by Sarah Ready
“Humph,” she says. But there is a small, satisfied curl to her lips. I’ve made her happy.
“Why don’t we have a party?” asks Matilda.
“I’m not knitting a hair hat,” says Cleo.
“No. A hair cutting party. We don’t have to wait for it to thin or fall out in awful clumps. We can drink a ton of wine and shave it all off.” Matilda’s cheeks are glowing.
“That’s wonderful, dear,” says Sylvie. She takes a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”
“Me too,” says Gerry. “I never pass on a party.”
“You’ve all lost your marbles,” says Cleopatra.
“But you’ll come?” asks Matilda. She’s so sweet, not even Cleopatra can resist.
“Humph,” Cleo says, which this time means yes.
“I’ll host,” I say. “You can all come after chemo.”
“Bah. I’m exhausted after chemo.”
“Yes, but I don’t want anyone backing out,” I say. Now that I’ve settled on the idea of shaving my head, I don’t want to lose my nerve.
27
Dany
* * *
Four women stand before me bald as badgers. Their heads gleam in the kitchen light. Now it’s my turn.
“Should I be this nervous?” I ask.
Matilda gently pushes me down into the kitchen chair and wraps a towel around my shoulders.
“Nerves are for losers and wusses,” says Cleopatra.
I wink at her and she scowls back. Warmth fills my chest at the wonderful familiarity of that scowl.
Sylvie is in charge of the razor. It’s an electric shaving device that we picked up at the drug store on the way over.
She comes toward me and the razor starts its low droning buzz. I swallow a mouthful of wine.
The room is delightfully fuzzy around the edges, with a happy muted glow. There’s a pile of hair at my feet, all different shades. Sylvie’s mahogany with streaks of steel gray. Matilda’s honey brown. Cleopatra’s jet black. Gerry’s silver-tinged white. My hair will soon join. I take a deep reinforcing breath and another swallow of wine.
Then I lift my wine glass. “To us. To bald heads and friendship.”
“To friendship,” says Matilda.
“To baldies and friends,” says Gerry.
“Bah,” says Cleopatra.
“To us,” says Sylvie.
We all clink glasses. Well, except Sylvie. She’s holding the razor.
I take a drink, then set my glass down.
The razor tickles as Sylvie runs it along my scalp. I watch as my straw-colored hair, wavy and fine, drifts to the floor. It circles and spins and floats. I’m mesmerized watching it fall away.
Matilda turns on music.
Heavy beats start pumping from her phone.
“You have got to be kidding,” I say.
Matilda gives me a sweet, mischievous smile. Her hands come up in small fists and she starts pumping her arms in front of her. Her feet glide across the floor and she does the moonwalk.
This is one of my favorite eighties songs of all time. The heavy bass and drums are irresistible.
“Oh yeah,” says Gerry. She’s in a baby blue sequin velour tracksuit. She turns around, puts her hands on her hips, and starts to shake her behind.
“I’m not drunk enough for this,” says Cleo.
Matilda dances up to her. “Come on, Cleo.” She pumps her fists and circles around her.
Sylvie sings the lyrics in a high soprano. She runs the razor over my head and the last of my hair falls away. She whips off the towel and shakes it out. Hair flies over the room. Sylvie bends over and picks up the pile of hair and throws it in the air. It flies around us like confetti.
I start to laugh. Then sneeze. Then laugh.
Sylvie jumps up and down.
Matilda moonwalks past me.
Gerry bumps her swinging hips into Cleopatra.
“Humph,” says Cleo. “Have it your way.”
The girls stop as Cleopatra begins to dance.
Her mouth is pursed up. She’s glaring at each one of us. Then her shoulders start to rise in time to the music. She puts a hand behind her head and bends her elbow back and forth. Her other arm she sends out and points around the room at each one of us. Her feet are tapping. Her hips are swinging. Then she breaks it down and she does…I don’t know what she does…but she’s dancing like I’ve never seen anyone dance before. She’s a rock star.
There’s no movement except Cleo and the falling hair.
Then we’re released from our shock.
“Yeah, Cleo” says Gerry.
Matilda laughs and the girls begin to dance.
I sit in the chair watching. And I realize, this is it. I see my life before, and I see it now. Before, I’d never dance in front of people.
Now…
I’m not dancing in front of them, I’m dancing with them.
It’s like my whole life has been building toward dancing to eighties music with the people I love.
I jump up and start rocking the Cabbage Patch.
We’re kicking up hair, jumping around the kitchen like lunatics. I grab Matilda and we swing around in a circle. Gerry and Sylvie are doing the jitterbug, and Cleo is rocking down the house.
The kitchen is full of music, laughter, and I realize this is one of the happiest moments of my life. It wasn’t on my list. It just popped up. Spontaneously. And I’m so grateful.
The music ends.
“You know what this means?” I ask.
“More wine?” says Gerry.
“Group hug,” I say.
Cleo groans as I grab her, Matilda, Gerry, and Sylvie and pull them in.
“I love you guys,” I say.
“Humph,” says Cleo.
I burst out laughing.
Then, all that dancing and bouncing and wine and chemo… “I think I need to vomit. I’ll be back.”
