No work calls unless it was an emergency. At least, that was how it was supposed to be. One Sunday night, I found a tiny split end and joked, “Maybe it’s finally time for a trim.” Tessa immediately twisted around.
“No.” “Tess, I’m talking half an inch.” “Nope.” I laughed. “You’re going to have to cut it eventually.” She hugged her hair dramatically against her chest. “Never. You’ll have to bury me with it.” “Tessa!” “I’m serious, Mom.” She was smiling, but I knew she meant it. The next afternoon, my mother-in-law, Nadine, picked her up after school. My husband, Eric, was out of town for work again, and I had a report due before the end of the day. Nadine offered to take Tessa shopping for a new pair of sneakers and then get ice cream. I didn’t think twice. Nadine and Tessa had always been close.
Honestly, sometimes they were closer than I liked to admit. Nadine knew the names of Tessa’s teachers. She knew which girl had stopped sitting with her at lunch in sixth grade. She knew when choir rehearsal ended and which flavor of milkshake Tessa ordered when she was upset. I knew those things too. Or at least, I told myself I did. Around five that afternoon, I heard the front door open.
“Hey, sweetheart!” I called from my laptop. “Did Grandma spend all my money?” Normally, Tessa would’ve shouted something back. Instead, I heard quick footsteps crossing the hallway. I looked up just in time to see her heading for the stairs. She was wearing a huge gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled tightly around her head. It was nearly ninety degrees outside. “Tessa?” She kept walking. I pushed my chair back. “Why are you wearing a hoodie?” “I’m cold.” She
didn’t look at me. That was when I knew something was wrong. Tessa was a terrible liar. Not because she couldn’t invent a story, but because she always stopped looking at me when she did. I followed her upstairs. She was sitting on the edge of her bed when I entered, her knees pulled against her chest. “Tess.” “I’m tired, Mom.” “Look at me.” “I’m fine.” Then I saw them. Tiny brown hairs were scattered across the shoulder of her sweatshirt. My stomach tightened. “Tessa.” She went completely still. “Take the hood down.” Her eyes filled immediately. “Mom, please.” I walked closer. “Whatever happened, you’re not in trouble.”
“You’ll be mad.”
“At you?”
She didn’t answer.
I sat beside her.
“Tess, please.”
For several seconds, she just stared at her hands.
Then she slowly reached up, loosened the strings, and pushed the hood back.
I actually stopped breathing.
Her
hair was gone.
Not cut to her shoulders.
Not even cut into a bob.
The hair that had hung past her hips the night before had been chopped into a short pixie cut around her ears.
It wasn’t perfectly even either. Some pieces were slightly shorter than others, as if the stylist had been working with very little room.
