Chapter 42 Whit
Whit
Blair’s seated on my bed, watching the havoc I’m unleashing on both my hair and the bathroom counter, sink, and tub with my attempts at dyeing my hair.
She provides the support you can only find from an older sister—she’s here because she’s hoping I fuck it up and give her something to laugh about until the day I die.
I stare down at the orange-tinged ends of my brown hair. I watched a few videos online about bleaching your hair and thought I had it in the bag. After all, I dyed my hair black a few times when I was a teenager. How hard could bleach be?
Big oops.
“I should’ve gone to a hair salon for this.”
I carefully move to grab the hot pink dye, genuinely afraid my hair might spontaneously fall out of my head if I make any sudden movements.
Logically, I know I didn’t touch my roots, so the worst-case scenario is the bottom two inches snapping off, but I’m in a state of general panic over potentially destroying my hair. Logic has no room in this tiny ensuite.
“Nah.” Blair flips through my latest romance read. “It’s mandatory for post-breakup hair changes to be done at home.”
“This has nothing to do with Colt,” I snap unintentionally.
“Sure.” The flipping of pages stops; she must’ve located a sex scene. “Remember when you tried to dye your hair bright red after a breakup with Alex, and it turned the ugliest orange?”
Oh, I remember, all right. My mom dragged me to the salon—not to fix it, but to cover it with the mousiest brown imaginable.
“Yeah…” I scrunch my nose at my reflection in the mirror. “Mom acted like I’d committed some horrible sin. As if teenagers don’t do that type of thing all the time.”
“God, she was dramatic.”
“I think that was the first time I realized being myself wasn’t really…
allowed in their house. I was experimenting—figuring out who I was—and she immediately cut me down because of it.
” I glance at my sister. “If she hadn’t taken me to dye it brown again, I’m sure all the assholes in town would’ve talked shit about my hair. But…”
I give her a limp shrug.
“People are assholes.” Blair tosses the book down. “But you shouldn’t have gotten that from our parents. For what it’s worth, I thought you were so badass for always standing up to them back then.”
“I wasn’t even trying to be a badass. I guess…I wanted to feel like me. But it was clear I couldn’t be myself and be part of the family.”
“I’m sorry if I ever contributed to that feeling.” My older sister’s gaze meets mine, and we share a melancholic smile.
“You didn’t. At least…not intentionally. It wasn’t your fault Mom and Dad constantly compared us.”
“I felt that, too.” She chews at her lip. “I love you, sis.”
“Love you, B. I wish I’d had the chance to talk things out with her before…
. Now my focus is on Jonas. Making sure me and him don’t end up in the same spot twenty years from now.
” I gesture at my messy hair. “Anyway, all that is to say…this isn’t because of Colt.
It’s about wanting to show Jonas that we don’t give a shit about what anyone thinks.
That he’s free to figure out who he is, and I won’t love him any less. ”
Maybe it is a little bit about Colt. Not because I lost him, but because of what I gained from having him in our lives—his insistence that it’s okay to take up space, be yourself, and not give a shit what anybody thinks about that.
The way he never once made me feel like I was too much or not enough.
“Some kid at school has been calling him and his friend gay. And despite many talks about how that’s not an insult, and it doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t, he’s still in his head over the idea of people talking about him.
” I sigh and stir my pink concoction around in its white plastic bowl, leaning my hip against the counter.
“I know that comes from me and my insecurities. It’s been a decade since I was fodder for any exciting gossip, but I’m still paranoid about what people are saying. ”
“I understand the fear. Nobody has anything better to do in this town besides gossip.”
“I want Jonas to be comfortable being himself—whoever that is. I’m trying to lead by example.”
She nods. “Walking outside looking like the Barbie we used to give makeovers to is a great start.”
I cackle, remembering the janky-looking Barbie we had with face tattoos and a skullet. “Don’t you fucking dare put that evil on me. If you see me take scissors to this, tackle me.”
“I promise to stop you before you do anything that’s going to make Colt turn and run.”
“Too late.” I twirl half of my hair around my fingers, twisting it into a bird’s nest of brunette and peach-colored strands on top of my head, and secure it with a clip. “He already turned and ran.”
Blair tosses my paperback down on the bed and watches as I painstakingly paint the tips of my hair with dye.
My bleach-stained gray shirt is getting covered in pink.
As is my neck, and somehow there’s already a dollop of hot pink stain on my cheek.
I really should’ve gone to a salon. Especially since we’re a week away from Blair and Denny’s impromptu wedding.
“Spending time with Jonas every weekend, mentoring him with 4-H stuff, and going to a fundraiser event with you guys isn’t running.
Remember a few months ago when you told me you thought Denver wouldn’t hurt me, and I should give him a chance?
” She holds up her left hand, giving me a fuck you with her ring finger.
“I think, given the chance, Colt won’t hurt you. ”
I stare at myself in the mirror, smoothing my unstained hand over my forever barren stomach. “He wants kids, Blair.”
“Did he tell you himself that it’s a dealbreaker? Because his actions are kind of showing the opposite. Maybe he’s not as invested in the idea of having a bunch of kids running around as you think.”
I tug the clip out, thankful for the way my hair falls to block my tear-filled eyes. My saliva is thick and difficult to swallow, and I know uttering a single word of what I’m feeling inside will end in a torrent of tears.
Blair just keeps talking. As if she can read my mind, she works through the unspoken fear on my behalf.
“Sure, he could not want them now but change his mind one day. Then again, maybe he doesn’t or maybe you do.
What if he ends up being dead set on not having babies, and you decide you want to adopt or find a surrogate?
Seems silly to deny yourself happiness now because one day you might not be happy anymore. ”
Something choked, caught between a laugh and a small sob, comes from my mouth.
“I’ve been so afraid to wish for someone like him, but Colt walked into our lives like he knew he belonged here. Despite my best efforts, I think he was right.”
He became so entrenched in this family that his absence feels like a fraction of my soul is living somewhere outside my body. And I know Jonas feels it, too.
“Is it crazy of me to want him back?” I ask my quietest question out loud.
I do want him back. But it’s no longer my choice to make.
“It’s crazier not to.”