Page 82 of An Overdue Match
I blink, shock chilling my core and causing me to shiver. I’ve never been called out and confronted like this. Judged silently, sure, but this? Never.
“Umm. I didn’tdoanything to my hair. I have alopecia so it fell out on its own.”Not that it’s any of your business.
She nods as she takes hold of the second bottle. “You know they make wigs, don’t you?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes, I do know that.”
“But you aren’t wearing one.”
“No, I am not.”
Beepgoes the machine.
Finally. I can pay and get out of here.
“Good for you.”
I still, replaying what Grandma Noah just said. Surely, I heard wrong. “Excuse me?”
She slides the bottles into a paper bag. “Good. For. You, honey.” She enunciates each word like I’m the one hard of hearing. “You’re an inspiration, I say. You never know who you’re going to encounter each day, who you’re going to influence. You don’t even have to say a word. You just have to be yourself.”
A throat clears behind me, drawing both the elderly cashier’s and my attention. A haggard-looking man in a rumpled flannel, buttons mismatched and bags under his eyes, stands with his arms at his sides and a cellphone in his left hand.
“Sorry for eavesdropping and, uhh...” He holds up his phone. “I guess I should also apologize for sneaking a picture of you without your permission.” A photo of me in profile shows on his screen. “You see, my daughter is going through chemo right now, and it’s been rough, as you can imagine. When I saw you, I thought,I wish Abby could see herbecause I knew she’d think how you celebrated your baldness was beautiful and maybe it would help her to see her own beauty, even without her hair.”
“I...” I swipe at the tear trailing down my cheek. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Except maybe...” He flushes, clearly embarrassed. “Yes to a better picture?” He shrugs adorably.
I laugh despite my tears and wipe my eyes again. “Yes, of course.”
Grandma Noah winks at me. “See? An inspiration.”
36
“Okay, Kitty Purry, what do you think?”
The sparkling blush is chilling in the refrigerator. I’ve changed out of my work clothes and into a flowy dress that hits mid-calf, a row of cork buttons marching down the front. Teardrop leather earrings in the same shade of blue as the dress hang from my ears and frame my face. The paste jewels have come off my head, and so far, that part of me is bare.
I eye the wig draped over the bust on the counter. Kitty Purry must have the same idea because her yellow eyes go that direction as well. One of her tiny paws reaches out and bats at the synthetic tresses.
I take a deep breath as I meet my own gaze reflected in the mirror. “I think I’m going to go without it, Kitty.”
There’s nothing wrong with wigs or wearing them. There is, however, something injurious in the path my thoughts have traveled since losing my hair. In how I’ve viewed myself since then.
Tai calls me beautiful, and I’m beginning to believe it. Strangers in a grocery store say I’m an inspiration, and I want that to be true. Tai loves me. It’s about time I start loving myself.
Kitty Purry stares at me, her head tilted. I know she has no idea what I’m saying so I don’t take it personally when she hops off the bathroom counter and slinks around the door to somewhere more interesting.
I pick up the tube of lipstick from my makeup bag and swipe the cherry color over my lips. My gaze strays back to my bald head. It just seems so naked. Bare.
A mental picture of the woman with the henna tattoo on Tai’s social media materializes. My phone is lying face-up on the counter, and it only takes a few swipes and taps before the photos are on the screen. She’s gorgeous in a raw and powerful way. In aninspiringway.
I look between the photo and my own reflection in the mirror, a seed of an idea, of want, burrowing into my soul. But then I catch sight of the time and I scramble to collect my things. If I don’t leave soon, I’m going to be late.
I grab the two bottles of sparkling blush from the refrigerator. “Wish me luck, Kitty,” I say as I sling my purse over my shoulder. Predictably, she doesn’t even look up from where she’s grooming herself on the couch.
Tai’s parents live on the other side of Little Creek, closer to the foothills and a little deeper into the woods. Their driveway is a bit on the steep side, and I’m glad I’m not attempting it in winter without the help of four-wheel-drive. The house comes into view over a rise, but I don’t spend too much time noticing the homey porch or the welcoming pots of hanging plants because I’m too relieved to see Tai’s Challenger parked in front of the garage door.
