“My point is,” Sam started again, “Is that I figured out she’s not just some chick ’cause I’ve never seen you this way. And I’m a little relieved, just saying,” Sam held up his hands. “But can you do us all a favor and stop being a chickenshit and get on that already?”
My best friend turned toward the locker room and pushed the door open, murmuring under his breath, “Before you drive us all insane.”
* * *
After giving my parents’ lawn a mow, I sent them a text and made my way back to Polly’s. I’d been checking my phone obsessively, wondering if she’d text me, worrying if she’d made it home safe. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I noticed a black SUV. It’d been behind me since leaving my parents’ place. But it was too far away for me to make out the license plate. I stepped on the gas, putting more space between me and the SUV, and on the next turn, it kept going past me. I shook my head. I was being paranoid.
About ten minutes later, I was walking into Polly’s house.
I froze in place when I stepped into the kitchen. Music blared from a speaker on the table, which was completely covered in boxes, plastic bowls, and towels. Ryla was sitting on the table, swinging her legs and singing her heart out. Tinfoil pieces wrapped around random strands of her hair. The tips of Polly’s hair were similarly wrapped in foil. She stood behind Max with a bowl of what looked like blue paint in one hand and a small brush in the other. Max’s hair had a blue spiked strip down the center. And they all were wearing plastic sheets draped like capes around their shoulders.
“What’re y’all doing?” I grinned, walking toward them.
“Jace! We’re dyeing our hair!” Ryla shouted.
“You don’t say?” I rubbed my chin. “I thought you were making tinfoil hats.” Ryla giggled and Polly’s eyes flicked to me then back to Max, a small smile on her face as she continued to dye Max’s hair.
I leaned back against the island. “When did y’all decide to do this?”
“Momma came home with all of this stuff and said she’s dyeing her hair and then shouted about who was with her and then Auntie Leah called her nuts.”
“Ryla!” Polly scoffed, laughing lightly.
“Anything special bring this on?” I asked Polly, whose small smile hadn’t left her lips since I walked in.
“Belgian Waffles,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
“I love this one!” Ryla exclaimed and hopped off the table. Max giggled and Polly’s eyes flashed with delight as Ryla started to sing.
Watching Polly and her kids, seeing her elbow deep in hair dye as Max giggled happily at his sister’s antics, who was using a paintbrush as a microphone, it was like something finally snapped into place.
I didn’t feel aimless, anymore. I felt found.
Who knew it’d be with this little family?
As much as it pained me to admit it, Sam was right. I was on edge because I knew what I wanted. I wanted Polly, but I wasn’t sure if she felt the same way about me. There’d been a few little looks between us the last few days, and then a palpable moment last night when I swore, she was looking at my lips, just like I was looking at hers. After I put a sleeping Ryla in her bed, I waited on the stairs for Polly, resolved that as soon as she came out of Max’s bedroom, I was going to kiss her and to hell with the consequences. And then, I lost my nerve. I didn’t want to be another person that demanded something of her, forcing her into a situation she didn’t need or want.
Looking at her now, seeing how happy she was, I was glad I didn’t attempt anything last night. At best, she thought of me as a friend. So, if she needed a friend, I could be a friend. Even if it meant my balls were going to be blue for the next decade.
An hour later, after washing the kids’ hair in the sink, Max had blue hair sticking up every which way and was using the extra hair dye to paint at the table while Ryla sat on a stool as I attempted to brush her hair.
Polly was taking a shower. I was trying not to picture it.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry, lil’ miss.” I sprayed more detangler in her hair. I’d always thought my hair was thick, but Ryla’s was next level: thick and strong, snarly, extra sensitive, and not to be messed with. Kind of like Ryla herself.
“You have to start from the ends,” Ryla explained.
I gingerly started at the ends and sure enough, that did work.
“The pink looks really pretty,” I told her as I was finishing up.
“I’m gonna show Eric tomorrow and he’s gonna be like whoa and I’m gonna say, yeah, my mom did it.”
“Is that right?” I asked her softly.
“Uh-huh. Max wanted blue like Boyfriend, of course, and I wanted pink because that’s the best one, and Mom chose purple. We have red, too.”
