What a Girl Needs (7 page)

Kay’s so…practical. Matt is smooth. Smarmy even. He’s a patent attorney, what else does she need to know? Didn’t she have enough of that with me?

“I’ve got to get to the office,” Matt tells me, as he lifts my suitcase into the foyer.

Wow. Chivalry. Go figure
.

“Come on in and get settled. Kay’s got you in your old room, I suppose.” He smirks at me. “Just don’t get too comfortable in there. It’s my office when there are no guests here.”

“Your office? You have an office, not to mention a house. What gives?”

“Just don’t get too comfortable, all I’m saying.”

“You’re just going to leave that mess?” I stare out the back door at the stacks of two-by-fours.

He follows my gaze. “Does it bother you?” He sneers. “Isn’t that rich?”

“Maybe,” I tell him.
He bothers me
. “What kind of patent attorney gets to be home in the middle of the afternoon these days? Did Silicon Valley go on hiatus?”

“The kind of patent attorney that’s sought-after and whose services are in demand.” He tucks his chin and stares at me with a wicked eyebrow raised. “You, if you were around to get in on the action. I haven’t seen your name on any tech patents since you left.”

He may as well have struck me. “Below the belt.”

“Maybe, but it was your choice to follow the good doctor and not think about yourself. Very self-sacrificing and noble, I’ll admit, but not very bright.” He lifts his shirt off the hardwood floor and puts it on over his tool belt. He buttons a few buttons and flicks the cuff on the long sleeve. “I make my own rules now. My own schedule.” He cocks one eyebrow, yanks open the front door fully and passes me with a swift breeze. “Think about what I said.”

The door slams behind him, and I’m left wondering how Matt always seems to get the better of me.

Kay’s living room is still much the same. The hardwood floors shines like a Minwax commercial. The house has always looked staged—as though a realtor placed furniture in all the right places to make it appear lived in—but never really had the feeling of warmth or home.

The small bungalow is decorated sparsely with only black, white and beige in a neutral palette that lacks personality and any hint of excitement. Walking through the house, I peek into Kay’s master bedroom. It’s spotless as usual and this gives me peace. Something is as it should be. She has the same bedspread as when I left (who can live that long with the same bedspread? Doesn’t she get bored?)

In my old bedroom I’m flooded by desperate memories. How many restless nights were spent in this room, pining over elusive men and reasons I thought I’d never get married? Most notably, Seth Greenwood. I feel the aura of sadness in the room, like the imprint of that obsessive, hopeful single girl is still here. I’m almost glad no one is renting the room, lest they pick up on the pathetic, husband-hungry air. Seth didn’t want me. Why didn’t I get it?
Why did I think I could make him love me? Looking back on my younger self really makes me wonder how I had the brain cell count to get through law school.

The minuscule corner shower, the only one in the house, is flanked on one side by the toilet, and the sink on the other. It’s a bathroom of togetherness. These 40’s bungalows were made for business. You weren’t supposed to be spending all morning on your beauty regiment. And the builders made sure that you wouldn’t. It was a male conspiracy, I’m certain of it.

In the mirrored medicine cabinet, I find an old box of “Scarlet Copper” hair color that I decided I’d try on one particularly desperate night when I thought maybe red hair would make me irresistible. Its $3.99 clearance price tag makes me laugh—
who was I?
Kay probably couldn’t bear to throw it away at that price, so she left it in case I returned for it.

I always thought that a new hair color would define me, make people take notice of me. It dawns on me that maybe that’s what is missing from my life. No one notices me anymore. I’ve become invisible.

I need to go back to Philly with a plan. I need to prove to Kevin that he didn’t make a mistake in marrying me, and I will find something to do with my days.

I lift the box and stare into the mirror at my dark brown, boring hair. I study the box for a few seconds and check my watch. “Why not?” I ask my reflection. “If I happen to get a job interview while I’m here, they’re more likely to remember a redhead.”

