The Knock

by Emme Burton

  “Are you Posey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ahh, you are the beautiful flower Valley said you were! In serious need of a bit of pruning and care, but still, bella!”

  Can’t argue that. I have split ends four inches long. I know because I inspected them thoroughly during my morning meetings. Hence my inattentiveness.

  Francisco seats me at his station, drapes me carefully and begins asking questions. Not about how I’d like my hair to look, but about my life.

  What do I like?

  Clean lines and a modern look.

  What do I do for a living?

  Graphic artist, primarily for music and the arts.

  Do I have kids? Yes, two very busy boys.

  The entire time he’s inspecting my hair, root to tip.

  “Posey, when is the last time you had your hair cut?”

  I bow my head and take a deep breath before answering, “Like a real haircut? At a salon?”

  I look up at Francisco’s reflection in the salon mirror. He nods.

  “Over two years ago, but I’ve been trimming my bangs now and then. And I cut a bit off the ends one time.” I screw up my expression and shake my head to indicate the big mistake that was. “Just one time,” I say, holding up my index finger for emphasis.

  Francisco shakes his head slowly and smirks. “Tsk, tsk, tsk… darling, no more. You have gorgeous hair. Don’t cut it yourself again. Promise me.”

  I sheepishly comply. “I promise.”

  “From what you have said and the condition of your hair, I need to cut off quite a bit. Is that OK with you?”

  “Francisco, you do what you have to do. I’m sure I’ll love it. I’m way past needing a change. I think I need many changes.”

  “Are you telling me I have a blank canvas? Free reign? I can do whatever I like? Color?”

  “Except for pink or blue hair, I’m up for anything.”

  “I like your hair color, but I think we could brighten it up. Make you a sparkling blonde, like you were as a kid.”

  After a huge exhalation, I say, “Go for it.”

  Two hours later, Francisco spins the chair around.

  I’m blown away. It’s been reimagined into a pixie with swooping long bangs that can be styled many ways. The color is also two shades lighter. “Francisco, you’re a miracle worker! This is amazing.” I can’t stop flipping my hair around, turning my head at various angles and reaching up to touch it. There’s a newfound lightness that’s palpable. At least to me.

  “I had a feeling your hair, and you, needed a reset.”

  “I didn’t know it myself, but you’re completely right. Thank you.”

  “Now, let’s get your nails and makeup done.”

  “But, I didn’t ask Valley to help with that.”

  “She scheduled it anyway. She must know it’s much needed.”

  I owe Valley more than drinks.

  I leave Francisco Marco Salon a different woman. At least externally. My first thought upon seeing the new me was what would Donovan think? Quickly followed by, I wonder if Mitch will notice a difference? I can’t be sure, but that handshake with Mitch seems to have released something. Sensations and emotions that had been locked away for so long I thought they’d died in a tiny prison cell in my heart have been given release papers.

  Chapter 6

  Valley walks over as I step out of my car. She always looks like a million freaking bucks to me. So sexy in that cool, rocker chick sort of way, and her makeup is always perfect.

  “Holy shit! When you said haircut, you meant haircut! It looks amazing. You look like a different person.”

  I run my fingers through the very short back, feeling the loss of what used to be my messy bun. “Not too much gone. Too short?”

  “Hell, no, you’re a smoke show. Turn around.” Valley twirls her finger.

  I grab my bag, shut the car door and do a twirl right in my driveway.

  “And new clothes, too. I didn’t even know you wore heels.”

  “Just new shoes and this jacket,” I say, referring to the block heel sandals and long, tailored leopard-print jacket with leather trim I purchased right off the mannequin at a boutique down the street from Francisco’s salon.

  My phone rings. I startle and quickly fish it out of my bag. “Mitch!” I say, thinking I only said it in my head.

  “Who’s Mitch?” Valley asks, her left eyebrow raised. “Other than someone who makes you jump and say his name like an orgasm.”

  An expression like that from Valley is not unexpected. She starts to walk away. “Answer your phone, girl. I’ll send your kid home in a few.”

