Page 65 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

Chapter

Forty-Four

CORDELIA

I feel like a new woman, and not in the sense that I’m only now waking up to reality after a justifiable midlife crisis.

More like I’m finally reaching the acceptance stage of grief.

Granny is gone, but I’m still here. The proof stares back at me in a mirror that takes up an entire wall of the salon.

Savina holds up a hand mirror behind me, so I can see the back of my head. My curls have never looked this flawless, not in thirty years.

“Well?” She smiles. “What do you think?”

“I think that there’s no way you can possibly charge me enough for the two hours it took just to detangle my rat’s nest,” I answer, hoping she takes credit cards. “That was an awful lot of work before you even started the mani-pedi, facial, fresh cut, and balayage.”

I really do look like I can make the world my oyster.

Neveah laughs from the salon chair next to mine, twirling it back and forth. “You should’ve let her wax you, too.”

Savina’s bright smile turns brittle. “Honestly, Neveah. Have a little more decorum, would you? Besides—” She sniffs.

“—Delia’s on her period. I never wax a customer who discloses her cycle to me.

The skin is far more prone to tearing during that delicate time of the month.

That’s also why period sex is never a good idea.

Too much of a risk to such sensitive tissues. ”

From where she’s sitting on the settee in the lobby area, Hope’s eyes widen. She slaps a hand over her mouth, then makes a mad dash for the bathroom at the back of the building.

Savina gapes at us with an unreadable expression. “Does someone have a bun in the oven?”

Neveah chuckles without humor. “I guess we’ll find out next week. Probably just a stomach bug, though.”

“Oh.” Savina’s shoulders fall. “That’s too bad.”

She says it like she doesn’t really mean it. That’s odd, but I can’t put my finger on why. While she talks me through the hair routine she’s prescribed to maintain the miracles she’s worked, Neveah spins around and around in the salon chair beside me. She rolls her eyes every now and then.

“Honestly, Neveah. You’re thirty years old. It’s time to grow up,” Savina snipes at her.

I almost laugh. Savina’s only thirty-two. She acts like she’s Neveah’s mother.

“Are you ready to settle down yet?” I ask conversationally. “A nice husband, a few kids, and a white picket fence?”

Neveah stops spinning long enough to smile brightly at us. “You know, it’s funny. I was just thinking that it’s hard to catch baby fever when there are so few decent men in town.”

Can’t argue with that. It’s true. I’ll be in Charleston, but they’ll be…here, in this backwoods town without any internet or cell phone reception. I’m really looking forward to having both of those things again, along with food delivery.

“Well,” Savina sighs as she rearranges a few wayward spirals, “we’re not getting any younger. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Fuck that,” Neveah scoffs. “I want a choice as much as I can scrape together.”

I nod in agreement.

“It’s the lesser of two evils, honestly,” Savina says, like we’re having an actual debate, and she needs to defend her position. “Would you rather settle for a mediocre man now or wait until you can no longer ignore your screaming biological clock, only to wind up pregnant at fifty?”

It seems to me that they’re forgetting the wonders of modern times, maybe because they’re so used to living in the equivalent of the Stone Ages here.

“Can you choose the personality traits of a sperm donor?” I wonder out loud.

Savina raises her eyebrows and grins at me in the mirror. “Now, whatever made you think of that?”

“I’d rather have a baby sooner than later,” I answer as I stare at our reflections. “I also think having children is a personal choice for every woman to make, but yeah. Why shouldn’t I get to make my choice, just because no man wants me?”

Savina looks positively enthralled by the same words that Neveah appears troubled by.

“What?” I glance at her. “You’re against single mothers?”

“No. I’m all for women’s rights, in every way.” She reaches forward to squeeze my forearm. “I just don’t think you should give up on finding a man who really wants you. He’s out there, Delia. If you want the old-fashioned happily ever after, then don’t give up on searching for it.”

Savina fixes her with a deadpan expression. “Why would you go and say a thing like that? If you’re all for women’s rights, then don’t dissuade a woman from going after what she wants.”

“Yeah.” Neveah says archly. “Why would I say anything at all?”

Their bickering is giving me a headache. Then again, it’s probably because I feel like I barely slept last night.

“Thank you so much for everything today. Truly. I hate to run, but I really do need to take care of a few things at Granny’s place.” I stand from the salon chair and immediately regret it.

