Page 93 of Wanted

I cut a few more times until I reach a hard-to-see spot. That’s when I pass the scissors to Reese. She finishes cutting the back of my hair while I hold a handheld mirror, watching as she cuts.

Ms. Elsie stands at my side, holding my hand as if she knows I need reassurance. It feels silly, but I do. I squeeze her hand and she gives me one of her signature smiles.

My chest warms and I have the silly notion of feeling comforted by these two women. One I just met today and the other only a few weeks ago. Yet, they already feel like an indelible part of my life. My heart aches a little at that thought.

What if I don’t shift tonight? What if I’m not what everyone thinks I am? Will I disappoint them? Most importantly, will Chance be disappointed?

If I don’t, does this mean that all of this was just an odd deviation in my life? I’ll return to New York to continue the life my parents have outlined for me.

The thought brings a tightness to my chest.

An image of Chance emerges in my mind’s eye. Something inside of me pains immensely of the idea of leaving him behind. Of not being with him. It doesn’t make sense the incredible pull I feel toward him. There aren’t words to describe it.

Then there’s the amazing people I’ve met in his pack. The women who don’t give me odd looks for being a stranger. Ms. Elsie and now Reese who don’t judge how I decide to style my hair or think I’m strange for not being made up at all hours of the day.

Ms. Elsie and a number of the older women actually encourage my interest in their pack’s history. They want me to continue my exploration through creating a living timeline of their pack’s history. There’s no chastisement for ‘playing in rocks’ or anything of the sort.

“Oh no! Did I pull on your hair too hard?”

The concern in Reese’s tone brings me back to the present. I look into the mirror to see my eyes are watery.

I immediately blink my eyes to push the tears away.

“No, nothing like that,” I tell her. “I was just thinking. It’s nothing.”

I stand from the stool since Reese finished cutting and styling my hair.

“Are you sure?” She peers at me with a wrinkle in her forehead.

I go to tell her the truth. That I’ve never felt more comforted or accepted by people in my entire life. Never more welcomed, not since the death of my birth parents.

But then Reese moves her hand to her belly and that’s when I remember she’s pregnant.

I push the stool her way. “Please sit. You’ve been on your feet, doing my hair for over an hour.”

She tries to wave me off, but I insist.

“Seriously, I have more energy than I should at this stage of my pregnancy.” She’s in the early stages of her second trimester. “Chael says it’s because our baby boy is giving me strength.”

“It’s a boy?” I ask, excitement filling my tone.

She nods as she grins from ear to ear.

“It’s almost time for me to get lunch started,” Ms. Elsie says.

We both start to rise to help, but she waves us off.

“Don’t either one of you move,” she says in a voice so stern that Reese and I stop in our tracks. “Preparing meals for my pack is my job and one I take pride in. Neither one of you will take it from me.”

She smiles as she says this, but a thread of seriousness underlies her tone.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You two keep talking. I’ll let you know when lunch is ready.” She waves as she exits the bathroom.

Reese and I both watch as she exits, closing the door behind her, leaving us to talk.

“She reminds me of my Nana,” Reese says with a smile.

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