The restaurant went silent.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody nodded like they’d heard of this before.
I reached behind my head and felt jagged ends brushing my neck.
“You cut my hair, Martha!”
“Honey, it’s a family tradition.”
“It’s only hair, Jillian. It’ll grow back.”
Nick stepped toward her.
“Mom, what were you thinking? How could you do this?”
Martha lifted my braid as if it proved something.
“I was welcoming her into the family, Nick. That’s all.”
“It’s only hair, Jillian. It’ll grow back.”
I looked around the room.
Nick’s aunt looked horrified.
One of his cousins was openly shaking her head.
Even Caroline, Martha’s closest friend, had gone pale.
“Who else had this done at their wedding?” I asked.
Nick’s aunt looked horrified.
Martha’s smile slipped.
I looked at Nick’s aunt.
“Did anyone cut your hair?”
“No.”
His cousin answered before I asked.
“Never.”
“Did anyone cut your hair?”
I turned back to Martha.
“So whose family tradition is it?”
She didn’t answer.
Nick looked at me, then at his mother.
“I need ten minutes.”
I caught his wrist.
“So whose family tradition is it?”
“Where are you going?”
His face had gone frighteningly calm.
“To bring someone in who should’ve been here from the start.”
