Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
“Well, think about the brush under the peach towel,” I said. “And the clinic brochure.”
“You think she is losing her hair,” he said.
“I think she is hiding something she does not want us to see,” I said.
He rubbed his collarbone, his eyes dark in the twilight. “We cannot just let her go through this alone, Clara.”
“Your mother is the one who should be here helping her,” I said.
“My mother is ignoring it,” he said, slamming his car door shut.
We got into the car, the silence between us heavier than before.
The peace we had felt during the early weeks of planning was entirely gone.
We argued all the way back to our street about how much we should push her for the truth.
“It is her privacy,” Mason said as we climbed the apartment stairs.
“It is her life, Mason,” I said.
He did not answer.
Once inside, he sat on the sofa with his phone in his hand, his thumb hovering over the screen.
He was staring at his phone, waiting for his mother to call him back with information.
