Broken Hearts, Fences and Other Things to Mend (5 page)

stocked up on fl ip- fl ops, canceled the fl ight to Colombia, and re-

turned all the gear I’d gotten for the trip (well, technically, I asked

my mom to return it, since the thought of going back to Target

was still too traumatizing).

My dad was happy I would be spending the summer with him,

and my mom and Walter were happy that they wouldn’t have to

convince a laird to take me in. The only person who wasn’t pleased

with my summer plans was my BFF. Sophie had taken great ex-

ception to the fact that I was now deserting her for the whole

summer, especially since I’d spent the bulk of the last week re-

fusing, for various reasons, to leave my kitchen and/or room. So

when she’d pressed me to take a late- afternoon train, so that we

could spend my last day in Putnam together, I’d agreed without

even suspecting an ulterior motive.

Which was foolish, because it was how I found myself sitting

in an all- white salon with a frightening Swedish hairdresser. So-

phie had a theory that you needed a make over after a breakup.

She thought that you had to do something, right away, to sepa-

rate yourself in a very clear way from the person you’d been when

in the relationship (it probably didn’t help that Sophie adored

make overs and that both her parents were shrinks). In her opin-

ion, the more serious the relationship, the more signifi cant the

make over had to be. This meant that after most of her own break-

ups, Sophie simply changed her nail polish color or bought a new

lip gloss. But because Teddy and I had been together so long, and

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because I still wasn’t quite able to say his name without bursting

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into tears, Sophie decided that drastic mea sures were needed,

and had booked me an appointment without my knowledge or

consent.

“You need a change,” she said, sitting in the swivel chair next

to mine. “I’m telling you. You’ll feel better once you do it.”

“I don’t think short hair is the way to go,” I said, brushing

some droplets off my face. Sophie had hustled me into the salon

with such skill and stealth that I hadn’t even realized what was

happening until my hair was being washed.

“Okay, maybe not short,” she relented, giving herself a push

and spinning around once in her chair. “But a change. A
real
one.

Okay, Gem?”

I stared back at my refl ection and saw only who I’d been for

the last two years— Teddy Callaway’s girlfriend. Maybe a change

wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “Okay,” I said, taking

one last look at myself. Sophie motioned Sigrid over and I let out

a breath. “Let’s do it.”

O O O

Two hours later, a stranger stared back at me. The hair that

had always been light brown was now a bright auburn. My

one- length, slightly shaggy hair had been cut to just beneath my

shoulders, with long, sideswept bangs. I looked nothing like my-

self. I certainly didn’t look like the girl who’d been dumped in the

gardening aisle of Target. Or the girl who’d been dumped again

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in the parking lot of a pizza place. I ran my hands over my new

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bangs as Sigrid fi nished up.

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“You fi nd new man with this hair,” she pronounced as she gave

a fi nal snip. Sophie had told her the whole story of my breakup as

I’d gotten my color applied. Sigrid hadn’t been that impressed

with Teddy, starting with his name. “Like the bear?” she’d asked.

“No. Is no good.” I’d tried to explain that it was a nickname for Ed-

ward (which he never went by), but this hadn’t seemed to make a

difference. After hearing the story, she’d said something in Swedish,

then pronounced me better off without him, telling me that I was too

young to settle down, that there were plenty of herring in the sea.

Sophie had headed out to get us drinks as I was fi nishing up,

and as I walked to the register to pay, I couldn’t help taking little

glances at my new self in the mirror. Maybe Sophie was on to

something after all. I certainly felt better than I had since the

Target trip.

“Love it!” Sophie shrieked as I stepped out of the salon. “Turn

around.” Rolling my eyes, I obliged, and she bounced up and down

in her fl ip- fl ops, grinning at me. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“You told me,” I said, picking up one of my new red locks and

staring at it. “You were right.”

Sophie smiled wide at that; it was one of her favorite phrases

to hear. “For you,” she said, handing me a plastic cup from Stubbs,

the local coffee chain. I saw she’d gotten me an iced soy vanilla

latte, extra vanilla, my summer standby.
Sophie
was scrawled across

the cup in huge letters. On her own plastic cup— lemonade with

raspberry syrup— her name was also written, along with three

hearts, a smiley face, and a phone number.

“Thanks,” I said, taking my cup from her as we walked to her

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car. “You heartbreaker, you.”

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She glanced down at the phone number. “Oh, that.” She smiled

as she beeped open her car. “He
was
pretty cute.”

“What about Doug?” I asked, settling myself in the passenger

seat and immediately fl ipping down the visor mirror to continue

to look at my hair.

“Ugh,” Sophie said as she started the car and headed away

from the salon, toward Putnam’s main train station. The appoint-

ment had taken so long— it seemed that turning your hair a dif-

ferent color was a very time- consuming process— that I no longer

had time to go home and get my bags. So Sophie was driving me

to the station, and my mom was meeting us there with my suit-

case. “Doug is getting on my nerves lately. He’s starting to be a

drag.”

I shook my head and smiled at this, already seeing Sophie’s

summer romance playing out, Doug being ditched for this barista.

