*FYI, this is Chapter 2 of 3 that'll be shared here on BC!*

CHAPTER TWO

“A salon day? You’re kidding, ” I said in disbelief. “You don’t even like salons. I don’t even like salons!”

“Relax, it’s not what you think,” Grace said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little orange gift card. “I won it in a school raffle. Cool, huh? I figured you could use a pick-me-up, and what’s better than splitting a little salon day with your sister? You can do a lot with 250 bucks!”

“Two hundred and fif—“ I began, but badly needed a reset. “Grace, listen. I don’t need a salon treatment to feel better. I’m doing fine, trust me.”

“Oh shut up. It’s not like they’re doing anything girly in there. I just booked a wash and a trim for you. We’ll sit next to each other, you don’t even have to talk to anyone else. It’ll be fine.”

I really, really hated the idea of being tempted with bowling only to be ambushed and brought in for a haircut. Again, I glanced at the wooden sign in front of us. A yellow, floral base with orange lilies scattered around the girliest font imaginable reading ‘Lily’s Touch’.

I sat in the car, fuming thanks to her deception. But Grace didn’t seem close to changing her mind. I sighed obnoxiously loud to assert my displeasure. Maybe I just accept my fate for the day. It’s not like I have anything else going on.

“Fine…” I backed down, much to the devilish enjoyment of my sister. “But we’re not gossiping with the barber.”

Grace groaned. “They’re not called barbers. They’re stylists. Jesus, Alex…”

Practically shoved out the car by my sister, the two of us tread the icy parking lot and shuffled into the salon just in the nick of time.

“We made it! Ha ha!” Grace celebrated, probably to the annoyance of the staff. She stepped up to the counter where a gorgeous, thin brunette woman dressed to the nines greeted us.

“Good afternoon! You two ladies have an appointment?”

Ugh. Another ‘perk’ of having long hair…

I shoved Grace aside for a moment, “Actually I’m a guy.“

She shot me a mean look, as if I was the rude one. “It should be under Grace Lester.”

The pretty brunette receptionist clicked and clacked away at the computer searching for our reservation. The searching process offered me a moment to breathe in the ambiance of Lily’s Touch. And damn was this place giant.

Right off the bat, the space felt like infinitely more than any barber shop I’d seen. Back behind the receptionist’s stand were rows and rows of styling chairs — about half of them in use by a variety of barbers — err, stylists. But it didn’t stop there. In fact, just beside the waiting area, beautified with funky-looking orange and yellow furniture, was a staircase ascending to a second floor. I meandered around as Grace continued the check-in.

“Lily’s Spa,” I mumbled to myself, reading the sign by the stairs.

So this isn’t just a salon, but a spa too? I guess that would explain the customer volume. In fact, I counted at least 10 people in the waiting area, scrolling their phones or browsing the complimentary fashion magazines.

“Coming through!” a woman brushed by me, spinning me around. The employee was balancing an assortment of powders and goops on a fancy metal tray as she ascended the staircase. “Jolene? Come on up,” she said to one of the waiting women who eagerly arose from her seat and followed her upstairs.

“Hey, space cadet!” Grace called for me back at the front desk. “They’re ready for us.”

Two younger ladies escorted Grace and I toward the back where we hung up our coats and were seated at the washing stations. My girl instructed me to lean my head back into a basin attached to the chair as she flipped on the nozzle.

“I’m Nora by the way,” the young woman said sweetly, gently soaking my hair. “This temperature okay?”

“It’s uh… yeah. It’s fine, thanks.”

Nora smiled and continued on my hair, squirting some sweet-smelling shampoo into her hands and applying it throughout my hair and softly into my scalp.

“You’ve got so much hair,” she said in what I hoped was a complimentary tone.

I gulped and squeaked out an uncomfortable “thanks?”. Grace, getting the same treatment two chairs over, chuckled at my reaction.
“Just relax, Alex. It’s fine!”

Nora and Grace both giggled at my discomfort as the two ladies started chatting themselves – just small talk about the weather and a little celebrity gossip as I sat still, mostly ignored as my brunette mane was lathered and rinsed. So much for Grace’s ‘the two of us will just talk the whole time’ promise.

This whole situation was so bizarre. I mean, sure, the washing felt good and Nora was friendly enough, but the sweet smells, the flower decor all over the walls… This was nothing like the gritty, hardware store setting I’m accustomed to. I couldn’t have felt more out of place. Not to mention the salon being almost 100% women. Though if Grace’s goal was to get my mind off the firing? Mission accomplished.

