Chapter 11
JULIA
I have been on my feet for six hours, working with the same client.
She came in with an at-home bleach job gone very, very wrong, and try as I did, I couldn’t save most of it.
After hours of treatments, we finally decided that the gummy lengths of her hair had to go, and I feel horrible for her as I send inches upon inches of what was previously healthy hair falling to the floor.
Hair is such an important part of self expression, and now, the waist-length blonde tresses that she was hoping for will be a mousy brown pixie cut by the time that she leaves here.
Having to give someone a cut and color that they don’t want, but don’t have any choice in, always feels less like I’m cutting their hair and more like I’m hacking away at a part of who they are.
I shouldn’t, but as I take her up to pay for her services, I charge her only for the cost of the products used and not for my time.
There was no joy in the service I provided to her, today.
I can’t help the movement of my eyes as she pushes open the door to the parking lot. They want his motorcycle to be out there. My keys practically burn a hole in the pocket of my jeans, waiting for me to use them again.
“What’cha looking for?” Aislin coos over my shoulder.
“Nothing,” I say with a shake of my head. “Just seeing how busy the lot is.”
She snorts a loud laugh as she reaches past me to open her schedule on the computer in front of us.
“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, you know,” she says. My heart lurches in my chest. “Motorcycle in the parking lot, lunch in your car. I’m just glad you two are working things out.”
You two…?
Oh.
“Busted,” I chuckle awkwardly.
“I think it’s cute,” she says, bumping her elbow against my arm. “Keep that spark alive, babe.”
The spark is alive, alright, just not the one that should be.
She’s my best friend, and not being able to tell her what’s happening in my life should be a loud enough message that it shouldn’t be happening. A neon sign, reading ‘exit here.’
But I think about the picture that I sent Connor from the bathtub last night, and the video that he sent me in response of himself masturbating to it; and the only thing I can think is that I want him to come back.
I’m worried that this is quickly evolving into something so much bigger and so much more dangerous than whatever it was that first time in Aislin’s bathroom. I worry because it isn’t just my body that is involved in this, anymore.
I have to stop this before it’s a worse, more world-destroying monster than the one that it’s already become.
Pulling the salon phone from its base, I put the receiver to my ear and punch out an outgoing number, waiting for the line to trill before my husband’s voice comes through.
“What’s up, this is T-Mo,” he answers.
I guess he still doesn’t have the salon number saved to his phone.
“Hi Lovey, it’s me,” I tell him. “I wanted to see when you’re leaving tonight. I was thinking, maybe if we had time to go out and grab a quick dinner…?”
“Yeah,” he says. I hate how surprised he sounds. “I’ll be home before seven. We can hit that Korean place you like.”
The Korean place that I like.
The one he found on a whim when we first moved here, because I said that I was in the mood for something spicy and filling, but not too heavy.
He just knew. That night, we shared a hot pot and some of the best pork dumplings I’ve ever had, and we spent hours talking and laughing with each other like it was our first date.
He’s taken me back there a few times for birthdays or for big wins with my salon. It’s become a really special place for me; I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows that.
Tripp has always known everything about me.
“That sounds great,” I tell him with a smile on my face, in spite of the painful choking feeling lodging itself in my throat. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, baby,” he says. “See you soon.”
This might be overkill, I tell myself as I secure a bow at the front of my off-shoulder blouse.
I can’t remember the last time that Tripp and I had a proper date night. Every time we’ve actually gone out somewhere to eat since things soured between us, it’s been with his brother; or with his brother, his girlfriend, and their daughter.
It hasn’t been just us in what feels like forever, so tonight, I’m giving myself permission to be a little over the top about it.
After curling my hair, I tie a silky white bow into it to to match my top, securing the top section of my hair at the back of my head. I don’t use it often because it’s kind of a luxury item, but I throw an extra spritz of Tripp’s favorite perfume into my hair.
Drumstick’s excited shouting can be heard all the way up the stairs as his dad walks into the house, and I listen while they have a brief conversation with each other about their days, like they always do.
In the mirror, I give my strapless bra a quick lift to offer a lift to my breasts, then I give myself a twirl to make sure that I’m happy with how everything came together.
