Our Beating Hearts

28

"WE'RE GOING TO GET THIS. I swear to God." Michael stares at the screen of her phone and then catches my eye in the mirror. "I watched the tutorial like fifty times."

"I'm sure you did." Michael smiles faintly.

"It's just not working. Why do I suck at this?"

"You don't suck." There's this little loop of hair hanging awkwardly over his chin, so I give it a tug.

And now there's one straight chunk of hair stringing down like a massive sideburn. Welp.

Mikey groans.

I've spent the last hour in his bedroom, letting his mom knock herself out with every hair appliance ever invented. I'm still in pajamas, and the boys are not coming for another five hours. But Michael's mom is obsessively checking the time on her phone like they might burst in at any moment.

"Okay. Starting over." She combs her fingers through his hair, retrieving approximately ten thousand bobby pins. Then she spritzes it with water and brushes it straight again. "I swear to God . . ."

She licks her lips. "Let me blow-dry you again."

"Go for it."

She goes for it.

Then it hits me, like a kick in the crotch. "Fuck."

Michael meets my eyes in the mirror, brows raised. "You okay?"

"I am such an idiot."

"I highly doubt that."

"I don't have a tie."

"Mmm." Michael tucks a final strand of hair in place and smiles. "Not bad, right?"

I mean, yeah, Karen knocked it out of the park. I don't know how she did it, but Mikey's hair is smooth and wavy, swept back on the sides, with little soft pieces hanging down around my cheeks. Of course, the fact that he's still in pajamas makes it seem like his head and body belong to two different people, but I guess it will look good with the suit he's going to wear.

"Do you have a spare tie?"

"No, I don't?" Michael says, "Why would I have a spare tie?"

Karen's mouth quirks. "Because you have four different suits?"

"Okay, it's not funny. I'm kind of freaking out."

"Ash." She rests her hands on my shoulders. "We have a few hours until Luke and Niall get here. We can buy you a tie."

"From where?"

"From anywhere. How about Target? Go throw on some shoes, boys." She grabs her purse. "Let's hit it."

Except the car won't start.

"Nope," Mom says as the key clicks uselessly. "Not today, Satan."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Hold on." She nudges the steering wheel and opens and closes her door. "I'm trying again."

Still nothing.

She looks vaguely panicked. "Should I blow on the key?"

"That's not a thing, Karen."

"Oh, come on," she mutters, smacking her hands down on the steering wheel. "Of all fuckin' days."

"Okay, please don't say fuckin'."

She shoots me a self-conscious glance. "I thought we liked cussing."

"We love cussing. But we say the fucking g. I don't want to hear that apostrophe."

"I can't believe this," she says.