With my hair washed and patted dry, I was escorted to the main styling area. Here, it appears, is where the real magic happens. Rows of clients – notably entirely women – sat happily in styling chairs as their respective stylists worked like busy bees, snipping, curling, and styling away. I counted at least 16 chairs and stations altogether. This was a seriously impressive operation.

“Bella will take care of you the rest of the way,” Nora said. “Thanks again!”

She walked away with a smile as I stood there with my dripping brunette locks hanging flat and slouching in a black nylon salon cape. I looked less like a guy and more like the girl from The Ring.

“No way… Tarzan?” a voice said.

Wait… what?

Hearing that name could only mean one thing. And hearing it in a salon could only be trouble. I whipped around for the source and sure enough, standing right in front of me was a girl. No, a woman. An absolutely stunning, tall but curvy blonde woman who looked damn familiar.

“Sorry, Alex,” the woman corrected. “Not trying to dredge up old nicknames. It’s Bella Faison. We went to high school together.”

Holy shit, we totally did! The memories rushed back in. Not that we were ever friends or even interacted much, but sure enough that was Bella Faison — the way-out-of-my-league Bella Faison.

Upon the realization, my body started freezing and my mouth turned dry. I felt like an embarrassed high schooler all over again. Why, of all places, did I have to run into her in a goddamn hair salon?

“You okay?” Bella asked, chuckling. “Gonna be honest, I never thought I’d run into you here. But you look like you could use a trim. Come take a seat?”

I mindlessly followed her down the row of stations till we reached hers and was sat down. Cute little trinkets and photos of her with friends adorned her work shelf – including a high school graduation photo in a very recognizable robe, as if I needed any further proof.

“So how are you? God, it’s been… What, four years?”

Still dazed, I mumbled an awkward ‘mmhmm’ as I worked to turn my embarrassment into realism. I mean, what else could I do? Sprint out the salon and come off as a maniac? Just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I’m immune to shame.

“Have you been here before? Don’t think I ever caught you.”

I shook my wet, mop-like hair. “No no no. Never. I’m not a salon guy. My sister, Grace, had a gift card she wanted to split with me. So… yeah. That’s why I’m here.”

Bella stared blankly at me for a moment, then cracked an honest grin. “That’s sweet of her to share with you. And even sweeter of you to come.” She twirled her flashy, silver scissors through her fingers for a moment and tossed a bit of my hair. “So what’re we doing today? Just a trim?”

I nodded as Bella jumped into what was, I assume, her easiest cut of the day.

Making small talk with Bella was easier than Nora because at least we had some history to draw on. Though apparent to me immediately, Bella started realizing how little overlap we had in high school. In fact, we really couldn’t have been more unlike each other. And it was a BIG school. Bella was a solid student, a cheerleader who dated a boy on the football team, and of course, trafficked in the most popular spaces. Whereas I was a recluse with only a couple friends who unfailingly left school at the sound of the bell, retreating home to read, play video games, or do anything as long as it wasn’t with anyone.

Our lack of commonalities soured the conversation a tad, but Bella didn’t seem to care. She had a refreshingly cheery demeanor the whole time, even going so far as to compliment the length and thickness of my hair every few minutes. While sweet, I probably could’ve done without the latter.

The entire cut took no more than 15 minutes. Of my roughly 26-inches of hair, she removed maybe 5 or 6? Just a few simple snips, keeping it even and simple while adding just a bit of texturizing. No complaints.

I took a look around the styling area and noticed Grace was getting her cut done about four spots down with a male stylist — but it looked like she still had a bit to go on her shoulder-length bob.

“That’s your sister down there with Justin?” Bella asked.

“If the pink-haired man is Justin, then yes,” I answered. I always found it funny how expressive and unique people in this profession tend to look. Bella, however, was the exception. Beyond a few tattoos on her arms and a stud in her nose, her style wasn’t too eccentric. She’s evolved since high school, sure, but who among us hasn’t? Stagnation is boring.

Bella did a final minute of clean-up before unsnapping the cape’s neckline, whipping it from my body and releasing me from the chair. “Look good?” she asked.

“Same as always,” I noted. “Though I’ll admit, the shampoo was actually a nice touch.”

“Oh, so the one part I didn’t do?” Bella kidded with a smirk. “That's why salons are better than barber shops. Pricier, sure, but you can’t beat the full service.”

