Five - Kendra's

The late morning and afternoon was spent in that perfumed, stuffy salon. Kendra, our routine hairdresser, jabbered on about nonsensical topics as she was washing, drying, asking if I wanted highlights, straightening every crimp and curl from my hair, clipping my nails, buffering them and covering them in rich black nail lacquer.

I just nodded along to whatever she said, not replying much.

Genevieve sat across the salon, reading a magazine as she had her hair curled, and Nova squirmed in her seat as a manicurist tried to file her nails.

"It must be so fun going to all your dad's parties, huh?" Kendra asked me, painting a second coat of color onto my nails.

She wasn't much older than me, maybe twenty five, at the most. She was tall and stick thin and had caramel colored hair.