Annoying Pinspiration Quote #9
"When something goes wrong in your life, yell 'plot twist!' and move on."
When Savannah collected me from the waiting room on Tuesday, she blinked in surprise. "Well, that's a new look."
Since it wasn't actually a compliment, I didn't bother saying thank you and followed her wordlessly into her office.
She sat down and studied my new look. I'd lost about half the thickness of my previously lustrous hair and about four inches of length. It was lighter in colour and lighter in mass, and whenever I reached for my ponytail, a spark of fresh grief would sear through me as my fingers relayed, 'Something is wrong! Where's the rest of it?'
"Did you decide on a makeover?" Savannah asked, touching her own hair, which seemed to laugh at mine from its shiny thick coil.
"Long story. A bad chemical reaction." I explained about the hair chalk and the bleach, and how Steffan worked frantically to preserve the structure of the hair, even as it was melting and snapping away close to my scalp.
"Quick, sweetie, tell me what shampoo you use!" he'd cried.
"Uh, I don't know. Whatever is on special at the supermarket?"
Both Steffan and Rupert had gaped at me, dumbfounded. "Supermarket shampoo?"
"So? Not all of us can afford to pay thirty bucks a bottle for salon products."
Steffan was exasperated. "Supermarket shampoos are full of silicon – they make your hair look healthy, even if it's not. You should be investing in your hair."
Defensive, I'd said, "That's not cost effective. I go through a bottle every two weeks with hair this thick."
The hair critic lifted another clump of hair off my shoulder and tossed it to the floor. "Trust me, that's not going to be a problem for you anymore..."
In Savannah's office, I smoothed my hands over my left-over locks. "I've never had thin hair in my life. It's weird."
"I can imagine you're feeling quite upset about it." Savannah's face creased sympathetically, an expression I didn't think she was capable of. "I'm really sorry. I'm very attached to my hair – I'd be devastated if I lost it."
Forcing my hands away from my head, I sat on them and said, "Thanks. I was overly-attached to my hair too. It's kind of my defining feature. I don't have killer blue eyes or a stunning face or a slammin' bod, but I've always had crazy-thick, super-long hair, and it used to be something I'd get compliments on a lot.
"But I'm actually... okay. I'm not over the moon about it, but honestly, my hair looks fine. It's only me who feels the difference, because I know how it used to be. It's like I have to pretend it's always been this way, and then I don't feel so terrible."
"Comparison is the thief of joy," quoted Savannah.
"Right! Like, that's how I feel when I get anxious about my life. When I think about what my friends from high school are doing, I freak out because they have cute babies and handsome husbands and perfect homes and amazing holidays and incredible careers, and I have none of that!" I laughed self-deprecatingly. "I don't even have my hair anymore."
I looked down at my hands and smiled. "But when I just look at my life for what it is, without comparing it to anything else, I'm in a pretty good place. I have a place to live, a dad who loves me, great friends, my health, and a guy who makes me smile. Plus, the other half of my hair."
When I glanced up again, Savannah was genuinely smiling. "That's an excellent way to look at it, Mia. You're doing so well. I believe you're actually much stronger than you or anyone else gives you credit for, and this hair failure proves that you don't need rescuing. You're your own woman."
It was so close to what I'd told Cody the previous week, I bobbed my head in excitement. "That's it! I'm done being helpless. Yeah, I'm making choices, and maybe stuff isn't going perfectly, but I'll muddle through. What's bizarre about this hair thing is that compared to losing my job or my boyfriend, I'm actually responsible for this. I made the choice to use the hair chalk – no one else. So, yeah, it was a fail, but it was my fail. I'm owning it. I'm going to deal and move on."
"That's a really terrific attitude."
We chatted for a while longer about my previous week and all things Rupert. Eventually, the conversation found its way around to Cody. Well, I dragged it there. I didn't have anyone else to discuss my feelings with, and although Savannah wasn't a councillor and Cody was her boss, she was as close to a neutral party as I could find.
"He said he's going to try with this woman, and that's great, it really is. I mean, it sucks, but it's great. But it sucks. You know?"
Savannah looked deeply uncomfortable. "Mia, do you mind if we cut things a little short today?"
"Oh." I blinked. For the first time, I'd been feeling a bond develop with Savannah, a genuine connection, and now it was as if her walls were slamming up again.
"Yes. I'm sorry. Also, I think we should discontinue seeing each other from this point."
"What? Why?"
She stood briskly, impossibly elegant in a grey wool dress and a vibrant red jacket. "Having given things further thought, I believe there is a conflict of interest with me seeing you. There's personal history between you and Cody, my- my boss, and it would be fairer on you to see someone who isn't involved in your life that way."
Her savvy eyes dropped to the floor. "Plus, I know it sounds odd, but I think I misjudged you. I started these sessions thinking that you were a bit of a train wreck, if I'm being perfectly honest – a damsel, wailing about how unfair the world was. I never actually expected you to go ahead and take charge of your failures."
