Chapter 82 Georgia
Georgia
The weeks after Junie died are blurry and lived very much minute to minute. Home health comes and removes the medical equipment.
Once it’s gone, it almost feels like it might’ve all been a dream without the physical evidence before me. Tina and Cece take
shifts sleeping on the sofa. Dad sits in the armchair and nods off. Eddie comes too, but he follows my lead. Sometimes I’m
up for seeing him, and sometimes I want to be alone. I cry. My eyes swell.
Part of me feels like she’s closer somehow when I’m alone. Maybe really it’s in the quiet when the Clementine creaks in a
particular way that sounds like her coming home. The way Puds gets excited to see a friendly stranger approach, and it looks
like a joy only she might evoke.
Between all of us, we keep the garden alive.
Today is the grand reopening of June’s Beauty Shop, an event we have discussed and debated at length. Mostly it was the others
assuring me that having it is the right thing to do.
And me throwing an argument at them that might stick.
It’s disrespectful, too soon, too loud, too fun for a time like this.
But I know on the inside they’re right when they say it’s what she would’ve wanted; it’s been weeks, and the shop needs to open.
I hate the sound of that phrase, by the way, what she would’ve wanted.
It’s nothing but a reminder that we won’t have more time for her to change her mind. What I wouldn’t give for her making
one last change of plans, diving into another raucous adventure. I know June’s should be celebrated, reopened; it’s just that
it will hurt to do it without Junie.
I shower, towel off, and wrap myself in a robe. I know better than to put a stitch of makeup on my face before I do my hair;
I have avoided doing my hair at length since I lost Junie. I have air-dried it, ignored it, tossed it into countless thoughtless,
meaningless ponytails. But today my hair will be Done. For her.
I stand in front of the mirror that should still be hers, that showed her face for years, and I unwind the towel from my head
and release the red curtain of hair. I look down to pump a leave-in conditioner into my palm and work it through. My hair
is so long now, and I wonder if Junie would be urging me to get a trim if she were here. I look at myself as I brush the length.
It is so thick and long, and tears spring up, then rush and roll down my face with every sweep of the brush. It’s too much
hair, it’s unworkable, just like this life without her that is too thick to wade through. I pick up the blow dryer I don’t
remember plugging in, and before I start it I turn on the hot rollers to heat. I rough-dry the hair with my fingers, and as
I do, my tears slow.
Look good, feel good. I tell it to myself like a promise, and I have no choice but to believe I can make a difference to this life that feels empty.
Even though I know better by now than to think my mother can impact the tides of time, I invoke every ounce of her. June’s Beauty Shop, where a good hair day is only one stop away. It’s enough to get my hair in the rollers.
As I apply makeup for the event, I realize it’s the first time in weeks, save Junie’s service that I attended in a haze.
I slip on a royal-blue dress that is comfortable and makes my eyes shine.
I feel stronger when I step back in front of the mirror, release the hot rollers, and douse my hair with hair spray.
Before I head for the shop, I stop outside of her bedroom. Since they removed the hospital bed and drips and returned her
bed to its place, we’ve all tiptoed around it. Even my purse hangs on my shoulder in a way that gives me an out: I’m already on my way. My fingertips reach out and the door pops open and swings back. If it could talk, it would say, Look at me, making it easy for you. It’s ok to remember, Peach.
I step inside, and visiting her room put back together again is like stepping back in time. Like saying hello again.
I squeeze my hands to my chest, and like I do as habit, I talk to her out loud. “I miss you, Junie Bug. You should be here
today, but you’re not. So I will do it.”
I close my eyes as the pain of longing for the impossible cuts through my middle, but I will myself to feel something else.
I remember Junie. We can make this something beautiful. I have made it my mission to live this—for her, and for me too. There never was any promise that beautiful things wouldn’t
hurt at times too.
