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“Sometimes it’s a good thing to wait until you’re older to make big hair decisions,” Harlow says.
Ella nods, her eyes still wide.
“Time to go, kiddo,” I say. “Go wait for me by the front door.”
Ella scrambles off the chair and walks around to where Harlow is standing. She hesitates for only a moment before throwing her arms around her in a hug. Harlow looks startled but recovers quickly, hugging her back.
“Bye, sweetie,” Harlow says.
“Bye!” Ella calls as she skips toward the front door, leaving us in semi-privacy.
I stand there for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to say. Eventually I settle on the reason I came here today.
“The washer and dryer are up and running,” I say. “You shouldn’t have any issues using them. But if something goes wrong, let me know and I’ll fix it.”
She nods. “Thanks, Linc. And thank you for teaching me today. I really appreciate it.”
I grin. “It’s no trouble. Like you said, you’re a fast learner.”
She smiles. “I’m an overachiever.”
“You always were the teacher’s pet,” I tease.
Her mouth drops open. “I was not! I just liked making good grades.”
I laugh. “You were always at the top of the class.”
She shrugs and I can’t help but think how cute she looks. “Jealous?”
“Maybe, a little,” I admit.
“Daddy?” Ella calls from the door. “I thought we were going?”
“Just a sec,” I say. Turning back to Harlow, I smile. “Thanks for fixing her hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that excited about her hair before.”
Harlow smiles. “It was my pleasure,” she says.
An idea occurs to me, and I speak before I can consider if it’s a good one or not. “Do you think you could teach me? How to do her hair, I mean?”
Harlow’s expression shifts slightly. She’s still smiling but there’s something different in her eyes when she looks at me.
“That’s really sweet of you,” she says.
I shrug. “She’s my daughter and I don’t know how to style her hair. You do. It seems like common sense to ask for help.”
A small laugh escapes her. “You’d be surprised how many parents don’t take the time to learn anything about their kids.”
Something about the way she says it makes me wonder if she’s talking about her own upbringing. I know she was raised by a single mother who worked two jobs. I don’t remember ever hearing about her father. She grew up in a big house that had once belonged to her grandparents. After her mom died of cancer, the house had gone on the market. I’d always assumed Harlow sold it since it was far too large for one person. Besides, it needed a lot of work from what I can remember.
“Not all parents are able to be what their kids need,” I say, trying to be tactful. “I wonder all the time if I’m enough for her. I don’t think the worry ever really goes away.”
Harlow looks over at Ella where she’s bouncing in place near the door. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think you’re doing a good job.”
“Thanks,” I say, touched by the compliment. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
She nods. “See you tomorrow.”
I turn to leave, taking Ella’s hand in mine as we walk to my truck in the low evening light.
