“Oh yes,” puts in Gram.
Crap, I think. “I like my hair the color it is,” I lie. Actually, I’d love to do something glam with my brown hair, but I don’t trust Gwendolyn to make it happen.
“You can trust me,” she says.
“I’ll think about it,” I lie.
“She’ll be there,” says Mom.
***
Later, after we’ve all watched a Christmas movie and played Wii bowling (I lost), Gram and Grandpa have gone home and Sam and Gwendolyn have disappeared to enjoy some time together. Now it’s just me and Mom.
She brings up the subject of my hair. “I don’t understand why you’d balk at doing something fun with your hair.”
I love my mother, I really do. She’s great. But like I said, she can get a little bossy. And sometimes she’s clueless.
She’s sure clueless about Gwendolyn, but that’s my fault. I never shared about the high school bullying. Looking back, I wish I had, but I’d been too embarrassed. My parents were so proud of my smarts. I hated for them to see the loser side of my life. Mom, who’d always been popular in school, wouldn’t have understood. When you like everyone and everyone likes you, you assume it must be that way for your kids too. It was for Sam.
“I don’t think right before I’m going to do so much public stuff is the time to experiment,” I say.
“Darling, I think you’ll look adorable with some flirty colors in your hair. It might be exactly the pick-me-up you need after...” She pauses, looking for the right words. “After the disappointing year you’ve had.”
Mom knows all about my breakup. I called her in tears, and she wrapped me in sympathy, told me what a fool David was not to appreciate me. Told me how wonderful I am. Then offered to hire a hit man. Good ol’ Mom. She also said,“Mistakes are the stepping-stones to happy endings. This puts you one more step closer to yours.”
It was a great line. I’m going to use it in a book someday.
“Take a chance, darling,” Mom continues.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“You never win if you don’t enter the contest. You did that with pursuing the career you want. Why not take the same attitude about the rest of your life?”
“That was different. I knew I could make it as a writer.”
“You can make it as a lovely young woman too,” Mom says gently. She lays a hand over mine. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked in the mirror and really seen yourself.”
Right.
I give her a look.Really?I know I look better than I did when I was young, but I’m no Gwendolyn. Hmm. I should probably be thankful for that.
“You’re like all of us women,” Mom continues. “You see your flaws and stop there.”
“Mom,” I protest. I can feel a mother lecture coming on.
Mom may not have known about the bullying, but she knew about my insecurity. She knew about my Cheetos addiction, too, but never guilted me over it. She did give me plenty of pep talks, though.
“One of these days you’re going to see what we all see—a lovely woman with a smile like sunshine. You’ve worked hard to get fit these last few years, so why not gild the lily a little?” she says now.
Gild the lily.Such a strange expression. What does that mean, really?
“Have some fun. It’s the holidays.”
“Mom, I don’t want bright-red hair,” I protest. “Sorry,” I add. The last thing I want to do is diss my mom.
She laughs. “A few washings, and it will be just the color I want. And you don’t have to go so wild. I do think Gwendolyn wants to be friends. Why not give her a chance?”
“Who said I’m not giving her a chance?” I protest.