I step over to the bureau she painted a bright teal, and sitting on top is her jewelry collection, complete with costume earrings,
bohemian crystal pieces, even glittery hair clips befitting a woman much younger in age. But that was the thing about Junie:
She was so good at being more than one thing at a time.
I slip a ring on my finger, a bracelet on my wrist, and a clip into my hair.
“Thanks,” I whisper to her. “This is what I need to get over the hump.”
And I push out of the room and head for the beauty shop.
Ten minutes later, I park in the lot at June’s and wait. My heart beats quicker than usual, and my throat is tight. I’m surrounded by cars, which means the community has come. Despite my urge to crank the truck and drive it back home to hide at the Clementine, it’s time to take the step.
“Look what you’re making me do on my own,” I whisper to an imaginary Junie.
Probably she’d pop me gently on the rear and say, You’re a big girl. Keep it hoppin’.
I can’t help but smile as I climb out of the car. Maybe her memory will fuel me further than usual.
When I step into June’s, it’s as stunning as it was when we came for our first reveal. The aunts have probably been back since,
and Tina has probably seen a client or two in the time between. Especially when my eyes land on the Silvers and their neat
bobs, I know she’s been at work. The shininess of this place hurts a little in the face of how I feel on the inside.
Eddie approaches me with a big smile, two drinks in hand. “I have options. Wine or Diet Coke. I didn’t know what you’d feel
like, but I also wanted to have a drink waiting for you. And there are juice boxes available, and no one is checking that
only the kids are taking them.”
I smile. “How thoughtful.” I take the Diet Coke. “And you wouldn’t be embarrassed to stand beside me sipping on a juice box?”
“I am nothing but proud to stand at your side, whatever your drink of choice.”
I laugh to hide the way I blush. All of my feelings are intense these days, and they all sit so close to the surface. I don’t
want to cry or scream or dissolve into a mess. I’m a swirl of intensity.
He pulls me into him and instantly I feel my shoulders drop. I could stay here, sleep here, arguably live here in the sturdy
place his embrace creates. I pull back and kiss him tenderly before burrowing back into his chest, like it might undo all
the difficulties that exist in the world that surrounds us.
He pulls back. “Seriously,” he says when I meet his eyes. “You should be really proud of the way you’ve navigated all of this.”
I nod as the tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks. “Is that what I’m doing? Navigating it?”
Eddie unwraps his arms from me and takes my hands. “It’s ok to miss her. I miss her like crazy—and I was only her fake boyfriend
for a couple weeks.”
I pull a hand back to wipe the tears. “At least I got those over with.” I roll my eyes at myself. “And I wondered if I might
get through this with no tears at all.”
“Tears will always be a reasonable response. I’m not sure a day will come when they won’t apply.”
I nod. It feels good to hear someone say what I’ve felt: I won’t ever get over losing her. Tears will always apply. It feels good to know that someone else realizes they will be forever changed and that time won’t heal the hole. Life might
get easier. I hope it will. But now I have someone else saying the same: The part of me that broke when I lost Junie won’t
ever be fixed, even if I’m still living.
Tina floats up. “You’re here. Wonderful! We’ll start the program.”
I squint. “Program?”
Dad rolls out a projector, and the crowd parts. He clicks it on as the group falls silent. Welcome to Our Good Hair Day scrolls, a fun pop song playing in the background.
The crowd claps, and I look around at everyone gathered. The Silvers have shown up strong, and beside them Michaela is trying
to wrangle a wiggling toddler on her hip. Even a few of the cast from Grease showed up in costume. The Brownies are here, a few in uniform and a few with glittery dresses and high-glam looks, dragging
parents behind them. People from the bank are here. Some of Cece’s colleagues from the auto shop came, and Sam stands dotingly
at Tina’s side. That might even be Sheriff Mike in the back.
“Now if I can have your attention,” Dad announces. “Before we lost our Junie, she and I planned a little surprise for today.”
He clicks the video to life, and there sits Junie on the screen, alive.
