“And that cute little gal Tracy is just a doll, isn’t she? Bob said you had a wonderful time making cookies together. I’m so glad you have good friends here, Christina. Dear, dear friends like that are hard to come by, you know.”
Christy didn’t say a word—not a word. But her mind was anything but quiet. My “dear friends” are all ready to kick me out of their lives. It’s never going to be the same with them again. Every piece that was left of my friendships from last summer is withered and mangled—just like all those dumb carnation petals I saved in that smelly coffee can. What am I supposed to do with a bunch of dried-up memories?
Just then Aunt Marti stopped at a red light. The same red light, the same intersection where last summer, in the middle of the street, Todd had kissed her and given her the bouquet of white carnations. Christy couldn’t swallow the wad of self-pity in her throat any longer. Turning her face to the window, she let the tears flow.
It lasted only a moment. The light turned green, Christy faked a coughing spell and fumbled in her purse for a tissue. With a few quick dabs and clearing of the throat, she had her emotions under control. Aunt Marti hadn’t even noticed. What a contrast to last summer, when Christy had gushed her heartaches out all over the place and had willingly let her aunt pick up all the pieces.
Things had changed between them. She no longer appreciated her aunt’s dominating personality. Swallowing these emotions was a victory for Christy, and silently she congratulated herself on her maturity and control. Now, if only the incredibly painful knot in her stomach would go away.
“First thing on the schedule,” Aunt Marti began, “is your nine-thirty appointment at Maurice’s. He’s going to be amazed to see how quickly your hair has grown!”
“You made an appointment for me to get my hair cut?”
“I knew you wouldn’t mind. It’s gotten so long, dear, you really are desperately in need of a cut.”
“No way!” Christy popped off. “I am not getting my hair cut!”
Aunt Marti shot a stunned glance at Christy as she maneuvered through the parking lot at Fashion Island Shopping Center. “Christina, I’m surprised at you! What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I do not want to get my hair cut.” She said each word slowly and deliberately. “I’m trying to grow my hair out again.” She took a deep breath as Marti parked the Mercedes, clicked off the engine, and turned to face her. “You didn’t even ask me, Aunt Marti. You could have at least asked me!”
Aunt Marti pulled back like a turtle disappearing into its shell. Her voice came out as controlled as Christy’s but softer, more gracious. “I was trying to think of what was best for you, dear.”
Silence reigned for a moment. Marti cleared her throat and then literally stuck her neck back out. “Why don’t we keep your nine-thirty appointment for a simple wash and blow dry? Then, if you decide to have anything else done, you can tell Maurice exactly how you’d like your hair. Would that be agreeable to you?”
Christy wanted to scream out, “No, that would not be agreeable! Your interference in my life is not at all agreeable!” But she controlled her emotions and answered, “All right.” It was no good appearing calm. The searing blob in her stomach grew and grew.
Maurice washed Christy’s hair and chatted brightly with Aunt Marti. Christy didn’t say a word. After the conditioning and rinsing, he wrapped a towel around her head and directed her to his styling area. Christy looked at herself in the mirror. Her expression was disturbing: hard and cold with clenched teeth. She didn’t like it.
The words to a Debbie Stevens song she had heard at Todd’s flashed into her mind, and she began to sing them inside her head, like a prayer:
Touch this heart, so full of pain,
Heal it with Your love.
Make it soft and warm again,
Melt me with Your love.
I don’t want to push You away;
Come back in,
Come to stay.
Make me tender, just like You,
Melt me with Your love.
Maurice removed the towel and fluffed up her hair with his fingers. “So long!” he exclaimed. “So badly in need of a trim. Next time do not wait so long before you come see me.”
Christy met his gaze in the mirror, and she spoke gently but firmly. “I’m letting my hair grow. I don’t want it cut today.”
“But, perhaps, just a tiny trim, then?” Maurice already had the scissors in his hand.
“No. I want it to grow.”
