Page 130 of Promise Me Sunshine

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The talent showended early, so it’s only sixp.m.I decide to take myself on a date. There’s a Thai food place in the East Village I used to love, so I take a chance and head there.

I’m on the train, sandwiched between strangers, hands over my face and awash in unadulterated joy. As long as I live, I’ll never forget the look on his face as he diligently executed a body roll on stage. In a ruffled shirt.

This man doesn’t even two-step and yet…

He did that for Ainsley. To show up for her. To be her uncle.

I think of him yanking me out of that dance party this summer. How nervous he was, how uncomfortable he was to be asking for my help, to offer his. And then he demanded I wake him up in the night if I needed him. He schlepped himself to Cody’s wedding and endured the awkwardness. He forced himself to learn an entire choreo just to make hisniece feel supported. Does this man ever take the easy way out? No. Not ever.

The only way out is through.

Miles survived his own hell and learned that lesson. It’s the hard way or bust for him. There’s no discomfort he won’t push through to just keep on living and living well.

I glance up to check which stop the train is pulling into, and I get an idea. I’m one stop ahead of the Thai restaurant, but I dash off the train anyhow, coming aboveground among cocktail bars with outdoor seating and gargantuan heaters.

I run a block and skid to a stop in front of the giant window with stick-figure people painted in a big pile on the glass.

I laugh because it’s still here, because it hasn’t changed at all, because it’s open at six-thirtyp.m.

The only other time I’ve ever been here, I was twenty. Lou and I chose this spot out of all the other hair salons in the city solely because of its name. I step forward and trace the lettering with my finger, the pile of stick figure people tumbling out into cursive. Spaghetti Head, it reads. Perfectly ridiculous. Perfectly wonderful.

I duck into the small shop. There’s no one there at first, but a woman sticks her head out of the back at the sound of the bell.

“Sorry, but I was just about to—” She steps out fully from the back and puts her hands on her hips. “Hey. I’ve cut your hair before, haven’t I?”

Her shop hasn’t changed, but she sure has. The last time I saw her she had straight blue mermaid hair. Today she’s got a curly brown shag and enormous hoop earrings.

“Good memory,” I say. “A long time ago. My friend and I came in to shave our heads together.”

Her eyes narrow in thought, and then widen in recognition. “That’s right. She had gorgeous hair. Red.”

“Yes,” I say with a nod. “She did.”

“Cancer, right?”

I nod again. “We came in when she started losing her hair from chemo.”

She walks toward me thoughtfully and purposefully. She gently picks up a hank of my hair and studies the ends. “You haven’t cut your hair in…”

I clear my throat. “About five years. When her cancer came back, she shaved her head again. But she asked me to keep mine. To let it grow.”

Her eyes track up to mine. “And now you’re here to cut it off.”

“I can’t just let it keep growing forever,” I say quietly.

She gives me a laborious sigh, meant to make me laugh, and bustles me toward one of the chairs. “I hope you tip well, I’m skipping dinner for you.”

“You got it.”

The bell dings, and a man ducks into the shop.

“No,” the hairdresser says simply. “I’m busy.”

He cowers back out to the street.

If I wanted a gentle touch for this, I’ve come to the wrong place. But who wants gentle? Hard way or bust, Lenny.The only way out is through.

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