Page 21 of A Simple Regret

Me

Love you too.

I take a deep, calming breath and replace my phone in my pocket. Then, I start loading the washing machine with towels and add detergent. While the unit starts filling, I move to the dryer and find towels that need folding. I told Jenn I would happily keep up with the laundry while my clientele was building, but she insisted it not fall solely on my shoulders. Lila and Jenn both make sure to start a load when the basket gets full, but I still insist on doing more than my share. I can’t just sit around and wait for a customer to come in. I have to do something.

Once the towels are folded and stacked in the cabinet between the washing stations, I stop and finish my coffee—which is cool now—and use the restroom. When I’m done, I’ll do more sweeping, just making sure the reception area is cleaned up and any traces of melted snow is dry.

Just as I exit the restroom, I notice a woman standing at the counter, talking to Lila. My coworker turns her attention toward me and smiles. “Maren, this is Hazel Fitzgerald. She was hoping to squeeze in a hair set.”

“Of course,” I reply, excited for yet another client. “Come on back, Hazel.”

She grins and heads my way, her little legs shuffling as she moves through the room, walking to the washing stations. “I appreciate this. I usually go to Tammy over at the other salon, but she’s canceled my last two appointments. I’ve been going to her for almost twenty years, but she started shifting my weekly appointments around or canceling them altogether to accommodate more clients. Ones who pay her more,” she says as I help her into the chair.

“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply, trying to keep my replies professional. The last thing I want is it going around I’m bad-mouthing the competition.

“Sharon says it’s for clients where she can make more money.”

I turn on the water, making sure it’s a nice, warm temperature before leaning her back. “That’s not right,” I state, ensuring she’s comfortable.

I love these adjustable washing station chairs and sinks. They’re so much more comfortable for the client than the old units, moving easily and providing a more natural fit for your head and sink while sitting in the chair.

“No, it’s not, and that’s why I’m here.” She gives me a beaming smile, and I wonder if she’s new to town. I can’t say I knew everyone when I lived here growing up, but I like to think I did, and I don’t remember her. Clearly she lives nearby, considering she’s been going to her stylist for nearly two decades.

“Well, let’s get you washed up,” I tell her, getting to work. I make sure to spend an extra couple of minutes gently massaging her scalp. Even if she’s only here one time, I want Hazel to have a great experience at this salon. Then, maybe in the future, she’ll return when she needs another wash and set.

“That was lovely, dear,” Hazel says when I wrap a towel around her head.

“I’ve always thought the wash and massage were the best part of a salon day,” I reply with a wink.

“Oh, I’m sold,” she agrees with a chuckle.

Carefully, I help her stand and we make our way to my chair. I engage the lock so it can’t move from side to side and ensure she’s comfortably and properly seated. Then, I grab a cape and prepare to set her hair.

“What size rollers do you prefer?” I ask, pulling my container off the shelf.

“The small ones, please. I think they’re half inch.”

I nod and start removing the rollers. Once I have everything set, I get to work. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve done a roller set, but it comes back to me quickly. At the salon I worked at before I relocated here, I didn’t have any older clients, so it wasn’t part of my regular schedule. I did, however, do one or two while filling in for another stylist, but that’s about it since cosmetology school.

“You’re new here, huh?” Hazel asks as I work through her hair.

“I am new to the salon, but not exactly new to Cooper Town,” I reply, securing a roller.

“Well, that’s nebulous,” she replies with a mischievous grin.

I chuckle at her reply, mostly because I haven’t heard that word since high school English class. “I’m from here, born and raised. When I graduated from high school, I moved away and went to school. I moved back very recently and started working here,” I tell her, again, keeping it a bit on the vague side but trying to give a bit more.

“Who are your parents?” she asks.

“Adam and Hillary Holm.”

“Oh! Yes, I remember them. Your mother worked at City Hall, right?”

I nod. “She did,” I reply. I always thought it was cool to visit my mom at work because the building was old and had tons of rooms and hallways and places to hide, but she hated it. Maybe hate is too extreme of a word, but I always remember her bitching and complaining about it. She was constantly getting yelled at by citizens who had issues with the water bills or ordinances or whatever else they could complain about.

“I thought so,” she replies with a decisive nod. “I live in Portwood, but I’m here almost daily.”

Portwood is a tiny little village about five miles away. They have a gas station, grain elevator, and houses, and that’s it, so when they need to do any sort of shopping, want to dine at a restaurant, or need a service, they come to Cooper Town.