After I do, I wash out my mouth and come out of the shell pink half bath near the kitchen. Matilda is waiting in the hall.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
She’s wearing another of her fanciful cat T-shirts and black leggings. “I don’t think I’ve ever been better,” I say.
She nods and we sink down to the wood floor of the hallway and rest our backs against the wall.
I take her hand. She’s skinnier than when I first saw her.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She looks over at me and smiles. There is warmth and mischief in her eyes. “Oh, yes.”
We sit against the wall in silence. Just holding hands.
“Is Steve alright with all this? Did he take it well?” I ask, wondering how Matilda’s husband took her diagnosis. Surely not as badly as Shawn did. Was he more like Jack? Hmm, Jack.
“Oh, he was wonderful,” says Matilda. She’s quiet and her eyes go slightly unfocused. Too much wine. “He’s the love of my life. Did I tell you we’re going on our second honeymoon when all this is over?”
I’m staring at a crack in the opposite wall, tracing it up and up. “What? Oh, right. You did. I’m so happy for you.”
She squeezes my hand.
I smile down the lump in my throat.
“It must feel amazing to have someone love you so much,” I say.
“I’m glad you’re my friend,” she says. She rests her head on my shoulder. “Sometimes, life’s worst moments bring the best…” She drifts off and I realize that she’s crying.
I shake my head. “Don’t cry,” I say. “Don’t cry.”
“Humph,” she mimics Cleopatra. “I can cry if I want to.”
I laugh and squeeze her hand back. A warmth rushes through me.
“I’m glad you’re my friend too,” I say.
And I am. So glad. I can’t imagine if I kept myself closed to them like I wanted to that first day of chemo. If I stayed closed up I wouldn’t have my friends. I wouldn’t have any of this.
Finally, I stretch my legs. I’m cramping up on the hardwood floor.
Jack is seated at the kitchen table.
He’s facing off against Gerry and Cleopatra. Even Sylvie has her arms folded across her chest. The tension is thick.
Oh no. It’s a clash of my two worlds and it doesn’t look like it’s going well.
“What’s your answer?” asks Gerry. She jabs her finger at Jack. I close my eyes, worried
I’m about to witness some carnage.
“We’re waiting, punk,” says Cleopatra.
Oh my gosh. What the heck happened in here? I was gone maybe five minutes.
I look at Matilda. She widens her eyes and shakes her head. She has no idea.
“Guys,” I say, attempting peacemaker.
Sylvie shushes me.
“What?” I ask.
Jack looks at me and winks. I realize this is the first time he’s seen me without my hair. Bald as a baby. He gives me a bedroom smile and it hits me down low deep in my belly. I bet he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
I shoot him a Cleopatra scowl.
“Come on already, Jackie-boy,” says Gerry.
“I can visualize a niche market for the uniqueness of the product,” says Jack.
What? What is he talking about? I look around the room in confusion.
Sylvie is nodding in agreement, while Gerry is shaking her head no.
Jack continues, “However, I would say that the return on investment would be too low to market human hair hats.”
“I told you,” says Cleo. She jumps up and does a quick chicken dance. “In your face.”
“Phooey. I thought you were a nice young man,” says Sylvie.
“Sylvie, you’re off your rocker,” says Cleo.
“Therefore,” says Gerry, “by impartial judge, the hair goes in the garbage and not in Sylvie’s knitting bag.” She sweeps the cuttings up and tosses them in the kitchen trash.
“Oh, botheration,” says Sylvie, but she’s laughing good-naturedly.
I look at Jack with trepidation. What does he think of my friends? What can he think of their uniqueness?
He catches my eye and winks again. He’s laughing. Not at them, but with them. With me.
At that moment, while I stand there bald and smiling, I realize that he likes me, even wants me, without my mask, just as I am. He doesn’t see anything to fix. He thinks I’m perfect just as I am.
The realization crashes into me. I sit down hard at the table.
“Now the next question,” says Gerry.
Jack winces. “Now, now, it’s not right to ask a gentleman—”
“Where’s a gentleman?” asks Cleo.
“Ouch, burn,” Gerry says.
Jack laughs. “Alright,” he says. “Although, you are all stunning and it’s nearly impossible to choose…”
I realize that they’ve roped him into saying who looks best with a bald head. Goodness. Poor guy.
“As a big brother, if my sister is in the room, I’m obliged to say that she’s the prettiest.”
“Aww,” says Sylvie.
I turn around. Sissy is wide-eyed at the entry to the kitchen.
“Humph, wily as a fox,” says Cleo.
“Sissy,” I call happily.
“Seriously, awesome,” says Sissy as she takes in the empty bottles and the bits of hair.
“Who wants pizza?” asks Jack. “I’m ordering Jets.”
And in one fell swoop, Jack has the entire room in love with him.
“He likes you,” whispers Matilda.
I look at Jack from the corner of my eyes. He’s watching me. I’m happy. Truly, truly happy.
“I want pepperoni and sausage, no, meat lovers, double cheese,” I call. “I usually have salad pizza,” I explain.
“Salad pizza?” gags Sissy. “Is that lettuce on a crust?”
I nod.
