“It might take a week or two, Lily, but the kids will warm up to you. I promise.”
By the end of my appointment, I felt better than I had in a long time. There was just something about being in Gina’s presence that soothed me. It struck me how like Mom she was—gentle and kind, but strong and determined.
When she turned me around for the final reveal, however, my jaw dropped and I stared at my reflection, almost unable to process it.
Gina had taken my ash-blond hair and turned it a chestnut brown with light auburn highlights that framed my face. She’d cut a good eight inches off the length, which had brought back some of my natural wave, and she’d added layers and bangs. I hardly recognized myself.
“Oh…my…God!” I gasped. I looked amazing. Like, seriously, the best I’d ever looked in my whole life.
Behind me Gina beamed. “You’re a knockout, sweetheart, and now all those gorgeous features aren’t hidden and they can come shining through.”
“I can’t believe I look like this,” I said, running a hand through my hair and turning my head from side to side. I felt like a movie star. Whipping out my phone, I indulged in a selfie, immediately posting it to my Instagram account.
“Take that, Sophie,” I said meanly. But there was also that accompanying pang, because I knew that she would’ve raved about the new me. Still, I told myself that it was a good thing to show her that I was moving on without her. To show her that I didn’t need her. Or miss her. Even if that wasn’t exactly true, it was still the message I wanted to send.
As I sat and thought about all that, I saw someone heart my photo, but I didn’t recognize the name. It felt a little creepy, so I clicked off the image and immediately realized that Gina was waiting.
“Sorry,” I said with an embarrassed blush.
“Oh, honey, take all the time you need. There’s a hamper behind that curtain to throw your smock in. I’ll call Arthur and tell him to pick you up.”
“Thanks, Gina,” I said. I couldn’t wait to get home and show Mom. I moved into the area behind the curtain and there was a small dressing room there. I heard Gina on the phone as I came back out and casually walked around the salon, noticing how cozy it was. Here and there were some personal touches that really made it feel more like a home than a salon.
“Come on, girl,” Gina said, calling to me. “Arthur’s going to be here in twenty minutes, which is enough time for us to have a snack.”
Leading me through a corridor toward the back of the salon, Gina opened a door with a key. I figured she was taking me outside, but instead, when she opened the door, I realized that it was actually her home.
The door opened to a whole new space, with a living room, kitchen, and bedroom off to the side. It mirrored the salon in style, but the palette was softer, less harsh, done in a dusky rose with a tan trim.
“Wow,” I said, coming through the door. “You live here?”
“I do.”
I walked into her living room and took it all in. There was a seating area done in rich mocha, and a shaggy white rug, which was a beautiful contrast to the dark-brown floors. Everywhere I looked, there were artistic touches that seemed to fit the space perfectly. Gina invited me to sit at the counter in her small kitchen, which had a white-and-black marble countertop and bright-white cabinets.
“I love your place,” I said as I sat.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to the fridge. “I’ve got veggies and hummus, will that do?”
“Sure,” I said.
“How about iced tea or cranberry juice for something to drink?”
“Cranberry juice, please.”
Gina set out my drink first, then busied herself with the veggies and hummus, and I leaned toward a series of frames on her counter. One was a photograph of another woman who looked similar to Gina—I guessed it was a sister. Another was a framed prayer that talked about grace and forgiveness, and a third was tucked a little bit behind the others. Curious, I reached out and nudged it forward. When it came fully into view, my grip loosened and the glass of cranberry juice slipped through my fingers. I tried to grab it again and managed only to prevent it from shattering, but all the cranberry juice spewed out onto the counter, the chair, the floor, and me.
“Ohmigod!” I cried, mortified that I’d been so clumsy. “Ohmigod, Gina, I’m sooooo sorry!”
She was next to me with a wad of paper towels in an instant. “Don’t sweat it, honey,” she said calmly.
I stood there, hunched over and dripping, and my mind seemed to blank on how to help. “I…I…I…” I stammered.
Gina mopped at the mess, then stood up to get a garbage can and the whole roll of paper towels. “Lily, really, it’s just a little juice and it cleans up quick. We’re lucky the cup didn’t break or you might’ve gotten cut.”