Page 76 of Miss Me Not

"Donna has her reasons," I said, feeling guilty for misleading her family.

"Just the fact that she has you calling her Donna is wrong, sweetie. Nothing a child ever does justifies being ignored and crucified," Sarah retorted with fire in her eyes.

Any further conversation was put on hold as Katie returned, juggling our burgers and soups on a tray.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked, pointedly ignoring me by only looking at Sarah.

"Just a refill on our drinks?" Sarah said, indicating our almost empty cups.

"Yes, ma'am," Katie said, scurrying off with our glasses.

"I'm guessing you two aren't BFFs," Sarah said blandly, not missing Katie's snub.

"You could say that," I grimaced, not used to being around someone so observant.

"Don't mind me. Tim says I'm a Nosy Rosie," she said, digging into her soup.

The rest of our lunch was filled with lighter conversation as Sarah filled me in on the child Dean had been. I wasn't surprised in the slightest when she told me he was always dragging stray animals home when he was younger. After all, wasn't that what I was? Saving just seemed to be a part of his DNA makeup.

"I hope you don't mind, but I set up an appointment to get our hair and nails done this afternoon," Sarah said after paying our lunch bill. She'd flat-out refused to let me pay for my own meal. "This afternoon is my treat," she said, linking her arm through mine.

"Gah, no. It's bad enough you paid for lunch," I said, balking at the idea of her paying for something else.

"Nonsense. This is my idea, so it's my treat. Now, no arguing with your elders," she admonished. Her smile totally ruined the effect of her reprimand. "Just consider it a thank you for letting an old lady tag along on your shopping spree," she added.

I tried arguing, but she wouldn't listen to any of my excuses as she dragged me to the salon adjacent to the mall. Before I knew it, I was encased in a smock and staring at my reflection in the long mirrors that lined the wall in front of me.

"You have beautiful hair," the hairstylist said, running her hands through my dry locks.

I fought the urge to bolt from the chair at her touch, willing myself to stay seated.

"Who normally cuts it?" she asked, running a comb through my hair so she could look at the ends.

"Um, me," I admitted, squaring my shoulders defiantly when a flash of dismay crossed her face. Sure, the fact that I usually gathered my hair into a ponytail and then hacked the ends off all at once wasn't the best idea, but I sure as hell wasn't going to apologize to someone I had just met for my amateur hairstyling.

"I see," she said, smoothing her hand down my back so she could get a better look at my jagged ends. I tried to take my mind off her hands on my back as I silently recited lines from my favorite song in my head.

"Are you looking for more volume and less weight?" she asked, interrupting my silent reciting.

I shrugged my shoulders. I had absolutely no freaking idea what I wanted. My hair had been nothing but something I could hide behind as I allowed it to veil my face from sight. "I really haven't thought about it. I guess whatever you think will look decent," I admitted. "I don't like short hair though," I added, afraid she'd go batshit crazy on my hair and give me a bad pixie cut or something.

"No, your face is too lean for a short style, but I think if I give you some layers it will help enhance some of these breathtaking highlights," she mused, petting my hair almost lovingly. "Okay, let's get you shampooed up, and then we'll breathe some life into this," she said, raking her fingers up beneath my hair so it cascaded back down my back.

This chick had a serious love affair going on with my hair. I wondered if I should offer to leave her alone with it. Seriously, if she started rubbing her face against it, I was out. Trailing behind her, I apprehensively eyed the chair in front of the sink where she indicated I should sit. I would have to sit powerless in the chair with my neck kinked back while she would be washing my hair for me. Considering the way she was just practically making love to my hair a moment ago, I was freaking.

The stylist, whose name I'd forgotten in my I-hate-to-be-touched anxiety attack, wrapped a small white towel around my neck and tucked the ends into the smock I wore. Placing her hand on my forehead, she gently pushed my head back until my neck was flush against the cold porcelain of the sink. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to relax. Obviously, my “no touching” rule had been blown to hell the moment I met Dean, and at the moment, I wished he was here, so I could chuck something at him for making me go through this. I could do this, I could do this, I could do this, I silently chanted to myself as she leaned over, obnoxiously close, to wash my hair. I tried not to think about her forearm that was resting against my shoulder, or how her stomach was pressed against my arm on the armrest of the chair. I wished I would have had the foresight to clasp my arms together across my chest, keeping them in a touch-free zone. After what seemed like an eternity, Ginnifer with a G, yes, I finally remembered her name, finished washing my hair. I swear, if she would have put one more product in my hair, I wouldn't have been responsible for my actions.

Ginnifer moved me back to her stylist chair and wasted no time getting down to business. It was as if she sensed I had bolting on my agenda. I kept my eyes down, not daring to look in the mirror as she snipped away with her scissors. I tried to ignore the chunks of my long hair falling to the floor around me, convinced that Ginnifer had heard my inner monologue and was now punishing me by hacking off all my hair. Finally, when I thought I couldn't handle another snip of the scissors, she stepped in front of me and studied my hair appraisingly before picking up her hair dryer and styling it for me.

"Wow, you look amazing," she squeaked, switching off the hair dryer and running her hands through my hair while admiring her handiwork. "What do you think?" she asked, turning my chair so I was facing the mirror.

I hesitantly lifted my eyes, studying my reflection. Who the hell was that? The pinched, drawn expression I had grown accustomed to over the years was gone. With the snip of her scissors, Ginnifer had somehow softened my facial features, making my face appear less haggard and more approachable. I couldn't quite discern how I felt about the change. Did I really want people to suddenly think I was approachable? Being normal was beginning to feel like a kick in the ass.

"Madison, you look amazing," Sarah said, coming up to stand behind my chair. "Your hair looks and feels like silk," she added, running her hands over my hair. I kept my grimace to myself at being petted again for the second time in the last few minutes.

"Thanks," I answered, uncomfortable from the attention. I was acutely missing my shadow life at the moment.

"Her hair is absolutely breathtaking," Sarah said, beaming at Ginnifer like she had just found the cure for hair loss or something. "Okay, let's go prettify our toes and fingers," Sarah said, picking up my bags off the floor where they had been resting.

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