Bella looked at me with her kind eyes — the kind of look a genuine friend would give. “Come back anytime, Alex. I’d be honored to work on that gorgeous hair any day of the week.”

I gave a mere courtesy laugh — again, not loving these comments about my hair quality — but honestly, anything nice from a girl like Bella was appreciated.

However, her joviality didn’t last long as I watched her face do a full 180.

“Ugh…” Bella droned. “Goddammit.”

I turned around to see what was upsetting her. At a styling station a few spots down stood a 30-something man in a black button-down and black pants with sleek, short gelled hair. At the moment, he didn’t look to be doing much beyond chatting with another stylist while she sat in a chair.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, subtly gesturing toward the man. “Who’s that?”

“Tim,” Bella answered disgustedly. “He shouldn’t be there. One sec.”

I watched as Bella waltzed over to Tim, interrupting his conversation with the other female stylist — rudely, I might add. With the whirring of dryers and buzzing of razors, I couldn’t hear their discussion, but Tim seemed to echo Bella’s disdain as she came over.

For as curious as I was, I knew better than to get involved in others’ drama, so I stayed put in the chair and waited for Bella to officially release me. But instead, Bella turned toward me and pointed. Tim looked over and did the same, but with more contempt.

Shit… What did I do?? How the hell was I already in trouble? Ugh. Was it because I was the only guy in here? I knew coming here was a mistake.

Bella jogged over to me and without a word, grabbed my hand and yanked me over to Tim.

“I said, we don’t need help. The chair is fine,” Tim complained, his voice nasally.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t work here all day like I do,” the other stylist protested, much to the annoyance of Tim.

“Guys, this is Alex. He came in with his sister today for a trim,” Bella explained to the feuding duo, undoubtedly wondering who this shrimpy long-haired guy was.

“…and?” Tim sneered.

“And…” Bella mimicked his tone, “During his haircut, Alex told me he works in hardware. Maybe he could fix the chair.” Then she turned to me. “Think you could?”

A little struck by her request, I glanced around the salon. Everything was business as usual. Grace appeared to have some time to go, happily chatting away with her stylist.

“I mean… sure? I can try. Show me what’s wrong.”

Bella cheered as she and Tim stepped aside for the other stylist, Kylie, to explain the problem.

It didn’t take long to determine the foot pump was super loose, requiring triple the effort to move the chair up or down — not to mention a forceful squeak with each pump. Broken? Not entirely. But enough to infuriate a stylist over the course of a day.

“Yeah, I can fix it,” I said, fiddling with the handle. “But I’d need a socket wrench. Do you guys have one?”

All three of them looked at me with blank stares.

I sighed. No surprise these aren’t handy people. “How about a tool box?”

Tim had Bella run into the back room to grab what appeared to be the sole tool box in the entire establishment. A dusty, rusty green metal box with unorganized, random tools inside.

I dug through the box until thankfully finding a barely-usable socket wrench. Just a few minutes of adjustments later and the chair had returned to its full function.

“Voila!” I announced, standing back up. “Like brand new, eh?”

Kylie examined the chair for a moment. “Well, the cushion’s still falling apart…” she noted, shooting another glare at Tim. “But it’s so much better, Alex. Thank you!”

It wasn’t just Kylie but Bella who seemed impressed. Gloating, even. Though probably because it was her idea to fetch me.

Tim took a menacing step forward and, to my surprise, actually extended his hand.

“Killer work. Thank you,” he complimented with as much sincerity as he’s probably capable of. He then leaned in for a whisper, “Anything to get these damn stylists off my ass.”

“Hey!” Bella jeered at Tim, shoving him aside. “Alex, you’re a lifesaver. Kylie, I hope that helps. Now if only you could fix the other ten chairs…”

“I… uh…”

Tim held out his hand to shut up Bella. “You’ll have to excuse my sister. She doesn’t do the budget.”

Sister? I did a double take between the two, suddenly seeing the resemblance. I suppose the bickering makes more sense now.

“Maybe I should,” Bella snapped back. “But fair enough. I can’t accept too much free labor.” Bella smiled at me warmly, craning her neck to check on the status of Justin’s chair. “Looks like your sister’s wrapping up soon. Go chill in the waiting area. Sorry if there’s no manly tool magazines for you to read!”

I chuckled, thanking her again for the haircut but eager to retreat to the quiet of the waiting room.

