Entertaining
So the next few weeks passed easily enough. I worked with my friends, rebuilding trust a little at a time. I had a session a week with Dr Lance, usually after school, and while it wasn't pleasant or fun, at least it was enlightening and helpful. The sense of support that I got was a little overwhelming, to be honest. Here was somebody who was not only on my side but helping me to be more complete. She said she didn't want to spoil Thanksgiving, so we held off discussing the implications of my broken ankle til after the holiday, but there was no shortage of other issues to address, it's not like we were going to run out of trauma any time soon. I was really relieved to start at work again and the manager started me figuring out determining what kinds of notions needed to be reordered, as well as staples like interfacing and linings. And I got to sit up front and check people out. I enjoyed seeing familiar faces and talking to new people, and it was just great to be useful again.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I went to get my hair cut after school let out for the holiday. The ends were getting pretty shaggy, and I hadn't had a cut since the accident. We were hosting friends and family as usual and I wanted to look decent. My plan got a bit of a setback when I got to the salon and found that my stylist was overbooked. She was covering a guy's roots, he had quite an elaborate hairstyle, and came over to apologize.
"But not to worry, hon," she said. She might be trying to be nice, but I hate it when people I don't know very well call me that. "We've got a new stylist, she can handle you, you have a pretty basic cut." So she introduced me to Gina, a tall and quiet woman with fantastic cheekbones and spectacular skin so dark it seemed to absorb light, absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was closely cropped and suited her perfectly. Her face was pleasant but not expressive, and I couldn't help feel like she was irritated by my usual stylist too.
"Ok, Lys," she said, draping me after I sat down. "What's with the hair? It's so thick, but frankly, I thing you could do better with some shaping, take a little length off."
"I used to dance ballet," I said. "I needed to be able to put my hair up in a bun." I studied my reflection as she combed it out. "But I can't dance anymore since I broke my ankle. Maybe you're right and I could use a change." Gina put down the comb and selected a lock of my hair, clamping her fingers about six inches from the shaggy ends.
"Ok, given that not dancing probably wasn't your idea, let's not go too wild and crazy here. A big change in hair length can be kind of traumatic, and I don't really want you sobbing in my chair. Hair does grow out, but it's easier to work up to a dramatic change rather than giving you a buzz cut and waiting four or five years for it to grow out completely." I smiled. "Let's try cutting this much off, and how about introducing some layers? It'll give your hair more movement. We could also put a gloss treatment on your hair, bring out your color a bit more."
"Mouse brown isn't the most awesome color in the universe," I pointed out, and was seized by an inspiration.
I got home just in time for dinner, having texted that I was running a little late at the salon. I felt like a million bucks as I went in the house, hanging up my coat and dropping my pack by the elevator for easy retrieval later. There was a rather shocked silence as I crutched into the library.
"Holy shit," Deri said.
"Deri," Dad said absently. "No potty mouth."
Mom looked shocked, but the disapproval I'd been braced for never materialized. She got up and circled me, touching the layers gently. "I am quite surprised, Lys, but this is quite beautiful."
"It's a lot to take in," Dad agreed. "The color really brightens up your face, honey." Gina had bleached my hair a sparkling platinum color, leaving the roots around my face white, then fading that out to a lavender, introducing blue highlights here and there as well, and each layer of hair got progressively darker until the bottom layer was a rich royal purple. Then she'd put in big curls to show off the layers, telling me how to achieve the look myself and suggesting other ways to play with it. All the coloring had taken time, so I'd gotten a manicure as well, only my second professional one, the polish one of the mid purples to match. And I'd come home with a bottle of ultra-strength conditioner since the processing had dried my hair out. But it was so worth it. The final gloss coat made my hair look like living amethysts.
Deri drew a deep breath. "We could consider color for you as well, Deri," Mom said. "What stylist did you use, dear?" Deri smiled, and we went into dinner. After dessert, I went upstairs and took a picture for my friends. It was funny how much lighter my head felt, and this after only a few inches in total length and the layers were removed. The color was divine and I felt really special. Objectively, I wasn't, about half the kids in school had colored hair, and some had pretty wild or eye-popping combinations and cuts. Praise for my new look came in quickly. Justine loved it and Ari wanted to know who did it. I thought about sending the pic to Dr Lance, but she and her husband Mr Queen were coming out for Thanksgiving. Their kids were out of state in college and taking advantage of their brief break to sleep in and goof off and were not going home. I had a hard time with that, but maybe their butler wasn't as skilled as Alan and Alfred?
