That evening when I walk into the kitchen, my mom looks up to greet me with her usual, "Hi. How was your day?"
She looks back down at the newspaper, not expecting a reply. I actually see her hesitate and her mind rewind. She looks up again and pulls her eyes together as if the harsh kitchen light is playing tricks on her eyes. A deep frown furrows her brow, as she asks carefully, "Your hair?"
My hand comes up to my hair. I love the way the ends brush across my fingertips. I say nothing though, as I wait for the explosion of fury.
The night before, I was already in my room when she got home and the one time when she looked into the room to ask me if I already had dinner, my room was dimly lit, so she did not notice my drastic hair transformation.
She stands up from her chair and walks closer to me. She lifts her hand and takes a strand of my hair between her fingers. As if touching it will confirm her suspicions that it has gone from light brown to midnight black.
" Why Heather? You had the most beautiful hair. You cut it as well!" She exclaims as if she just notices it.
" I felt like a change. Black suits my mood now."
She clicks her tongue. "Silly girl. Do you know how difficult it is to get black out of your hair again? I'll have to take you to see Anna tomorrow."
Anna is her hairdresser and gossip buddy. They meet every second weekend so that my mom can get a touch-up on her roots and a catch-up on her gossip.
Trying to avoid going to see Anna and have her change my hair, which I have grown to love, I say without thinking, "Dad is coming tomorrow."
Her face drops instantaneously. Her eyes cloud over with sadness, as she pulls her shoulders square and steps away from me. "Oh, yes. I forgot about that. How hungry are you?"
She dishes up our dinner and then for the next few hours I pretend that this Friday is still the same as it always used to be. My mom and I are watching Gossip Girl, our dinner plates balancing precariously on our laps while we eat silently. My dad is working late as usual.