I was left alone for the next 20 minutes, mostly scrolling on my phone as I waited for Grace’s cut to wrap up. As weird as it was to be abruptly summoned for a maintenance task, I actually kind of enjoyed it. Maybe it’s my unreasonable ego, but the ability to… I dunno… shine again? It felt nice. Even with the uncomfortable bickering, that was three more thank-you’s than I ever got working at Samford’s. Plus, the ability to reassert a little of my masculinity after a sweet-smelling wash and trim was an added bonus.

“What? You look the same!” Grace startled me, emerging from the coat room beside me. “I thought you’d change your mind and go short!”

“Then I guess you don’t know me,” I joked. “Yours isn’t too different either. It just looks… fluffier.”

“It’s called a blowout, you goon,” Grace teased. “Men know nothing.”

I rolled my eyes as I followed Grace out the door of Lily’s Touch. Two siblings, each with a fresh haircut and, as Grace noted, identically scented hair.

“So tell me, was it that bad?” Grace asked as she buckled her seatbelt. “I mean, I know it’s not bowling. But you did need a cut.”

I shrugged. In all honesty I didn't hate the experience. “Beats being unemployed at home.”

My sister shifted the car into reverse and prepared to pull out onto the street. That is… until we both noticed a man running out of Lily’s Touch — and towards our car. It was… Tim?

He motioned for Grace to stop the car and to roll down the window.

“Fuck it’s cold, man…” Tim chattered, coatless. “Alex, I wanted to catch you before you left. You’re jobless, yeah? Unemployed?”

Grace laughed as I dully answered him. “Uh, yes. I am.”

“Well look, I wanna take back what I said earlier. We actually could use some help around the holiday season. Especially someone with your skillset. Want a job at Lily’s through the holidays?”

I sat there in the car, frozen — and not from the frigid weather. “You’re… offering me a job?”

Tim rubbed his arms, the cold air starting to affect him. “Yes, yes, I am!” he said impatiently. “Can you come in tomorrow at 8 or not?”

I turned to Grace who was just as shocked as I was, but coaxed me to answer.

“Um, yeah! I can. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Killer. I’ll see you then,” Tim added, already backpedaling into the store. “Tomorrow at 8! Don’t be late!” he yelled.

I gave him a little salute as I motioned for my sister to keep driving. It was silent in the car for just a moment.

“Um…. So what was that about?” she asked.

I quickly summed up the brief bout of handyman work, very much to her surprise.

“Dude, that’s incredible!” Grace gleamed. “Next time don’t bury the lede, eh?”

“I’m as shocked as you. But I guess… I’m back in maintenance again.”

Grace nodded as she drove forward, chuckling to herself after a moment. “Unless, of course, they’re hiring you as a hair model!”

Her chuckles morphed into a full belly laugh, probably imagining her painfully uncomfortable brother in that kind of situation.

I laughed along, humoring her jab. I guess we’ll find out for sure tomorrow. But, I mean, this has to be a maintenance job… right?

========

One more sample chapter coming this week, but the entirety of Maybe You'll Like It is available on Amazon right now!

Really hope you all enjoy, and thank you to everyone who's already read it! I'm over the moon with the feedback so far :)

-Jennifer

AMAZON LINK: https://www.amazon.com/Maybe-Youll-Like-Gradual-Feminization...

*FYI, this is Chapter 3 of 3 that'll be shared here on BC!*

CHAPTER THREE

Several years ago during my high school graduation ceremony I heard the term ‘imposter syndrome’ for the very first time. Notably, the term came from several student speakers, each touching on how they, despite achieving and earning their successes, felt as if they don’t deserve those successes. Sure, those kids were referring to getting into a good college, but as I wake up, shower, and get dressed this morning, I’m feeling much the same.

No, it wasn’t my fault that things went south at my old job. I did nothing wrong and I was working for an objectively nit-picky asshole. But still, much of me believes I should ‘pay’ for leaving my job early — to suffer, at least somewhat, in this phase of jobless wandering.

And yet, here I am, with the quickest job turnaround known to man! Not even a full week had gone by and I’d been blessed with another gig that uses my skill set, and just when I needed it most. So of course I feel like an imposter. Of course I feel unworthy of this opportunity. The good fortune of my sister winning two free haircuts somehow landed me a job through the holidays. Not because of anything I did, but because ‘The Job Gods’ were looking down on me. Frankly, I’m not sure whether to feel guilty or grateful.

