Page 27 of The Home Grown
Listen, your work is solid, but to be honest, your social media just isn’t where it needs to be for our audience. We’re really looking for stylists who are already engaging online and have that buzz around their brand.
The words swim in my brain.
I’d suggest focusing on building a stronger online presence—show off more of your work, connect with your audience, that sort of thing. Maybe down the line we can revisit.
We appreciate you reaching out, and best of luck.
Disappointment hits me in the chest—almost knocking the air out of my lungs.
I wasn’t mentally prepared for this. I wasn’t ready.
A tight pressure contracts around my stomach, like I’m about to throw up … but I don’t. I drop my phone on the stretch of empty bed next to me and cry instead. Silent, hot tears trickle down my cheek as I hug my duvet.
The magazine. The rejection I sort of knew was coming but I wasn’t ready to give up that tiny slither of hope I’d been clinging on to. I guess I should be relieved to finally know … accepting that it wasn’t meant to be, but the sting thrums through my bones, reminding me I’m not quite good enough.
Not yet, anyway.
I give myself another ten minutes of wallowing before prying myself out of bed and heading to the shower, turning the water on with an air of someone keen to wash away the pity, because that’s not going to get me anywhere. What I need to do now is dust myself off and figure out how I can move forward—how I can be better.
Half an hour later, I make it out to my car and head towards the salon, taking a quick detour via the corner shop to grab a copy of their latest magazine, keen to find out who I’m up against.
I flick through the pages of glossy photos before stopping on a feature and honing in on the name of the stylist and her social media handle, pulling my phone out of my bag to have a look.
A photo gallery of visual bliss presents straight away. Uniform, organised, aesthetically pleasing to the eye.
Everything mine isn’t.
I flush with embarrassment; grateful I’m in the refuge of my car. What was I thinking?
I don’t have a website; I don’t have reels or short videos showing clients what a day in my life looks like, or what sets me apart. And honestly? I don’t think I have the energy for it. It looks exhausting—like something built for people with time, money, and confidence.
Money.
If only I still had my share of what Grandad left me.
But I don’t. I loaned it to Kathryn to help her open the salon. Long gone now, no doubt.
And suddenly, the burst of desire for betterment fizzles out as I shove the magazine, and my ambition, into the glove box before pulling away, driving towards my sister’s dream instead.
I don’t tellKathryn about the magazine. A tactical decision because I’m not in the mood for her false disappointment, nor her inability to show genuine empathy.
In fact, I try my best to avoid her chit-chat for most of the day, opting to keep myself busy around my appointment times by cleaning and sorting through old paperwork—though that probably wasn’t my best idea considering the crap it dredged up last time.
I make it right through to closing without too much stress—unless you count Rick’s message pestering me for hen-party updates … but as I close the blinds, Greg walks in through the door, his typical move for a Saturday, collecting his beloved from work.
He closes the door behind him, guiding the latch into place silently as he looks around the salon.
“Where’s Kathryn?” he asks, keeping his voice low.
“Just finishing something upstairs,” I say, making my way back to the counter.
“In case you’re wondering, I still haven’t heard from him,” he says in a half whisper, leaning his hip against the desk.
“Oh, I haven’t thought about it,” I lie.
“Well … your husband …” A smirk slips across his face, but he drops it when my expression remains stoney. “Sorry, I mean … I spoke with my buddy, James, and he said the certificate isn’t the full version, so we need to see if we can get hold of that before we can proceed.”
I freeze midway through replying to an email, fingers halting mid-strike on the keyboard.
