Page 13 of Love Unwritten

“Good, because you’re a week away from entering man-bun territory.” He fakes a shudder.

“Like I would ever let it get that long.”

He spares me another look.

“Again,” I add. After I filed for divorce and found out about Nico’s degenerative eye condition, I didn’t do the best job of taking care of myself. I had too many issues on my mind to think about anything other than my failing marriage and distraught child, so my self-care fell to the wayside.

“While Ma is cutting your hair, Dahlia could come over and check out your closet. She’d love to help you pick out outfits for Hawaii too, if you let her.” Julian’s eyes brighten. He always gets that same goofy look on his face whenever he talks about his girlfriend and our family friend, Dahlia Muñoz.

Although I once gave him a hard time about staying away from her, my worries were unwarranted because my cousin has never been happier than he has been over the last nine months since he and Dahlia started dating.

Unlike me, Julian never jumped into bed with the wrong woman to fill an empty void. Instead, he was responsible and patient, while I was reckless and in desperate need of therapy. Heck, I still could use some, but I’ve put that personal journey on hold because I’m not ready to face my past. It was hard enough to discover why I clung to someone like Hillary in the first place, so I need some time to process my issues before resuming sessions.

Maybe even a few years.

I ignore the lump in my throat and ask, “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Sure, I used to put more effort into my appearance, but only because I cared too much about everyone else’s opinion. I wanted to be liked. To be desired.

Now, I just want to be left alone.

He gives my outfit a once-over. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

I really don’t, but that hasn’t stopped Julian from voicing it anyway on more than a few occasions. I’m not sure why my family cares about my clothes and appearance, but their worries are unjustified.

Just because I don’t dress to impress anymore doesn’t mean I’m spiraling.

At least not again.

He points at my flannel shirt. “Your attire could use an overhaul before your trip.”

“According to who?”

“Everybody who loves you.”

I roll my eyes. “You all are just being fussy because you have nothing better to do.”

“No. We fuss because we love you enough to see what you’re doing.”

I tense. “And what’s that?”

“Disguising your insecurities with ugly clothes, a disheveled appearance, and a personality rougher than extra-coarse sandpaper.”

“At least let me grab a beer first before you do a deep dive into my psychological issues.”

“Screw the beer. We’d need some hard liquor to get through all of those.”

“Pendejo,” I mutter.

“Cabeza dura.” Julian lets out a soft laugh as he raises his hand to get the bartender’s attention. Before I have a chance to pull out my wallet, my cousin opens a tab with his black card and orders us two beers from a brewery located a few towns over.

Pendejo: Dick

Cabeza dura: Hard-headed person

Julian crosses his arms over his chest, sending some sawdust flecks flying. “So, what’s the real reason you called me?”

“Do I need a reason to hang out with my cousin?”

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