Page 47 of Hero Hair
“I’m being terribly rude. I’m so sorry dear,” Mom says.
Teala turns her focus away. “Don’t be silly. You’re not being rude at all.” The questions in her eyes don’t go away. If anything, the can of worms is open and airing to ready for later. I swallow down the unease I feel with that realization. I don’t owe anyone anything. I don’t want to explain myself or have someone worry over me unnecessarily.
My mother explains that my aunt called and that’s why she turned on the television. They aren’t usually in the habit of watching the dumb box. It’s truth. When I was growing up they didn’t let me watch anything fun. MTV was banned and anything not considered educational was blacklisted. When I got old enough, sports were allowed. Mostly because my dad watched them and she couldn’t say anything about that.
“It’s so rare, or rather, never have we met any of Macallister’s friends. I’m sorry to be so caught up in this.” She motions to the TV, but turns around to face us, several throw pillows toppling onto the floor.
“Macallister?” Teala says, voice loud and incredulous.
I grin. “Guess you didn’t get all the details when you had a little chat outside?”
She shakes her head. Mom tells her it’s a fine, Scottish name, and Teala agrees even though her face is still contorted in confusion. Taking my pointer finger, I tap the bottom of her chin.
“Close your mouth. It’s not the time nor place for that.” Lies. There’s always a loophole for her blow jobs.
Her expression morphs into mortification, but she ends with a chuckle. My sick humor is appreciated in this instance. I’ve also successfully turned her attention away from the television. Eventually they turn off the news, because even if it bothers them, no one wants to listen to it all day long. People want to mask atrocities, push them to the corner where they won’t ruin their lives. It’s a truth. Most people dislike change and will do everything in their power to avoid it. Move their sofa around the living room, sure. Think about a world changing by the hands of terror? Nope. Blinders in place. It’s just as well. The average human can do nothing to stop it.
Teala sends glares my way in between banter and baked goods, and I have no fucking clue what they mean. She seems to be having an okay time with my parents, even if it’s making me fucking sweat. If I wasn’t confused about our situation, I am most certainly now. Our conversation in the bathroom did nothing to quell my own insecurities about letting another person into my life. A compassionate bone doesn’t reside in my body. Taking on another’s worries is tantamount in compassion.
What do I know about her? Truly? That doesn’t have to do with her tight body or sex appeal? She loves her mother, and Viola is the most important person in her world. She scowled when her mother mentioned her father at lunch. She’s unlike her friends when it comes to most things, but that seems to work to her benefit. She likes vodka and laughing more than she likes dessert and serious conversations. A large bookshelf lined a wall of her apartment and contained various authors and genres, so she must enjoy reading. Sloths. That’s a given. She’s enamored by my looks, but not my career, which is always a plus. Men gravitate toward her like she’s the fucking sun and they’ve been trapped in a nuclear winter. Are those facts enough to establish any sense of a person? Who. The. Fuck. Knows.
“She’s rickrolling me in sugar, Macallister. You have to get me out of here,” Teala says, breaking me from my trance.
She has this tiny little beauty mark on her face. It rises when she smiles. I don’t object to my full name, but I can tell she says it with ill intent—meant as a jab.
She licks her lips because she thinks that’s where I’m looking.
“You can tell her no,” I reply.
“I did. Several times. She doesn’t care if I’m full.” Her eyes widen, and she presses her palm against her tight stomach. “We should get going anyways.” Teala looks at her wrist and taps her watch a few times. “I have a million messages to reply to. My studio is hosting a yoga retreat. People are having problems signing up.” Her face contorts as she excuses herself to grab her cell phone to make a few calls.
She told me about the retreat, but it was before I cared what she had planned in the future. Now, these are things I’ll be expected to remember. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. It’s the Team’s group text. It usually isn’t active in the middle of the day. At night, in the middle of the night to be exact, is when the porn memes and inappropriate photos start flooding the feed. If the average human glimpsed our texts, we’d be judged harshly.
I laugh at the image Tahoe texted and click off my messages lest anyone see the travesty of our collective, sadistic humor. Teala is pacing back and forth in the back room, her phone pressed to her ear and her free arm swinging wildly.
My mother presses a glass of lemonade into my hand. “Thanks for letting us meet her. I do hope you’ll care for that one. She’s a keeper,” Mom says.
“As opposed to what?” I ask, smirking. I find the word ‘tosser’ on the tip of my tongue, but chuckle instead.
She clucks her tongue. “You know the type. The ones who roll around with any manly beast.”
My chuckle turns into full-blown laughter that draws Teala’s gaze.
My mother has no clue. Or Teala is that good at acting. She runs her fingers over her lips as she continues speaking into her phone. I can’t hear her words, but I can read her eyes. She likes my laugh as much as she likes my appearance and we’ll need to do something about that soon. Gently I place my hands on Mom’s shoulders.
“As funny as that was I don’t think you should talk about manly beasts and rolling with them.” I glance at my dad.
He smiles and shrugs. Must be genetics.
“Oh, stop it. I’m old. Not dead!” she fires back. The light is back in her eyes now that we’ve had the television off for a while. “Promise me you won’t mess it up. A woman is the only commodity you can’t work for.”
Ah, she knows my personality well. My hands fall from her shoulders and I shove them in my pockets. I haven’t even slept with Teala yet. I’m working, all right. I’m working fucking hard.
Mom hugs me. “Stop and smell the roses every once in a while. It won’t kill you.”
It fucking just may. Teala appears behind me and changes the subject to yoga. Dad pretends to be interested, but I know he’s envisioning lewd poses. It’s a guy thing. My phone vibrates in my pocket again, but I don’t dare take it out with everyone around. Teala hears it and makes a show of staring at my pocket and then flicking her gaze back to my face. I pretend I have no clue what she’s insinuating.
Teala has a Tupperware full of cakes, muffins, and brownies sitting on her lap on the drive back to her apartment. She stays pretty silent as I drive, texting every so often. She answers when I ask her if she had a good time and it’s not an open hostility, but I feel it simmering just below the surface.
