“We had this discussion yesterday. Your reign of terror over me is done. Let it go.” Julia pulled her hand back and reached for Dave’s mug, blowing slightly at the surface. There was a hint of a chemical smell around the two of them from the hair dye, and Dave was thankful for the aromatic tendrils of steam rising from the coffee. He rose from his chair and went to the fridge to grab the milk, adding just a splash, the way Julia liked it. “So how’s the restaurant going? When do I get to see the dream come true?”
“More like a nightmare,” Ethan muttered. He put his glasses back on, then looked over at Julia. “Just kidding. Don’t panic.”
“Julia panics?” Dave asked, sitting back down.
Julia gave Ethan a light smack on the arm. “I have a rep to live up to; don’t tell people stuff like that.”
“Is there really anything this kid doesn’t know about you?”
“Not the point.” Julia drank from her mug, then slid it across the marble top to Dave.
They spent the morning in the comforts of the kitchen and the joys of the banter that Julia had learned from her dads. She filled them in vaguely on the Nevers, stating that she and Dave were conducting important sociological research into the world of the modern teenager. It sometimes felt like Dave belonged in that kitchen, though he knew he was just using Tom and Ethan’s warmth as a reason to think he and Julia were meant for more than friendship. When the afternoon started looming, Dave forced himself to leave the house, to cut his hair and maybe see his own family for a bit.
The mall was a slight detour on the way home, and throughout the walk he wished he were the kind of guy who wore hats. There weren’t a lot of people around, but it was still embarrassing to be out in public. He imagined even the squirrels, usually nonchalant about human hairstyles, staring down at him from the trees and making disgusted faces.
When he walked through the glass doors of the mall, he knew right away he was going to run into someone he knew, someone from school, someone who would be witness to the atrocity he and Julia had committed on his head. The mall was swarming with families, couples in their twenties, packs of middle school girls sharing cups of lemonade. Huge banners hung from the rafters announcing a special weekend-only sale.
He sighed and kept his eyes cast down on the floor, trying to maneuver his way around the crowd without running into too many people. Before he knew it, he was at the Supercuts, and the hipster girl with the red hair and the half sleeve of tattoos had written his name down on her clipboard and told him to take a seat in the waiting area.
Just as he was sighing in relief, he saw that the only chair available was right next to Gretchen. She was reading, but almost as soon as his eyes landed on her, she looked up at him. She smiled at him—all lips, though, no imperfect lower teeth—and raised her hand in a wave.
He raised his hand up and mouthed hello, hoping she’d somehow missed his hair. Which, of course, she hadn’t.
“Wow. What happened there?”
His stomach clenched as he took a seat next to her. “I know, I know.”
“That couldn’t have been by choice.”
“I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known it would end up looking like...” He motioned with his hands, pointing at the hair and trying to find a word that accurately described the fiasco sitting on his head.
“Like a wound festering in the eighteenth century before antibiotics were discovered?”
“That’s very specific. But yes.”