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“As soon as I can,” I promised myself. Every day I worked I was closer to some solitude.
Another customer came through the door, and reluctantly I let her do her job. I sat down in the waiting area and watched her friendly banter with the older woman.
“Oh, my dear,” the woman gasped in mock surprise, “what happened to Lucy?”
“I don’t know,” Tammy said. “I’m sorry. I’m new here. Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes, dear,” the woman answered. “Every Thursday at two.”
Tammy scanned her computer screen. “Great. Ava will be right with you.”
When it was my turn, I went with my usual lady. I didn’t know her name, but she always cut my hair. She was tall and fit with long blonde hair, and super friendly to talk to. I think she might have been the owner, because all the other hairstylists seemed to defer to her.
She patted her chair and waited for me to sit down before unfurling a black plastic bib. Centering it around my neck, she said, “Mike? Do you know Tammy, our new receptionist?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We met at the Lady a couple weeks ago.”
“I heard,” Lindsey answered, spritzing my head with water. “She asked about you.”
“She did?” I sat up straight, interested.
“One of my best friends is her cousin, and when she found out that we had both grown up in Singer’s Ridge, she asked if I knew you.”
I frowned. I wasn’t sure what the hairstylist knew, but if she had heard any of the gossip from the rumor mill, it couldn’t be good. It seemed like everyone in town had an opinion about my sobriety. I hoped that she hadn’t shared any of that information with Tammy.
Lindsey continued talking as if nothing were amiss. “I told her I knew you and that you were cute.” She laughed.
I exhaled in relief. Tammy had found the one person in Singer’s Ridge who didn’t know I had spent six months in jail. Thank goodness for small favors. Lindsey took her scissors and comb and began trimming my hair. I glanced in the mirror and found I could see Tammy’s reflection, all the way across the room. She was on the phone, talking to a customer about an appointment or a bill or something.
“If you want her number, I can give it to you,” Lindsey said.
I considered the offer. Way back when I thought I would never see her again, I would have jumped at the opportunity to learn Tammy’s number. I had been over and over that drive in my mind, replaying everything that had been said. Should I have let it go? Was she really just looking for a one-and-done, or would she have been receptive to more? If I had asked for her phone number, would she have given it to me? Or would she have politely reminded me that I had signed up to be merely a way to forget an ex-boyfriend?
Now that I knew where she worked, it seemed less urgent. I still wanted her number. I wanted to take her out for a real dinner, somewhere outside of Singer’s Ridge. I wanted to bring her home to an apartment that I had signed a lease on, somewhere far from the lumberyard. I wanted to take her to the movies, or to a football game, or whatever kind of entertainment she was into. And I wanted to spend long hours alone with her in the dark, licking every inch of her skin.
“I better not,” I decided. “I don’t want to seem creepy, like I got her phone number without asking her.”
“Good point,” Lindsey said, combing out another section of my hair. She worked and chatted, not about Tammy, but I got the feeling she was mining information for Tammy. Did I like my job? How long had I worked there? Was I planning to move on?
“The job is good,” I said. “I don’t mind the job. I’ve been working there on and off ever since I was in high school. It’s really just the living situation that bothers me.”
“What living situation is that?” She pulled a lock of hair straight up in the air and snipped it.
“I see too much of my parents,” I admitted.
“I wish I had that problem,” she responded, combing out the rest of my head.
I felt like an idiot, even if she didn’t mean to make me feel bad. Here I was trying to get out from under my mom, not realizing how lucky I was to have her in my life. Lindsey didn’t have to elaborate. Tammy had said much the same thing, that she missed her own parents. Without prying, I could only assume they had passed away. I really was ungrateful, and I resolved to do a better job putting up with my mom’s bullshit the next time I saw her. I winced. There had to be some kind of happy medium between too much parental interference and none.
“What was that face?” Lindsey asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I gather your parents aren’t with us?”
Lindsey shook her head.
“I’ll try to remember that the next time my mom sticks her nose in my business,” I joked.
Lindsey smiled. “I’m sure she tries your patience.”
