?
Right!
The street is practically empty at eight a.m. on a Sunday morning, so I’m able to park directly behind Lexi’s vehicle. The front door is unlocked for me, but I throw the latch after I step through it. One time, we had a man stop by and ask for a cut. He saw the lights on and thought she was open. Since then, we’ve always locked ourselves in. And if any of the other sisters show up–which has happened on many occasions–she just runs over and lets them in.
Easy peasy.
The lights are on and there’s plenty of natural sunlight filtering in through the large front window. There are four workstations in the little shop Lexi works at. The owner gave her a shot right out of beauty school and served as her mentor as she navigated her first few years of being in the business.
“You look like you didn’t get much sleep last night,” I say to my twin as I walk over to her station.
“I’m dog tired. I couldn’t fall asleep last night to save my life. And for once, it didn’t have anything to do with Chris snoring.”
“He snores?”
“Like a freight train.”
“Is there something you can do?” I ask as I slide into the chair.
“Besides a pillow over his face?” she quips. I glance up at her face and see the slightest grin play on the corner of her lips. She’s joking. At least, I hope she is.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” I say as she wraps the cape around my neck.
“No, you’re right. I would never do that.”
“Good.”
“Orange isn’t really my color,” she says before grabbing the box of foil squares and the pan of color that she already mixed up for my highlights. “I think we should add this reddish highlight in with the blond.” She makes it sound like a suggestion, but it’s not. It’s already happening. That point is perfectly clear by the red highlights already made up, brush sitting in the pan.
We make small talk about our other sisters, about work, and about the weather, but I know the hard stuff is coming. Both Lexi and I use these two-hour hair sessions as a way to dig in and talk about the good stuff. And by that, I mean Lexi will nag me until I finally spill whatever’s on my mind, and she’ll overshare everything I really don’t want to know about. Namely, her sex life–or lack thereof.
Instead of waiting for her to start grilling me, I decide to be bold. “I’m going to try Internet dating,” I say after a few moments of silence. She almost has my head completely foiled, and the brush stalls against the strands of hair she’s coloring.
“Really?” she asks, concern etched on her face.
