Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
He moved the clippers to the right side of my head, his touch incredibly light as he cleared the hair from around my ear.
The cool air of the Grand Oak Ballroom hit my bare scalp for the first time, a sudden, surprising chill that made me shiver.
“Almost done,” Mason whispered, his fingers steadying my chin.
He made one last pass down the back of my head, clearing away the small baby hairs at the base of my neck. He clicked the switch on his clippers, and the high-pitched drone died instantly, leaving the room in a silence so deep I could hear the hum of the ice machine in the corner of the hall.
We stood there in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by a wide circle of dark hair that lay like a ring on the polished wood.
I looked past Mason’s shoulder toward the head table.
Evelyn was sitting with her hands flat on the white tablecloth, her face completely pale under the warm chandelier lights. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyes wide as she looked at my bald head and then at her son’s. She looked as though she had been struck dumb, her fingers frozen near her silver salad fork.
