you asking me?’
‘Yes,’ I said in my most cheerful voice.
‘Then I’d love to go. When is it so I can get it on my calendar?’
I hung up the phone and realized I’d just invited Eric to my high school reunion. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, it would be nice not to show up alone. On the other hand, it was just an extra thing to worry about.
Saturday morning, Andre was waiting for me when I walked into the salon. I sat down on his chair. He ran his long fingers through my hair. ‘You just want a trim?’
‘Yes. Nothing drastic.’
‘One of these days I’m going to talk you into doing something a little outside of the box.’ He fluffed my hair.
Andre was as out of the box as they came. I never knew what color his long hair would be when I came in. Today it was purple. He was tall and lean and feminine. Prettier than a lot of women. Prettier than me.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. It was the same hairstyle I’ve sported for decades. I found comfort in the familiar. I wasn’t one of those people who craved constant change. When I faced change, especially when it was forced on me like my divorce, I did so with trepidation. I guess it went back to what Jackie had said about me being a planner. I did better with change when I could plan for it. When it took me by surprise, I felt as though someone had pushed me out of the plane before I had the chance to make sure my parachute worked.
Andre washed my hair and began trimming. ‘So, anything new in your world?’
‘I went out on a date.’
Andre stopped cutting and I could see his eyes widen in his reflection in the mirror.
‘A date? For real?’
I smiled. ‘Yeah.’
He resumed trimming. ‘Wow. Didn’t expect that answer, but yay for you! So give me the details.’
‘Well, we met online.’
‘Online? I thought you didn’t do the online thing.’
‘I didn’t. Well, up until now. Jackie talked me into it. Most of the profiles made me want to vomit. They were so fake and phony. One guy posted a photo of his tongue hanging out. He looked like a dog in heat.’
Andre laughed. He’d been doing my hair for the past twenty years. We’d seen each other through life’s ups and downs. Besides Jackie, he probably knew more about me than anyone. He was there when Scott left me and I was there when he and his husband brought home their infant son.
‘I’m leaving to go visit Eric for the weekend when we’re finished here,’ I told him.
‘Are you nervous?’
‘A little.’
Andre laid the scissors down on the counter and picked up the hairdryer. ‘Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself and have fun.’ He fluffed my hair. ‘Now, how does that feel?’
‘Much better. Thanks!’
I listened to an audiobook while driving to Eric’s house. A Year of Second Chances was about a woman who’d found a list she’d written when she was seventeen. On it she’d scribbled all her hopes and dreams, a bucket list of sorts. She’d realized there was still time to accomplish those dreams and she set about doing just that. It occurred to me that I was about the same age as the character. God willing, I still had a lot of life left. I didn’t want to spend it alone. But did I have the courage to purposefully seek change? I wasn’t sure.
I crossed a bridge and drove into the city. Eric’s house was easy to find. It was a gorgeous Greek Revival row house located in an older section of the city that was crowded with historic homes. Eric had mentioned he’d bought the property about two years ago after his parents died and he came into a sizable inheritance. He hadn’t said how much he inherited and I didn’t ask, but I had the feeling it was substantial by some of the things he mentioned. The vacation house in the Caribbean being one of them.
Slowly I drove past; the green shutters popped against the crisp white house. I admired the intricate iron work along the parlor floor and entrance and the lush window boxes overflowing with perennials and greens.
Following his instructions, I turned right onto Locust Lane. It was narrow, and I breathed a sigh of relief there were no cars coming towards me. I turned right at the stop sign and drove about thirty feet before pulling into a space behind his house. I parked beside his black SUV. I texted him to let him know I’d arrived.
He was at my door in Superman seconds. As soon as I got out of the car he wrapped me in his arms and squeezed me tight. ‘How was the drive?’
‘Not bad. I listened to an audiobook.’
He stepped back and his eyes scanned my body. ‘Something’s different. Hmm. Your hair. You did something to your hair.’
I tossed my head, flinging my hair off my shoulders. ‘I was at Andre’s before coming here.’
Eric looked puzzled. ‘Andre?’
‘My hair stylist.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course. You mentioned that. You look amazing.’
‘Thanks.’ I looked up at the house. ‘Your house looks amazing.’
Eric grabbed my overnight bag from the back seat and took my hand. ‘Let me show you around.’
We walked up the sidewalk through his backyard. Even though the area was small, Eric had managed to turn it into a private oasis. A wooden fence surrounded the yard. A small pergola was tucked into the corner. The sidewalk was made from large pieces of slate. Dwarf shrubs and trees along with bold perennials packed the space.
I stopped before entering the back door and turned around. ‘I had no idea you had such a green thumb.’
Eric laughed. ‘There’s a lot about me you don’t know – yet!’
I followed him inside and he gave me the grand tour.
I looked around, drinking in every detail. ‘I love the high ceilings, built-ins and molding.’
‘Thanks. Most of the molding is original.’
We walked into the dining room, tiled in classic black and white marble. ‘Is this floor original?’ I asked. ‘It’s absolutely gorgeous!’
Eric smiled. ‘Yes. Original floor and original fireplace.’
I turned around in a circle. ‘Your dining room could be featured in a home decorating magazine. It’s gorgeous.’ I ran my hand over the cherry table and sideboard. ‘Are these pieces you bought?’
‘Yes. I like antiques, as you can see. The whole house is full of them.’
As I toured the house, I noticed that nothing was out of place. Even the books on the coffee table were neatly stacked, largest to smallest, each one placed exactly in the middle of the one beneath it.
My vocabulary was nothing but ooohs and aaahs. The upstairs was equally impressive, from the leaded stained-glass windows to the mirrored tiles in the bathroom.
‘Here’s the guest bedroom.’ Eric opened the door and I walked into the buttercup yellow bedroom.
I turned in a circle, my eyes jumping from the brass bed to the antique wooden armoire to the oak washstand with its harp style towel bar. ‘Everything is so beautiful.’
‘Please make yourself at home,’ Eric said. ‘My home is your home.’
I sat across from Eric eating the Cobb salad he’d made for lunch. ‘Not only are you a skilled decorator, but you’re also a whiz in the kitchen. This is delicious. Thanks!’