I have to make this work. I have to fix this.
When Connor gets back from his sister’s house, we’ll talk. I’ll tell him that as much as it hurts, I can’t do this anymore, and that I have to try to save my marriage.
I don’t know if I’ll tell Tripp. Part of me thinks that he would be better off never knowing the truth. Another part of me knows that the guilt of keeping this from him will tear me apart.
The only thing I know for sure is that losing my husband is not an option.
I bound down the stairs to meet him, and his eyes are on me as soon as I reach the landing. When I reach him, I wrap my arms around his neck and press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his chest rise against mine as he pulls in a breath of my perfume.
When we part, he scans me again, head to toe and back up once more. It brings warmth crawling across my skin.
“I haven’t seen that in a while,” he says, the corner of his mouth ticking up.
His eyes are on my breasts, and my mind tells me that they’re what he’s referring to. It takes a minute for me to realize that he’s talking about the top that I’ve owned for years and have only worn out one other time.
“Go get dressed,” I tell him with a giggle, pushing him toward the stairs. “I’m hungry.”
It takes him considerably less time to get himself cleaned up and changed than it did me, but my heart still skips when he trots down the stairs, fixing the collar on his sleek black button-up.
The tattoos that cover his neck and the line of his jaw spill out of his shirt, and I smile at them as I push my fingers through his hair.
“Can I slick it back?” I beg, throwing on my best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”
“You really like the mobster hair that much?” He teases.
“I love the mobster hair.”
Rushing past him, I hurry up the stairs before he can argue, and I come back down with a fine tooth comb and a jar of pomade in my hands. As I put the product into his hair and carefully comb back each strand, placing it perfectly so he won’t fuss with it later, I can feel him.
His eyes are on me, watching my every movement, and the corner of his mouth is pulled up just enough to make my cheeks warm.
I’m in high school all over again, hoping that the cute boy standing in front of me might want to kiss me.
“So, I keep this in my pocket and just give it a quick—”
“No!” I shout through a laugh as he takes the comb from me and moves to swipe it through his hair. We struggle against each other for a moment before his wrists are firmly held in my grasp, the two of us laughing together. “Your head is off-limits to you tonight. Leave my work alone.”
And all of the sudden, that cute boy that I’ve been crushing on presses his lips to mine. It’s a soft kiss, so gentle that the metal of his jewelry tickles at first before he adds more pressure.
When his hand cups my face, I melt against him.
My arms wrap around his neck as his hands find my waist, and we’re not in our thirties anymore.
We’re sixteen and seventeen years old, kissing each other behind a concrete beam in the school’s parking lot and hoping that one of the Sisters won’t catch us in the act.
When we part, he presses a soft kiss to the tip of my nose, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone.
“You’re okay, aren’t you?” He asks, and I offer him a smile as I brush a smudge of my lipstick away from the edge of his lip.
“Absolutely,” I nod. “Never better.”
I kiss him again before we pack ourselves into the car and leave for the restaurant.
It’s a small, intimate place, and unassuming from the outside, but inside, it’s beautiful.
The main rooms are dimly lit only by small overhead lights, with the accent of a few words spelled out with red neon lights on the windows.
Music plays softly enough that I can almost never make out what it is that we’re listening to.
Conversation at every table is held at a respectful volume and the centerpieces add even more romance to complement the lighting.
Tripp already knows what he wants when we sit down; he probably looked up their new menu as soon as we made plans. I take a few extra minutes while he orders us glasses of wine and a few appetizers.
It’s money that we shouldn’t be spending, but it might also be money that helps to save us.
As we effortlessly work through our entrées and start on our desserts, I let out a contented sigh.
“This is really nice,” I quietly say before taking a sip of my wine. My heart pounds against my eardrums, but I pull on a brave face as I steady myself. “I’m wondering if maybe we can try tonight?”
Surprise crosses his face, and his expression twists until he’s looking at me as if he thinks I’ve gone crazy.
“Try?” He clears his throat as he carefully sets down his spoon and the bite of dessert loaded onto it. His hand reaches for mine across the table, taking a gentle hold of it as his thumb strokes my skin. “Baby, I don’t know if that’s a great idea right now.”