Page 20 of Ripped & Shipped
I turn to Laura. “Say hi to the peeps, Laura.”
“Hey, peeps,” she says, in a voice with such flat affect I might just call a psychiatrist to have her evaluated.
“Well, that’s Laura, friends. What she lacks in exuberance, she makes up for in sheer hair genius. Sheer. Hair. Get it? Okay. Enough with the dad jokes. I’m going to get this done, and I’ll post pics of the after in a bit. Why don’t you go out and treat yourself to a little self-care today? Or take a little extra time in front of the mirror. Post the results in your stories and tag me! See you tonight!!”
I turn the camera off. Laura rolls her eyes at me. She doesn’t even try to hide her judgment. I do respect that about her. She’s a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of gal.
“This is my job, you know. You cut hair. I entertain people. It’s not a crime.”
Laura pauses. Our eyes meet in the mirror. A long silence stretches between us. She doesn’t raise the brush or the curling iron. She just stares at me from over my shoulder.
She finally says, “I never thought of it that way.”
“You, of all people, should. Rob does this same sort of thing. Of course, he’s blowing things up, and I’m not, but still—we’re both entertainers. We use the same platforms. Entertaining people on YouTube is how Rob carries his weight as a provider for your little burgeoning family. And congrats, BTW. I heard you’re adopting. That’s one lucky baby.”
“Thanks.”
She releases the eye-lock and returns to doing my hair. Neither of us says anything else while she gets down to the business of making me look fab-u-lous.
The bell over the door of the salon tinkles. We’ve got those quaint bells over every shop entrance in town. They’re like little alerts for us to stop gossiping until we see who’s joining the conversation. At least, that’s what I think they’re for.
Maybe they are there to make sure we greet one another, though, that’s sort of ridiculous. We’re Midwesterners. If we do anything well, it’s greeting people. We greet people to death.Heya! Oh, hey there! Well, now, good to see ya’!And then we talk your ear off for another hour or so. It’s just how we are. And don’t even try to make a quick getaway. We’ve mastered the art of the prolonged farewell better than the vonTrapp family children at bedtime, minus the harmony.
When I look up to see who entered the salon, Jayme and Shannon are walking in together. Lexi brings up the rear of this happy little gathering.
The salon fills with chatter among Laura’s friends. Only Shannon has the decency to greet me at first, but then Jayme looks up and smiles warmly.
“Hey, Ella Mae. Your hair looks great!”
“Thanks, Jayme. Laura’s a genius with a curling iron.”
Jayme’s been nicer to me than the rest of her friends ever since I helped her author career skyrocket. Of course, she doesn’t ask me to lunch and I’m still never a part of these elusive girls’ nights they have almost every week, but she doesn’t duck behind a bush at the sight of me, which is saying something.
“We missed you at girls’ night,” Lexi tells Jayme.
Girls’ night. Yep.
“I was tired,” Jayme says. “Sorry I missed.”
It doesn’t escape my attention—the way her hand travels to her abdomen and rests there for a moment. Her friends seem to overlook the obvious tell.
I mutter, “It must be in the water.”
“What’s that?” Laura asks me.
“Fertility. It must be in the water. Though, only Shannon and Jayme are expecting and your situation isn’t exactly the same. Even though adoption’s amazing in its own way.”
I realize I’m babbling. Watching all the women who graduated from high school with me pair up, get married, and now prepare for motherhood obviously opens my verbal floodgates.
Shannon looks at me.
Then everyone looks at Jayme.
Shannon mouths, “How did you know?”
I mouth back, “Bordeaux.”
The rumor mill is alive and churning. Meg heard the guys were out talking about it at Mad River Burgers. She came home and told me. That’s how anyone knows anything around here. No need for a local paper when you’ve got the locals themselves.
