Paige
BEATMATCH: A technique used by DJs to adjust the tempo of two songs and ensure a seamless transition between them
Since Ottawa is onlytwo hours away, Youssef decided to rent a car and drive us both there on the day of the wedding. By the time the big day rolls around, I’m finally out of my sling, but with my hand splint still on, I’m not mobile enough to get myself wedding-ready. I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror a few hours before I’m due to leave, trying to decide if there’s anything I can do to my hair with one hand, when DeeDee shows up at the apartment and offers to give me some help.
“I was just popping by,” she explains after sending Zach off to his bedroom and dropping down onto our couch.
The bulging shoulder bag she brought makes it clear this wasn’t a coincidence.
“Buuuuut,” she chimes as she unzips the bag, “we do still have time to give you some highlights.”
I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. Youssef is picking me up in like, two hours. What if something goes horribly wrong?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Vraiment,chérie? You think I’m going to let something go wrong? They don’t call me the master for nothing. Come on. Just some little chocolate brown highlights. Oh, and I’ll cut some layers! It will give you thatoomph.”
She does a hip thrust to emphasize the last word.
I reach up and smooth a piece of hair behind my ear. I really don’t have much of a haircut. I just let it grow and get the ends chopped off whenever it’s long enough to be annoying.
DeeDee’s staring at my hair like a kid in front of a candy shop window.
I sigh. “You’re not gonna let me out of this house without doing my hair, are you?”
She beams. “Nope!”
An hour later, I have to admit she deserves to be called ‘the master.’ She didn’t even do much to my hair, but I look like I could have just dropped several hundred bucks at an overpriced salon. The highlights are subtle, but they make my black colour look so much richer, and the layers frame my face perfectly. I raise a hand to my cheek as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror.
I’m not totally sure who I’m looking at, but the corners of my mouth lift up when I realize I like her.
“Perfect!” DeeDee shouts as she fluffs my hair up a little from behind me. She’s just finished blow drying. “Now go put your dress on so I can do the final touches. Do you need any help?”
She nods at my splint, and I shake my head. Things are easier now that my sling is gone. My shoulder is still a long way away from complete recovery, but the new freedom is a huge relief.
In my bedroom, I carefully take off my baggy t-shirt and then peel my leggings down before changing into a black bra and underwear set. I’m going to have to sit around the hotel for a few hours all dressed up while Youssef helps his family with pre-wedding stuff, but I’d rather have DeeDee’s assistance getting myself presentable now than risk a disaster trying to do it all with my broken hand later.
My dress is already hanging on the back of my closet door, along with a leather jacket I rarely wear. A pair of black heels my mom bought me in high school that have lived in obscurity ever since are sitting underneath. I shimmy my way into the dress and leave the shoes for later. I’ve only tried it on once since bringing it home from the store, and just like it did the first time, the fabric hugs my body like it was tailor made for me. It’s tight but not so tight I can’t breathe, and the hem hits me just a bit lower than mid-thigh.
I’ve never worn anything like this.
“Okay, Paige,” I mutter when I catch sight of my slightly terrified reflection in the mirror. “No backing out now.”
I get the zipper most of the way up, but my busted shoulder starts protesting when I twist my good arm around to do the last few inches.
After trying to swear my way through the pain, I give up and take a deep breath before throwing my bedroom door open. DeeDee pokes her head out of the bathroom.
“Hey, could you—”
“Câlice, Paige!” DeeDee comes all the way out into the living room, and her hands fly to her mouth. “You look...You look...”
She runs her eyes up and down the dress, and I brace for one of those words I hate.
Pretty. Hot. Stunning. Gorgeous.
“You look like a badass bitch!”
I do a double-take. “Huh?”
“Yeah! You look, um...how would I say it?” DeeDee sweeps her hands around as she searches for the right words. “You lookpowerful.”