Since I’d only ever dated Teddy, I’d had no experience with rela-

tionship drama, and frankly preferred it that way.

“What am I going to do all summer with you gone?” Sophie

sighed as she turned into the station parking lot, double- parked

illegally, and killed her engine.

“I was going to be gone anyway, Soph,” I reminded her.

“I know,” she sighed. “But just for a few weeks. Not the
whole

summer
.”

On impulse, I suggested, “Why don’t you come and visit?”

She brightened at that. “Really?”

“Sure,” I said, blithely, even though I hadn’t checked with my

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father or Bruce. But I was sure it would be fi ne. All of Bruce’s houses

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seemed to have more rooms than anyone ever actually used. I

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saw my mother’s car pull into the station, and winced, as I always

did, when I saw the FISHERMEN LIVE IN THE REEL WORLD and GO

AGAINST THE CURRENT bumper stickers Walter had put on. “That’s my

mom,” I said, getting out of the car.

Sophie got out as well and met me around the back. “Call me

tons,” she said.

“I will,” I promised, giving her a tight hug. “Thanks for . . .” I

gestured to my hair, but hoped she knew it included this whole

week and the years of friendship before that. “You know.”

“I do,” she said as she climbed back into her car and started

the engine. “Say hi to your dad, okay? And have fun. Forget about

what’s-his- name. Make out with someone!”

She practically yelled this last statement, and several people

walking to the train platform turned and looked at me. I just gave

her a small wave as she grinned and sped out of the station park-

ing lot.

I walked over to where my mom was standing by her car, looking

around the parking lot, my quilted duffel at her feet. I waved, but

she only glanced in my direction for a second. “Mom!” I called,

but again, she turned to me for only a moment before looking

away again.

What was going on? “Hi,” I said, when I was a foot in front of

her.

My mother turned to me, her expression blank and polite, be-

fore she did a double take and recognition dawned. “
Gemma
?”

she asked, sounding incredulous. “I didn’t even recognize you!”

I brushed my new bangs back self- consciously. “Is it really that

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different?”

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My mother just looked at me for a moment longer, then shook

her head. “It looks great,” she said, and I couldn’t help wishing

she had led with that. “It’s just . . . a change.” She reached out

and touched a lock of my hair. “You look like a whole new girl,”

she said with a smile.

I heard the sound of the train, and looked up to see it rum-

bling down the track. “I’d better go,” I said. “Have fun in Scotland.”

My mother gave me a quick hug, then handed me my bag.

“You have fun too,” she said. “I’ll bring you back a kilt. Or some

lox!”

I tried to look enthusiastic about these possibilities as I waved

at her, then hurried up the steps to the platform. I boarded the

train, iced latte in hand, and walked back until I found a half-

deserted car. As I stowed my bag in the overhead rack and settled

into a window seat, I thought about what Sophie had yelled to

me, that I should make out with someone. I hadn’t had the time

to set her straight, and now I thought about texting her to tell

her it wasn’t going to be an option. Because while I might man-

age to have some fun this summer, I certainly wasn’t going to be

making out with anyone.

That was one thing I was totally sure of.

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I noticed the guy just after we stopped for the second time.

He was sitting across the aisle from me, also in the window

seat, head turned toward the window. He had a pair of white

earbuds in, and his head was moving slightly in time to the music

he was listening to. He seemed like he was around my age, and

though I couldn’t see his face— not even his profi le— it struck me

that the back of his neck was really nice.

A second later, I came to my senses. What was I thinking?

I had
just
been dumped and my heart was freshly broken. What

was I doing looking at other people’s necks? I was beginning to

think that Sophie had been on to something with her mourning

period theory. I was not going to think about boys for at least a

year, if not longer. I couldn’t even imagine wanting to date some-

one new. I turned away from the guy and focused my attention

out at the scenery passing by the train windows.

When we made one of the last stops before the longer stretch

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that would take us to the Hamptons, a very large and very loud

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family got on the train, the mother loaded down with mono-

grammed canvas bags and screaming children, the father ignor-

ing the ubiquitous NO LOUD CELL CONVERSATIONS signs and yelling

into his phone. When they approached, the nice- necked guy got

up and offered them his row, which the family took, the mother

looking almost absurdly grateful as the father screamed some-

thing into his phone about the Tokyo markets.

The guy picked up his backpack and duffel bag and looked

across the aisle to me, and the two empty seats in my row.

“Hi,” he said, setting his bag down on the aisle seat. I noticed

now that he was
really
cute, the kind of cute seen more often in

ads for orange juice and family smartphone plans than in real

life. He had light brown hair, cut short, and eyes that looked green-

ish, but that might have just been because he was wearing a pale

green T-shirt. He had dark eyelashes and eyebrows and even

though it was the beginning of the summer, he was already tan.

It was hard to tell because I was sitting, but it looked like he was

a few inches taller than me, which meant he was pretty tall.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, and I noticed that his voice was

nice, deep but not scary Batman- deep.

“Nope,” I said, hoping he hadn’t noticed me staring. “Just let

me make some room for you.” I stood up and shifted my bag over

on the luggage rack.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, standing behind me and push-