Page 5 of Coincidentally Kismet

After all, if he can ditch the shit kickers and Levi’s, maybe I can transform myself a little too. Maybe living a stone’s throw from the beach will help me pass on the fries, opt for a salad, take up running...Who am I kidding? I may be able to change some, but not that much. Honestly, even if I do make some drastic life changes, even more dramatic than moving thousandsof miles from home, no one will take me seriously. No one ever has.

Exhibit A: My mother thinks I’m a glorified shampoo girl and doesn’t understand why I needed space to spread my wings. When I explained moving for this opportunity, she told me all the space I needed could be found in the field out back.

It’s not that she doesn’t love and support me, it’s just that this isn’t what people from my hometown do. Good girls find nice country boys, get married, pop out a half dozen babies, and get on with life. Me chasing this “glamorous” lifestyle is foreign to everyone I know; they don’t get it, or at least don’t want to.

The sullen bartender (Sally, according to her name tag) approaches, tossing a beer-tinged towel down in front of us and placing her hands on her hips before asking, “You two want some food or what?”

I glance at Elliott for reassurance, before expeditiously saying, “We’ll have the peel-and-eat shrimp, please. And I’ll have another.” Sally doesn’t smile or nod, she simply grabs a couple of liquor bottles, pours them into a shaker, and goes to town. With a pointed look at Elliott, she places the drink down in front of me a little too hard before spinning around to hang our order ticket in the kitchen window. Pangs of empathy settle in. I want to tell her I understand. He was being impatient earlier and sought out a new drink from the younger, cuter bartender. It sucks to be the one overlooked. Instead, I shift my focus back to Elliott.

“Sooo...how are things with Michelle?” I ask with probably, no definitely, far too much disdain.

“She’s great, working a lot and getting ready for that trip to Europe.” Elliott has a smile plastered on his face, but as his sister and certified knower of all his moods, I can tell he’s forcing it.

“The backpacking one? With the friend from college who’s supposedly a best friend but you haven’t met them in three years of dating?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yep, Samantha, who I’m going to meet. And you know what, I know you don’t like her but I’m happy, Cam.” The fire-filled reply indicates I struck a nerve.

I roll my eyes at his coy way of hiding what I can only assume is trouble. “Mmmkay, if you say so.”

“Again, I came here on recon for Mom. I’m supposed to be finding out ifyou’reokay. Did you say you’ve been on a dating app?”

I groan. Discussing who I’m swiping left or right on with my big brother doesn’t scream fun for either of us, and to be totally frank, the options themselves aren’t very appealing either.

Option 1: Dude with a big fish he caught.

Option 2: Military bro who thinks he’s God’s gift to women and the country.

Sally returns to deliver a steaming pile of shrimp tossed in Old Bay and dripping with butter. The interruption thankfully gives me a minute to think about how and what I even want to share. Based on my lunch date today, it’s a no to all fishermen for me, and I’m not anti-military, but I just don’t get the appeal after Will ditched me for his dream of becoming the next Rambo.

“Yep, I’m getting out there. So far it’s mostly been gross dick pics from the bros of Tampa and people who are so totally in denial about general aging and how different they look than when they were twenty, but I’m trying,” I say with a half-hearted smile as I lift a buttery crustacean to my lips.

“Don’t you have friends at the salon who could set you up?” Elliott asks hopefully, while wiping his hands on a napkin like a civilized individual.

“Hmm maybe, but if I even hinted that it was fair game, Daveed would force me into shampooing every man that comes through the place. I can see it now...You said you wanted to give them a head rub, Cam,” I deadpan.

I love my brother, but he has no clue the lengths that a hair god like Daveed would go to so he can say he set me up. He takes meddling seriously, which I guess helps when you’re a hairstylist (translation: a therapist who makes people look pretty).

We finish our second drinks and the shrimp in amenable silence. I can tell my brother is getting anxious to leave. I knew it wasn’t going to be a long visit but that sharp pang of sadness still creeps in. After paying our tab and heading out, we make our way to our cars. Elliott hugs me tightly, and it hurts to let go. Seeing him is comforting—he’s my best friend, partner in crime, and confidant in battling our parents. I also know there’s more going on with him than he’s letting on, but if he won’t open up about it, my hands are tied. Reluctantly, I watch him leave, not knowing when I’ll see him again.

I shuffle slowly to my car and duck in. Head against the steering wheel and eyes squeezed tightly shut to keep the waterworks at bay, I make a deal with myself right then and there: I’m going to embrace a whole new Cam. I may not be able to fix my brother’s love life, but I damn sure can fix mine. I’m getting myself a new wardrobe, I’m getting in shape, and I’m getting back on the prowl. If I have it my way, Will is never going to be the leading man in one of my sex dreams again.

CHAPTER 2

CAM

“PLATINUM” - MIRANDA LAMBERT

My feet hurt, my back aches, and I’m pretty sure I can’t feel my fingers anymore. Working in a salon may look glamorous, but I’m here to report, it’s anything but. Today alone, I’ve washed fifteen heads of hair—and I don’t mean just lather, rinse, repeat. There’s an art to giving a proper scalp massage, and a reason Daveed named the shampoo area the Lather Lounge. I’ve candled some ears(gross)and waxed more things than I care to explain. Some things just can’t be unseen!

When I took a chance and moved here, I thought I’d be carefully styling the locks of the Tampa elite, not serving them butter cookies and cucumber water while mixing endless bowls of bleach and cutting thousands of foils. Heaven help me, I can almost hear my mother’s smug remarks about me being a “shampoo girl” all the way from Iowa.

Apprenticeship is part of the gig, though, a rite of passage into this profession. I’m fortunate that I get to train under the best. Daveed is world-renowned, as he likes to remind us whenever we complain about repeating any one of the variousskills he’s taught us. But it could be worse; I could be training under someone far less talented or far less caring.

Training with the best is only the first step to fulfilling my dream, though.I’ve wanted to be in the beauty industry for as long as I can remember. Not because I’m incredibly vain, or even one of those women with a knack for style, but because I truly love the feeling of making others feel good about themselves. Life is hard, and people often are dealing with struggles that can’t be seen or identified at first glance. It’s not always easy to love what you see in the mirror; I know I don’t at times.

When I was about fifteen, my mom’s friend Luanne opened up her own beauty shop in town. A small, three-chair boutique salon catering to women from all the neighboring towns. Luanne needed someone to answer the phone, schedule appointments, and fold towels on Saturdays, and I needed cash to save up for something other than the old farm truck to drive. It was a match made in heaven.

Working those Saturdays gave me one day a week that I could explore my more feminine side, without dirt under my fingernails or hay to bail. It fostered my independence, and I adored listening to all the small-town talk that ran through the place.

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