Maurice and Aunt Marti exchanged glances in the mirror behind Christy. She felt awful. She didn’t want to be a brat. Make me tender, just like You, / Melt me with Your love.
Maurice slapped the scissors down onto the counter and stepped briskly away from the chair. Aunt Marti shot her a look that said, “Oh, now you’ve done it! You’ve offended the best-known hairstylist in Newport Beach!”
Christy offered Marti a weak smile—not a mean smile, a nice smile, a soft smile. A smile that showed her heart—but not her determination—was melting. She knew what she wanted, and no one could change her mind.
Maurice plopped a large book of hairstyles in Christy’s lap. He quickly thumbed through the section showing longer styles. “Like this?” he pointed to a picture of wavy, shoulder-length hair parted on the side. Carefully studying the picture, Christy melted a little more. “That’s pretty. I like that style. But my hair doesn’t have that much body. It just frizzes.”
“Aha!” Maurice announced, snatching the large book and snapping it closed. “I shall give you a wave.”
“You mean a perm?”
Aunt Marti stepped forward. “Christy, would you like to have a perm put in your hair today, darling?” She said it as though she were talking to a toddler, exaggerating each word, to make sure Christy was in agreement with the idea.
“I hadn’t even thought of it, but I guess that would be okay. That way I can keep my hair long.”
Aunt Marti spread her lips in a tight smile. “As long as you’re sure that’s what you want, dear.”
Christy felt the emotions gurgling inside her stomach again. “Yes, Aunt Martha. That’s what I’d like. As long as it’s just wavy like the picture. I don’t want it curly.”
“Yes, all right then,” Aunt Marti said, sitting back down. “Okay. Good.” She motioned for Maurice to go to work.
It seemed that everyone was relieved several hours later when Maurice stood back to admire his handiwork. Christy’s hair looked good—really good—and she loved it. Even though the wave had drawn her hair up a little shorter, it made it look thick and full all around.
Christy shook hands with Maurice and thanked him, telling him what a great job he had done. He looked pleased. Aunt Marti looked pleased. “Would you like to do some shopping, Christy? Or should we grab a bite to eat?” Marti asked.
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
As if Christy had just relinquished the reins on a team of snorting horses, Aunt Marti snatched them up and off they thundered, in and out of small specialty shops. Christy found a clip for her hair, nail polish, a collapsible mirror for her purse, and a pair of black shoes on sale. Nothing too exciting, yet Aunt Marti seemed delighted with every choice Christy made. It was clear that anything Christy wanted, she could have.
But Christy didn’t go wild, picking out clothes and accessories to her heart’s content. She felt spoiled, and she didn’t like that. She also felt controlled, and she really didn’t like that. Plus, she didn’t want to be shopping. She wanted to be back at the house, doing whatever she could to clear things up with Todd. And every minute she spent with her aunt seemed to be pulling her farther and farther away from him.
At two-thirty Aunt Marti announced it was time for lunch. Christy suggested they go home and make a salad, but Aunt Marti insisted they drive to Corona del Mar. She parked in front of a tiny restaurant on the Coast Highway called The Quiet Woman. The old English tavern sign hanging over the front door showed a headless woman. Apparentl
y she was “the quiet woman.”
Settling comfortably into their secluded booth, Aunt Marti ordered Veal Oscar for herself and the same for Christy before asking, “Does that sound good to you, Christy?”
“Sure. Doesn’t matter.” Actually, she would have preferred a hamburger. But it didn’t matter, as long as they could have a nice, quick lunch, and she could get home and try to work out some of the complications in her life.
The waiter placed their beverages before them. Christy waited until he left before she quietly bowed her head to pray.
“You’ve really taken your religion to heart, haven’t you, Christy?” Aunt Marti asked.
Christy felt a little embarrassed that her aunt figured out that she had been praying. “Our family always prays before meals,” Christy said.
“Yes, I realize that, dear. However, I’ve noticed you do it even when your parents aren’t around. It’s something you do for yourself, and that’s worthy of a compliment, don’t you think?”
