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I stop fussing with my hair and focus on the call.

“I’m listening. I just think you need to talk to Mary-Anne. Explain to her—”

“You think I haven’t? She’s supposed to encourage the others to follow the steps and stay on top of things, but I’m just doing it on my own.”

“Maybe stop then if they don’t—”

I’m silenced by the scream of an industrial hairdryer. The muffled hum of chatter from the women getting their hair done at the Cut & Curl Salon vanishes under the roar. So does my response.

I let it go. I know Lauren’sthis is not helpful and I’m not listeningtactics.

It never fails to amaze me just how cutthroat the hair industry is — and I work at the mayor’s office. The girls at the Cut & Curl would sell their own mothers for a prime chair, the best tools, the most repeat clientele. I once watched Dani Novak and Meredith Palmer tug-of-war poor, old Mrs. Swanson for five minutes before Mary-Anne stepped in and saved her.

Lauren — without sounding bias — is by far the best stylist the Cut & Curl has ever had. Unlike the others who have been limited to the basic cuts taught to them by their mothers, Lauren went to an actual cosmetology school. Has a license to prove it. She can do everything from hair to nails and even waxing, which the Cut & Curl doesn’t provide, but sure saves me a ton of money.

The problem Lauren has isn’t being intimidated by others. Her problem is that Jefferson is too small for someone with her presence. Her drive and ambition. She’s too independent and stubborn. Working at the salon isn’t just a place to sit and gossip for her. It’s her passion. It’s why she has the largest client base.

If I didn’t know her claim would be denied, I’d encourage her to open her own location. But Jefferson doesn’t like too many of one thing. It’s not necessary. It takes up space. Makes the town seem cluttered.

“I don’t know how this place hasn’t shut down honestly,”she grumbles.“It’s not how you run a business.”

Not entirely accurate. Very few people will drive four hours into Mayfield to get their hair done by a stranger. They most likely will wait the week or weeks for the right hair dye to get shipped in.

But that’s not what Lauren wants to hear. Instead, I sigh and shrug.

“You know, maybe you should ask Mary-Anne to make you a manager or an assistant. That way you’re in charge of all that.”

“I don’t want to be in charge of these monkeys! They’re already driving me nuts. I might really kill someone.”

I toss my bag into the passenger side seat and put the car into drive.

Despite a strict middle to upper class hierarchy, Jefferson maintains a rigid housing structure that labels each individual without actually labelling them. People know the status of your finances based solely on your address.

Silver Pines Road houses the upper class. The founding families like Mayor Ferguson, Judge Montgomery Jones, and Mr. Haberman from the bank. Further out a person is from Silver Pines, the less their roles matter in society. It’s the main reason the further south a person went, the less houses are present. Oh, there are a few far out of town. Clusters of cabins and homes built before the unspoken rule was initiated. The only structure after Whispers Way is the fairground.

Willows Bend falls just shy of questionable. It would never be as bad as The Ditch and the people who call it home, but I’m still far enough away from Silver Pines to get a few side eyes.

Back when my grandfather built the house my parents inherited after his death, there was no geometry of class. Hebought the land and built. The status tier became a thing with the expansion of the town back in the sixties when the Mayor Ferguson at the time opened our town to outsiders in hopes of bringing new blood into circulation — we weren’t about to become an inbred cluster, but the pickings were becoming slim. They didn’t consider that by inviting outsiders they’d also get people from all walks of life, cultures, races, religions. By the time they realized, it was too late. Those who didn’t conform got sent to The Ditch, but the majority assimilated and grew their roots alongside the main families even if they would never truly belong by Jefferson standards.

“Everly?”

I jump at the intrusion. Lost in the tangled history that made up Jefferson, I’d forgotten Lauren was still on the phone.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Dinner tonight or do you have plans with Crusty?”

I roll my eyes. “Bron is busy. We can do dinner. Meet at May’s?”

She doesn’t even pretend to stifle her scoff.“Never realized being a worthless waste of space took up so much time.”

Two years and the two still act like one of them killed the other’s dog. That relentless bickering only seems to be getting worse with time and I am exhausted. I no longer ask them to be civil. I no longer beg them for my sake to even attempt mild acceptance. It’s a battle I relinquished years ago. Still, I hate it.

“Diner, yes or no?” I mutter.

“If that is where my love wants to go, that is where I shall meet you.”

Plans made to meet later, we disconnect the call. I take the turn up Silver Pines with my mind already pushing my conversation with Lauren to the back corner and the tasks for the day forward.