  Always obedient, I answer on the third ring, hoping I don’t sound too breathless and excited.

  “Uhm, hey, Posey. It’s uhm, it’s Mitch.” He seems nervous.

  “Hello, Mitch,” I reply as I school my voice into a too low, phone sex operator voice. I’m a ridiculous mess. About a phone call.

  “So, I moved some things around and I can start seeing Van for a second lesson each week. Is tomorrow too soon?”

  “Yes, I mean no, it’s not too soon. And yes, that’s great!”

  Why do I feel like I’m a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl whenever I talk to this guy? I haven’t really noticed anyone since the moment I laid eyes on Donnie years ago, but something about Mitch feels familiar, comfortable.

  Mitch laughs. Probably at my awkward response. I picture his face—his cocked smile and his crinkled eyes—and a flush comes over my body. “See you tomorrow, Posey. Same time as Tuesday’s lesson. Tell Van to be ready!”

  “Oh, I will. See you tomorrow.”

  My thoughts instantly start a countdown to five o’clock tomorrow, mentally rifling through my closet for what to wear and wondering if Mitch will like my new look.

  Suddenly, I’m struck with an idea for the #coolNerd graphics. I rush inside, pull off my new jacket and throw it and my bag onto one of the barstools at the island. I charge down the hall to my studio but peek into Van’s room to tell him he has an additional lesson with Mitch each week, starting tomorrow.

  “Cool,” he responds.

  “Oh, and I just got inspired for my latest project. I gotta get this down.” I continue down the hall but yell over my shoulder, “Do you think you could throw something together for yourself and Shane for dinner? Frozen pizza, ramen, something?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  When I get to my office, I make a beeline for my desk, set up my laptop and turn it on. I’d planned to google Sid Cooper and never did, but now that I need some background to develop this idea, it’s a good time to start. The #coolNerd album is called You Are My New Home, which is also the name of the first single to be released. I need to find out about Sid Cooper’s home.

  Sid was born in Boston, but has lived in Downers Grove, Illinois, since the age of six months when he was adopted. His mother is Kimberly Cooper, but there’s little detail. I don’t find a death date, so I guess she’s still alive. His adoptive father’s name is Gil Cooper. I wonder why his birth mother and adoptive father have the same last name. Further research reveals that Clip Cooper, former NFL player and now coach, is his brother, and Minnie Cooper Snackenberg is his sister. I think I’ve read some of her articles in Vogue or somewhere. This is a family of achievers. There’s nothing about a girlfriend or wife, so I’m wondering who the “you” in “You Are My New Home” is. I shift over to images and google “Downers Grove” and am immediately captured by the photos of the town. The sweet old train station, people in a coffee shop, kids on bikes. The one that most attracts me is a photo from a time before technology kept us at home and people met in public places to talk and get information. This picture could be from the fifties or sixties, but judging by the cars and clothes it’s probably more like the nineties.

  Since I’m only doing a mock-up, I screenshot the picture and start on the graphics. I bookmark the page for inspiration later. If this works, we’ll have to go to Chicago to get custom shots for the a
rtwork.

  I’m so involved in my work I don’t hear Van and Shane knock on my studio door.

  “Mom, dinner!” Shane’s voice cuts through my fog of concentration as he runs into my studio.

  I lift my head from the computer and turn toward the door.

  Shane stops short. “Whoa! You cut your hair. Like, really short!”

  My face tightens with concern. “Is it OK? Do… do you like it?” I reach up and touch the back of it.

  “It’s different,” Van chimes in.

  Shane tilts his head as he follows up with, “But cool, like Katy Perry or that girl from Harry Potter.”

  “Emma Watson,” Van tells him.

  “Yeah, her.” Shane grins.

  “OK. Katy Perry and Emma Watson are OK with me.” I’m surprised they even noticed my hair. They didn’t comment on my makeup and manicure. Maybe that isn’t as drastic a change. Or maybe boys don’t notice things like that.