Christy shrugged. “I guess so. I never thought of praying as something a person would be complimented on.”
Within minutes the waiter stood before them, delivering the savory dishes and filling their water glasses. Christy cautiously took a bite and decided the Veal Oscar tasted pretty good. Aunt Marti looked extraordinarily delighted with the meal and continued the conversation between tiny bites.
“I’m pleased to see how you’re maturing, Christina. I must say, I had some concerns several months ago in Palm Springs when you and your girlfriends snuck out of the hotel room in the middle of the night.”
Christy opened her mouth to defend herself, but Aunt Marti calmly waved her fork as a signal to just listen. “There’s no need to discuss that night, and I wouldn’t have even brought it up except to say that I’d like to have more input in your life.”
Christy waited for her aunt to go on. She felt defensive, anticipating some kind of criticism, which Aunt Marti could dish out like no one else.
“I felt you were reluctant to spend this time with me today. Over the last few days you’ve been completely absorbed with your friends, and I can understand that. However, I feel you’re making it difficult for me to get involved in your life. I’m proud of the way I see you taking a stand for what you want. But I would like it if you would discuss things with me more and ask my opinion. I truly feel that I can do for you and give to you what no one else can.”
Christy squirmed uncomfortably. She loved her aunt, yet she never liked the way Marti tried to mother her.
“I don’t know how to make it any clearer than to tell you, Christina, that you are the daughter I never had, and I see you as that—my daughter. I want only the very best for you. Do you think you can understand what I’m saying?”
Christy nodded. She understood perfectly. It was just that she didn’t want another mother—or an agent or whatever it was that Aunt Marti saw herself as.
“I see great potential in you, dear. Perhaps more than what your parents see. I could truly make something out of you. You’ve got the figure, the face, the personality … why, you could really be somebody!”
Never before had compliments stung so cruelly. Aunt Marti charged on, apparently not reading the pain in Christy’s face.
“I see you becoming the kind of young woman who stands out in a crowd. If you will only allow me to be more involved in your life, I can teach you how to become someone who can get anything she wants—a stunning young woman who makes a lasting impression. Someone like, well, like your friend from this summer. You know, Alissa.”
Twang! Everything inside Christy snapped.
“Like Alissa? That’s what you want? You want me to become like Alissa?”
“Lower your voice, dear.”
“Ha!” Christy laughed aloud, then lowered her voice just a pinch. “It just so happens, Aunt Martha, that Alissa is pregnant!”
Aunt Marti’s mouth dropped open, her eyes doubled in size.
“The baby will be born before she even graduates from high school. Is that what you want for me too?” By now the tears streamed down Christy’s face. She didn’t care who saw her or what they thought of her.
Not so with Aunt Marti. She rose swiftly, as if something were chasing her. Quickly fumbling with the check, she tossed it back on the table with a couple of twenty-dollar bills.
Christy wiped her eyes and followed her spooked aunt as she blazed a trail through the center of the restaurant and scurried to the car.
Now I’ve blown it! Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? Christy felt miserable.
Aunt Marti slammed the door and thrust the car forward into the flow of traffic. However, the traffic was clogged on the Coast Highway, causing them to travel a few feet, jerk to a stop, travel a few more feet, then come to another quick stop, with Aunt Marti’s foot hard on the brake. At this rate it could take half an hour to get home.
Christy spoke up, anxious to smooth things over. “Can you see why I don’t want to be like Alissa?”
Aunt Marti nodded without looking at Christy, then slammed on the brakes again.
“I just want to be myself,” Christy said softly. “No, actually, it’s more than that. I want to be the person God wants me to be.”
“That’s fine, Christina. Very noble. However …”—Marti paused and pressed extra hard on the brakes so the car lurched, as if for added emphasis—“… life doesn’t always go the way you think it will or the way you want it to.”
A heaviness hung between them. Christy knew Aunt Marti didn’t understand. But then maybe Christy didn’t understand completely either.
