The Girl I Used to Be by Heidi Hostetter (booksvooks .txt) 📗

Jill turned on her heel and left the bedroom. Outside, she locked the house and got into her car to drive across town.

She knew exactly where she was going, and she hoped they were open this early in the morning. A New You, a hair salon on the back side of the Village Green, looked edgy and interesting. The lobby was a tumble of green vines and flowering plants. The walls were hung with work by local artists, and the music inside flowed out to the sidewalk. It was vastly different from Jill’s regular salon, where the staff had been instructed to greet clients by name, with a benign smile and a chilled glass of Chardonnay. Jill hated Chardonnay.

Behind the reception desk was a woman with cropped hair and a lace of delicate tattoos across her shoulders. As Jill approached, she looked up from her work and offered a smile that couldn’t quite hide the surprise of seeing someone who looked like Jill in this salon.

“Can I help you?” She posed the question as if she were expecting Jill to ask for directions or coins for the meter.

“I want to make a change and I hope you have an opening.”

“I’m not sure. We’re pretty booked up today, but it’s early so let’s see…” The woman ran her finger down the page of her appointment book. “Wow. Okay, that never happens.” She offered a bewildered shrug. “Shasta came in early today and her first appointment isn’t for another hour or so. If you want a change, she’s your girl.”

Delighted, Jill took the appointment.

Shasta projected an air of self-confidence that won Jill over right away. Dark and petite, her braided hair was swept into a colorful wrap. A delicate silver nose ring and a swipe of blue lipstick provided the perfect finishing touch.

Jill settled into the chair while Shasta snapped open an apron and secured it.

Then she stood behind Jill, frowning at her refection in the salon mirror. As she lifted a piece of Jill’s hair, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Chemical?”

“Keratin.”

“Interesting cut. Not one I would have chosen for you.” Her frown deepened as she lifted more sections of Jill’s long hair and let them fall. With a benign smile, Shasta asked, “So what are we doing today?”

“Cut it off,” Jill said simply. “All of it.”

Shasta’s brows lifted. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“How short are you willing to go?”

“I don’t care. I just want to look like myself again.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

Shasta’s smile widened as she practically cackled with glee. “Oh, this’ll be fun.”

The process was expensive but worth it. Shasta had worked Jill in between clients, excited to be part of her makeover. When Shasta finally turned the chair and Jill looked in the mirror, she recognized herself looking back. The cut was short, the color a more familiar auburn, and Shasta had even been able to recover a bit of curl. Jill left the shop feeling hopeful, as if she just might be strong enough to find her way back to the girl she used to be.

A few doors down, Jill spied a thrift shop and a display window filled with warm clothes perfect for the changing weather—soft flannel shirts, cozy sweaters, faded jeans. And it occurred to her that her hair wasn’t the only thing that needed overhauling. With a closet filled with cashmere, tweed, and silk, she dressed more like a matronly senator’s wife than a young woman who hadn’t yet turned thirty. Impulsively, she ducked into the shop and left an hour later carrying a shopping bag filled with clothes that felt authentic.

Twelve

Sunday morning found Jill and Ellie in the bedroom of the Summit house. Ellie had arrived to help early that morning, armed with bagels and coffee. She’d nearly dropped both when she spied Jill’s transformation. Even now, after Ellie’d had a few hours to get used to Jill’s look, she still had something to say.

“I can’t get over it.” Ellie lowered the bundle of hangers she’d been holding and paused to stare at Jill yet again. “You look so different. I mean, you look like yourself again. I hadn’t realized how much you’d changed until today.”

“Yeah?” Jill brought her fingertips to the back of her neck, still getting used to her new cut. “You don’t think it’s too short?”

“Absolutely not.” Ellie shook her head for emphasis. “It’s exactly right. You look like yourself.”

“Thanks, El.”

As Ellie returned to work, Jill allowed herself a smile. It was good to be back.

Packing up Jill’s old life was easier, and faster, than she’d thought it would be. Marc had made it very clear that everything in the house—apart from her clothing and camera equipment—belonged to his company so there wasn’t much she was permitted to take, though even if she’d had the option to take anything, there wasn’t much she wanted.

Within a couple hours, they’d sorted everything in her closet—things she thought she couldn’t live without—into three piles: keep, give away, and sell. The first pile was the smallest, fitting neatly into a few suitcases. The donation pile was larger, boxed, taped, and loaded into Ellie’s car, headed for the women’s shelter. Accessories and cast-off clothing made up the last pile, things Jill had no use for but knew thrift shops would love, so they were off to be sold.

Jill stood, pushing the sleeves of her sweatshirt to her elbows, and surveyed what remained. “There’s still so much here.”

“I had no idea you were a real-life Cinderella. This, for example, is the most exquisite dress I’ve ever seen.” Ellie held up a navy tea-length from Jason Wu. The sleeves and the neckline were a delicate mesh that melted into a sumptuous cloqué fabric, embossed with a darker navy pattern.

“You’d look amazing in that dress, Ellie. It’s perfect for the Brockhurst reception.”

“You think so?” Ellie replied airily as she held the dress against her body and swished the skirt around her calves.

“I do. And if I remember correctly, the dress has shoes to match…” Jill quickly located