She fake gags again. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Exactly,” I say.
I pull up a seat for her at the table and she joins in the laughter.
I can feel the heat of Jack’s gaze on me for the rest of the night.
28
Jack
* * *
Dany’s held up her end of the bargain. She toured the Cape Cod site with me, saw my projects, went to the Creston warehouses.
For the past two weeks, she’s even been weeding and cleaning out the garden. She’s also helped sand, paint, and shared thoughts on design. She’s done everything we agreed on.
I help with the list. She helps with the house, and eventually my bid.
I can’t help but feel bitter about it. Her sticking to the letter of our agreement.
My mouth twists. Not once has she mentioned the kiss in the garden. Not once has she looked at me like she wants more.
I would’ve noticed. Because I can’t stop looking at her.
Still, two weeks later, I’m thinking about it.
Pleasant. She said the kiss was pleasant.
I growl. I’ll show her pleasant.
Then I let out a sigh and release the tension. She doesn’t want pleasant. She doesn’t want me. That, she made perfectly clear. I’ve been over this a thousand times.
It’s funny, I’m terrified of what I feel around her. I don’t want it. But I can’t stop trying to get more of it.
She’s twisting me up and she doesn’t even know it.
I stalk into the kitchen.
She’s there, washing a coffee mug at the sink. The morning sun shines yellow over her.
My stomach dives like it’s in free fall. Ever since I met her I’ve been falling and I haven’t hit the ground yet. I can only hope when my landing comes it isn’t too hard.
She turns and the light catches her smile.
“Morning, you,” she says.
Her smile hits me in the gut. Let’s be honest, when I hit ground, the flipping impact could crush me.
I wince.
“What? Somebody’s grumpy without his morning coffee. It’s in the pot.” She grabs a mug from the cupboard and holds it out to me.
She’s in a sweet flowy flowered top and tight jeans. There’s a hot pink baseball hat on her head and pink Converse on her feet. Her lips are glossy and lush.
Dang.
“Wake up, Jack,” she says with a laugh.
This woman has no idea what she’s doing to me. I grab for the mug and our fingers graze. Electricity shoots through me. Unbelievable. Down below is ready for a tumble from an innocent touch and a smile. What would she do if I grabbed her, pushed her against the sink and…
“I was wondering if you could teach me how to screw today?” she asks.
I drop the mug to the counter. It clatters on the marble. I grab for it and steady it before it can shatter. My fingers shake as I right it.
“What did you say?” I ask.
She walks over and grabs my mug then fills it with steaming coffee and a spoonful of sugar. A jolt of pleasure shoots through me when I realize she remembers how I like my coffee.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Any look, any more encouragement from her and I’ll be on her, showing her pleasant all over again.
These past two weeks have been torture. Could it be that under her friendly exterior she’s been…
I clear my throat.
“Tell me more…about, uh, about what you want,” I say.
She presses the coffee into my hands. “Drink.”
I take a long sip. The coffee burns on the way down.
“Well, ever since my first day here, I’ve wanted to screw,” she says. She pulls a piece of paper from her pocket. “I’ve made a list of all the things I’d like you to do with me.”
I hold back a groan. Dany and her lists. She’s going to kill me.
“I’d like to see some steel erections,” she begins.
“Yeah?” I ask. My voice is low.
“Oh yeah. I want y
ou to teach me about butt-glazing and rim joists—”
Wait a second.
“—and weep holes and, oh baby, I’ve always wanted learn about tongue and groove and —”
She keeps going, throwing out more and more dirty. Her eyes look up at me from her list and they are lit with mischief.
Unbelievable.
“You little she-devil,” I say.
She squeals as I grab for her.
She throws her list in the air and runs around to the other side of the kitchen table.
“You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?” I ask.
The kitchen table separates us. I move one way, she moves the other. Like a game of cat and mouse.
“I think I’m hilarious,” she says.
I fake lunge to the left. She darts to the right. I turn and grab her. She yelps and I pull her around. My hands loop over her arms.
“Hilarious?” I say.
“Yes.” She starts laughing again. “Your face. You should’ve seen your face.”
She collapses against me in a fit of laughter. A slow smile spreads first over my face, then I feel it all over me.
Based on her list, I think she’s gathered the dirtiest, most innuendo-laden construction terms she could find.
This was payback for the Phillips head incident when she first came here. No doubt about it.
“Are we even?” I ask.
She pulls out of my arms. It’s a shame, because I can’t stop thinking about tongue and groove.
“You’ve been all Byron broody for weeks now. I was trying to lighten the mood.”
“Did it work?” I ask.
“Not yet,” she says.
I raise my eyebrows.
She smiles. “I’m doing number one today.”
I scowl.
“Bungee jumping? I was hoping that was a joke.”
“Oh, are you afraid of heights?”
“No.” Yes.
“I could take Sissy if you are,” she says.
Dang it. I’ve been falling for weeks anyway, may as well do it this way too.
29
Dany
* * *
Jack and I are standing at the top of River Bridge. It’s a long way down. I look over the edge and immediately regret it. Okay, maybe it was a bad idea to include this on my list. But I wanted to do something that the old Dany would never in a thousand years consider.
