French Vocabulary:

1De rien: it’s nothing (literally); you’re welcome.

2 Très jolie: very pretty.

 

“Merci,” Paris thanks the woman behind her with a smile. She has blonde, frizzy hair that Paris finds amusing to look at.   The young woman returns her smile and puts away the hairdryer. “De rien1.”   Paris moves her eyes to herself in the mirror and beams at the sight of her shorter hair. She relishes the softness of her curls with her hand. It was trim cut and received a hair cream bath treatment. Her mother said her father has curly hair, which she had seen last night, and always said she got the wavy locks from him considering her mother’s hair is straight.   Her mother is in a very low mood today and decides that they need a haircut. Paris’ head turns to the sink area where Amber’s hair is being washed. She purses her lips and sinks back onto her chair to sit quietly. She ponders over everything that has happened today. Her mother must have had an argument with her father since she was crying like that. Her stomach flips remembering how shaken her mother felt in her iny arms. She feels awful for not being able to do anything to make the situation better.   Was Dad’s reason for disappearing that bad? They are still together right?   Earlier, after they left the tattoo parlour, her mother seemed slightly better. It’s probably the tattoo that she got over there. It was quite nice, Paris has to admit. Although Amber won’t let her get one of her own, at least she took her for a hair treatment, which Paris thinks makes up for it.   “What are you thinking about?”   Amber’s voice takes Paris out of her reverie. She whips her head around to find her mother’s hair already dried and styled. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops at the sight of her mother’s new look.   “Oh my God! MUM! You look so HOT!” she exclaims in excitement and pushes herself off the chair to look at her mother from different angles.   Amber grins as Paris moves around her. “You reckon?”   “Oh my God! I’d never thought you’d look good as a blonde!” Paris remarks, gaining laughter from her mother. “Though, I think you’re too smart to be a blonde.”   Amber caresses her daughter’s red cheeks affectionately. “You look really pretty!”   Paris winks and flips her hair. Amber chuckles at her antics when suddenly, a thud sound comes from their back. They turn to see a boy, not much older than Paris, has fallen onto the floor. A tint of pink colours his cheeks when he meets Paris’ chocolate brown eyes. Amber has to hold herself from laughing louder considering the boy’s mother is beside him. Amber turns back to the mirror and looks at herself.   Her smile fades and she takes a deep breath in. She purses her lips as she observes her new look. Her hair is now as short as it was ten years ago, except it is now blonde and the fringe is shorter and swept to the side on her forehead. She likes the way the hairdresser tousle the part where her hair is divided. It gives off a cooler chic look. She had never thought of getting a tattoo or dyeing her hair before for fear of damage, but this new experience made thrill whip  her veins and she held herself from changing her mind.   She gazes into her own eyes and decides that she doesn’t like what they have in them. Her eyes move down to her exposed neck. She had taken off her scarf before they cut her hair. When she went to get a tattoo earlier today, the female tattooist was stifling her amusement and Amber had to swallow her embarrassment—she had completely forgotten about those marks. She had borrowed the salon’s concealer earlier to dab some on her skin to cover them up, but now she spots a mark that has become visible again on the left plane of her neck, close to her minuscule mole.   Her lungs tighten and her stomach clenches in her gut. She is reminded of his hot breath devouring her neck, his moist skin against hers, and his strong hands on her s. The lovemaking scene they had last night comes to her mind and the emotions that she had dampened after her crying session at the park loom back into the surface.   She swallows the mass of emotion about to choke her. She tells Paris wait for her and goes to ask for a concealer again from her hairdresser. When she reaches the bathroom, she applies enough to cover up all those marks again and fixes her fringe slightly as her gaze is taken back to her own eyes. The woman staring back at her looks pathetic. She had done so much and cried so many times for a man who is about to marry another woman.   It’s his fate. It has always been his fate to marry her.   Why am I trying to change fate?   She has always thought fate is about choices, but she seems to be wrong all this time. Despite having lost too much, and having a daughter born into this world, he is still pulled towards the other side and there is nothing they can do to change this path.   She scowls at the memory of her crying and begging him to never leave again this morning. She hates crying in front of others, or even crying itself, but she had let out her vulnerable side to him. She even let him kiss her with so much passion and touch parts of her body that she does not let anyone else touch.   It could have been changed. If you had swallowed your pride and not care about humanity, you could have told him not to marry her and stay by your side.   But he has a daughter with me! He should have chosen us! I shouldn’t be telling him what to choose! This is his responsibility!   Men these days don’t have to take responsibility. They cannot be trusted!   But… Myung Soo’s not like that. He can be trusted.   Then why did he make love to you last night when he is supposed to marry Hyun Ah?   Because… because he loves me… he loves me. He doesn’t love her.   “He does love me…” she murmurs to herself as she looks down at the Claddagh ring on her left ring finger. “He does…”   But he doesn’t love you enough to make a definite decision.   “I can’t do this anymore…” She shakes her head as she tells herself. “This has to stop.”   After she pays for the treatment, without caring how much it has cost her, she takes Paris’ hand and walks out of the salon. Paris could not stop looking at the new Amber or hide her giggles.   “What?”   “You look really good. Très jolie2, like me.” She sticks her tongue out mischievously, causing Amber to chuckle at her playful narcissism.   Amber then asks a question she has wanted to ask her all day, “Paris,” the little girl hums in acknowledgement as she skips on the pavement, “why did you come with me? Didn’t you want to stay and be with your dad?”   At the mention of her dad—the reason behind her mother’s tears—, her skipping stops and she begins to walk normally, matching Amber’s pace. She envies her mother’s long, slender legs and wishes she would grow up like her.   Paris isn’t really sure of how to answer, so she says what she feels like saying, “I do want to get to know him, but… I love you more.”   Amber could not hold back the smile forming on her face. She feels all warm and fuzzy at the girl’s words. Her daughter is the second person who can bring out that feeling out of her, after her father. Amber swallows hard at the reminder of that man.   “Mum, you know I love you right?”   “No, I don’t,” Amber replies, honestly.   “Well, I do,” Paris asserts, beaming in the process. “I love you.”   Amber lowers down to her level as her daughter’s arms make their way around her neck and she leans up to kiss her on the cheek. In an instant, Amber’s smile broadens. It remains intact until they continue their walk and she contemplates about the question she has been wanting to ask her daughter.   “Tell me. Honestly. How do you feel now that your dad has returned?” Amber looks down to see the hesitancy her daughter’s eyes and her silence stalls the answer she wants to hear.   “Don’t be mad,” she says.   “Why would I be mad?”   Paris shrugs. “Just… I know you’re excited Dad has come back, Mum, but… I don’t know. I was excited, you know, meeting someone I’ve never met before and this someone is closely related to me. But…” Paris chews on her lower lip and darts her eyes anywhere except her mother’s way. Her long eyelashes hide the emotion in her eyes Amber is trying to read. “It’s just like meeting Uncle Jjong.” She decides that simile would suffice.   Amber holds her breath. One of the things she fears seems to have come true.   “We are relat