She grins wide, and I know they must’ve done it before she got really bad. She wears that rainbow-striped beanie and Puds
is curled up beside her.
“Happy Good Hair Day!” Junie announces. “I’m officially back from the grave.” She giggles. “Just kidding. That’s probably
very blasphemous, but anyway, I’ll already have my assigned seat in the afterlife by then. So perhaps . . .”
My dad clears his throat in the background of the video, and Junie makes brief eye contact off-screen.
“Yeah, you can just edit that part out. Don’t need the whole town knowing I’m a hot mess . . .”
More rumbling from Dad’s off-camera voice.
“True. I’m fairly well-known around these parts, you’re right, and no one should be surprised. Anyway. Start it here when
you show it, okay?”
Junie rights herself on-screen and smiles. I can see the sparkle in her eyes, and I almost feel it in my bones when she says,
“I know this is going to be the best day. Thank you to everyone who pitched in and helped me—us—make this thing right with the shop. It is beyond anything I dreamed, beyond what our mama would’ve dreamed up. And it’s
thanks to you all. This place belongs to you too, so thank you for celebrating this place with us today. You are the MVPs.
I miss you all already.”
Junie pauses and looks to Dad off-screen. “Maybe you could have Tina and Cece throw some Twizzlers up in the air after it
clicks off. Or glitter—though maybe not on the brand-new floors. Whatever, just something with pizzazz.”
And Dad cuts the video.
The crowd erupts in cheers. Tears are dabbed and hugs exchanged.
I guess I didn’t have to do it entirely without her. Despite the brief comfort, the moment the screen goes black feels like waking up from a favorite dream, knowing even if I will myself back to sleep, it won’t be there waiting for me in the dark.
Eventually my aunts find me, and I lean into deep, long hugs. I make it to the refreshments table and choke down a Twizzler
for Junie. I nibble and realize that I haven’t tasted food in weeks, but now, here, it settles full in my belly like comfort.
I go back for a second plate. The Silvers come by and each has a story and a hug to share, something cute from the week, a
favorite memory of the shop, of Junie, even of our mama before her. Promises to restock the freezer that’s already overflowing
with casseroles I haven’t touched. Even one brave Brownie walks up to me, her fellow troop members hanging back and eyeing
us.
“I’m really sorry about Ms. Junie. She was really nice and seemed pretty fun for a grown-up.”
Warmth blooms in me, and I bend to her height. “Thank you for saying that. And you’re right—she was way more fun than the
average grown-up.”
Tina sits at the computer Cece set up at the check-in desk, and she books appointments as people leave. Several promise to
call and schedule. Sam writes out appointment cards that he hands off to each customer with a smile. Eventually the crowd
thins, and it’s just the aunts and me left.
“We’ll be doing so well with this new business. Even better than before the reno,” Tina says.
“I guess people are invested here even more after they helped save it,” Cece says. “Might even need to hire another stylist
eventually.”
I didn’t plan to mention my ideas out loud, not yet, but with these two, I figure why not. “Maybe not so fast. It’s just—I’ve
been thinking about going back to school for hair.”
Tina squeaks.
“Now, I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves, because maybe I won’t be good at it or maybe it’s too much to take on now on top of losing her. But it’s on my mind.”
Cece pulls me into a side hug. “Good for you. And if you flunk out, you’re in good company with me.” She winks.
“What I know is that we can all contribute here with whatever skill set we have. Everyone can be helpful,” Tina says. “I guess
that’s my way of saying you’ve got a job here.”
I smile. “Thanks, Tina.” I turn around for another look at the place. “It really did turn out incredible.”
“Mm-hmm,” Cece says.
Tina nods.
I feel a surge of pride. It’s quiet and thin, wispy, but despite its stature, it rushes into me and is so unfamiliar that
it’s like something brand-new. It’s different, and I wonder if—hope—it could be a promise. Of what’s to come. Maybe there is good to come inside these walls.