Page 145 of If By Chance

“Did they dump a bag of sugar in there?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a cocktail. They’re supposed to be sweet. Live a little.”

“I’d prefer to live without a toothache.”

I grab his cup and put our drinks back on the table. Gripping his tie, I pull it until it loosens, unbutton the top of his shirt, and run my fingers through his hair.

He’s not impressed.

“Lighten up.” I shimmy away from him as the music plays. “Dance.” I kick off my shoes, choosing to slide along the floor with the rest of the children.

“Sock races,” Jay-Jay demands, screaming as he charges toward me.

“I think your dad felt left out last time.” I wink at him. “Come on, Jake. Bet I’ll win.”

I laugh into his arms as he wraps a hand around my waist and carries me to the end of the corridor.

He chuckles against my ear. “Let the games begin.”

***

I’ve never been prouder of these children as I am right now, watching as they cheer for Hannah when it’s her turn to get her hair cut.

“You’re up, Hannah.”

But something isn’t right. The excitement has faded from her blushed cheeks, and she’s clinging to Beth so tight, her knuckles have turned white. My chest cracks open when her chin wobbles and endless tears stream from her eyes.

Beth holds her close and shakes her head. “She doesn’t want to do it. She’s nervous,” she mouths to me as her little girl tries to control her hiccups.

I hold my drink out to Jake. “Can you hold this for a minute?”

“Sure,” he agrees, taking the drink and arching a brow.

I ignore his unasked question and go to Hannah’s side, crouching down until my eyes meet hers. “Hey, sweetie, how are you doing?”

She sniffs and hides behind her curtain of light brown hair.

“You nervous?”

She nods and twists the strands around her finger.

I get it. To anyone else, it might seem silly—being so attached to hair. After all, it will grow back. But I see this little girl. I see the vibration in her shoulders and how she is fighting to keep control of what she can. I see her because I see parts of myself in her fear.

I lost control over a lot of things when I was growing up. My hair was mine. I let it grow because I could. Nobody forced me to cut it, so I didn’t. Ever. Apart from trimming the length, it has always remained long. It became my crowning glory and something I hid behind. Honestly, I still do. It allowed me to stand out and blend in all at once. I didn’t want my circumstances or the rumors to be what defined me. I took control where I could. So, instead of being the girl with an alcoholic mother and a father who couldn’t be bothered to stick around, I became the girl with the beautiful hair. Some part of me carried that reasoning to adulthood.

All the way to this moment, right now, when I look at Hannah and want her to define her life in other ways.

But I won’t force her into another circumstance she has no control over. She needs to know that when she says no, people take it seriously.

Her words mean something.

I hear her sniffles at my side. “I want to keep my long hair, so it will be like yours when I grow up. I want to be beautiful like you.”

Oh, Hannah.

I wipe her tears with the palm of my hand. “Sweetie, you are beautiful and not just because of your hair, but because you’re kind and caring. You’ve got so much more that makes you beautiful in here.” I place my hand over her heart, and she exhales. “But if you don’t want to cut your hair, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But…B-but, Claire,” she stutters, scrubbing the flesh of her palm across her cheeks. “I said I was going to do it. Nobody else’s hair is long enough.”