"But I did," I protested.
She smiled, and there was shame in it. "I know. You're an amazing girl, Mia, and not at all what I expected. I actually think we could be friends one day, but that won't be possible if I'm still seeing you in an advisory capacity."
"That's so not true! Cody's my friend, and he gives me advice all the time. And I don't even ask for it!" I stepped forward, pleading. "But I am asking you. Savannah, it's only been a few weeks and you've changed the direction of my life. I'm really grateful, but I'm not ready to sail off into the sunset on my own yet. Would you please keep seeing me?"
I was contemplating throwing myself around her ankles, Rupert-style, when I saw her waver. "It's not a good idea. Cody and I..."
"I don't care about Cody or anything between you guys. If you can be professional, so can I, and Cody doesn't have to know."
She bit her ruby-glossed lip. "Alright. Just a few more sessions until you're ready to sail on your own."
"Oh, thank god," I said, a ragged breath I didn't realise I'd been holding gushing out of my nostrils. "Now, I'm failing pretty enthusiastically at the moment, but do you have homework for the week?"
"I think you're ready for some baby steps." She walked me to the door, saying, "How about looking for one area to succeed in this week? Maybe to do with your next employment opportunity. Something to invest yourself in."
"Okay. I have no idea what that looks like, but okay."
"And keep embracing failure everywhere else. Perhaps even in a fleeting relationship with a music celebrity...?"
I grinned as the thought of Rupert warmed my belly – and lower. "We shall see..."
***
Thursday, I wandered downstairs to grab a paper with the intention of flipping through the employment section. Maybe there would be a job opportunity that leapt out, something worth investing myself in.
Even the thought of diving back into job interviews made me queasy, and I was looking for a distraction. Rupert had been noticeably absent since the hair debacle. I knew he was feeling guilty and responsible but he was my number one diversion and without him, I needed another one.
It came in the form of my dad, shifting stock from the fridge into a couple of large boxes. "Hey, Dadio! Whatcha doin'?"
He grunted, stacking yoghurt tubs in a row. "Clearing out the stock close to its use-by date. I'm going to run this stuff down to the Gil soon – can you cover the counter?"
"Sure." I knew the round trip to the homeless men's shelter in the city would only take half an hour or so, but I was surprised to see how much food we were giving away. "There's a lot here. I'm sure they'll be grateful."
"They always are." Dad straightened up, pressing his plate-sized hands to his lower back and stretching. "Oof."
"Do you do this a lot?"
"About once a week. We just don't sell the fresh stuff the way we used to. I keep reducing how much we get in from the suppliers, but there's always leftovers." He stared dejectedly around the store. "The shop just isn't what it was, daughter. Me and this place, we're past our peak."
"Don't say that!"
"It's true. Maybe I should just sell up to one of those real estate agents who are always sniffing around and buy an apartment in an over-fifties places."
"Oh my god! You'd hate that!"
"Well, it's a better option than sitting here, borrowing more money from the bank to support a failing business." He smiled sadly. "I want to protect your inheritance, child. I don't want to run this place into the ground, and realistically no one wants a corner shop anymore. As you young people would say, we're vintage, retro - as outdated as an LP record turntable."
He picked up a box and wandered out the back towards the car, and I felt my heart twist uneasily. Following him, I said, "You're wrong, old man. Turntables might be retro, but they're also totally on fleek with people who appreciate good music."
"What's a fleek? It sounds contagious."
"Never mind." I opened the car door and watched him load the box inside. "The problem isn't the shop building – it's what we're doing inside the walls that's due for an update. This place has amazing bones. It just needs a makeover."
"That's all well and good, fruit of my loins, but I don't exactly have the cash flow to redecorate at the moment, and I don't believe a new coat of paint will do much."
"Ugh. I'm not talking about painting. You're so stubborn!" I cried, trailing back after him inside. "You've had this shop for what – thirty five years? Of course the world has changed! And you need to change too! It's in a great location, but not for a corner store."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to do some brain storming." The wheels were spinning rapidly in my skull as I started to assess options. "Tell you what – I'm going to put together a pitch for you. The next iteration of this business. All you have to do is promise to consider it, okay?"
He grunted noncommittally and I elbowed him. "Really consider it, not just pretend to look and then give up. Dad, seriously – this place is my inheritance, yes, but it's more than that. It's my home, and I don't want you selling up and moving on if there's even a chance that we can save it."
My dad had always been a pillar of strength in my life. Even when Mum died, he'd always been strong for me, only breaking down at the funeral and then tucking his grief deep inside him to make sure I was okay. If there was even a small chance I could help to support him now, I was going to force him to push through rather than just give up.
"Alright, you pest," he said lovingly. "You come up with some ideas and I'll give them a look. You sound just like your mum when you get all feisty."
