rule, I want to look spotless when I see Gigi. I try to smooth out my wrinkled dress, but it’s no use. I finger-comb my wig’s bangs again and climb Gigi’s front steps, dragging my suitcases behind me and hoping for the best.
I ring the buzzer, and there’s the sound of feet shuffling down the hallway. After a moment, where I assume Gigi is peeking through her peephole, the door opens, and she appears.
She’s dressed in a white linen suit, wearing a pearl necklace with pearl earrings to match. It looks like she’s ready for a fancy evening out. But she’s not. Gigi never leaves her house.
I take off my sunglasses, and I can barely finish saying, “Hi, Gigi—” before she pulls me inside and wraps me in the tightest hug of my life. Suddenly, I’m a little kid again, coming to spend the day with her, and I feel a little less alone. I’ve missed her.
“I was so worried about you,” she says when she pulls away. “When you said you couldn’t find Mr. Gabriel, I was afraid that he accidentally went to LaGuardia.”
Even when frantic, Gigi somehow manages to look composed and pristine. Her hair is gray now, but it’s still thick and freshly curled. She smells like Chanel No. 5 and … fried chicken? Actually, it smells like fried chicken all over.
“Come, come,” she says, motioning for me to leave my suitcases in the foyer. I slide off my platform sandals and leave them at the door before I follow her down the hall to the sitting room. I step gingerly onto her cream-colored carpet, and she sits down on her cream love seat, patting the empty space beside her. Everything in Gigi’s house is cream, from the furniture to the walls. She says it makes her feel calm. Even her two Persian cats, Mark Antony and Cleo, are sort of cream-colored. They’re glaring at me from across the room as we speak.
“I’m glad to know that your phone is working,” Gigi says, eyeing me. “I haven’t heard from you in quite some time.”
“I know.” I look down, a wave of shame rising up inside. “I’m sorry.”
She leans closer and quietly says, “How have you been? How are you feeling?”
“Not great.” I look back up at her calm face, and she looks so sad. Sad for me.
“I know you’ve had a rough time, baby. But it won’t be like this forever. This too shall pass, as they say.” She gently puts her hand on my cheek and reaches up to smooth my bangs aside. “So this is what you’ve gone and done to your hair? It’s not as bad as your mother made it sound.”
I take off my baseball cap. “That’s because I’m wearing a wig.”
“Oh?” She stares, waiting. It takes a minute for me to realize that she wants to see my real hair. I sit up straighter, fighting nerves as I remove my wig and wig cap.
Gigi sucks in a breath, and I wince. My hair is growing back slowly, but it’s in that in-between phase where the growth is not cute. I’d die before I let anyone other than my family or Kerri see it.
“Why on earth did you do this, Evie Marie?” Gigi asks, running her hand tentatively over my head. “My goodness, girl.”
“Well, I…,” I start. But I don’t know how to answer this question. “I guess I thought there was no point in having great hair if my life was so terrible.”
She shakes her head, frowning. “You should have been proud of your thick curls. I have them too, you know.”
“I know.” People always tell me how much Gigi and I look alike. I’ve seen the side-by-side pictures, and I won’t lie, the resemblance is a little freaky. We both have light-brown skin, round faces with high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes.
She continues to run her hand over my head, and I lean into her touch. My scalp welcomes her massage and the fresh air. It’s just going to be Gigi and me here all week. I’ll never have to put this silly wig back on again. I feel my anxiety melting away.
“I think it looks nice, actually.”
I whip around at the sound of a deep, unfamiliar voice and quickly cover my head with my hands.
I find myself staring at a tall, thin boy with deep-brown skin. His hair is cut into a fade with short dreadlocks at the top. He’s wearing ripped jeans and the same red GABRIEL’S GROCERIES T-shirt that