Chapter 7 Georgia
Georgia
I have my baby sister curled in my lap and her request weighing on my mind. This is the worst I’ve ever felt about misrepresenting
Junie didn’t thaw the frozen turkey she’d bought, and I ended up driving around for four hours, searching for a replacement.
If only this could be solved by driving around to every grocery store I can find on a map.
I drop a kiss on top of her hair, and she looks up at me. “Can I show you the Goldilocks partnership design materials? They
sent them out with the invitation to the program, so you can see what all they can do. It might help to know that your money
is going someplace worthwhile.”
Despite what I said, Junie is assuming I will agree to spot the money for this project. And why wouldn’t she, considering
the picture of my life I’ve sold them? If it was an actual option, of course I’d pony up the money, but I’m a woman who’s
behind on rent, not one who has a cool $50K lying around. “Sure thing,” I say.
Junie rolls herself upright and unearths her phone from the fleecy blanket around her. She holds up the phone, the opening presentation slide displayed on the screen. “Here’s the brand”—she scrolls to the next slide—“and here are their hair products.”
“I know the brand,” I say. “I may have moved out of town, but the hair gene is a for-life kind of thing.”
Junie holds up the phone and swipes the screen repeatedly. “I’ll just skip through that stuff then. Here.” She stops and beams
at me as she hands over the phone.
I take it and slowly look through more of the slides. The presentation is gorgeous and modern, and I see the promise in the
before and afters they’ve included from other projects. I don’t fault Junie for going after this deal; I just wish she’d done
a bit more due diligence beforehand. I continue scrolling through the slides that show inspiration boards and idea banks from
completed projects. Ones that could be a starting point for a design all June’s own.
“I mean, look at these—they’re stunning! Once we do this, not only will our customers turn their noses at the haircut jocks
but we’ll have tons of new interest. From the town over, then the one past that. It’ll more than pay for itself. And you know Mama always had big dreams for this place.”
It strikes me just how good of an idea—in theory—this was. A competitor moved into town, and like a shrewd businesswoman,
Junie planned to up the ante. Mama would’ve gone for this deal too (possibly even jumped in like her daughter did), and she’d
be so proud of Junie for going after it if she were here. Junie really was the right one to be made a June.
My chest pinches at the flush of shame that follows.
“I can see why you went for it. I don’t think anyone disagrees that the place could use a facelift. It’s just the funds are also an important piece of the puzzle.” I pause before I ask my lingering question, knowing that what I’m about to ask
for will surely bring up strong feelings. “Did they do a design board for June’s?”
“Yes, of course.” Junie grins back at me, and I swear it touches every inch of her, like every muscle in her body knows how to smile. “The designers are sweet and so fun and have got this whole thing . . .”
She goes on about the long, meandering design conversations, all the imaginings of big and beautiful things. It sounds heavenly,
to dream in shelter like that.
She looks right at me. “Go ahead and ask. I know exactly what’s on your mind.”
If only.
“The Dolly decor.” Junie says it like a fact.
I let the corners of my mouth twitch up. “How’d you know?”
As a young thing, Mama started covering the walls of the beauty shop with Dolly Parton paraphernalia. She adored Dolly (as
every right-minded woman in our neck of the woods does). She sang her songs and collected every trinket and keepsake of the
blonde bombshell within arm’s reach. And she put them where she could see them most of the time: on the walls of that raggedy
hair salon. Sometimes items would be framed; other times the best she could manage were a few patches of Scotch tape.
And now that Mama’s gone, I can’t help but cling to these objects, wondering if the memories of her will fade into nothing
if these people take away her scrapbooked beauty shop decor as they make it over.
“Well, the design team thinks the Dolly stuff is actually super cute. So we’re going to keep it,” Junie says.
“We’re keeping the shrine?” Despite this being good news, shock outlines my words.
“Not as is—but yes. She said we’d incorporate it tastefully . . . so I’m thinking proper frames for stuff and maybe nixing some of the newspaper cuttings from years ago. Trying to match images
that’ll complement the color palette. Editing, for sure.”
I imagine Mama cutting those clippings with her very own hands, and my heart twists. “I’ll take whatever you end up getting
rid of.”
“Yeah?”
“I guess I’d rather keep anything that meant something to her than see it end up in a landfill.”
Junie’s sigh mirrors my sentiment. “I get it.”
“I just don’t want the team, as lovely as they might be, to strip June’s of its soul.”
“You and I both know that wouldn’t be possible if they tried,” Junie says.
I smile to myself, knowing just how true that is. June’s Beauty Shop has as much of a soul as any person walking the earth,
as much as any other woman in our family. She’s kept a whole bloodline of Junes as they’ve tended to her. She’s kept them
clothed and fed and honest (as much as possible, given our collective disposition). She’s covered us on our worst days, like
the day Mama was diagnosed, and she’s held every celebration from high school graduations and birthdays to our after-hours
gambling nights. She’s seen us strive for our best, and she’s seen us struggle. Lord, has she seen us struggle. But she doesn’t
judge—not once, not ever—and we’re always welcomed back as is.
“Truer words—” I stop as my eyes land on her.
The way her red baby hairs fan out into a halo, the way the corners of her mouth give her entirely away. She knows this isn’t
good, but because it’s as much a part of her as her fuzzy crown, she has hope. She’s here, hoping, the way she always does,
and in this moment I realize it: I may not have the cash, but I will make this right. I don’t know how, but I will be the
one to fix this for her.
“I promise,” Junie says, “if we can get through this moment, I’ll do it up right. I’ll make you, and Daddy, and the aunts
proud.”
Make Mama proud. The unspoken words that live between us.
“There’s no if about us getting through this,” I say.
Junie smiles back up at me, and I can see how she believes me. “You could also use it as an excuse to have some time here at home. I hate you being so far away, even if you are a Star Child. You can take a leave of absence for a ‘hair emergency’ or something like that.”
Yes, and yes, and amen, completely and forever: It’s what I want to say. I want to gush about this prospect. I want to yell and scream, Me too, me too, me too! But admitting I don’t want the life my mother planned for me has consequences. It would mean saying goodbye to the most vivid
part of her I know. I’d single-handedly be responsible for swiffering the dust that is all we have left of her.
I run a hand over my sister’s forehead. “Oh, I wish.”
Junie shrugs. “An occupational hazard of success, I guess. It was worth a try.”