Despite Tim’s lack of instructions, I figured it couldn’t hurt to bring a few tools with me for my first day. After all, if the sad, disorganized Lily’s Touch toolbox was just barely enough to fix that one part of Kylie’s chair, I can’t imagine there’s enough equipment for the other issues Bella alluded to.

The only thing I truly knew about today was that it’d be hectic. Hectic and disorganized. But being paid to fix problems might be the best thing for me right now.

========

I wasn’t sure who to hope I’d see first at the salon. As much as I got the butterflies from spending that little time with Bella, a small part of me feared that her kindness started and ended with my haircut. Returning now as a coworker — and her brother’s hiring decision, not her own — could easily breed resentment. Tim, on the other hand, seemed somewhat erratic in his demeanor and decision making. What if he’d changed his mind overnight? What if I was just an impulse hire?

Alas, Bella was the one waiting at the front desk when I walked in at 8 A.M. and luckily, welcomed me with a smile.

“There he is!” Bella announced, hustling around the desk and greeting me with a big bear hug.

“Heh heh, yeah, hey!” I managed to mutter through her tight squeeze.

The salon was quiet, being a whole hour before opening. Only a couple employees were even in yet — mostly stylists getting a head start on cleaning their stations or charging their devices.

“So I fully intend on giving you a proper tour,” she explained. “But Tim wants to meet with you before jumping into anything.”

And so I followed Bella to the back room of the first floor, past the washing stations and the row of styling chairs I’d become somewhat familiar with yesterday.

“Take a seat,” she said, holding open the door to the bland, lifeless office. And sure enough, there was Tim, seated behind an equally bland desk with his feet kicked up.

“Alex! Welcome, welcome. Thanks for coming,” he said, though failing to rise from his seat. “I was a little afraid you wouldn’t show up.”

I plopped my butt in an ugly green chair next to Bella. “And why is that?”

“Well for one, I realized I gave you almost no details. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

Tim laughed — not cruelly, but I found it a bit offensive making light of my joblessness. I set my personal feelings aside and gestured to the toolbox I’d been carrying. “I brought in a few more tools your box didn’t have. Just show me around and I’ll start fixing what I can. Though I may need to take some trips to the stor—”

He lurched for a second, shooting Bella a quick glance and then looking back my way. “Yes… That’ll be great, but it’s not everything we had in mind for you.”

I blinked once. Then twice. “There’s more? Sorry, I’m not following…”

Bella finally jumped in. “You wanna explain or should I?”

Tim held up his hand, dismissing her. “No no, I got it. So look, looong story short, Lily’s Touch was a salon owned and operated by our mother, Lily. However, she, let’s say…”

“She died of a heart attack. Last year,” Bella said bluntly, clearly displeased with her brother’s loquaciousness.

“Oh my god. I… I’m so sorry, guys…”

“It’s alright, but thank you,” Tim assured. “What’s important is that she left the salon for Bella and I to run together. It’s been going… fine. Besides being a stylist, Bella handles most of the staffing and booking, while yours truly handles the business side and the most important picture decisions.”

While the history lesson was nice — and certainly colored my two bosses’ personalities — I still was unsure what this had to do with me.

“So do I report to both of you, or…”

“My sister and I have differing views,” Tim continued, ignoring my question. “I personally have much more of a growth mentality while she prefers a steady ship. But respecting our mother’s wishes of a shared venture, I decided to compromise. And you, Alex, are our solution.”

“…Me?” I clarified, met with Tim’s ultra-serious eyes.

“You’ll be satisfying both of our needs. Bella wanted for an extra set of hands, and so I obliged. On the weekdays, yes, you’ll be doing maintenance work and clean-up. Sweeping hair, fixing sinks, chairs, and maybe some light carpentry.”

“Okay…” I muttered. “And the other half?”

“The moment I saw you fixing the chair, unafraid to get your hands dirty, a question occurred to me. Why on Earth don’t we have more men here? This whole fucking place is women! And listen, I’m not a rough-and-tough guy myself, but I think men of your ilk could really benefit from masculine-focused self-care services. Not to mention doubling our clientele.”

I nodded along, not necessarily disagreeing.

“And so that is my desire for you! To be an ambassador for Lily’s Touch. A hand to reach out for all the dudes out there, to get ‘em in here and show that, yes, you can treat yourself to a facial or a massage or a beard trim.”

