AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Out!” He looks wounded, and I relent. “I need to dry my hair, you loon.” I point to the contraption holding up my curls. “Now, out!” I shove at his shoulder, halfway between playing and seriousness, and he stumbles out, looking at me incredulously. “You touch your hair before I exit this bathroom and you die.” And then I close the door in his shocked face, leaning against the hollow wood and burying my head in my hands at the sheer craziness my life has become.
After a moment of silence, Fitz’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “What should I plan on bringing Friday?”
Chapter 42
Fitz
Ittakesapproximatelythirtyseconds for my brother to notice something is different about my appearance, and another thirty for him to place that it’s my hair, but once he does, it’s literally all he can talk about.
“She’s got you using product,” he says like I’ve grown a third arm, tipping the neck of his beer bottle at me from where he stands in my kitchen.
“Product isn’t a bad thing,” Todd argues from his place on the other side of the counter, a can of craft local brew between his fingers as he leans forward, weight on his elbows. He gestures up to his own head. “I would look like a fucking idiot without something to keep this tamed.”
“I’m not saying product is a bad thing.” Freddy takes a long sip from his bottle, eying me, and then gestures to his own mop of hair. “You think this looksthis goodwithout a little help?” I give my neighbor a deadpan look, but Fred continues, “I’m just observing that this girl hasyouusing product.”
“She’s not a girl.” I make a face. No, girl is definitely not the word I’d use to describe Piper. But the doorbell rings, saving me from having to qualify that response to Freddy, who is, arguably, more analytical than I am.
When I open the door, Mateo and Vic are standing on the porch, chatting like old friends - but they both silence when they see me standing there, and immediately look at my head. I feel heat creep up my neck.
Frannie had done the same thing yesterday, when I’d spent a measly ten minutes attempting to refresh the soft ringlets by way of Piper’s specific instructions. And while they looked a little less glossy today, it was very much a noticeable difference from my typical “two minutes and out the door” attitude.
Vic holds a six pack of Blue Moon out between us like a peace offering. “She got you with the curly girl method, didn’t she?” Mateo snorts next to him, the hand holding a large paper bag moving to cover his mouth like he regretted it instantly. I snatch the bag from his hand, turning and heading back down the hall without another word.
“Oh, someone’s touchy.” Mateo’s voice is audible even as I round into the kitchen, hearing the door closing behind them. “Or should I say, lightly coiffed?” I don’t need to see Fred to know the laugh across the room comes from him - my friendship with Todd is still too tentative for him to laugh at a jab like that.
“I’ve missed you, man,” he says to Mateo, crossing the room in a few long strides and bringing Mateo into a tight embrace.
I feel on guard - ever since Freddy and Frannie read me the riot act, I’ve been hyper aware of the way these people around me interact. People I’ve known most of my life, who have somehow evolved around me and built friendships I wasn’t even aware of while I was wallowing in self pity post-divorce.
And one of those, it seems, is Mateo and Freddy.
“Seriously, though. It looks good.” Vic gestures to my hair, shrugging on a black bomber jacket over the tee shirt he’s wearing, probably because I have the AC blasting to compensate for the gathering heat outside. He looks put together in a way the rest of the men around me don’t - I think, mostly, because they simply don’t care.
Todd is a personal trainer, he’s always wearing athletic clothes no matter the occasion. I saw the guy on Christmas day last year, and he was in gym shorts. Freddy, for now, is always in a LSSU shirt and chinos or jeans. He’s always had a kind of uniform. It’s shifted over the years, but he joined the same fraternity I was in at UT when he started college, and between their mandatory event shirts and ones he’d managed to find on his own, it was 90% of his wardrobe. And Mateo, well, Mateo always looked like he was about five seconds away from jumping on the back of his Suzuki and speeding away, all leather jackets and thick, square-toed boots.
It’s poker night, and I feel overdressed in my own home, already uneasy from all the attention my hair is getting.
“What did you bring this time?” Fred asks, diverting attention away from me and pointing to the bag still in my hand. I peek inside - it looks like…donuts?
“Bomboloni,” Mateo answers, throwing keys and wallet onto the counter and setting down a bottle of wine - he’s always been a wine snob, I think way before we were even old enough to drink, probably because his dad has been doing wine pairing menus for longer than we’ve been alive.
“Are we supposed to know what that means?” Todd asks, coming to stand behind my shoulder and looking into the bag. I pull out one of the dough balls, coated with sugar.
“It’s like a donut-type-thing.”
“Eloquent,” I reply, and then take a bite. Mateo snatches the bag out of my hand as I chew, and the bite of the chocolate - Nutella? - in the middle hits my tongue. Oh, man, these are good.
“Fuck off, no more for you until you learn manners,” Mateo says. Fred snorts, reaching in and getting one for himself. “They’re Italian. I’ve been fucking with the dough recipe for, like, six months.”
“I’ll be a good boy if it means more of these,” Fred says, holding up the pastry he’s already eaten half of, making a guttural noise. I swallow the laugh at the back of my throat - sometimes he doesn’t realize he sounds inappropriate. Wordlessly, Mateo holds the bag out to Vic, who I can tell is trying not to laugh at my brother, who licks his fingers in a way that is immediately overtly sexual.
“Piper’s Nona used to make these all the time,” Vic adds, taking a bite and giving a satisfied nod. “Close, dude, real close.”
“I’ll take that as a win, assuming Nona knew how to cook.” Vic closes his eyes at Mateo’s words, like he’s remembering the world’s best meal.
“Oh, yeah. You didn’t leave the table until you were fat, happy, possibly on the edge of falling asleep.” He shakes his head, like he’s trying not to reminisce too hard, and then looks at me. “Lady was a spitfire, you’re lucky she’s gone, or she would have eaten you alive on Friday.”
“Let’s play some cards,” I say, at the same time Freddy asks “Ooh, what’s Friday?” and I fight a groan. Fuck, Vic. Left the door wide open on that one.
