Page 19 of Dear Pink

Mom grips my sister’s hand, holding her in place. “Oh, no you don’t,honey.”

“Thanks for dinner, Ma.” I run out of the dining room and through the kitchen, dropping my plate in the sink.

Gina waits at the bottom of the stairs. “How did you survive the blind date from hell?” she asks.

“Mister Seymour Whiskers set us cool cats free.”

“You’re weird.”

“Not as weird as you think.” I blow her a kiss, telling her I’ll see her soon, and walk out the door, humming the theme song toPirates of the Caribbean.

Chapter 5 - Hannah

2. Okay, this is a big one, but you have to race in the Hotter’N Hell. Yes, you’ll have to train. Damn, you might have to learn how to ride a bike. (I don’t know if you’re decent on a bike. How crazy are those apples?) I always wanted to do this race, and I ran out of time. You must ride the full 100. Do it for me and may the best cyclist win.

I close my email screen and stare at Google’s search engine cursor. Hotter'N Hell? What does that even mean? I type the name of the race into the search and wait while the screen loads with hundreds of results:a Texas rite of passage, endurance ride, deaths. What the what? She wants me to participate in a race where people die year after year? A race where they regularly throw people into tubs of ice from overheating. A race where people in great shape suffer from heart attacks after crossing the finishing line in over 100-degree temperatures.

I click on the official race website and read: “Hotter'N Hell Hundred is the oldest and largest cycling event in the nation. Over 13,000 riders from across the globe come to Wichita Falls, TX for four days of challenging and inspiring activities.” I almost spew the coffee from my nose. She wants me to ride in a 100-mile bike race in three months’ time? I haven’t been on a bike in years. I’ve never ridden a bike more than five miles straight in my entire life. We don’t ride bikes in Dallas. We drive.

I check my watch. In fifteen minutes, I should be sitting in my basement cubicle. Grabbing my car keys, I glance in the mirror one last time. I blink and focus on the vision before me. I styled the cropped haircut as Gretchen did at the salon. The pink highlights compliment my new fitted blue jacket and cropped skinny pants. I’m glad I let Tina talk me into these. I’m ready to rock my new look.

***

The elevator doors open and Maude turns from her cubicle chair, wearing her puffy office coat. “Hello? May I help you?” she asks in her authoritative voice, adjusting her gloves. “Are you searching for someone on this floor?”

“Uhh.” I screw up my face. She frowns and presses me further.

“This is the editorial department,” Maude says, pinching her lips together.

“Uh-huh.” I bite my tongue not to laugh.

“May. I. Help. You. With. Something?” She speaks slowly, articulating each word as if I speak another language and it will help me understand her.

“You’re funny.” I can’t keep from grinning now.

“Pardon me?” Maude’s nostrils flare.

“Maude? Really?”

“Hannah?” She stumbles backward for a second and lurches forward to examine me closer. “June, come quick. Check out our girl.” Maude drags me by the elbow to June’s cubical. Family photos, collectible angel figurines, and motivational plaques clutter her desk. How does she work around the disorder?

June jumps up, and her flaming red lips widen into a smile over the cubicle wall. “Hannah, your makeover is incredible. You were attractive before, but darling, this is fresh and young. I love the pink streaks. Did you visit Curl Up and Dye?”

I spin in place, relishing the praise before plopping into my cubicle chair. “I did. You were spot on. Gretchen has an excellent eye.”

“Good for you. You’re beautiful.” June leans over to get a better view. “And are those new clothes, honey?”

“I went shopping for a few items.” Well, more than a few, but she doesn’t need to hear about my drunk shopping spree.

“They are a perfect fit for your petite frame. You’re a whole new Hannah, one with style. We might get you a date yet,” June says.

My face grows hot. “Didn’t realizewewere working on getting me a date.” I flash to Jerk-Off-Jack and a queasy feeling gurgles in my stomach. “Don’t want one of those.”

“And why not? You’re young and adorable. Any man would be lucky to have you, makeover or not.”

June peers at Maude for backup, but Maude’s expression isn’t playful. “Now that you don’t look like a spinster from the 1800s, you should put yourself out there,” she says.

I ignore her snarky comment. “Thank you both, but I’m uninterested in dating.”

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