It felt empowering for a couple minutes, but it was never worth the trouble I got in once grownups saw what I’d done. Although, after my dad and Frannie got married, she’d sometimes sneak me over to the salon so a professional could attempt to mitigate the damage before my dad saw it, and she never got mad at me. She always understood.
But once I was a teenager, I refused her help—it was my stress, my hair, my problem. I wanted to handle it on my own, and it wasn’t like I was a beauty queen in the first place. A funny haircut wasn’t going to make much difference to my social status—the kids in the marching band and Chemistry Club weren’t too judgmental about outward appearances—and my bloody noses were more embarrassing than my uneven bangs anyway.
But this put a major crimp in my plan to surprise everyone at the reunion tonight with my elegance and sophistication.
Maybe I could wear a hat. A jaunty beret, something that said ‘I am still quirky, but I have more confidence now, and I don’t care what you think of me.’ Something that would force mean girls like Mimi Pepper-Peabody to remark, “Wow. You’ve come a long way since high school.”
God, I wanted that to be true.
I mean, I was practically going on thirty. Weren’t you supposed to have your shit together by this age? At twenty-eight, my dad had two kids and was serving his country as a Marine. Frannie was running a pastry shop and planning her wedding. Even Winnie, four years younger than me, had a solid handle on her life, including a job she loved and a sexy firefighter boyfriend. Millie was four years older, but she was established in her career and owned a house. Even the twins had jobs, boyfriends, and normal haircuts.
I felt like the last MacAllister standing. It brought back memories of being the last kid picked for teams in gym class. I could still feel the rest of the kids looking at me and the other non-athletes from their side of the gym. The cool side. The chosen side.
Would tonight be the same thing all over again?
Resignedly, I cleaned up all the hair in the bathroom and swept the kitchen floor. Then I made myself a cup of coffee and checked my phone—Millie had called twice and left several text messages in all caps.
STOP CUTTING.
THIS IS NOT WORTH IT.
YOU DON’T NEED BANGS, YOU NEED CAFFEINE.
MAYBE A SHOT OF WHISKEY.
I called her back. “Hey.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Your reunion is tonight, right?”
I sighed and took a sip. “Yes.”
“Why don’t I pick you up and we’ll go downtown, grab some coffee, and beg a salon to fit you in for an emergency appointment?”
“It’s not really an emergency,” I countered, although the mirror might disagree.
“Is it better or worse than Dad and Frannie’s wedding day?”
“Worse,” I admitted. “But better than the night before the SATs.”
“Send me a pic,” she said in her bossy big sister voice.
I winced. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
“Send me a pic.”
“Fine, but be nice.” I moved closer to the window, like better lighting might help. After snapping a selfie, I sent it to Millie.
My sister gasped. “Sweet Jesus.”
“I said be nice!”
“Okay. Don’t panic. What are you wearing tonight?” Millie had gone into executive event planner mode, and her tone was no-nonsense.
“I don’t know.” Fashion was not my area of expertise. “Got any advice?”
“Wear a fabulous short dress with a great pair of heels. Show off your legs. That will distract from your hair.”
“I don’t own fabulous dresses. I’ve spent almost every night for the last five years in a kitchen. Can I borrow something from you?”
She laughed. “Felicity, my dresses are not going to fit you.”
“I could stuff my bra.”
“You’d have to stuff a lot more than that,” she said wryly.
I sighed, envious as always of Millie’s full, feminine shape. My body was mostly angles and edges, while hers was all soft, sexy curves. “I wish I had a date tonight. That would make it easier.”
“I’ve got another wedding here, but maybe Winnie would go with you.”
“Show up with my little sister?” I almost choked on my coffee. “That’s worse than going alone.”
“What about Hutton?”
My heart skittered a little at his name. “He said absolutely not the first time I asked. But I guess I could ask him again.”