Post-cuts, Max and I took a walk of solidarity down the bathroom hallway. Partly to brush the hair from our clothes. Partly to bitch.
“Dammit, don’t I look like prepubescent Joker?” I mocked, widening my smile with my index fingers as I exited the bathroom.
“You look classy—Audrey Hepburn–ish,” Max said. “I’m the one who got weed-whacked.”
“Audrey is a goddess. And had dark hair.” Rather than continue that complaint, I reached up and stroked his hair—what was left of it—forward. “Sorry. I’m sure it was a sympathy cut.”
“Nope. That woman has plans to renovate me. Just you wait. She’s about to put me in Vineyard Vines and Sperrys when all I want are T-shirts and cutoffs. I already have those.”
“You sound like Trent.”
“Trent loved surfer clothes.” He palmed his head and laughed. “I should’ve had Maria bleach my hair blond.”
“He had the best hair,” I said.
“God, he should have. He spent hours on it.” Max sidled up to the closest mirror and pretended to primp.
We both grinned, but didn’t go so far as to laugh. We’d talked about Trent and we were upright. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Our mothers wanted us upright and in the van. There were sales to find and clothes to buy. We hurried along only to wait in Saturday traffic. This presented me with plenty of time to examine my new bangs without Sonia or Mom watching. Yes, I looked younger, and that sucked. I wasn’t Audrey, but Idaho—what Idaho? Bangs were a good idea.
Just so she’d know, at the next red light I got Mom’s attention. Pointing to my forehead, I mouthed the words Thank you.
Mom’s face exploded with happiness. I loved her pretty well all the time, but I rarely thanked her. I liked to imagine she knew I was grateful, but I wasn’t sure parents saw thoughts as well as they pretended they could. If they got occasional glimpses, they probably only saw the worrisome stuff. Maybe if I doubled down every now and again, it would make up for the dry stretches.
“Whew, tourist season,” Sonia said from the back.
You’re welcome, Mom mouthed back. Then without missing a beat, she answered Sonia. “This traffic is awful. Sometimes it’s better to stay home.”
“I recall mentioning that,” I said.
She sparred back. “Come fall, do you want to go to school in your pajamas?”
“Mom, fall’s a long way from now. We didn’t have to ruin today.”
“We’ll be in and out like a flash,” she promised.
In and out meant hours of trying on clothes in which someone examined me and said, “Those look great,” or “Don’t buy that,” and doubled my self-consciousness.
Sonia leaned toward the front. “Sadie, are you doing any camps or sports or plays this summer?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Max said you’ve become quite the runner. I thought you might sign up for the Sandblaster 5K.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Mom tag-teamed with Sonia. Her enthusiasm made it sound as if they’d planned this, and I thought twice about those extra thank-yous. They’d baited me, and it rang of Social Experiment training.
“I’ll think about it.” Better to agree now than let them badger me all day.
“Max is planning on doing Pirates and Paintball,” Sonia continued.
I turned around in my seat, surprised. “You are? You didn’t say.”
“We always have. I was going to ask you,” he said.
“I think we should all keep the tradition,” Sonia announced. “A true McCall, Kingston, Garrison, Adler weekend. The boat. Camping. You kids playing paintball in the competition—”
“Y’all having adult beverages,” Max said as he mimed turning up a bottle for his mother.