Lukas

“I’m not trying to just keep everything. You left. I didn’t have a choice, remember?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out.”

I laugh sarcastically. “Stressed out from what? All the fun you’re having with your new girlfriend?”

“Look, this has been hard on me too, Ivy.”

“I’d like to feel bad, Paul, but I can’t because all of this was your choice. The kids and I are the ones who have had to deal with the side effects of your affair.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Ivy. We never used to fight.” I can’t believe he just said that to me. It’s true, though. Paul and I rarely ever fought the entire length of our relationship. We always talked things over calmly and reached decisions together. Neither one of us were ever the type to get mad and yell at each other. It wasn’t until he started to ‘work late’ that the arguing began.

“Isn’t that strange?” I ask him. “We never fought and were always happy together, yet you still had an affair and left.” I know I should stop making comments, but I can’t seem to control myself.

“Ivy, please.”

“Fine. You can pick the kids up the day after Christmas. You’re supposed to have Tommy this weekend. Are you picking him up today from school? He has a bag of clothes with him.” Macy has decided she doesn’t want to spend alternate weekends at her dad’s house, and I’m not making her. She’ll be going to college soon; I can’t be forcing her to spend weekends with Paul and his girlfriend.

“Yes, I’ll be there to pick him up.”

Biting my lip, I’m not sure if I want to ask him what I’m thinking about. “Paul . . . How is Tommy when he’s with you?”

He takes a few long moments to answer me, which fuels my suspicions that I’m not going to like his answer. “Well . . . he seems confused. He asks me to bring him home a lot. He asks me why I won’t come back home. He’s only seven, Ivy, so he really doesn’t understand what’s going on, but I think in time he’ll be okay. Charlene is trying really hard to be nice to him.”

I empty the bag from the beauty store onto the coffee table. “Trying to be nice?” I repeat. “Is it hard for her?”

“She’s not really used to kids. She wasn’t expecting to have a seven year old every other weekend. We’re working it out.”

I want to smack both of them for being so selfish and thoughtless. “She was having an affair with a married man who has two kids,” I say to him, trying to keep my tone calm. “Obviously, she thought, someday, she was going to get you to leave me. What did she think was going to happen to your children?”

“I don’t know.”

“I suppose this is what happens when you date someone so much younger without any children,” I reply, and immediately turn those words around on myself. Would I be getting into the same mess by dating Lukas?

“Charlene likes kids. It’s just a lot all at once.”

Poor Charlene. “I have to run. I have plans tonight, and I have some things to do. Try to remind Tommy to call me before he goes to bed. I like to say good night to him.”

“Where are you going tonight?” he questions, suddenly sounding interested in the conversation, but I’m not going to give him any information about my personal life. It’s none of his business anymore, and I don’t need to hear his negativity. It will just ruin the confidence I’ve worked so hard to build in myself.

“None of your business. Goodbye.” I end the call and immediately notice that I have a text from Lukas on my screen.

Lukas: Knock knock

Me: Who’s there?

Lukas: Orange

Me: Orange who?

Lukas: Orange you glad you’re gonna see me tonight? ;-)

Giggling, I type back.

Me: Yes, I am. You’re a goofball. ;)

His cute text has instantly lifted my mood, something he definitely has a gift for. It’s impossible to be in a bad mood with Lukas around.

I grab all my hair stuff and take it into the bathroom, placing it all on the vanity. I mix up all the bottles, take my blouse off and put an old tee shirt on, comb my hair straight, and then put on the black latex gloves, which remind me of the ones that Lukas uses.

The mixture is thick and a weird reddish-pink color, but the girl assured me this would come out the cool auburn color that I want. Using the little black brush, I start to paint it onto my hair. The front around my face is easy, but when I start to get it on the sides and back, it becomes increasingly difficult to figure out if I’m actually getting all of my hair because my hair is so long and thick. The brush seems useless, so I put it aside and use my fingers instead to spread gobs of the colored goop through my hair. But it quickly becomes sticky, stiff, and weird, making it hard to spread apart. How the hell is my hair ever going to be soft and silky after this? There’s just no way!

