Page 59 of A Class of Her Own

“I sometimes forget how stick straight your hair is,” Willow laughed as she made a second attempt to get a curl to hold.

“We have the same hair,” I replied.

She gently shook her head. “Our hair is representative of who we are. We may have the same color, but yours is much less cooperative than mine. Mine is more flexible with a slight wave.”

I gave her a look in the mirror. “So, you’re saying my hair is rigid and unable to change?”

She giggled. “Take it however you want to, sis.”

“I’m taking it literally, like I always do.”

Lizzie burst into the room, followed closely by her mom, who was holding her wedding dress in a bag across her arms. Lizzie’s curls bounced around her head like a bunch of tiny slinky toys, her eyes were big and happy, and her smile was about to overtake her entire head.

“It’s my wedding day,” she said, throwing her arms out. “Finally!”

Willow released the lock of hair she’d been attempting to curl and allowed me to rise with the rest of my friends. We congregated in the middle of the room, all of us stepping naturally into a big group hug while somehow keeping our heads from touching. Wedding hair was not to be mushed. It was a moment of pure connection for me. I always participated in the hugs, but I didn’t always do it with such a nostalgic feeling flowing through me. This was the beginning of big changes for our little troupe. Lizzie was leaving on her honeymoon tomorrow and then moving away.

I surprised them all when I said, softly, “I’ll miss this so much when you go, Liz. This group has meant everything to me.”

Lizzie’s face crumpled, followed, like dominoes, by everyone else, including me. While I didn’t get quite as teary as the rest, my throat closed up, and my eyes grew wet. Soon, sniffles filled the room and then some laughs and murmured, sentimental words. I’d started an avalanche that we were having a hard time recovering from.

Lizzie’s mom clapped her hands after giving us a few precious minutes. “Ladies, we’d better pull it together and get moving. Makeup repair must be added to the list now,” she chuckled warmly.

“Thornback dragon warriors,” Aryn whispered fiercely.

We all snapped to standing, wiping at our eyes and offering a few final hugs around the circle before moving back to our respective areas. Willow was waiting with a knowing glance, and I pursed my lips as I took my seat and she picked up my hair again.

“You sentimental little thing,” she joked. I rolled my eyes, and she grew serious. “Really, though, I think it’s so lucky that you have these women in your life. I’m a little jealous, to be honest. Not everyone gets so many bonus sisters.”

I nodded with a gleam in my eye. “Yeah. It’s a wonder I was willing to take them on after growing up with you and Ash.”

Willow tugged extra hard on a piece of hair she was pinning into place. “Uh, I raised you, if you’ll remember correctly. Why do you think I’m still childless?”

At this I laughed and surveyed her handiwork in the mirror. My face looked softer with my hair curled and pulled back, and when Willow helped me into my dark pink—ahem, rosewood—dress, I had to do a double take. I looked approachable and warm. Two words that had most likely never been used to describe me.

“Well, well, well, Meredith Atwood, you are a stunner,” my little sister whispered close to me. She wrapped an arm around my waist, and I did the same in return. “Do you think it’ll ever be one of us?” she asked.

I shook my head slowly. “It’s not something I’ve ever wanted, even if I had a man I loved and trusted,” I stated matter-of-factly.

“The scars run too deep,” Willow stated rather than forming it as a question. “I’ll manifest some healing for you.”

I grinned. “Even then, I may never want to marry.”

“That’s fine. I understand your reasons. But I’m still manifesting you a companion, anyhow.”

“How many things can you be manifesting at the same time?” I asked, pulling my arm out of our embrace to adjust a hair that was tickling my nose.

She reached up to help me. “As far as I know, there’s no limit to the good things we can bring into our lives.”

“Great. Well, how about manifesting me a big diet soda?”

Willow put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me down onto the seat again. “And mess with the perfect lipstick I’m about to apply? Never. You know, the color of this dress really brightens up your face.”

“I’ve been told.”

At exactly four o’clock in the afternoon, on December 20th, Elizabeth “Lizzie” Duncan married Jackson Walker. His daughter, Sally, stood at his side, and it was so adorable that even I had a hard time keeping steady. I stood in a line behind Lizzie with Ruby, Aryn, and Hailey, each of us clasping a small bouquet and watching with wet eyes and goofy grins as Lizzie’s long-time dream came true. The vows were perfect, the guests weren’t many, and the setting was peaceful and intimate.

I thought about what I’d told Willow upstairs, about never wanting to marry. It was a choice I’d made a long time ago, based on the fact that I didn’t see the value in it. I had only a few prized memories of my mother. All of them were of ways she’d interacted with me or things I remembered her doing around the home. I didn’t have any of her and my dad together. I didn’t know how they’d functioned as a couple. All I really knew was that when she’d died, our dad had disappeared.

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