Page 108 of The Man I Hate

“Did you find it?” I asked.

He stepped between me and the television. “Do you know if he’s got hair clippers?”

“He does.” I paused the television. “He bought an entire kit the other day and had it delivered.”

He scratched the sides of his head. “Do you know how to give a proper crewcut?”

“I think so.”

He crossed his arms. His look went serious. “You think so, or you know so?”

“I used to cut my dad’s hair all the time,” I replied. “He didn’t wear a crewcut, but he kept it short. I can watch a YouTube video and make sure. It can’t be that difficult.”

“Either you know, or you don’t.” He gave me a flippant look. “Sounds like you don’t.”

“Just a minute.” I grabbed my phone. I Googled crewcut and selected the first video. I watched thirty seconds of the tutorial and looked up. “I can do it.”

“This isn’t a good time for you to be betting on a maybe,” he said, seeming annoyed. “I don’t want a haircut with a bunch of fucking holes in it.”

“I’m positive.”

“Well…” He put his hands on his hips. “Are you going to sit there and look pretty, or are we going to get this done?”

“Oh.” I set the remote on the end table. “You want to do it now?”

“This shit’s going in every direction.” He mussed his hair with his fingertips. “I look like an Iowa farmhand that just got done fucking one of the unwilling sheep.”

He looked like a mad scientist. Choking on a laugh, I sprung from my seat. “I’ll be right back.”

When I returned, he was sitting at the kitchen island with his arms crossed. He studied me as I walked toward him, almost as if evaluating me. Feeling nervous, I stepped to his side and presented the tools of the trade.

“I’ve got it all,” I declared. “Cape, clippers, comb, and scissors. I’ve even got a mirror.”

“Where do you want to do this?”

“In here is fine,” I replied. “The lighting is good, but you’ll have to sit on one of those short chairs. I can’t see the top of your head if you’re on a stool.”

He slid off the edge of the stool. He gave me a once-over. “How tall are you?”

“Five-two.”

His visual inspection continued. He paused when he reached my hair. “Is that your natural hair color?”’

“It is.”

He sauntered to the dining table and pulled out a chair. He glanced at the table before sitting down. “Restaurants are closed until who knows when. What have you two been doing for food?”

“I’ve been cooking,” I replied. “I’d rather cook than go out, anyway.”

“No guard on the sides,” he said. “Fade into a number one, and scissor cut on top, just long enough to make me look mean.”

I grinned. “One haircut with mean intentions, coming right up.”

I fitted the cape around his neck. Clutching to the hope that I didn’t make a haircut ‘with a bunch of fucking holes in it’, I began shaving off his thick silver locks.

“Ever been arrested?” he asked.

The question came from nowhere. It took me by complete surprise. Luckily, I wasn’t cutting his hair at the moment.