Page 16 of Written in the Oceans

“Here, sit down. What do you think about curls? Like, soft curls to make you look like an old Hollywood starlet,” she says with wistful eyes. She’s envisioning the look she has in mind for me, and I know she has high hopes. I don’t want to break it to her that while she might be imagining an overall sexy, glamorous look, I would probably only be able to deliver a slightly better version of what’s in front of her.

I comply and pull out my swivel chair from my desk to sit, facing the mirror as she digs through her large overnight bag filled with every cosmetic product known to humankind. She begins brushing through my hair and plugs in her curling iron, then sections off chunks of my hair to make it easier to work with. Her expression turns serious as her head bobs up and down behind me.

“Wes talked to me about moving to Australia with him.” She says it so casually, I quickly turn to look at her to make sure it isn’t some random joke.

I can’t believe what she’s saying.Australia?She would be so far away. “What’s in Australia?”

“Wes’s job is opening up a headquarters there, and his boss asked him if he would be interested in starting it up.” She says all this so nonchalantly, it’s almost as if she isn’t even serious about it. But I know Claire. She wouldn’t be bringing this up if she wasn’t even remotely considering it.

“And you want to go? What about Paramount?”

Her shrug is subtle as she tries to remain indifferent. “I’m not even in yet. I don’t know what’s going to happen after graduation.”

I look at her through my full-length mirror, her focus fully on the back of my head. All glee has left her face as she focuses with pensiveness. This has been on her mind for a while, and she wears the worry from it all over her face.

“Are you worried he’s going to break up with you if you don’t go?”

She sighs at my question, evidently worried that she may lose this man that she has come to love over the last three years. They met when Claire was a freshman and Wes was a senior. He majored in finance and quickly found a job with a large finance company in the heart of Los Angeles. Its headquarters is here, but now it looked as though they planned to expand.

“I guess. I mean, if he wants to go without me, I can’t stop him.”

She reaches for her curling iron and lightly taps the wand to check the heat. She begins meticulously curling sections of my hair and pinning them to my scalp, working her way from the bottom up. I remain compliant as she continues to work on my hair and I start on my makeup. I keep an eye on her, ready to offer whatever advice I can give. At the very least, I can listen to her, be a welcoming ear to talk through her situation.

I look at her through the mirror. Her expression is serious, and she catches my eyes.

“Claire, whatever he chooses, you guys are going to be okay. I can’t imagine him just throwing away a life you two built over the years without thinking twice about it.”

“I know,” she answers while focusing on wrapping my thick hair through the rod of the curling iron and letting it fall in her hand carefully.

She smiles at me. “Sit still before I mess up your hair. Otherwise, you’re going to end up looking like Bellatrix Lestrange when I’m done.”

I burst out into laughter, imagining myself with hair like the crazed aunt of a blonde-haired bully.

EIGHT

RHYLAN

Once I’m showered and dried, my hands swipe side to side on the foggy mirror in my en suite bathroom to create small, streaked reflections of myself. The air is still thick and warm from the hot water that I just stepped out of. I don’t have any big pre-premiere ritual, no glam squad to primp and pamper me. Instead, I simply towel dry my hair, run some pomade through it, and dress in whatever designer outfit Shana picks out for me. In interviews, I’ve been asked how I coif my hair so perfectly in the right places. The same insignificant, unoriginal questions that I get asked and laugh through politely. I say it’s a secret while I know all I do is create some friction with a terry cloth towel.

My phone lights up and vibrates, the thrumming off the counter echoing loudly against the tiled walls.

“Hello?” I answer, my voice worn and tired.

“Hi, Rhylan.” My mom’s voice rings through the receiving end. Her reassuring voice makes my chest tighten, homesickness taking over me. “The premiere’s tonight?”

I clear my throat before I speak, covering the wavering in my voice. “Yeah, I’m heading out in a bit.”

“Oh, I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

“Yeah. Is Dad there?”

“He’s here.” She laughs. “Just puttering around in the garage, working on that ancient car of his.”

I smile, imagining my dad hunched under the hood of his old Corvette. The same Corvette that he taught me how to do an oil change and replace spark plugs in. The same one that persuaded me into finding my own classic car, something to remind me of home.

“I miss you guys.” My voice finally gives, cracking at the sentiment of missing my parents and everything that represents my former life.

“We miss you too.” Her voice is soft and comforting, everything I need right now. I just don’t realize it until I hear her say those four little words letting me know that my absence is noticed and there are still some remnants of the son I used to be.

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