Bella had little reaction to Tim’s speech, as I assume she’d heard it before, but she appeared to be on board.

“Of course, the details are still a little fuzzy but I’ll iron things out as we go. For now, in between your duties, Bella will be walking you through some of our services so you, as a man, can be equipped to translate.” Tim leaned back into his chair and kicked his feet back up. “How does that all sound?”

Again, I glanced over to Bella. The whole proposal was certainly more than I’d expected. I mean, what the hell do I know about self-care? As Grace says all the time, I barely even brush my own hair. The maintenance and physical labor aspects all checked out, but this whole ‘ambassador’ side felt like a lot.

“I don’t know…” I confessed gloomily.

“We’d get to spend a lot of time together, and it’ll be a great way to meet the staff,” Bella explained. “I promise, I know my shit and you will not be left high and dry.”

The prospect of spending time with Bella and maybe even being introduced to some of the other cute staffers was intriguing. Hell, more than intriguing. I thought it over for a few more moments, running scenarios through my head and weighing whether a career pivot like this — even if just for the holidays — could ever be pulled off.

“You know what? Yes,” I eventually said. “I’m a lifelong learner and I like a good challenge. I’ll do it.”

Tim emphatically reached across the table to shake my hand — the first genuine show of enthusiasm I’d seen from him yet.

All I can hope is that at this point, the twists and surprises stop in favor of some nice, steady personal and career growth. If all goes to plan, this could usher in a new era of Alex.

========

In most ways, at 22, I’m completely grown up. Recent hiccups aside, I’ve been fully employed since graduation, I rent my own one-bedroom apartment on the north side of Kankakee, and I’m financially independent. My sister is too. She’s employed, a renter with a steady income, and even starting to date somewhat regularly for the first time in her life. To the outside observer, we’re two successful siblings. But to my mother? That’s a different story. And we’re reminded of that fact every month when we go over to Mom’s for dinner.

I say ‘Mom’s’ and not ‘our parents’’ because, for the last 10 or so years, our dad has been out of our lives. He cheated on our mother with some girl in her 20s, got caught and kicked out with a divorce soon after. Tale as old as time, right? Unfortunately the whole affair turned my mother into a far more cynical and skeptical person than she was probably meant to be. She’s not a bad woman, but it's safe to say being around her has, well… lost its charm.

And yet, once a month Grace and I swallow our pride and let Mom host a family dinner. Maybe it’s because we still pity her from the situation with Dad, or we’re just guilty that she still lives alone. Regardless, the dinner always turns into the same thing: Mom getting on our case about god-knows-what and someone’s feelings getting hurt. At this point it’s unavoidable.

One might think with my fortunate new job situation that I’d be relieved and ready to gloat, and if it were a straight-up maintenance role, maybe I would. But the wildcard ‘salon ambassador’ position gave me considerable pause. There’s not a chance in hell Mom would support that kind of work. Frankly, I had enough trouble garnering her support elsewhere in my life.

On the drive over I came to the ultimate conclusion that the new job would be kept entirely secret. Not just from Mom, but Grace too (at least for the ambassador stuff), until I had a firm grasp of what I’d actually be doing.

With a plan in place, I mustered the courage to leave my car just as I saw Grace pull up in hers. Though through the blurry windshield across the street, I noticed something off. Someone with Grace.

“No way…” I muttered to myself.

“Guess who’s here?” Grace yelled from across the street, gesturing to the woman getting out of the car. “Making her grand debut…”

But I didn’t need her showmanship. I knew who that was. It was Tamara — her latest fling.

“Alex, come here. I want you to meet Tamara, my girlfriend,” Grace said excitedly, introducing me to the woman beside her. Tamara confidently shook my hand as I hid my emotions the best I could.

“Pleasure to meet you,” the tall, late-thirties woman said kindly. “Grace has told me so much about you.”

“Likewise,” I replied dully, not sure what else to say. “So…”

“Run ahead to the door, Tamara,” Grace instructed. “Give us a second.”

I waited for Tamara to be out of earshot before wiping the fake smile off my face. “What the hell are you doing??”

“What? I’m just bringing my girlfriend to family dinner,” Grace answered coyly. “Can a girl not do that?”

I slapped my forehead. “This’ll only piss off Mom! I can’t imagine you gave her a heads up.”

Grace confidently shook her head. “Nope! She’s just gonna have to deal with it. We’ve been seeing each other for 2 months now, and I feel like it’s time she met the family.”

