Jameson
I’m standing at Millie’s front door, listening to the two sisters scream at each other. It’s not pretty. I only came over because Nana had some things she wanted me to drop off to them. I dug through the bag because I have no self-control. Nana must have been impressed with Millie at the book club meeting Thursday night.
There are gift cards to the local coffee shop and clothing boutique, two tickets to the high school football game on Friday, and another overloaded bag of veggies, fresh from her garden. I don’t know why, but Nana’s trying to butter Millie up.
I’m debating whether or not I should leave the bag by the door and run. I thought they would have already been gone by now, so I wasn’t planning to see Millie anyway. The screaming reaches an all-time high, and I impulsively push the doorbell. The yelling stops, and I wish I could take it back.
A minute later, Millie answers the door with red-rimmed eyes and mascara smeared above her eye. “Good morning,” she says with a smile that says she’s anything but happy. I want to reach up and wipe the mascara off her face, but that would be intrusive. We might be friends after last night, but not that good of friends.
“Is it, though?” I ask. “I’m sorry to bombard you when all of…that was going on.”
“It’s okay,” she says. She runs her hands through her hair and massages her temples. I look at the time and see that she’s going to be late for work again if she has to drop Lo off at school first. Even I won’t be able to sweeten ol’ Gertie up for a second time in one week.
I step into the house and place the bag and envelope on her counter and say, “Nana apparently likes you and ordered me to bring this stuff to you.”
She nods her head and darts around, grabbing her things. She slides her feet into her heels as she yells, “Come on, Lo. We have to go. I’m going to lose my job if I’m late again.” We both hear a loud, angry groan sound from the hallway.
I step closer to her and drop my voice down low. “Look, I couldn’t help but overhear while I was waiting outside, and I know you’re going to be late for work. Why don’t you let her drive to school, and I’ll take you to work…just for today so everyone gets where they need to be on time.” I may have just overstepped here, and I hope it doesn’t make her angry with me too. There’s a fine line with authority and teenagers, but I hope she sees it for the lifeline that it’s meant to be.
She glances at Lo sulking by the wall and then back to me. She nods her head slightly—so slightly that I almost miss it. My heart leaps for joy that she’s allowing my help. I turn to Lo and explain the plan. The girl’s whole demeanor changes in an instant. Her face lights up, and she clenches her hands in front of her chest, promising to be extra careful. She runs to the car and pulls out onto the road.
“She’s going to be even angrier when I don’t allow her to take the car tomorrow,” Millie sighs. She puffs up her cheeks and blows the air out slowly through her mouth. She’s cute, and I smile without thinking. “It’s not funny, Jameson,” she says.
I smile even bigger from hearing my name on her lips and realize that I’m a complete goner. We climb into my car, and she settles herself in the passenger seat as I start the car and pull onto the road.
“Stop smiling like that,” she says.
I clear my throat and wipe the smile off my face and say, “You’re right. It’s not funny. Have you thought about letting her get her own car?”
“Are you kidding? I can’t afford another car right now!” she says with a look of outrage on her face.
“Well, she can get a job to help pay for it,” I suggest.
“Even then I wouldn’t be able to get her anything nice.”
“You should see the truck I drove when I was in high school. It was awful. Pops and I spent almost every weekend fixing something on it.”
Her eyebrows lower in thought. She goes so long without saying anything that I assume she’s not going to answer. Several minutes pass before she says, “She worked so hard while I was trying to finish my master’s degree. I didn’t want her to have to work again until she finished high school. I never had to have a real job in high school.”
“Why don’t you ask her what she thinks? She might like the idea,” I suggest. She nods her head and continues fidgeting with her hands.
I pull into the library parking lot, and several people are sitting in their cars, waiting for the library to open. Book junkies. They just can’t wait for their next book fix. She rushes out of the car and into the building. I try not to take her swift departure too hard. She did have a really bad morning.
A few minutes later, I’m driving down the road when I get a text alert on my phone. When I stop and check it, I turn into a grinning fool.
Millie: Thank you for being there for me this morning. You really are the best.
My mom, Joan, is the busiest hairdresser in the area. Her schedule is so booked up that people have to call and schedule their appointments a month in advance. She’s the reason I was voted ‘best hair’ my senior year of high school. A title I still carry with pride thirteen years later, apparently, since I’m randomly thinking about it right now.
She has taken a much-needed day off today so she could go to the doctor and the dentist. Who schedules two medical appointments on the same day? She must be a glutton for punishment. She did make time to meet me for lunch. At least, I think she did. I’ve been sitting at a table in the diner by myself for fifteen minutes, looking very pathetic and lonely. The waitress asked me if I had been stood up when she brought me my second glass of sweet tea.
Mama finally walks in and has to greet everyone at every table she passes to get to me. That’s the problem with being everyone’s hairdresser. You become everyone’s gal pal and therapist also. The woman knows everyone’s secrets, but she has an iron will. She never spills. Patient confidentiality, she says. If she wanted to, though, she could bring the town of Waverly to its knees with everything she knows.
She finally makes it over to me and plants a big kiss on my cheek. “Geez, Mama, now I’m going to have lipstick on my cheek,” I groan.
“Sure do,” she says with a huge grin on her face. She sits down across from me and takes a long drink from the Dr. Pepper I took the liberty of ordering for her. It’s probably watered down now, but she only has herself to blame. “Have you been waiting long?”
“I’ve been waiting so long I’m dying of old age,” I quip. I don’t crack even a hint of a smile as I stare her down. This is our game. Someone makes a joke, and the first one to smile has to buy lunch. She caves first…she usually does. Sometimes I think she does it on purpose so she can buy my food. It’s her one way to still take care of me.