Page 112 of Awaiting

“Don’t take offense when my mother makes her get itfixed. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she’ll use that word. It’s best to just let it go,” Larry told her, sitting down next to his wife. “So, Alex tells me you’re a Ph.D?”

And their conversation went on like that for about thirty minutes. Once they’d gotten to the topic of Henry’s school performance, the door opened, and Alex walked back into the room.

“Oh, wow,” Bexley whispered and stood up on instinct.

Alex was wearing a pair of black pants that hugged her hips perfectly. She had on a button-down white shirt under a tailored suit jacket. Her hair was still down and looked like it had just a little more volume to it but didn’t appear to have any product in it. She looked like a beautiful semi-butch, as she would say, and to Bexley, she looked perfect.

“She’s going to kill you,” Larry said, standing up.

“I don’t care,” Alex replied. “I’m dressed, and the photographer is ready.” She walked over to Bexley and kissed her on the lips. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You look great.” Bexley looked down and noticed the top button of the shirt was undone. “You should button that up, or she’llreallykill you.”

“You like my tattoo. Can you see it?” she asked, smirking down at Bexley.

“Yes. But, Alex…”

“You’re blushing,” Alex noted. “You’ve had your lips on that thing, and you’re blushing?”

“Alex!”

Alex laughed and said, “These photoshoots tend to go on for a bit. If you need to work, you can.”

“Where in the world are my children?!”

Alex’s eyes went wide as a woman’s voice rang loudly in the room. Bexley reached forward and buttoned Alex’s shirt.

“I’m sorry in advance,” Alex told her, turning around. “We’re right here, Mother.”

“Alexandria!”

Bexley closed her eyes tightly from her position behind Alex.

“What have you done to your beautiful hair?”

“I had it cut,” Alex said.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to cut it,” Alex replied.

“It was so beautiful. It’s too short now. You can’t do anything with it. Alexandria, what were you thinking?”

The voice got closer.

“Mum, I wanted to cut my hair. I had it cut.”

“In Kleinland?”

“No, in Wales.”

“Who cut it for you?”

“Adam.”

Bexley wanted to laugh, but she held it in.

“Who is Adam?”

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