Deri came into play with my hair and I let her, she's really good with cute hairstyles and I finally felt like my hair merited it. I told her about some pictures I'd seen with black roots that faded into pretty pink ends, pink roots and white hair, or graduations in pink, these could also be done with blues, her other favorite color. Her eyes, blue like Mom's, sparkled. Her hair was dark enough that she might not have to dye it black if that's the route she chose. After she'd shown me how to do a couple of updos, she left to consult with Van and I took a shower, applied the conditioner, and let it sit for awhile before washing it out. The difference was immediate, it was silkier and smoother and just as glossy--that coating took about a month to wear off.
Then I realized that I didn't have any styling aids to produce curls. Dang. I'd have to go out the next day. Meanwhile, I let my hair dry then braided it; it would be pretty and wavy tomorrow.
The next morning I was up early and departed to do my errands before our guests started to arrive in the afternoon. I got the three biggest sizes of Flash Stix, leaving the two smallest sizes. These were hulked-up curling irons; you wound your hair around the stix, hit the button, and the curl was formed instantly, without heat, and lasted perfectly until it was wet. I took advantage of being one of the first customers in the Sephora store and got a makeover as well; my current colors and/or techniques weren't standing up to the new color. I walked away with some new colors and products and felt less like a washed-out mouse.
Dad was working from home in order to greet the guests, and to spare Alan the extra work, took Deri, Van, and me out to lunch. It was a rare outing and fun. On our way home, we stopped by a bakery and picked out a treat each; I had an amaretto eclair. So good. Then it was back home, and our guests started to arrive. Mostly extended family, like Uncle Bucky's brother and sister and their spouses. There were also some incognito superheroes--Black Canary and Green Arrow, the Flash, Aunt Serena and her mom, the Maximoff twins. We had a full house, but no kids to talk to.
After Dr Lance got settled, she came to my room and we had a face to face session, exploring the progress I'd been making. She felt it was good that I had reconciled with my friends and thought my hair both looked great and was an encouraging personal expression, and we decided to tackle the issues created by the kidnapping attempt after the holiday. I had two weeks before finals then, so there should be time to dip my toes into that mess without affecting my grades.
For cocktail hour, I dressed nicer than usual and Deri and I joined our parents in circulating among the guests. Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian arrived with all four offspring in tow; we didn't see Martha and Xander much. Dessert was trifle, which we had at the table, then coffee back in the library.
After a suitable amount of time with the socializing, the party showed signs of breaking up, and Deri and I went upstairs, accompanied by Iris and Miles, who wanted to see our rooms. "Something like this would have been awesome when I was growing up," he said, looking around Deri's room. "Minus the pink, though." Iris guffawed and Deri had fun showing all the hidden storage in the desk and in the stairs to the top bunk. Then we went across the hall into my room and I sat on the window seat gratefully. Deri sat with me while the twins pulled the chairs around and we chatted until Grandma Alex showed up in search of her offspring.
"See, Mom, this is why I want to ditch the dorm next year," Iris said. "If I get a little apartment, Lys can help me decorate it."
"Campus life is so much fun, though," she objected.
"I'll still be on campus almost every day," Iris pointed out. "Meeting people in classes and activities." Grandma stroked the beaded curtain behind the velvet draperies and sighed.
"Well, let's discuss it with your dad," she said. "Housing is still incredibly tight, so you might be disappointed." She smiled at me and stroked my hair. "This is so pretty, Lys. Unexpected and lovely, just like you. I remember when Iris came home with a rainbow colored Mohawk one day." I remembered that too. Although both Grandma and Grandpa recognized her right to free expression, they'd both thought it was hideous, and Iris's head is kind of round, not the best shape for a partly shaved look. Iris had quickly let it grow out once the shock factor wore off.
"They're never going to let me live that down," Iris said, sighing. "It was five years ago!"
"You appalled Alfred," her twin goaded her. "I didn't think that was possible." They started bickering, and Grandma swept them up. We'd be seeing them all the next day.
