“Okay, I think the all over dye is my winner. What is your final decision?” she says in a game show host, cheesy voice. I point to the same one, and she quickly gets to work setting out all we need. “How do you feel about scissors getting involved? This would look best with a light layering.”
I quickly jotted down ‘that sounds perfect!’ and she grins. She runs off to her bedroom down the hall.
The layout downstairs is a bit odd and I got confused the first day or so. The stairs are near the front door, but behind the stairs is a hallway that isn’t easily noticed. To the left is the living room and the kitchen is straight ahead, past the stairs. Her office is in the same small hallway as her bedroom.
I really do love this house, it’s bright and homey. It’s so vastly different from my childhood home that it actually puts me at ease. That thought immediately gives me a harsh pang of guilt that I have to push away.
“Let’s do the haircut on the patio. You haven’t seen the backyard yet anyway. Oh also, I meant to tell you that I have a housekeeper that comes on Sundays to do some deep cleaning around the house. She should be here soon, but she lets herself in and does her thing,” she announces as she bursts back into the room, startling me from my thoughts before quickly ushering me outside, through the garage.
The backyard is gorgeous, though I’m not really shocked at this point. It’s decently big, there’s an inground pool on one side of the yard, and the other has a small garden shed. She keeps a flower garden lining the fence line. The patio is spacious and has a small bar on one side and a large patio set on the other. It has what looks like a retractable canopy for shade or rain. She has it pulled up against the house today since it’s cool and not overly sunny.
“Sit here,” she orders as she pulls out one of the chairs for me. I drop into it and get comfortable, since this is about to be a long process.
My hair hasn’t been cut in three years, and it was long to begin with. It now reaches down to my lower back and the ends are in dire need of a trim. I was blessed with good hair, at least. It isn’t frizzy and has a slight wave to it if I put the right product in. I’m not very talented with curling or styling my hair, so it's a small blessing. I usually just wear it down or in a ponytail.
Sophia goes silent as she trims off a few inches and layers it. She pauses after a long stretch of quiet and asks me if I want bangs. I pull out my phone and find another picture to show her. She nods and pulls my grown out bangs away from the rest of my hair, brushing it to cover my eyes. After combing it through, she starts snipping away until I can see again. Even though she’s not finished, I already feel lighter.
“I’m going to give you bangs that sweep to the side and gently blend into the rest of your hair,” she explains as she works, putting her own spin on the style I’d picked. I’m slowly starting to feel like a brand new person. Maybe Danielle had been right to find me a new foster home. Change can be therapeutic in its own way, even if my inner demons fight me with every shift in mood.
The dyeing process doesn’t take as long as I anticipated, and by the time she rinses it out in the kitchen sink and blow dries it, I’m practically bouncing on my toes to see it.
“Ready to see?” she asks, brushing out one last part before leading me down the hall. She brings me into the guest bathroom and waits expectantly.
I look like an entirely different person, which is exactly what I was going for. The pink tint to my hair complements my skin tone and my blue eyes pop. I give her a happy smile and a thumbs up and she lets out a squeal, clapping her hands. It’s odd to me how genuinely happy she is to simply spend time with me. When I finally pull my eyes away from the mirror, I take out my phone and take a quick selfie for Abby. Her response is instantaneous.
Abby: Look at you! I love it. You’re so pretty!
Me: Thanks, I’m glad it turned out so good.
Abby: I wish my mom would let me do that. She’s a stickler for ‘keeping up my image’
Me: That’s how my mom would have been too. She always said she loved how blonde my hair was.
Abby: It was pretty, but this is even better, Sweets.
Me: Thanks!
“I’ll have dinner ready in an hour if you want to go upstairs and talk to your friend,” Sophia says, looking pointedly at the phone in my hand and smirking. I roll my eyes at her, which only makes her laugh. I head upstairs to get my backpack ready for school.
Even though it was all laid out for me, I was still a bit nervous about my schedule, so I pull it out and glance over it yet again. They put me in all of the usual classes. I have history, algebra, english, biology, gym, and my last class of the day is titled ‘the arts.’ Sophia explained yesterday that it was a mash-up of theater, art, and music. The school wanted to offer well-rounded options. I know nothing about art, but before everything happened, music and theater classes were my favorite. No matter how sad it makes me that I can’t do what I dreamed of, it still makes me happy to be a part of the show. Maybe if things go well I can actually consider joining the stage crew or something.
Which reminds me, I still don’t know how I’m going to get to school, so I want to see if I can help Sophia in the kitchen and bring it up.
When I get downstairs, I jot my question on the notebook so I don’t forget before making my way into the kitchen. She’s so focused that it takes me a second to catch her attention. She stops and gives me a questioning look until I gesture around.
“You want to help?” She sounds surprised before she glances around. “Can you pull the rolls out of the oven and set the table?” she asks as she gets back to stirring something on the stove.
I open a few cabinets until I find the plates and quickly have them on the table with a plate of rolls. Sophia walks in not long after and sets down a huge dish of pasta con broccoli. The smell of it is enough to send my stomach screaming angrily.
Is there anything she’s not good at?
“I can never make a small amount of pasta. If I try and cut it down, I don’t have enough. Every other time I make enough to feed our entire block. So get ready to have leftovers for a few days.” I chuckle to myself, and Sophia almost drops her plate and gives me a startled look. Heat creeps into my cheeks as I realize it’s probably the first time she’s heard me laugh since I’ve been here. I’m not one for openly laughing lately, even the smallest sounds hurt some days, but Sophia somehow brings me out of my shell a little. She also doesn’t make me feel weird about how raspy I sound, so that helps a lot. Nothing like people making fun of every noise I make, making something I’m insecure about, ten times worse.
Realizing she embarrassed me, she shakes herself out of it and starts filling her plate and sits down. A few seconds later she grabs the notebook, apparently noticing my question. “I’ll drive you this week, then at the end of the week we can talk about other options if you don’t want rides anymore,” she says with a shrug. I give her a happy smile that she doesn’t hesitate to return.
Her phone goes off and she starts typing away at it, meaning it’s likely something from work. I don’t mind the quiet, so I open my phone and read a book while I eat, but Abby’s text cuts me off.
Abby: How’s your night going?