*
Claire was standing at Sydney’s station, thinking about things that needed to be done at home, while Sydney gave Madison Elliott’s hair a blowout.
“Charlie said my name this morning, didn’t he?” Sydney said, yelling over the blast of the blow dryer. Baby Charlie was by Sydney’s station in a bouncy swing that Sydney had bought for him. He had a smile on his fat little face as he babbled to everyone who passed by. Charmer. He was already learning that the lone guy in a beauty salon is always the center of attention.
Violet Turnbull, skinny in a way that made her look like all points and knobs, looked up from where she was surfing the Internet at the reception desk. “I think it sounded more like ‘kidney’ than ‘Sydney,’” she said.
“Why would he say ‘kidney?’” Sydney asked, giving Charlie an affectionate look that made Claire feel scared for Sydney, scared she was going to get hurt, that she was too enamored of this baby. “Either way, he’s such a smart boy.”
“I need to go,” Claire said. “Do you want me to pick you up some lunch?”
“That would be great,” Sydney said, palming the brush and blow dryer in one hand, the dryer still going, and handing Claire some cash out of her hip apron. “Would you get me an olive sandwich and a caramel apple latte at the Brown Bag Café?”
“Anyone else?” Claire asked the other stylists.
One of them, pink-haired Janey, said, “A café americano.”
“I don’t have any money,” Violet said woefully from the reception desk.
“You got paid yesterday,” Janey said, clearly not Violet’s biggest fan.
“I’m saving,” Violet said.
“I’ll get it,” Sydney offered. “What do you want, Vi?”
Violet perked up and said, “A club sandwich, chips, extra pickles, and two cans of Coke.”
Janey gave Violet the stink eye from across the salon.
“What?” Violet said. “I didn’t have breakfast.”
Sydney nodded to the cash she’d just given Claire. “Would you get some bananas and Cheerios at Fred’s market, too? I usually keep some for Charlie in the break room, but I think Violet ate the last of them yesterday.” Claire must have given Sydney a look she’d seen before. “Don’t say it.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Claire said.
Sydney turned off the blow dryer. Madison Elliott hadn’t heard a thing. She looked up from the magazine she’d been reading and smiled. Her hair looked stunning. Sydney was always booked. She could do magical things with hair. When someone got a cut by Sydney, it was always a perfect day—DMV lines were always short, bosses gave raises, and kids made their own dinner and went to bed early. Claire felt a pinch of envy. Sydney never had to work very hard for her gift. She’d worked harder at denying it when they were younger. It seemed to come so easily to Sydney and Bay and their old cousin Evanelle. But Claire worked tirelessly. She always had. And it felt even more difficult lately.
Claire had just collected the money for the rest of the lunches when Bay walked into the salon. Her pale skin was shining, her cheeks pink, as if she’d swallowed something bright and it was now glowing from within. Everyone stopped what they were doing, knowing something was up.
“I’m going to the Halloween dance,” Bay announced.
Claire almost laughed at her sister’s reaction. Sydney’s arms fell to her sides, as if in defeat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No,” Bay said. “I’m not kidding.”
“You’ve known about this thing for weeks, and now you’re deciding to go? You don’t even have a costume!”
“I don’t need a costume.”
“Of course you need a costume!” Sydney said. “Girls, do any of you have a Halloween costume Bay could use tonight?”
“I have a slutty vampire costume,” Janey said.
“No.”
“Slutty nurse?” Janey said.
“No.”
“Slutty—”
“Nothing slutty,” Sydney interrupted. “Oh, God, this is a disaster. Come here. Maybe I can do something with your hair.” Sydney patted her chair as Madison Elliott left, and Bay walked over to her, head down, beyond embarrassed. She didn’t meet Claire’s eyes as she passed, and Claire suppressed a smile. Once Bay sat, Sydney whipped off her baseball cap and Bay’s long, dark hair cascaded down. Sydney ran her fingers through it, watching her daughter in the mirror.
Lined around the mirror in front of Sydney’s chair were photos of Bay. One when she was six, lying under the apple tree. One from her ninth birthday party when Claire had made her a blackberry cake. Another from when she was twelve, standing beside Phineus Young at the bus stop, the first time Sydney had let them wait alone. And now here Bay was in the middle of the mirror, fifteen and getting ready for her first dance.
Sydney seemed to sense the moment Bay was going to say something about her mother’s banjo eyes, so Sydney cleared her throat and called to her receptionist, “Violet, when Mrs. Chin comes in, have her wait a few minutes, then shampoo her for me.”
“But what about lunch?” Violet said.
“Claire hasn’t even gone for it yet. You’ll have time.”
Bay squirmed in the chair. “Mom, costumes are optional. This is not a big deal.”
“This is your first dance. It is a big deal. I will not let you go without a costume. Does anyone have any clothes from the eighties?” she asked her stylists. “I do excellent mall hair.”
Claire finally decided to throw Bay a rope. “Grandmother Mary had a few old dresses I kept. Long, filmy things, like party dresses from the 1920s. I think they might have belonged to her mother.”
Sydney smiled, as if remembering something she’d almost forgotten. “I used to think you were the only person in the family to ever throw parties in the garden, like your first frost parties, but now I remember that Grandmother Mary once told me about picnics she had in the garden. She would invite people in and dress like a garden nymph.”
“That’s what I’ll be, then,” Bay said quickly, definitively, wanting to put an end to this. “I’ll wear a Grandmother Mary dress and be a garden nymph.”
Claire and Sydney exchanged glances. This was a big step for Sydney, accepting this about her daughter. Bay was a Waverley who wanted to dress up like a Waverley, and not in jest, like the time when they were kids and Sydney dressed up as Claire one Halloween, wearing a long, black wig that covered her face and an apron that said KISS THE COOK, which she’d thought was funny, because no one had wanted to kiss weird Claire. Of all the things Bay could be, a Waverley is what she’d chosen. That’s who she was. It wasn’t really a costume at all. Sydney gave in, ultimately lured in by the possibilities of styling Bay’s hair. Bay had only let Sydney trim it for years.
“Fine,” Sydney said, pumping up the chair. “Claire, will you pick up some flowers at Fred’s so I can put them in her hair?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Wait, get me some pie, too, will you?” Violet called as Claire passed the reception desk and walked out.