Molly - Sarah Monzon Page 0,9

Betsy accused. “Jocelyn basically has to have a separate budget for hair products. She has more moisturizing products for her hair than we probably do collectively for our skin. If I don’t wash my hair every other day it gets super greasy and oily, but Jocelyn has to worry about hers drying out and getting brittle. And whereas it takes me about five minutes to wash and condition my hair, hers is so thick she has to shampoo in segments. And that’s just the washing. Then there’s the drying and styling.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “I had no idea.”

Betsy gathered her curls back at her nape and controlled them once more with the help of an elastic band. “No worries.”

“Speaking of hair…” Nicole’s gaze swung around the living room, settling on me. “I need a guinea pig.”

“For hair?” I needed her to clarify.

She huffed. “Yes, for hair. Sheesh. You’d think a group of independent women would be more adventurous in trying new things.”

When the last new thing she wanted us to try happened to be homemade granola bars made with cricket flour, one got a little less adventurous. I didn’t care how much protein was packed in those little bodies or how much better it would be for the environment if everyone stopped consuming cows, I didn’t want to eat Pinocchio’s conscience.

“Besides, I’ve officially gone completely vegan. You all can be animal murderers if you’d like, but I can’t have the deaths of innocent lives on my conscience.”

I wanted to say more juicy burgers for me but kept my mouth shut. No one was more passionate about issues than Nicole, and I had to admit that I admired her for her stand. Not that I didn’t care about climate change or the shrinking of both rainforests and glaciers or human rights violations in countries I’d never heard of before. I cared about all those things. I just found I didn’t have the same amount of energy that she possessed to fight and actually make a difference.

My focus pulled more toward raising and educating the next generation so they could be better caretakers of Earth than our forefathers were. Course, I didn’t want her to think I was a heartless animal assassin either. And if the experiment centered on hair, there wasn’t much of a risk. Nicole could be called a wizard of a stylist.

“Fine. I’m in.”

“Great! I just got this new non-toxic, plant-based dye I want to try out, and your blonde color will be perfect to absorb it.”

I grabbed a towel from the linen closet and draped it across my shoulders before settling on the floor in front of her. She gathered the dye from her bag and deposited the non-chemicals on a side table. Amanda picked up her scissors and resumed cutting out a pattern.

“What are you working on?” I asked. Amanda and Betsy didn’t do much actual sewing but were happy to make mocktails, cut patterns, and pick out any stitches the rest of us needed unpicked when we’d made a mistake.

She retrieved a packet from beside her and handed it to me. A Vogue pattern of a long, flowing maxi dress. Elastic around the top to wear off the shoulders. Very Bohemian. Very Jocelyn. “Nice. Has she chosen material yet?”

Betsy held up a light lavender fabric. The color would complement Jocelyn’s warm tawny skin tone and the flowy-ness would allow her to relax after she ridded herself of the hated suits she wore for work.

Nicole parted my hair and used a claw clip to keep the strands she wasn’t ready for separated. She massaged some sort of liquid onto my scalp. No chemical scent burned my nostrils, and the firm strokes felt divine.

“Did I tell you guys Sierra wants to start playing soccer?” Nicole asked, her voice strong over my shoulder.

“So you’ll be an official soccer mom, huh?” Betsy grinned. “Time to get a minivan.”

I could practically feel Nicole’s glare behind me.

“Bite your tongue. You know I’ll never drive one of those polluters.”

“Seriously though, if she wants to practice, I could help. Futbol is practically a way of life for Argentinians. Lionel Messi anyone?”

“Who?” Amanda set the scissors down and picked up the container of straight pins from the coffee table.

“You seriously don’t know who Messi is? Diego Maradona? Gabriel Batistuta?” At Amanda’s blank look Betsy threw up her hands. “¡Hala, venga! Look, I know you’re used to working with baseball players, but you really need to broaden your sporting horizons. Pretty soon America will catch on that

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