Page 7 of Hero Hair

Chapter Three

Teala

“All right, Mom. I’ll come see you this weekend, okay? I’m about to head into the grocery store,” I speak into my cell as I make my way through the parking lot. She asks me if I’m baking for my weekly friend get-together. I may talk to my mom more than most people. I blame it on my singleness. “Yes. Jasmine wants me to bake something with chocolate. I told Carina I wanted to do this paleo recipe I found online, but she just about beheaded me over the phone.” I’ll end up trying to say goodbye at least three more times before this conversation ends. It takes about twenty minutes to get off the phone with Mom.

“Are you making Grandma’s fudge brownies?” she asks.

I smile. “How did you know?”

She’s my best friend. Of course she knows. Some people argue that mothers and daughters shouldn’t be friends. We are living proof that not only does it work, but it’s possible for daughters to grow up and be productive citizens of society. Her parenting never interfered with our friendship. Especially after my father took off.

“Because you wouldn’t be my Teala if someone said chocolate and you didn’t make the brownies. Will you be bringing home the guy you had a date with last weekend?”

Oh, God. The one subject we don’t fully talk about. I tell her about a date here and there, but she has no clue how many sexual partners I’ve had and how few real relationships I’ve been a part of. Sometimes I tell her I’m dating someone just to throw her off my trail. I’m sure she reads through the lines, but doesn’t want to talk about my sex life without my prompting it.

Currently, she’s talking about Moose. I thought about him for days after. I almost called him. He gave me his number and took mine. “Oh, that didn’t work out, Mom. We had fun, though. I might see him again,” I tack on in hopes of not crushing her spirits completely.

“Oh, I was looking forward to meeting one of your men, honey.” She sighs.

My heart clenches. I swallow down my pride. “I’m sorry. You don’t want to meet one of my men, though. I won’t bring just anyone home. I want you to meet the one. When I’m sure I’ve met the right guy, then you’ll meet him.”

“That makes sense.”

It shouldn’t. I made the whole thing up. If I told her that I feel attachments are only a hindrance and love is too messy and painful to even attempt, she would think less of me. Or worse, that it was her fault somehow.

“How about you? Any dates lately?”

She laughs and the gleeful noise makes me grin. It’s like I’m ten and it’s still a forbidden question. “Oh, Teala. You know I don’t have any luck with men.” She’s beautiful. Stunning. She passed enough of her beautiful qualities to make me okay looking, but Viola Sebrof is anything but ordinary. She has flawless skin, a head full of beautiful dark raven hair, and blue eyes. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” she asks.

I envision her full lips pulling to one corner as she smiles and it causes a pain of homesickness. “The studio is my boyfriend. Want to drive down for my class the week after next? I’ll save you a spot.”

She lives about thirty minutes away from me, and we see each other as frequently as possible. My mom has always been supportive in anything I wanted to do—within reason. The studio is a venture she agreed with almost immediately and I haven’t looked back. It provides me with a beautiful, full life.

“I really do have to go now, though. I don’t want to annoy the grocery patrons. People seem to frown upon the pitch of my voice.” It’s a trait I’ve gotten used to. I wish the world would, too.

“Nonsense, honey. Your voice is lovely.”

I scoff. “You’re biased. Plus, it’s about two octaves away from being identical to yours. Your compliment is moot.”

“A mother’s compliment is never moot. We always tell the truth.”

I agree with that. She confirms she will come to my Saturday morning class next week and tells me to buy a certain brand of chocolate. I have to stay on the phone with her for a few more minutes while I catalog all of the chocolate options in front of me.

“Bye for real. Love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, baby girl. Call me tonight.”

She calls me in the morning, and I call her at night. Sometimes we talk midday if I have a question or if she wants to see what I’m up to. She knows my schedule, so she’s never a nuisance. My father forced our iron-clad bond. The love that dissipated for him after she finally left him, transformed into something else. It seeped away from him and traveled over to my mom. She did everything by herself and never let me see her sweat. Viola is strong and brave. She is beautiful and fierce. She takes challenges head-on. She loves me more than any person can possibly love another. Growing up, my needs were met and my fond memories revolve around her laugh and smile. It’s the time she spent with me that leaves the most impact.

I hang up the phone with a smile on my face. With the red basket hooked on my elbow, I make my way to the next aisle to gather the rest of my supplies. My shoulders are back and my head is held high. I’m a confident, independent woman. My life is full. There’s no room for anyone else in it.

Why the hell do I feel the need to keep convincing myself of that?

****

We’re sitting around Jasmine’s kitchen table, our wine glasses securely in our hands. Dessert plates look like tiny battlegrounds. Nary a soldier survived. My confection was the first to disappear.

“Who is up for a workout tomorrow? I need to get my cardio in for the week,” I say. To keep workout diversity, I like to do boot camp classes. It involves lots of free weights and treadmill sprinting. Yoga can only take you so far. If you want weekly dessert nights, wine,andabs, you have to do the time in the gym. My offer is directed at everyone, though I’m already certain who will join me.

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