The familiar sting of old memories watered down my eyes. “Yeah, she did.”
“Okay, so new hair for a new you,” she moved on, allowing me to close my eyes and collect myself. “You don’t go out a lot because of the disorder though. A haircut won’t change that.”
“I didn’t say it would.”
“Why do you want to be different then?”
“I don’t want to be different, per se…” How could I explain it when I wasn’t sure I got it myself? I froze momentarily when I felt the blades rise to a lock of my hair. They closed, snipping off a long chunk.
Sensing my reaction, Tiffany walked in front of me with her brows raised. “For some reason you trust me, right?”
I met her eyes. “I trust you not to make me look homeless.”
She snorted. “Tit for tat. You’re right about me being interested in cosmetology when I was younger. Hair, nails, you name it. I liked making people feel pretty using what they already have. So, I get it. What you’re doing. It’s about enhancing how you feel about yourself. Cutting your hair is like starting over, right?”
Maybe she did get it. “Right. I’m thinking about going back to my normal color too.”
“Okay.” Moving back around me, she carefully evened out my hair before snipping off more. The weight eased from my scalp with every passing minute and I refused to look to the floor where my hair rested. “Do you struggle with it? Your disorder?”
“Every day.”
“But you haven’t…?”
My throat bobbed. “Not in a while. That doesn’t mean I’m not tempted. Some days it’s easier to fight than others. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how easy it would be to just go back to what I used to do. To not eat. To…” Letting my words trail off, I shook my head.
“Do you think this will help? You said you had steps you were following. What’s the endgame for you?”
What’s my endgame? That was a question I hadn’t asked myself in a long time. Maybe never. “Would it be wrong if I said I don’t know? It isn’t like I don’t have goals—”
“Fine. What are they?”
I paused. “To be happy. To be…healthy. Or as healthy as I can be given what I’ll be facing for the rest of my life. I just want…” Theo came to mind, making heat creep up the back of my neck. Squirming, I said, “I just want to be the best version of myself I can possibly be.”
When she didn’t say anything, I wondered what she was thinking. I didn’t want her to pity me. That wasn’t who she was. I preferred her talking smack, trying to pressure me into dancing, anything but what was possibly going through her head that sympathized with me. “What else do you want to do besides get a new ‘do? Tell me the other steps.”
Grateful, I smiled. “My art professor suggested that I do a figure drawing class. It’ll be the most uncomfortable thing for me to do.”
“Drawing naked people?”
Clearing my throat, I said, “Being the naked person people draw.”
“Oh. Oh.” She stopped again. “Does she know about what you’ve been through?”
“That’s why she thinks it’s a good idea.”
“Body positivity,” she realized, almost sounding awed by the idea.
I hummed and did nothing else.
“Yoga.”
My brows pinched. “What?”
Sighing, she moved on to the other side of my hair. “You have to come to yoga class every week. No skipping unless it’s necessary. If you don’t show up, I know where you live now. I’ll drag you there myself.”
“But why?”
She appeared in front of me again, a hand on her hip. “If you want to take her advice, you need balance. That means trying. Go to yoga every week, find a routine. Put yourself in the mindset with your new badass haircut and build yourself up to a point where you can be more comfortable putting yourself out there.”
I licked my lips. “That sounds easier said than done.”
“Nothing worthwhile comes easy. How many people have told us that growing up? I’m fairly sure I heard your own mother tell you that during practice a time or five million.” My mother was full of wise advice that I held onto, so Tiffany was right. Until she added, “And you’re dancing again.”
My eyes bugged out. “Whoa. Wait—”
“Not for Judith or anybody else.” That shut me up. Well, that and the narrowed look she gave me that told me to let her speak. “You’re going to come to my private studio and we’re going to dance like I originally offered, except I’m not giving you a choice this time.”
“But—”
“No. Routine, remember? Yoga is a first step. A baby step if you will. It’ll get your mind to calm and center your focus. Dancing will help you get back out there again and start recognizing your body for what it is. Plus, you can’t tell me you’ve never danced since walking away. I wouldn’t believe it.”
I wasn’t going to admit I’d found myself moving to old routines we’d practiced or turning on music here and moving my body to the beat, or even slow dancing at the warehouse with Theo, something I desperately wanted to repeat just for the sake of being held by him and caressed by the melody. “But I don’t want to, Tiffany.”
“Why?”
I said nothing.
“I’m not finishing your hair until I get a valid answer. Don’t think I won’t make you walk around looking like you lost a fight to a chainsaw. Feel me?”
My lips twitched.
“So?” she pressed.
I debated my options and met her eyes realizing I didn’t have any. So, I admitted for the second time in one day what I’d held in for a long time. “It’s the mirrors.”
Her head cocked. “The mirrors?” When I nodded, she considered the answer, studying me like she was trying to figure out my tells. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. That’s good.”
“I’m confused.”
She snickered and went back to my hair, clearly accepting my answer for what it was. “If it’s just that, it’s a fixable problem I can actually help with.”
Again. I was silent.
“Think about it,” she prompted. “Your endgame, subconsciously, is doing that drawing class as a nude model. Which, by the way, badass. That would be nerve wracking for anybody. But if you get back on that dance floor, in front of the mirrors, and work out those feelings, you’ll be better for it. You’ll get used to accepting your body again. It’ll take time, Adele, like everything does.”
It made sense, more than I wanted it to. So, for the rest of the haircut, we were silent while I considered it with a heavy conscious. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but welcoming.
Eventually, she started humming like she was enjoying herself and I figured it had something to do with her victory considering I didn’t argue.
After she told me to look in the mirror when she was finished, I touched the ends of my new short cut and smiled at my reflection. It lasted longer than normal. When I came back out and saw her sweeping the floor despite her protests before, I smiled wider because…