Page 76 of Unloved

But Samuel and Rhys? They are unequivocally my home. I’ve never felt more settled, more supported, and more me than I do with them.

Sometimes I think I may have lost my hearing, but I gained them, and there is no sound in the world that I need more than I need them.

When my phone vibrates, I expect it to be Abby giving me shit for my wayward thoughts, but it’s Clem.

What are you doing this afternoon?

I don’t have any concrete plans but Rhys and Lennox will be picking me up from the library soon. Why? Is everything okay?

I’m getting my hair done, and I want you to see it.

Can I not see it when you get home?

But where’s the fun in that?

There’s something going on with her, but I know better than to pry. Clem is the type of person who shares her secrets if you ask; she just never offers them out of her own free will.

I text her back.

Where is this hair salon anyway? Because I’m at UCLA this afternoon.

She pin drops me the location and I see it’s in walking distance from the library. I open up my message thread with Samuel and let him know where to pick me up.

Abby and I will be here after we’re done at the library.

I attach the location and wait for his response.

You didn’t look like you needed a haircut the last time I saw you.

How funny. I’m meeting up with Clem.

Okay, that makes more sense. I’ll see you soon.

When Abby and I finish up with our group, she agrees to come with me to meet Clem at the salon.

So let me get this right, Clem is your foster sister?

Yes, I have one biological brother and three foster siblings. Two boys and one girl.

By nature Abby is very inquisitive, and I find I never have any issues telling her what’s going on in my life. After Rhys’s accidental overdose, she became someone I could depend on for sound and logical advice.

As soon as we arrive at the salon, I take in the nice, swanky place, surprised that Clem is even here. She’s usually a color-in-a-box-from-the-store type of girl.I notice her in one of the chairs, the stylist blow drying her now dark-red hair.

She looks as gorgeous as ever but different, older and more mature.

I let Abby know which one Clem is and type out a text to let her know I’m here.

Your hair is definitely worth the trip over.

She smiles as she reads it and then glances around the place to find me. When she spots me, she waves and then says something to her stylist. They finish up her hair, and both of them walk toward us.

“I never imagined you as a redhead,” I tell her when she reaches me. “But now I can’t see you as anything else.”

She proudly shakes her head from side to side and then splays her right hand against her chest before pulling it away and making her middle finger and thumb come together, signing the word “like.”

“I love it,” I answer. My eyes dart to the stylist, who is just staring at Clem with stars in her eyes, and suddenly I’m heavily transfixed on their exchange. The woman is older, skin a little darker, hair brown but bordering along black.

She leans forward and tucks some of Clem’s hair behind her ear before kissing her on the cheek. When I turn to Abby, she pretends to fan herself and we both laugh, gaining Clem’s attention.

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