I have no idea if I’ve gotten the color onto the back part of my head, so I flip my head upside down and spread more of the mixture with my fingers, panicking at how long this is taking. What if I’ve gone past the half hour? And do I start counting the half hour when I’m actually all done or when I started? I start to cry, thinking I am going to be bald when this is over. Why did I do this? Gray hair has got to be better than this mess.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

I flip my head back up to see Macy standing in the doorway, her eyes wide.

“I wanted to dye my hair, but I don’t think it’s working. I think I’ve missed a bunch of spots, and I can’t tell where, and now it feels all sticky and . . . hard.” I hold out my gloved hands, covered in stray hairs and pink goop. “And I think my hair is all coming out!”

She rushes forward. “Geez, Mom, you totally need supervision!”

I nod, feeling ridiculous. “I’m scared I ruined it. And look at all the strands that are coming out! I think I’m going to be bald.”

My daughter’s sweet side makes an appearance. “Mom, it’s okay. I dye Shelly’s hair all the time. This is normal. Let me just finish it for you.”

I sit down on the toilet lid while she takes over my messy situation. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before,” she says softly.

I reach for a tissue and wipe my eyes with it. “I know. I just didn’t think it would be so hard. The girl at the store made it sound easy. She just said mix this stuff, put it on, and rinse. She never said it was going to get all sticky. I thought it would just go on like conditioner.”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make sure it looks gorgeous.”

“Are you home early?” I ask, not sure what time it is. How long have I been in here messing with my hair?

“No, I get home at two every day. I was worried when I saw your car in the driveway.”

For the first time, I see my daughter as a grown up, easing my fears as she works on my hair, telling me about her day as we wait for the color to process, then walking me to the kitchen sink to rinse the color off.

“Do you think it’s going to look okay?” I ask her, still worried about what color it’s going to be.

“I think it’s going to be awesome, Mom. I’m going to get some cold cream. You have the color all over your neck.” She runs to the bathroom while I wonder what that means. “You’re supposed to put cream around your face and neck because the hair dyes your skin, too,” she says when she comes back.

I’m pretty sure I turn white. “What? Are you serious? The girl didn’t mention that.”

“Yes, it’s all over your face and the side of your neck.”

“Oh, shit. Can you get it off?”

She laughs. “Mom, you never swear. What’s going on with you? Crying and swearing? Dying your hair?” She uses a cotton pad to wipe cream along my forehead. “Is this about Dad? Did something happen?”

I shake my head. “No, nothing happened.”

She continues to scrub at my face and neck. “You have your tattoo appointment tonight, don’t you?” she asks, quirking a perfect eyebrow up at me.

“Yes, so?”

She stands back and looks at me. “I think you’re going to have to take a shower to get the rest of that off, and maybe use some witch hazel. I’ve used that before to get it off.”

“All right.” I look up at the clock to see that its three pm. My appointment is at six, so I still have enough time to shower and eat without being late.

She throws away the cotton and rinses out the sink. “Mom. It’s okay for you to have fun, ya know.”

“Macy-”

She interrupts me. “I’ve seen you smiling at your cell phone. I saw the new clothes in the living room. You don’t have to hide from us. Tommy and I want you to be happy.”

I give her a quick hug. “Thank you, Sweetheart. That means a lot to me. Life is just a little hard right now.”

When I go back to the bathroom to shower, I’m horrified to see that I have dripped the hair dye onto the floor, and some is on the wall and in the porcelain sink. How the hell did I do that? I grab a bottle of spray cleaner from the kitchen and scrub at the splatters, but most of it is not coming off, leaving a faint red stain in several places on the floor and wall. Shit. Paul will freak when he sees this if he wants to sell the house.

I vow never to try to do things with my own hair again. Grey hair seems much safer than this art project I turned my head into. The new color probably won’t even be noticeable.

LUKAS

MY COUSIN STORM IS THE LEAD guitarist of Ashes & Embers, a kick-ass rock band that his brothers and my brother, Vandal, are members of. When Storm found out that I play the violin and the piano, he had this cool idea to add some classical elements with a metal edge to a few songs the band was working on. I laid some tracks with them at the studio for those songs, and agreed to play live with them at the local clubs where they play occasionally.