"Good. She was a lot tougher than me. It's probably about time I stepped up to her level." Something caught in my throat, a fresh wave of sorrow for the mother I missed painfully every day.
"You're every bit as tough as she was." Dad hugged me, his beard draping over the top of my head.
We stood and held each other for a moment, powerfully aware of the missing piece of our family triangle. Finally, Dad let me go and said, "I mean to tell you – Cody dropped by this morning."
"He did?" My pulse suddenly accelerated. Talk about missing people; without the ability to call Cody anytime I felt like or drop by his place for drinks and hours of discussion, I felt like part of my soul was withering away. Rupert was fun, a shiny, glorious distraction, but I was also realistic about him – he could be gone at any second, off to chase entertainment somewhere else in the world, wherever his spontaneity led. I wasn't getting attached to Rupert – I was embracing every moment, sure, but I wasn't delusional about a permanent future.
Cody, on the other hand... The thought of a future without him was unbearable, which meant at some stage I'd have to deal with his new girlfriend and make peace with the fact we'd never be a couple the way I'd dreamed.
Dad was still talking. "Yeah, he called first to check if you were around, and then popped by for a pie. Why do I get the feeling you two aren't talking at the moment?"
"We're not not talking, we're just... It's complicated."
"I'm too old to be dealing in drama between you young people. You've been friends since year seven – sort it out, please."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing much. Wanted to sound me out on when to bring his girlfriend over to meet us."
Vomit curdled in my throat. "Did you say yes?"
"I said we were busy at the moment, but I'd have a chat and see when we could all have dinner one night."
"All?"
"You, me and Rupert. He'd be a laugh to have a dinner, don't you think?" Dad's mouth was twitching up at the corner. I'd never told him, but I was pretty sure he guessed how I felt about Cody, and what dinner with Cody's new lady would do to me, and I loved Dad for knowing Rupert would help.
"So, when are we thinking?"
"Well, Cody said they should be able to get out of the clinic for an early dinner any time and to keep him posted when works for us."
"Thanks, Dad." I swallowed, storing away the hurt and the information to process later. "You better take that food to the Gil now before it gets too warm."
"Alright, missy. I'll be back soon." He gave me a sympathetic look and plodded off.
I wasn't sure if I needed the sympathy, but I also didn't want to think about if I needed the sympathy. Luckily, a delivery man arrived at that moment, entering the shop with a tablet already extended for me to sign. "Hey, I've got a palette here for Mia Pike?"
Shop deliveries were never normally in my name. I frowned. "For me?" I signed and asked, "Where is it?"
"I left it in the delivery zone," he said, using a very fancy term for the tiny undercover area next to our garage.
I followed him out there and gasped. The palette was stacked four feet high with luxury brand salon shampoo, conditioner and treatment masques. "We don't stock this!" I said, horrified. "Who sent the delivery?"
"Uh..." He checked, already halfway out the door again. "A Rupert Marx? Have a great day," said the delivery dude, leaving me with the lifetime supply of hair products.
My hand immediately flew to my phone, and he answered on the first ring. "Hello, Mia love! Did you get my present? Was it girly enough?"
"Rupert! That has to be about ten thousand dollars' worth of hair stuff!"
"Come on now, don't be uncouth talking about money! It's so gauche!"
"I can't accept this."
"'Course you can. Listen, I'm the hair ambassador for those guys – rightly so, I mean, have you seen my hair? It is, and this is a clinical term, freaking fabulous! So, I called the PR guys and asked them to send out enough shampoo to keep a fabulous head off hair clean and protected for the next twenty years. Once you run out, call me and we'll renegotiate, yeah?"
Torn between laughing and crying, I leaned against the wall and said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome, love. I'm really sorry again. I know this doesn't fix it, but I hope it helps."
"It's awesome – and you don't have to be sorry. #hairfail is on me alone, okay?"
"Fine, I'll let you have this one. Now, something you can do for me..."
"Yes?"
"This weekend... Can we try date night again? This time, I promise not to take you somewhere that might end up balding you."
"I'd love that." We chatted through the details as I walked back inside, and I was smiling by the time we rang off.
But as the sound of Rupert's voice in my ear faded, all the worries in my life floated to the surface of my subconscious, each making their own deafening noise inside my brain. Cody, the new girlfriend, the shop, my dad, my hair, my career prospects. Anxiously, I ground my knuckles into my eyes, as if I could keep in the tears that hovered there.
Grabbing my notebook from under the counter, I started frantically scribbling notes, trying to drown out the chaos and worry by coming up with a plan to save my dad's business. Because if there was one fail I was determined to not let happen this horrible year, it was letting our shop go down in flames without a fight.
Hello awesome reader! What do you think? Can Mia save the shop? Is Savannah all that evil? Are you Team Cody or Team Rupert? Comment below :)
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Much love, Kate.