  Chapter 7

  I’ve been a wreck all day. I mean, I’ve been productive, kicking ass on the #coolNerd project. But I’ve also been singing at the top of my lungs, shaking my butt to my music turned up way too loud and randomly stopping and replaying every word Mitch has ever said to me, every look he’s given me and every feeling I’ve had since I met him three days ago. It’s preposterous that I’m this mesmerized in such short a time, but I guess stuff like this really happens.

  I didn’t really get a chance to greet him when he arrived for Van’s Thursday lesson. Van ran to the door, sliding along the hardwood in his socks, and answered it right after the first ring.

  Mitch said a hasty “Hi, Posey” as he passed by my studio door and went upstairs for Van’s lesson. I scooted over to the door just in time to respond with a “Hey, Mitch” and get a peek at his very attractive ass as he ascended the stairs after Van, who was chattering like a squirrel.

  Returning to my work, I realize I’ve been staring at the same font for ten minutes trying to make a decision, and give up. I can’t concentrate hearing the rich calmness of his voice as he instructs Van. Knowing Mitch is in my house. Right above me.

  It’s time to make dinner anyway. Spaghetti Thursday.

  The music upstairs stops and I check my watch. The lesson is over. When I look up, Van slides onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.

  “Mom, Mitch is staying for dinner, OK?” Mitch enters a half second later.

  “Hey, Van, buddy, what are you doing? I didn’t—”

  Van spins on the stool to face Mitch. “You said it smelled good and talked about how hungry you were.”

  Mitch’s face immediately turns pink. “Yeah, but I didn’t mean—”

  I clear my throat. “Mitch, it’s fine. I was going to invite you to stay before Van even said anything.”

  “Thank you. You know you don’t have to feed me every time I come over.”

  I smile and then laugh. It feels good. To smile. To laugh without thinking about it first or forcing it. “I know, but we have plenty of spaghetti and your lessons bump up against dinnertime.” I mentally add, I couldn’t wait to see you and talk to you again.

  Did I really say “bump up against” in a sentence?

  Mitch sets his instrument and music down on the floor. “Well, thank you again.” He sits on the stool next to Van and leans his chin on his hands, observing me as I brown the hamburger for the meat sauce. “Hey, I noticed when I walked by your office before that you got a haircut. It looks really great.”

  I look down and rub the naked back of my neck. “Thank you. I’m getting used to it.” I’m probably bright pink now, too.

  “It looks great on you.”

  I’m not used to this much attention and turn away, flustered. I walk into the hall and say, “Shane, it’s almost dinnertime. Come get out the plates and silverware.”

  Shane groans from his room, “Just a sec, Mom. I’m about to win this race.”

  Mitch whispers to Van, “Must be playing Mario Kart, huh, buddy?” Then he stands up and walks into the kitchen. “Let’s help your mom get the dishes out so Shane can cross the finish line.”

  Impressive.

  He does the same after dinner. “Guys, go ahead and play your game. I’ll help your mom clean up.”

  “Mitch—” Once again I protest.

  “Posey.” Mitch says in counterprotest. And without another word, we clean the kitchen. I’m struck by how smoothly we work together, clearing dishes, him rinsing, me filling the dishwasher.

  I ask Mitch about his work and am not surprised to hear, like most people in their twenties, he has more than one job. Besides giving guitar lessons, he substitute teaches and does some session work for local musicians.

  “What do you do, Posey? I mean I know you work from home.”

  “I work for Two-Shot, and I only work from home two days a week. They just happen to be the days of Van’s lessons.”

  “The graphics company?”

  “You know it?”

  “Yeah, my friend uses them for some stuff. What do you do?”

  “I’m a graphic artist.” I bite my lip. I’m supposed to keep the #coolNerd account to myself. I signed a nondisclosure and everything, but I’m going to take a chance. “Do you want to see what I’m working on?”

  “Absolutely!”

  He is actually interested in my work. I have to say, Donovan was supportive but never seemed truly interested. I throw down the dish towel after wiping my hands and tilt my head toward the hall.

