Inevitable Ever After

Part 7

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I hide the envelope from the lawyer below the paper pile of the latest customer satisfaction survey that is waiting for me to finish analysing it. To keep it out of my view – and mind – throughout the day.

Doesn't work.

Now that I am about to really officially hand over my father's barber shop to Caroline memories keep bubbling up, clouding my judgement.

During lunch I remember that time my father and me ordered burgers into the shop, pulling a late night doing inventory.

In the alignment meeting with Sabrina from internal communications I have to think of my very first internship – at my father's shop – when he let me design posters and vouchers instead of cleaning the storage he had really needed me to do.

All the times we argued about his lacking efforts for advertisement. "Sweetheart, you are great, but I like the customers I have. I don't need more," he always said. And then complained about how hard it was to pay the bills the next moment.

When I am back in the office in the evening I reach the last time my father cut my hair, about a week before he died.

I sat on the last chair from the three red satin-cushion seats he had, furthest away from the entrance and the window front – because women in a barber shop are unicorns. The light was dimmed, making the small shop feel like a cosy living room, with all the dark furniture and warm colours. Everything smelled like beard oil.

We bickered over everything and nothing, while my father's strong arms created wonders on my head. His warm, brown eyes were brimming with life. I would have never expected him to be gone that suddenly.

Staring down on the documents from the law firm – the waiver declaration for the inheritance – I can't bring my fingers to move the pen over the paper.

For Caroline it's only about the money. She never set even a single foot into the shop. For me it's personal. When I think of how she is going to sell the business to somebody else to renovate or tear it down entirely my heart hurts. My father is interwoven in the very fabric that makes up his barber shop. Letting it go means letting him go all over again.

A knock sounds from the open office door. "Go home. It's late," Jared says, leaning in the frame. He is wearing his black coat with his bag slung over the shoulder, indicating he is on his way out.

"I – yeah," I breathe and put the pen down.

Maybe after a whole strawberry cheese cake for dinner and a good cry I'll feel up to it. A bit dazed I start packing up for the day. Jared waits in the door for me to finish. We walk to the elevator together.

If I was in a better state of mind I would maybe wonder why he waits or how long he's been watching me not signing the paper. If I wasn't thankful for the excuse to delay what has to be done I would maybe tell him to go to hell. If I wasn't comforted by his presence, I would ride the elevator alone.

"Want to go for a coffee or something?" Jared asks as we reach the floor level.

"It's almost eight," I say. If I have caffeine that late in the day I can't sleep the whole night.

We pass by the canteen at the end of the corridor along the meeting rooms, all empty that time of day, and exit the office building. It is a starless evening, polluted by city lights and traffic noise. The main road in front of the building is swirling with cars, the parking lot around the corner is almost empty. The cold breeze has me pull my coat tighter.

"Then for a drink?" Jared says.

"I don't drink." When you fight a curse, you can't risk poor choices due to intoxication.

"Dinner?"

I snort. "Seriously?"

"Do you have better plans?" he says with a sheepish smile.

Yes. Sign that waiver. Eat sweets until I almost vomit, wallow, then fall asleep on the couch to the TV running, because I can't sleep in my bed without having nightmares.

"Whatever," I sigh.

"Come on, I'll drive."

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