My blood pressure plummets. The floor tilts beneath me so sharply that I have to grab onto the counter to stay upright.

Hope appears out of nowhere and latches onto my other arm. “Are you all right? ”

“Fine.” I wave her off. “Just stood up too fast. Are you all right? Are you feeling sick?”

She smiles too brightly. “I’m okay.”

Savina glances between all of us with a furrowed brow and heavy suspicion written all over her pretty face.

That’s enough weirdness for me for today. I have other things to do. Can’t quite remember what, other than it’s important shit that all thirty-year old women with too many life choices have to take care of.

My reflection in the mirror seems to waver and wobble. Yeah. Definitely time to go.

When I attempt to pay for my spa day, my efforts are waved off. I nod, smile, say all the polite words of gratitude for the unexpected charity. Granny always said there’s a fine line between gracious and overbearing, and most people couldn’t find that line even if they were standing on it.

Neveah and Hope thread their elbows through mine, and we exit the salon into the sweltering summer sunshine.

Every direction we turn, it’s the usual crap that I’ve been dealing with my whole life in this town. I don’t exist.

Hope and Neveah receive warm greetings, but no one says a word to me.

It’s so noticeable at one point that Hope actually introduces me to the mailman who we pass on the street.

“Afternoon, Mr. Sutherland!” she chirps with a bright smile. “You remember Delia McCoy, right? Doesn’t she look radiant after spending the day at Savina’s Salon?”

“McCoy?” He furrows his brow as he seems to look right through me. “Only McCoy I knew was Ellen. God rest her weary soul. Shame she got no family to decorate her tombstone. I reckon the town’ll take care of it. She was a right pillar of mountain hospitality. Only fitting to return the favor.”

“Are you fucking serious?” I hiss under my breath. “This is just cruel.”

Neveah looks like she’s going to bite her tongue off entirely from the effort of holding it.

Hope knows better than to defend public opinion of my persona non grata . Her smile falls, but she simply nods and murmurs, “Have a good day, Mr. Sutherland.”

Neveah and Hope insist I need decent food to eat after several more dizzy spells overtake me, but even inside the grocer, I receive the same treatment. They don’t try to include me in passing small talk. The upstanding citizens of Utopia simply look right through me.

“Let’s get you the hell out of here,” Neveah bites out the second we exit the bustling store. “You don’t deserve this bullshit.”

“Yeah,” I whisper through my tight throat. “Being here feels like a form of self-harm. I’m more than ready to bail.”

Like bodyguards who’ve just detected a much more insidious threat than from an external source, they turn toward me in slow motion, flanking me inside their little bubble of indignant outrage.

Neveah sighs deeply. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Was starting to think you were planning to stay a spell.”

I shrug, but my feigned nonchalance isn’t enough to keep tears from welling in my eyes. The people in this town hate me as much as they ever did. “There must be something wrong with me. Everyone else just figured it out long before I did.”

“Oh, Delia,” Hope murmurs. “Don’t say that. You’re such a nice person. They just don’t understand you is all. When you get back to Charleston, all those fairy tales and happy endings that you’ve spent your whole life reading about are going to finally come true.”

I tug them along toward my granny’s home, since they don’t seem to want to move at all. “I guess you’re right. It’s no one’s fault that I’ve never fit in around here. It is what it is. Do you know something I’ve learned from all the books I’ve read?”

Neveah furrows her brow like she can’t imagine where I might be going with this.

“It’s that every villain is the hero of their own story,” I whisper. “Villains aren’t born. They’re created. They can’t help who they are.”

Neveah’s gaze hardens. “Life isn’t a fairy tale, Delia. Don’t be stupid enough to excuse shitty behavior. If you offer your heart to the wrong people, there are plenty of real-world villains out there who are only going to crush it, just like we all witnessed Duke do to you time and time again. ”

So that’s it, then.

I guess there’s nothing else to say. No case to plead when my words are only going to fall on deaf ears.

I drop my arms from theirs, step away, and sway on my feet again.

“That’s enough, Neveah,” Hope admonishes with a firm tone, wrapping a steadying arm around my waist. Gentler, she says to me, “Let’s get you back home and get some food in your belly.

You’re probably just exhausted after all the work you’ve been putting in at your granny’s place.

A little rest and relaxation, and you’ll be right as rain. ”

I don’t want to become as bitter and jaded as Neveah, but I don’t think Hope’s prescription is in the cards for me either.