  I’m about to open the door, but before I do, I turn back to Mitch with a very serious expression. “You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone I showed you this.”

  Mitch kisses two fingers on his right hand and crosses his heart. It’s adorable.

  I slowly open the door. “Come on in.” Mitch is only inches behind me. I feel his breath. The little hairs on my neck and shoulders and arms stand on end.

  “Wow! This is so cool!” Mitch walks around my office, looking at the framed album art and concert posters from some of the work I’ve done in the past. He stops, mouth agape, in front of one of the covers with a platinum record framed alongside it. “Is this Boxwood?”

  “Yep.” I stand next to Mitch, our upper arms almost touching, and look at the artwork.

  Mitch points to the wall. “This is their first album. The one that was on the charts for like three years.”

  “Uh-huh.” I’m purposely trying to play it cool, but inside my heart is slamming against my chest and my thoughts have gone fuzzy.

  “And you did the artwork?”

  “I was on the team that did it, yes, where I used to work in St. Louis.”

  “That is so awesome.” Mitch turns to me while I continue to look at the picture. I’m beginning to anticipate and crave the electricity zapping between us when we’re close. “Have you met them?”

  I turn and look up at him. “Yes, I have.” I refrain from telling Mitch that I knew Boxwood because the lead singer was the best friend of a victim Donovan had saved. That story is for another time. When we know each other better. When we know each other better? Am I really projecting into the future? “Let me show you something.” I gesture to my drafting table. All my #coolNerd work is right out in the open.

  Mitch’s eyes jump around the table. “#coolNerd? You’re doing the artwork for #coolNerd? I knew they had a new album coming out, but this is amazing. You are amazing.”

  I blush and stutter, “Th-Thank you.” Professionally, I have received positive feedback, but never such effusive praise.

  “Sorry. I guess that wasn’t really smooth, huh?”

  “No, it was nice.”

  “Well, I’m not taking it back. I’m really impressed. You’re so talented.” He’s so free with his feelings. It’s refreshing.

  I say thank you again and explain my process. “I’m really inspired by music. Do you want to hear their new album?”

  “You have it?”

  “I do. Sid Cooper gave it to my boss who gave it
to me to help me get the vibe for the artwork.”

  Mitch looks at the floor and shakes his head in disbelief.

  I pull out my phone and grab my earbuds from the table. I plug them in and then hand one of the buds to Mitch. He moves closer to put it in his ear, while I put the other in mine.

  “This is going to be the first single released, ‘You Are My New Home.’” I start the song.

  Mitch immediately closes his eyes and gently moves his head from side to side to the lyrical ballad.

  I gaze at him. His lips purse. He’s so close. He smells so good. I’d forgotten what it’s like to be close to someone. I close my eyes, trying to absorb it all.

  Without a word, Mitch slips his arms around my waist and I let him. I reach up, awkward and unsure, and put my hands stiffly on his shoulders. We dance.

  Even though every atom in every cell of my body is vibrating at light speed, dancing with Mitch is at the same time easy and comfortable. He begins humming along to the song with perfect pitch.

  The song ends, and when I open my eyes, his are open, too, and he’s staring down at me.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers.

  Is he commenting on the song or me?

  He slowly cups the back of my head with his entire hand and strokes my hair with his thumb.

  “Uh.” I exhale quickly.

  He pulls away slightly, but not before he runs the back of his fingers down the back and then side of my neck.

  I shiver from the top of my head down to my toes. We are still connected to the earbuds.

  “I’m sorry, that was forward,” he whispers while his face moves closer to mine.

  He… he’s going to kiss me.

  “Nuh… no, it’s fine.” I’m going to let him kiss me…

  “Moooommmm!” Loud voices and footsteps thundering down the hall kill the moment.

  Mitch and I jump away from each other like we’re dodging a moving vehicle. The earbuds yank out of our ears and we both wince.

  “Ow!” we both say and retreat to opposite sides of the drafting table.

  Van and Shane charge into the room, oblivious. “Can we watch a movie?” They look at me, and then Mitch. Still clueless. Good.