chapter thirty seven

                                    

                                          
"C'mon, I need someone to help me, and Robs is working tonight," Willow whines over the phone in her kitchen. Her mother sits on the couch, eyes peeking up over the book she was attempting to read to watch her daughter lean in the doorway. 
"What about me screams hairdresser to you?" Eddie chuckles over the line.
"Nothing. But everything about you screams good friend to me," she counters, crossing her arms to the best of her ability and scowling at her mother who isn't even attempting to hide her eavesdropping, "And a good friend would help me redye my hair."
"What if I mess it up?"
"Been there, done that with Buckley. And look how that turned out!"
"You ended up with bright ass red hair."
" Yes , but bright red hair that grew on me! C'mon, Eddie, you can't do worse than we did, and I can't see the back of my head." 
Willow is whining at this point, turning her back to her mother and trying to figure out just how to vocalize giving someone puppy dog eyes. 
Eddie's sigh over the receiver is heavy and dramatic. She pictures him, shoulders sagging, a look of defeat he won't admit to yet. She knew he was going to cave, hopefully soon, because it was simply something she'd learned about Eddie; when it came to Willow, he had a hard time saying no. 
"Okay. Fine ," Willow does a little cheer just to herself despite knowing he can't see her, "But if I fuck it up, you can't blame me. I'm serious." 
"God, Munson, I won't. Now get your ass over here, I already have the dye and everything," she means it. Even if she ended up with a bald head, she wouldn't blame him, although the only motivating factor for her to continue on with the odd hair color is him. Call her sentimental, but the 'bright ass red hair' had only grown on her due to a certain metalhead's nickname. 
"I'll be there in fifteen. Don't start without me," he warns, and she hears shuffling and what sounds like keys over the line. 
She's grinning triumphantly, biting her lip before slyly replying, "Wouldn't dream of it. Drive safe, please." 
Once they've said their rushed goodbyes and Willow has returned the phone to the wall, she finds her mom leaning back into the couch and her book abandoned on the coffee table, a knowing smile on her lips. 
"What?" Willow asks as she walks to join her mother, crimson cheeks still fading from her conversation. Despite expecting his agreement, Eddie finally breaking and being willing to help her with this had her blushing. It was ridiculous - a tell-tale sign of her schoolgirl crush that she was happy he wasn't there to witness. 
Anne removes her reading glasses, peering at her daughter curiously, "You know, you could have asked for my help." 
"What?" Willow scrunches her nose and shakes her head quickly, "No, no. You're probably exhausted from work, you don't need to help me with my hair, mom." 
"Mhm. Are you sure it's you looking out for your poor old mom, or just needing an excuse to see your boy?" Anne hums as Willow reaches for the remote to the television. 
"Your boy".  My boy. The boy that is mine. It has a nice ring to it. 
Willow ignores her mom's insinuation. She chooses to pretend that the afternoon game show on the TV is far more interesting. And her mom lets her, not saying another word, only sharing a knowing look when their doorbell sounds fifteen or so minutes later as she heads off to her bedroom. 
—
" Son of a bitch ," Eddie mutters as he fiddles with the plastic gloves that simply won't fit comfortably on his fingers. Willow wears a matching pair that hardly bothers her as she watches the boy struggle, endlessly entertained. "Seriously, who the hell invented these? I think I'd prefer to stain my hands."