Chapter 6 Junie
Junie
If given the chance, Junie would opt to fry her hair off rather than tell Georgia, now sitting right here in the flesh, the
details of the problem. Junie keeps her head trained toward the television screen and flicks her eyes to the corner to get
a good look at her sister. A status check. A temperature reading. A risk assessment to determine just how likely Georgia is
to murder her in her sleep tonight. But when her eyes land on her sister, she is calm, cool, and decidedly unhomicidal.
Junie pulls the fuzzy blanket up to her chin.
When the credits roll a while later, it feels like only seconds have passed. Immediately, Georgia grabs the remote and flips
the screen off. “Ok, out with it. What’s going on at June’s?”
Junie pulls herself upright and readjusts the blanket around her like armor. Puds trots over and flops down beside her; he
just knows when she needs him. She pats her would-be therapy dog before she looks back up at Georgia.
Junie squeezes a tight, worried smile, and it freezes on her face as if her mind is buffering.
This fix will be an easy one for Georgia. She’ll probably just give Junie the usual big sister you-need-to-think-things-all-the-way-through talk, give her inept little sister a couple of stern looks, and write the check. Bingo, bango.
Junie sucks in a breath. “You’re going to be swatted-wasp angry about this, buuuut I’m in a bit of a pickle.”
Georgia’s body jolts like she slipped a pinky nail into an outlet. She arranges a schoolteacher look on her face and leans
in. In any other scenario Junie would crack a joke and then tickle Georgia’s ribs until she couldn’t help but laugh along.
“Let me tell you all the ways we could make this beautiful,” Junie would tell her sister.
“I guess it’s more of a good news, bad news situation,” Junie says. “Which do you want first?”
Georgia looks like she’s using every shred of patience to keep herself from shaking the information out of her. “Just tell
me the whole thing.”
It’s essentially the answer Junie expects.
“Yes. Of course. Well, I’d kind of prepared it as good news, bad news in my mind, so I’ll just riff off that. So, bad news: The beauty shop is torn up, and we’re breaking health codes by seeing clients in there.” Junie pauses to leave
space for a Home Alone scream that doesn’t come. “Good news,” she continues, “I scored a partnership with Goldilocks Haircare to rebrand and renovate
the shop!”
“Rebrand? Junie, you can’t rebrand the shop,” Georgia says. “The brand is Dolly Parton.”
Branding is what stuck out to her in this confession?
“I mean, yes and no. But the point is how do we not with All-Star Cuts open across town?” Junie says. “That place is newfangled—all kinds of gadgets for kids, screens and a
treasure chest with a hundred varieties of slime on the way out.”
“Well, you can’t believe everything you hear.” Georgia shakes herself upright, looking like denial in human flesh.
“I saw it with my own two eyes,” Junie says.
“I’m surprised Mama didn’t strike you down from heaven for stepping foot in there. Please don’t tell me you let them cut your hair?” Georgia’s cheeks almost match her hair at this point.
“Baby, you’re just one color”: It’s what Mama would say.
“First off,” Junie announces, “if and only if Mama did make it to heaven—God rest her soul—I’m fairly certain she wouldn’t
get the right to strike folks down. And no, of course I didn’t let those idiots touch my hair.” Junie tosses her locks for
effect. “I put on a wig from Tina’s wig wall. Went undercover, pretending I needed to book a cut for my nonexistent husband.”
Georgia opens her mouth, then stops. She shakes her head. “We’re coming back to that. The mess at the shop?”
Junie squints, like she’s working to remember the situation and it’s not, in fact, seared clearly onto her mind. “I’d say
we’re missing 30 to 40 percent of the Sheetrock. And we’re rocking concrete floors—which isn’t in itself an issue . . . aside
from the fact that they’re as filthy as one might imagine considering the state of the carpet we pulled up. And then there’s—”
“Ok, ok, stop. Back up. How on earth did you get here and why didn’t you tell me about any of this? An Instagram post is how I found out.” For the first time, Georgia looks hurt. Like maybe she’s not just mad to have to fix a problem
she didn’t create, but in some way she feels like she should’ve known about a plan this big for the shop.
And addressing that point is a one-way ticket back into the naming fight that, for centuries, the women in the Louise family
couldn’t quit having.
“The Goldilocks people reached out a while back, right as the jock hairdressers moved in, and I thought it was the answer
to our prayers.” Really, it still could be. “And it’s a great deal. They’ll supplement a portion of the renovation cost for brand positioning and cover the design costs.
All we owe is $50K! How great is that?”
“Tell me about the part where it became a disaster.” Georgia’s knee is bobbing up and down like she’s negotiating a hostage crisis.
“Well, this is where I got in my own way a bit.” Junie grins, knowing full well she’s doing the baby sister move she relies
on far too often. “I mentioned it to Daddy—he’s still running the books and bills and all—and he said it was no problem, just
to let him take a look. Now, since that conversation was had, there’ve been a few discussions between me and Daddy, and it seems I may have misheard—or added a more optimistic spin to his wording in my mind. It’s neither
here nor there at this point, but I was so excited at the prospect that I jumped right in. I signed the deal and scheduled
the demo work.”
“And what about the money?”
“Well, when I went to ask Daddy Dearest to transfer the funds, he blew his lid because it turns out the beauty shop does not have $50K to cover any renovations. Even if it is a nice idea.” Junie lets out a puff of air, her shoulders drop, and she
waits for her well-deserved lecture.
“Oh, Junie Bug.” Georgia drops her head into her hands and looks about as sad as Junie felt when the news hit. When Georgia
doesn’t make a move, Junie rubs her back.
Eventually Georgia looks up. “Let me see what I can do,” she says. “And I actually mean that—no good vibes spin. I’m not sure
I have that amount accessible right now, but I’ll have to talk to my finance guy.”
Junie nods, looking as penitent as she would have if she’d received the talking-to she deserved. When Georgia squeezes out
a small smile, Junie lunges toward her and burrows herself into her sister’s front, wrapping her arms around her in a way
that feels like forever. “Thank you,” Junie says. “I’m sorry you have to keep on saving me, and I’m even more sorry I put
the shop in the mix this time.”