‡

M
y hair is
red. Not highlights of copper mahogany as the box promised, but Ronald McDonald red with undertones of my dark color. It’s not even. So it’s kind of like a tie-dye summer camp experience gone wrong with various shades of brown, fuchsia and garnet. I shake my head. Maybe a bit of salmon pink, too, if I’m honest.

It’s the house. I thought it was me, but clearly, this house brings out the stupid in me—because what sane, thinking person would dye their hair without testing the color, right before a dinner with their ex-boyfriend and his spritely, perfect wife? It’s not like I want to impress Seth or Arin, but I seriously don’t want to give him a sense of relief for dodging a bullet, either. No one wants to send their ex into a happy dance over the way they’ve let themselves go, am I right?

I wrap a towel around my head and emerge from the bathroom just in time to hear the front door unlatch. “Kay?” I grasp the towel and wonder if it’s possible to make a beanie look fashionable in the middle of the California summer.

Kay is at the front door, bogged down by several bags of groceries. She keeps them snug to her chest—and her mouth drops open. “Seriously, what did you do to your hair? I mean, Ashley, it’s so awesome to see you. You look great!”

Kay’s like the strictest mother on the block. She notices everything.

I yank the towel off for her full reaction, and Kay gasps.
It’s obviously bad, as Kay is not a drama queen like myself.

“I found an old box of color,” I explain. “I thought it might be a nice change and maybe light a new passion in me.”

“It lit something, but I’m not sure it’s passion.” She wrestles with the groceries, uncertain if she should hug me or show some sign of warmth.

I pat my head. “I needed a change. That’s why I’m here to begin with.” I straighten my shoulders and try to own it. “I can fix it when I get home.” I move toward her and give her a one-armed hug so as not to make her too uncomfortable.

She bristles at my touch. “Have you had your eyes checked lately? It’s really bright, Ashley.” Then, she sets the bags down and swallows me in an awkward, engineer hug. “I so missed your crazy self! If by ‘nice change’ you were meaning an ode to clowns…did you by chance arrive in a tiny car with lots of others?” She looks outside.

“It can’t be that bad?” I feel my hair, and it’s a wee bit crispy. The way you’d like your chicken, not your hair.

“It’s much worse than you think it is, but I never was a fan of hair color that doesn’t exist in the real world. Well, this planet anyway.”

“Is this your way of telling me how much you love me?”

“If the lawyer thing doesn’t work out, you could apply at the local tattoo parlor in Philadelphia.”

I sigh. “I got sucked into this
48 Hours
on the OWN channel and had to find out who killed the woman and I kind of forgot to set the timer for my hair.”

Kay gives me a look of pity. “Well, if you had to know who killed her…”

“I don’t have time to fix it, do I?”

Kay shakes her head. “You should stick to your bad reality shows. This is proof. It’s God’s way of telling you that you don’t have the attention span for serious television.”

Kay made a funny.

“I thought maybe I was more adventurous when I was single and living here. I thought it was time to take a risk. Then, maybe I wouldn’t feel as invisible in Philly.”

“Oh, you are definitely not invisible. Cal-trans wants to hire your head for their ‘Men Working’ road sign.”

“Rude! When did you get such an attitude?”

She ignores my question. “The dinner guests will be here soon. I’m making a fresh shrimp salad, so preparation won’t take long. I’m assuming you don’t have any hair dye to fix this disaster anyway?” Kay bites her bottom lip for a second as she contemplates my current disaster. “That might take a professional.”

I grin sheepishly. She knows me too well. “Do you have a summer hat I can borrow?”

“A summer hat?” Kay laughs. “Have we met? You’ve seen my closet, and even if I did have a summer hat—it’s not going to fix that. I could see it through the towel. You know what it reminds me of?”

“Dare I ask?”

“When you’re a little kid and you mix all the ice cream flavors together and then it ceases to be appetizing. It’s like a lump of brown with swirls of color in odd places?”

