Page 3 of Unhurried Hearts

Hardno.

Anything that allowed me to grow into a liberated young woman?

Absolutelynot.

I hip bump Jenny out of the way and greet the bickering mother and daughter.

“Morning, can I help you ladies?”

The mom wraps her arm around her daughter's shoulders and walks her to the front desk.Classic case of a kid who got their hands on a box of bleach and became inspired at 11 p.m. by something they saw on the internet. Hell, I did that when I was twenty.

The mother purses her lips. “Taylor, as you can see, made a verysillymistake.”

“It’s not that bad, Mom.” She adds that extra syllable that kids her age do.

It’s pretty bad.

“We’ve all been there,” I tell the girl.

Looking up from her sneakers, she gives me a shy braces-filled smile. “I watched a tutorial first, but something must have gone wrong.”

“I can squeeze you in, Taylor,” I say.

Jenny sends me a look that says, ‘no you can’t’. I know my schedule is almost full. I ignore her.

“Thank,God.” The mom clasps my hands over the counter like I just told her I got her daughter into a rare drug trial.

“This will take a while, Mom. Why don’t you go run some errands and come back later,” I suggest.

Taylor catches my eye and grins.

I love my job.

***

At closing time, after my station is spotless and I’ve checked tomorrow’s schedule, I walk out onto West Isle’s main street. I breathe in the toasty notes of The Roastery, the coffee shop across the street where I buy my coffee beans. People come and go from the stores on both sides of the road, a mix of locals and tourists this time of year. You can tell which ones are the tourists because they’re wearing insulated jackets and scarves, like they didn’t get the memo that Vancouver Island does indeed have beautifully hot summers. I soak up the sun for thirty seconds, and then I’m at my front door. My commute home is a mere stone’s throw because when the studio condo in the newly renovated building above the salon listed last year I jumped at the chance. The unit is all of four hundred square feet and my bed folds up against the wall, but it’s mine. The tiny mortgage means that I can afford to own the salon, too. Being a business owner at twenty-nine years old feels damn good. Being this independent is a freedom I craved as a sheltered teen. When I want space beyond my narrow slice of balcony, I head to the beach or to Ashlyn and Isaac’s spacious yard. Over the past year, my cousin and her boyfriend have transformed their previously overgrown yard into a veritable oasis. Even with Ashlyn’s meticulous flower garden, the glittering glass greenhouse, and Isaac’s carpentry workshop, there’s plenty of room for me tothrow down a towel, pop in some earbuds, and destress. I bound up the stairs to the third floor two at a time. Getting stuck small talking in a slow-moving elevator isn’t worth it. This building is rampant with bachelors who rent for a year or so and, unfortunately for me, they are generally of the undesirable variety.

“Hey there, Anna!”

I hear a door open down the hall and what’s-his-name from apartment three-zero-something grins. He moved in at the beginning of the month and I’ve lost track of how many times he’s invited me in to ‘hang out’. He catches up to me surprisingly fast, his footsteps silent on the thick hallway carpet, gaze slinking down the neckline of my sweater which makes me consider wearing winter scarves full time.

“Hi.” I half wave with the arm that holds my purse.

He wipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.

“Glad I caught you.”

That makes one of us.

“Yeah, impeccable timing.”

I note that he isn’t wearing any shoes which means he literally came out here just to talk to me. I imagine him camped out next to his apartment peephole waiting for me and barely hold back a grimace.

“I got my surround sound all set up. It’s pretty sweet. You wanna watch something tonight, have a few drinks?”

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“Anna. C’mon. One of these days you have to say yes.”

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