As happy as I was for my sister, knowing her, this felt like more of a stunt than anything else. Grace has historically butted heads with our mom, and neither being one to back down from a fight, I foresee this ending only in disaster.

“Well I hope you know what you’re doing. Maybe being so close to the holidays Mom’ll take it a little better.”

“Doubt it,” Grace answered. “You know, a lot of this is thanks to you. Hearing you quit a job and boldly accept a new one? I dunno, you kinda lit a fire under my ass to be a bit more of a rebel too and to stop giving a fuck.” Grace patted me on the back and walked ahead to join Tamara. “Thanks for that.”

I stood there, bewildered and a little afraid of what’s to come. No, I was not happy that Grace thought to introduce even more chaos in my life at a time like this. But in a roundabout way, this Tamara thing might work in my favor. My sister’s 10-year age-gap girlfriend of two months might serve as the perfect distraction from my own bubbling secrets.

========

“So that’s how we met! And we’ve been very happy ever since,” Grace said, raising her cocktail into the air and leaning over to kiss Tamara on the nose.

Mom, seated in her usual head-of-the-table position, faked a smile out of politeness. “A lovely story… And ‘ever since’ meaning a whole two months! Just, wow…”

Also as usual, Mom’s bone-dry sarcasm.

She fiddled with her hair to fill the silence. The short, tight red curls on her head complimented her pinched, pointy features – only accentuated by her clear and obvious displeasure with the situation.

“I’m terribly sorry, Tamara, that we barely had enough food for you. If only Grace had given me a heads up, I could’ve fed you properly.”

“Well worth it to meet another member of the family, right?” Grace said, giddy, but reading more like an intentional dig.

Mom grimaced. “Yes… family…” She turned to me. “And you’re sure no surprise guests from you tonight, Alex?”

I shook my head, but wished instead I could bury it in the sand. “Not tonight, no.”

The person I felt the worst for was Tamara who even compared to Mom looked uncomfortable. I can’t imagine what Grace told her to expect tonight but evidenced by her strained grin, it certainly wasn’t this.

We pushed through another 20 minutes of awkward conversation before Tamara appeared she couldn’t take it anymore and politely made up an excuse to leave. Grace attempted to protest, but Mom happily allowed it. Not looking to stick around for the aftermath of her bomb drop, as well as being her ride, Grace agreed to leave with her.

“So sad you couldn’t stay…” Mom said to the girls. “Should I be expecting a Thanksgiving drop-by as well, or…”

“Heh, well… Maybe!” Tamara answered, forcing another smile as she quickly put on her coat.

“Bye Mom!” Grace cheered as she was practically yanked outside by her girlfriend, the door slamming behind them.

With the girls gone and the house quiet, Mom calmly walked up to the door and locked it. “Enough of that mess.”

While I feared the worst, I strangely never got the explosion of fury I expected after my sister’s stunt. I stuck around a little longer to help my mom clean up and do the dishes. Some sarcastic, snippy remarks, sure. But she seemed to not be too upset. Or maybe she was just off tonight.

Not wishing to poke the bear any further, I didn’t speak unless spoken to as we cleaned up and washed dishes in near-silence. No discussion of either of our lives, our jobs, or even of Grace.

Once I felt my son-duty was fulfilled, I too made up an excuse to leave. Not that I needed one. As far as Mom knew, I still had a shift at Samford’s in the morning. But not a question was asked nor an accusation made.

I didn’t receive a hug on my way out. That was never really her, or my, style. Just a simple nod would usually do as I slipped on my boots and wrapped up in my coat for the chilly drive home.

“Well, goodnight,” I said without eye contact. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Mmhmm,” Mom answered stoically. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”

“Yep.”

I reached for the door handle but was suddenly stopped by Mom.

“Wait, Alex.”

I turned around, bracing for impact.

“Thank you for coming. It means a lot that you stick around.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. No problem.”

Then Mom took a step forward and calmly placed her hand on my shoulder. “And thank you for never pulling shit like that on me. It’s nice to have one honest child.”

My skin started feeling hot, but I must’ve looked okay because Mom was unfazed.

“Sure. Happy to,” was all I said.

“Say hi to Mike for me. Goodnight.”

I stepped outside into the cold night as Mom shut the front door behind me. But unlike with my sister, I didn’t hear the deadbolt lock — comforting for now, but harrowing for my future should any truth come to light.

=-=-=-=-=-=

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