I'd also invited Imogen. Her foster family was going to their extended family and she hadn't wanted to go too. They were good to her, but she never forgot that she wasn't really family. We'd decided that the risk of a Batman figuring out who she was was very low; her mom had been dead for almost fifteen years and Flores is not that uncommon a name. She seemed to be looking forward to coming out and Mom and Dad were looking forward to meeting her. Dad would drive me into the city to pick her up and return her. I'd offered a sleepover, but I think we were both a little glad she said no; it was a little soon after the whole identity incident. And frankly, I needed a lot of sleep still.
I slept late but that wasn't a problem, as Alan had a breakfast buffet set up while he and Alfred worked on the dinner. About mid-afternoon, Dad and I went to pick up Imogen. I'd been worried that she'd be uncomfortable around my dad, but he just acted like any other dad and she was at ease. He asked some general questions, nothing too personal or probing, then was content to just drive as Imogen and I talked. The family pods had been reworked at Uncle Tony's shop and the undersides had been heavily reinforced along with all the other new safety features (that brought them up to my pod's standard, I must say) so that we could use the aerial route without worry.
At home, I introduced her to Mom and Deri, who was interested in her but more interested in her endless chatter with Van. I gave her a tour, and we ended up in my room. "I can't believe you did this yourself, Lys," she said, running her hand along the draperies. "No offense, it's just so... well done. And we're still in high school. How much was it, if I can ask?"
"About six hundred dollars," I said. "Most of that was the fabric, and I got my work discount on that. I was really lucky that my grandpa helped me with the built-in stuff and the stuff in the attic. But I actually really like second-hand furniture. It seems... more friendly than new."
"That's crazy," she said, shaking her head. "It looks so much more expensive. But so cozy." I pulled a chair around with the footstool so she could have the window seat, and she relaxed as we chatted. It struck me that this was the most time I'd ever spent just one on one with any of my new friends. There was some school talk, but mostly talk about our friends, our interests, what we were doing, all that kind of stuff. The group was going to meet up on Saturday for a movie and we looked up reviews. Then we went down for the cocktail hour, and she took a cider from Alfred with bemusement. This time there were tons of cousins around and I spent most of the hour introducing her. Imogen's eyes opened wider when I introduced cousins Chris and William, both of whom resembled their fathers quite a lot. That much gorgeousness is a lot to adjust to, and they, along with the other cousins, exerted themselves to include Imogen and make her feel welcome. She looked a little dazed, and my favorite aunts, uncles, and grandparents made a point of saying hi too. I wasn't hurt when Grandpa Bruce arrived late, but was glad to see Tabby, who gave me a big hug, admired the hair, and drew Imogen into conversation. I really admire that trait of hers, she can make anybody feel comfortable. Then it was upstairs in the ballroom for dinner, and I noted with relief that Grandpa Bruce was across the room from us. We sat with Grandma Rose, Uncle Tony, Flash, Grandpa Thomas, and Bruce, one of Uncle Tony's three kids. Cousin Bruce was under his dad's thumb because he'd made a mess in the robotics lab. It must have been spectacular, because usually Uncle Tony wasn't that uptight and Bruce had his father's confident, breezy attitude. Aside from my subdued cousin, it was a lively table that included Imogen too without it feeling like they were making a point of it. They were just genuinely curious and welcoming.
Dessert was a selection of pies and cakes, and we had it and the tea and coffee in the ballroom for convenience in serving. Both Imogen and I were practically in a food coma, so after we were finished eating and drinking, Dad agreed to take her home. We had our coats on and were going out the door when Alan appeared and handed Imogen a basket of leftovers. She seemed genuinely touched, and the drive back to her place was quieter than going out had been. She thanked Dad for his hospitality and joked that she'd be digesting until Saturday.
"I'm glad to finally get the opportunity to meet Lys's friends," he said, forgetting that I preferred to be "Anna" around them. "We're glad you were able to come celebrate with us." She and I hugged briefly and we waited until she got inside her building safely, then we set off home. "She seemed really nice," Dad said, turning on the autopilot. "I'm glad you invited her. She seems... I don't know. More focused and disciplined than your friends at the old school. More interested in the world." It was a short drive home, then I talked with the people who were still left. There weren't many, everybody was stuffed and somnolent and had departed for places where they could get into some relaxed-fit clothing and digest. That's what I did too.