27
Dany
Four women stand before me bald as badgers. Their heads gleam in the kitchen light. Now it’s my turn.
“Should I be this nervous?” I ask.
Matilda gently pushes me down into the kitchen chair and wraps a towel around my shoulders.
“Nerves are for losers and wusses,” says Cleopatra.
I wink at her and she scowls back. Warmth fills my chest at the wonderful familiarity of that scowl.
Sylvie is in charge of the razor. It’s an electric shaving device that we picked up at the d**g store on the way over.
She comes toward me and the razor starts its low droning buzz. I swallow a mouthful of wine.
The room is delightfully fuzzy around the edges, with a happy muted glow. There’s a pile of hair at my feet, all different shades. Sylvie’s mahogany with streaks of steel gray. Matilda’s ho
