Life Happens

Of course, that was her mother’s dream. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I think I can fix this.”

And the thing was, Mya was sure she could.

Millicent Donahue owned a hair salon, aptly named Millie’s Hair Salon. Despite the fact that the term had gone out of style in the eighties, she still called herself a beautician. For years the salon had been a bone of contention between mother and daughter. Eventually they’d called a truce of sorts. Now, Mya needn’t feel obligated to have her hair trimmed at her mother’s salon, and her mother needn’t feel obligated to shop at Mya’s store. Not that Mya carried red sweatshirts with glitter and sequins, anyway.

Mya pulled out a chair, her mother started clipping, Claire uncorked the wine and Suzette began unwrapping the trays of food she’d gotten from her favorite deli over on Market Street. The wind howled and rain pelted the windows. Sitting in her warm kitchen, surrounded by these quirky women who loved her, Mya relaxed. She liked her house. Built some eighty years ago of stone quarried from the area, it was a good house, Cape Cod in style, small and sturdy with a steep roof and a bay window overlooking the street. Oh, it wasn’t on Keepers Island, and it was old and drafty, but it had character and was close enough to the Atlantic to feel like home.

“I thought Jeffrey was going to be here,” Millicent said around the hair clip in her mouth.

“He had an emergency.”

“An E.R. doctor,” Suzette grumbled. “Do you have any idea how many women aspire to marry a doctor?”

“I didn’t aspire to marry anyone.”

“Go ahead. Rub it in.”

Mya smiled into her chest.

“I still say it isn’t fair,” Suzette said.

“What isn’t fair?” Millicent asked.

Pouring the wine, Claire said, “Don’t mind Suzette, Ms. Donahue. She’s just bitter because Jeffrey saw her naked first and still chose Mya.”

“My daughter is a goddess.”

Drolly, Mya said, “No goddess ever had this haircut.”

“Rolf’s an idiot.”

For once, Mya wasn’t even tempted to argue.

In seemingly no time at all, her mother stepped back and handed Mya a small mirror. Although still slightly shocking, evened up here and there, the tousled style looked pretty good on her, all things considered.

Her mother said, “You haven’t had hair this short—”

Their gazes locked.

With the barest lift of one penciled-on eyebrow, Millicent said, “—in a long, long time.”

Mya should have known she needn’t have worried.

Her mother was the first to look away, and Mya was left feeling a dozen emotions, none of them pleasant. So what else was new?

Oblivious, Suzette said, “What do you say we move this party out to the dining room and away from any airborne hair?” Taking a small tray in either hand, she headed for the door, disrupting Jeffrey’s three cats that had somehow wound up at Mya’s place.

“What do you have there?” Millicent asked.

“There’s crab dip with tofu and whole-wheat crackers, goat cheese and fruit and honey, and—” The door swung shut on the rest of the recitation.

Millie reached into the cabinet for the chips and into the refrigerator for the dip. “Forget the health food. I need all the preservatives I can get.” When she was certain Suzette was out of hearing range, she lowered her raspy voice and said, “If that girl gets any perkier, I’m going to bite through my tongue.” She followed Suzette to the dining room.

Mya’s thoughts exactly. It was no wonder she worried.

It was quiet in the kitchen suddenly. Too quiet. Finding Claire watching her, Mya handed over the other tray.

Claire put it right back down again. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?”

“Serve red wine with cheese? I’m living dangerously.”

Claire didn’t pretend to be amused.

And Mya said, “Not you, too.”

“I’ll say my piece, and then forever hold it. You’re going to get married.”

“I thought you’d be happier for me.”

“I am happy for you.” She must have read Mya’s expression, because she said, “This is my happy face.”

Another time Mya might have smiled.

Claire forged ahead. “You don’t find it at all unsettling that you accepted Jeffrey’s marriage proposal because of something Dr. Phil said on national television? Love is a decision. Where does he get this stuff? Will I take a cruise or climb Mount Everest? Shall I fix green beans for supper, or corn? Should I flunk the kid I caught cheating today or call him in and talk to him? Those are decisions. Trust me, love is not a decision.”

“You don’t believe I love Jeffrey?”

“I think you’re fond of Jeffrey, much the way you’re fond of your new living-room rug. Jeffrey is a nice guy. In fact, there should be a law against anybody being that nice, Suzette notwithstanding.”

“What’s wrong with nice?”

Claire gaped. “You chew up nice people for breakfast and spit them out before lunch.”

“How flattering.”

“Come on, Mya. A woman like you hasn’t remained single this long for lack of opportunities. Don’t even try to tell me Jeffrey’s marriage proposal was your first.”

Mya floundered for a moment. “Now I really am flattered, because the truth is, I haven’t had all that many marriage proposals.” She prayed Claire didn’t expect her to be more specific.

“That’s because you almost never let a man close.”

Relieved, Mya said, “Jeffrey is attentive, intelligent, ardent and imperturbable.”

Claire fanned herself with one hand. “You’re making me hot. Tell me something. Why is it that your every description of Jeffrey begins with a vowel?”

Leave it to a high-school English teacher to notice that.

The kitchen door opened, and Suzette stuck her head inside. “Did you talk to her?”