The car jerked to another stop, and Marti started coughing. It was a fake, choking kind of cough. Christy thought she saw tears in her aunt’s eyes.
What’s wrong with me? Christy thought. Why am I making everybody I know get mad at me? I can’t do anything right!
“Aunt Marti?” Christy felt emptied of all her determination. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Marti didn’t respond.
They drove the rest of the way home in agonizing silence. When they pulled into the driveway a yellow Toyota four-wheel-drive truck followed them and parked in front of the house. It was Doug’s truck. David sat in the front seat beside him, all smiles.
“We had more fun than you did,” David sang out. He bounded from the truck and met stone-faced Christy and Marti in the driveway. “We went skateboarding.”
“David,” Aunt Marti exclaimed, “you’ve ruined your brand-new jeans!” Angry words tumbled from her mouth. Christy knew that poor David was receiving verbal blows that were meant for her.
“I know, I kind of wiped out a couple of times,” David said sheepishly, all the adventure draining from his voice.
“Go inside and change immediately!”
Without a word, David ran into the house. Christy felt awful for him.
Doug had slowly made his way to where Christy and Aunt Marti were standing, hanging back until the conflict passed. Marti turned to Doug and smiled; she was poised and charming and glossy.
Christy cleared her throat, harnessed her emotions, and quickly made the introductions, explaining that Doug was a friend of Todd’s. Doug then said that he knew Christy had gone shopping today, but he thought he would swing by anyway. Since Christy wasn’t back yet, he had taken David skateboarding.
Marti looked pleased and said, “How gracious of you, Doug. It’s wonderful to meet you. Christy, why don’t you invite your friend to stay for dinner, if he’d like? I’m not sure what’s planned, but”—she turned to Doug, gushing with sweetness—“you’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks,” Doug said without committing himself.
Aunt Marti excused herself, and Christy and Doug stood in the driveway.
“Your hair looks nice,” Doug said. “Did you have it fixed today or something?”
“I got a perm. I’m letting it grow,” she said with a certain determined look in her eyes.
Doug half smiled an
d said, “Oh, yeah. You look good in long hair.” Then he sniffed. “It smells like flowers or something.”
“It’s this conditioner stuff they put on my hair,” Christy explained. She scooped up the end of her hair and pulled it toward her nose. “I think it smells like green apples.”
“Is that what it is?” Doug said. Then, in a natural gesture, he put a hand on her shoulder and leaned over, nuzzling his nose into her hair right above her ear.
At that very second, Christy heard an all too familiar sound. She looked out at the street and caught a glimpse of Gus the Bus chugging past the house. Oh no! What should I do? she thought frantically. She couldn’t see Todd’s face, but she knew he had seen Doug leaning over her, smelling her hair. Todd sped on down the street as if he hadn’t meant to stop at all.
“You’re right,” Doug said, pulling back, completely unaware of what had just happened. “It does smell like green apples.”
Christy felt like yelling at him, but she stood in her frozen position and just stared past him at the back end of Gus turning at the corner. I can’t believe that just happened!
“I stopped by so I could talk to you, if that’s okay,” Doug said.
“About what?” Christy snapped.
Doug pulled back a little and then said, “Well, could we sit inside my truck for a minute?”
“Okay, I guess so.” Christy calmed herself down.
Once inside the cab of the Toyota, Christy’s eyes kept darting up and down the street, just in case Todd returned. She wished he would, but then she wished he wouldn’t, because everything felt so mixed up right now. She needed to deal with one thing at a time. Doug first.
“Well, I hope this doesn’t come across the wrong way or anything. I’m not sure how to say it.”
For the first time, Christy focused on Doug. He looked serious. “Go ahead, Doug. You can tell me.”
When he hesitated she added, “I think you know you can trust me.” Even as she heard the words come out of her mouth, Christy wasn’t sure she knew what she was getting herself into.
“I know I can trust you,” Doug said. “I noticed that when I first met you. You’re very approachable. You make people feel as though they can come and talk to you about anything.”