“I get it,” I snap. “It’s awful. Could you just – not? I need a break, Kay. I came here for a respite, and I really need one. I need to understand that I’m not the biggest loser on the planet. Just for today, all right?”

Kay’s expression softens and she picks up the grocery bags. “Come help me put the bags away. People will be too happy to see you to notice your hair anyway. One crisis at a time.”

Kay’s an engineer and has the typical engineering personality with a side of obsessive-compulsive disorder. So I’m certain she’s exaggerating about my hair. At least, that’s what I’m going with to get through the next few hours where I get to play third wheel to my ex-boyfriend Seth and his wife Arin—again.

As Kay walks into the kitchen away from me, I’m shocked at how thin she’s gotten. “Kay, what have you been doing? You’re so tiny!”

“I’ve been running. I’ve found it’s a good way to get my mind clear. You know, take my mind off all of the stuff that needs to be done around here.”

“Nothing needs to be done around here. You just can’t sit still.”

She turns and faces me, a slight blush across her cheeks. “Did you see the pergola I’m building in the backyard?”

“I saw Matt Callaway building your pergola.” I raise my brows, but she turns without giving me a reaction. “When were you planning to tell me he’s still hanging around? I think we missed that topic on Skype.”

“Matt’s a friend. Since when is that news?”

“He answered the door looking like a member of the Village People. That seems like more than friends.”

“We’re friends.” She opens the refrigerator and disappears behind the door.

Kay, because she’s so straitforward, is a terrible liar.

“Close friends,” she mumbles. Kay peers at me from over the fridge door. “You were here dyeing your hair in my bathroom. People make themselves at home here. Can I help that?” She continues to unpack the grocery bags. Unlike me, Kay isn’t big on sharing.
Curse her private nature!

“You don’t have your Fourth of July decorations up. Of all the things I hadn’t expected to change around here, it was you, Kay. What is the world coming to if you’re suddenly, haphazard?”

“I’d hardly call getting my Independence Day decorations out late,
haphazard
. You need to get a job, Ashley. You’re watching too much ID Network. Not everything warrants a police investigation.”

“I’m just curious why you didn’t mention him to me?”

“You tend to be excitable. I didn’t want to excite you. You and your Cinderella dreams. You think everything is a step toward happily ever after.”

“Regular? You’re saying that I’m like a housewife, instead of a
Real Housewife
.” It’s worse than I thought.
Much worse. My lack of motivation is showing up in my daywear. What happened to Ashley Stockingdale?

Kay stares at me. “I have no idea what that means. I assume the housewife reference has something to do with your shallow entertainment choices, which I may remind you would have saved you from that horrific hair color.”

“Never mind.” I’m not in the mood to explain Bravo. “Seriously, do I look that different from when I left?” Maybe my appearance holds the key to what’s wrong with me. “Maybe I left my style ability here in California and I’ve turned into a beige chick from Philly. Am I beige?”

“Are you what? Ashley, you still make no sense.” Kay’s eyes drift to the remnants Matt left on the back porch, which includes a tool chest, and she rolls her eyes.

“Thank goodness! His mess bothers you!” I accuse. “I worried that you didn’t even see it.”

“I wouldn’t say it bothers me, so much as I notice it.”

“Well, if I seem less me, you seem less you, Kay. Why aren’t the Fourth of July decorations up yet?”

“Enough with the decorations. Work’s been busy. The house is always a mess when I get home from work after Matt’s been here. I guess I just didn’t feel like rummaging through the garage for the right season.”

“Rummaging? Please. You don’t have to rummage. It’s all labeled and in calendar order. Give me a break already.” I cross my arms ever tighter, trying to look menacing, but Kay just swishes by me with some pasta and opens the pantry cabinet. “You would have never let me get away with that.” I point to Matt’s mound.

She looks over her shoulder and into the cozy living room where the building remnants lay. “Matt’s a slob like you, Ashley. You should understand that and I can’t imagine why it would bother you. What’s got you so upset about Matt?”