Pretty Hurts (Left 1.50) - Page 21

“Oh my God. I can’t believe that’s even me.” She turns her head from the right to the left and fans her face. “Thank you for making me feel beautiful again.”

“Darling, you are beautiful, all I did was highlight a few of your stunning attributes.”

“Can I hug you?” she asks.

“Absolutely.”

She stands and I give her a gentle squeeze. “I can’t tell you how much I needed to have this conversation. Thank you for sharing your journey with me.”

She pulls away. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

She touches my scarf. “How long ago were you diagnosed? Are you in remission?”

“Six months, but it’s not cancer, it’s Alopecia. I’m still coming to terms with having no hair. It feels so stupid. I know it’s only hair, and this isn’t life threatening, so I should be grateful.” I feel so low whining about an autoimmune disease that attacks my follicles when she’s fought off cancerous cells.

“It’s not just hair when it was taken against your will. You’re allowed to grieve for it, but then you must move on. Don’t let it define you.”

“Thank you, Martina.”

She squeezes my hand and I send her over to Karen for her picture. As I gaze over at the women conversing and enjoying themselves, I’m inspired and rejuvenated. We move to taking group pictures, and lightning strikes.

“Can I make an announcement, here among friends?” I ask. All eyes turn to me and I swallow, hard. “Six months ago I was diagnosed with Alopecia. I’ve been hiding it ever since. Seeing all of you extraordinarily brave, strong women has moved me to come out of the closet. I would be honored if I could take my first public photo with no hair with all of you, so I always remember this day.”

The outpouring of acceptance and encouragement as they wave me over fills my heart, and kick starts my confidence into high gear. I remove my wrap and walk over to the garbage can, tossing it as I reclaim a bit of myself. The cheer that goes up in the room is nothing short of magical. I am surrounded by my sisters who have a woman’s magic. Suddenly I understand the gathering of woman around fires sharing recipes and herbal remedies in days long gone. I step up beside them and I’m reborn when I turn to face the camera and smile as the joy bubbles up inside me. Under the flashes of light, I’m discovering a new me, balance and beginning the process of loving myself in this new skin.

***

I’m starting to wonder if Edgar is a magician. Because I can’t seem to tell him no. We’ve been texting off and on since the day after we went to the movies together. He shocked me when he messaged me on Saturday night to see how I was doing. At the time I was impressed, and in need of the happy distraction after an emotional night with my mother. He hadn’t even followed the three-day rule. I wasn’t sure if it was refreshing or scary. Did it mean he was interested, or was I reading too far into things? In the end, I decide to shelve my worries, and enjoy the budding friendship.

It worked for the most part, but now I’m having pre non-date jitters as I try to choose an outfit for lunch and trip to the Downtown Aquarium. We’re not even in dating territory. I need to relax and go with the flow. I take a deep breath. I’m still nervous, so I use my rule. When in doubt, call your bestie and talk it out.

“Hey, Ef, what’s up?”

“Do you have a few minutes?” I ask. “I’m feeling … unsure about a few things.”

“I have time. What’s wrong?”

“Well, I’m meeting Edgar for lunch and a day at the aquarium and I don’t know what to wear.”

“What? You don’t know what to wear? That’s a first.” Liv giggles.

“It’s not funny.”

“Oh, it is. Let me guess, you’re freaking out?”

“It’s a non-date. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, but I’m interested. I don’t want to feel like he’s been banished to the friend zone.”

“So, you’ve made up your mind about him then?” she asks.

“Maybe?” I bite my bottom lip and laughter pours out of my earpiece.

“Oh, you are so gone. When’s this non-date?”

“In a couple of hours. We made arrangements a week ago. At the time, it sounded like a great idea. Now I’m kicking myself in the ass.”

“Why?” Liv asks.

Tags: Shyla Colt Left Romance
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