“I’m serious. I keep trying to be nice to you, and you still hate me. I just want to make sure you’re not going to shave my head right now.”
Elodie snagged a knot, and I flinched. “I don’t hate you. I think this whole thing’s obnoxious, and I kind of wish you’d never come into our lives. But I don’t hate you.”
“Um, okay. Thanks,” I said, not hiding the sarcasm.
She gave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a compliment. I think you’re handling it okay. I hope you don’t hurt him, though. Jackie. He’s . . . good. Both of them are.”
Oh. So that was what the renewed animosity was about. I thought she’d looked at us all funny on the train this morning. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about this. Weird relationship stuff not conducive to serious clue following, remember?”
“Funny, you say that, but you keep leading both of them on, anyway.”
I turned so quickly, the brush yanked on my hair. “Ow. I’m not leading anyone on. I had a thing with Jack. Have a thing. Whatever. It’s complicated. End of conversation.”
“But you want to know what Stellan’s tongue tastes like.”
“Elodie!” I whipped around again, this time to the door to make sure no one had heard. I hissed through my teeth when the brush caught again, and I ripped it out of her hand and disentangled it myself.
“Am I wrong, though?” She took back the brush and clipped the top layer of hair tight against my head.
“Just drop it, okay?”
Mercifully, Elodie shrugged and gave the short piece of hair a tug. “You’re sure about this? You have such glamoreux hair. Short hair feels different.”
I shook my head a little and felt my hair tickling my skin. I’d worn it long since our first move. I’d never dyed it, never done anything. Was this crazy? Maybe. Was I sure? No. I glanced up at Elodie’s blunt bob.
She saw me looking and touched her own hair. “Exactly. You don’t want to be like me.”
“I was actually just thinking I like yours,” I said. I’d spent so much time fighting, stubbornly clinging to the idea of having everything how it used to be, when maybe I should be adapting. Adjusting my hair around what had happened rather than trying to cover up the part I’d lost. I inwardly rolled my eyes at the obvious cheesy metaphor there, but I said, “I want it cut. Do it.”
She pursed her lips, studying me like she wasn’t sure if I was telling the truth. “Okay.”
Still, I held my breath when she pulled my hair taut for the first cut. That distinctive sound of scissors snipping was followed by the whisper of a lock falling to the bathroom floor. It was so much longer than I thought the cut part would be. It lay there on the tile, curled in a spiral. It hit like a punch. “Oh God,” I whispered.
“Too late now,” Elodie said.
“I know.” I watched the second lock fall. And the third.
Soon, Elodie stood in front of me, evening out the hair brushing my collarbones. I touched the freshly snipped ends, and they swung freely.
Elodie took down the clip with the next layer of hair. I swallowed hard.
“I don’t hate you, either. Just so you know,” I said, trying to distract myself.
She pulled a strand of hair between her fingers. “I know.” By the time she took down the top section, my head felt ten pounds lighter.
Finally, she ruffled my hair and smoothed it back from my face. My eyes were still shut tight, and I felt her arrange locks over my ears, then grab my chin and tilt my face up. “Open,” she said.
I did, and Elodie’s face was inches from mine. She actually smiled, and took my face between her palms. “Stop looking like someone died, or I’m not going to do the pink.”
I pasted on a smile that felt fake even to me, and she snorted but grabbed the box of dye. Then she looked me up and down and wrinkled her nose. “Please tell me those aren’t the same clothes you had on when we left Greece.”
“I haven’t exactly had time to go shopping.” I touched my hair, trying to sneak a peek over my shoulder into the mirror.
“No! Don’t look.” Elodie jumped in front of me and pointed at the partition at the end of the room that hid the shower stall. “Your hair needs to be wet, anyway. Shower, and I’ll have Colette bring clean clothes, then we’ll do the dye.”
Almost an hour later, I was showered, my hair was dyed, and Elodie produced a blow-dryer. She kept me facing away from the mirror, and I could feel her twirling my waves around her fingers. When she was done, she actually smiled. “Approved. You can look.”
I stood and smoothed the black sheath dress Colette had brought. She and I weren’t anywhere near the same size, but the dress was drapey, so it didn’t matter.
I took a centering breath and turned around.