Read Online The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service by Beth Kendrick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beth Kendrick
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to make you happy.”
“Believe me, the knowledge that Jessica is waxing and buffing and dermaplaning you will make me ecstatic, even across state lines.”
“What’s dermaplaning?”
“I’ll speak to you on Sunday evening.” And with that, Justine clicked off the line.
* * *
“Dermaplaning, as it turns out, is when the aesthetician takes a tiny little razor blade, douses your face with acetone— a.k.a. nail polish remover —and scrapes off the entire first layer of skin, along with every single hair on your face,” Lara informed Kerry over lunch the next day.
“Is that why your cheeks are so splotchy?” Kerry asked.
Lara nodded, gingerly patting her face. “Yep.”
“Does it sting? It looks like it stings.”
“Yep.”
Kerry forked up a bite of omelet. “But on the upside, your nails look great.”
“Thanks. Before I left, the stylist gave me an at-home manicure kit, complete with top coat, emery board, and an orange stick that’s allegedly going to keep my cuticles at bay.” Lara glanced down at her newly shaped and gleaming talons. “I ask you: When did we, as a society, decide that a tiny rim of flesh at the bottom of your nail was the root of all that is evil and slovenly? What’s so horrible about a cuticle? It’s just a few molecules of skin.”
Kerry grabbed the dessert menu. “I think you need a piece of pie, stat.”
“And you know what the worst part is?” Lara gnawed her lower lip. “Even though she wasn’t there this morning, and even though I probably won’t see her face-to-face until next month, I still feel guilty because I disappointed my mother. I embarrass her.”
Kerry stopped waving at the waiter and gave Lara her full attention. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ve always embarrassed her.” Lara shredded her paper napkin into long, thin strips.
Because Justine had made her name in the beauty industry, it was easy for people to dismiss her as superficial. But beneath her flawless complexion and shiny black hair, Justine was shrewd, stubborn, and uncompromising. She had been a receptionist before Lara was born, booking appointments and greeting clients at a chichi Scottsdale salon. After she had Lara and divorced Gil, she enrolled in business classes at the local community college and worked her way up from receptionist to stylist to salon owner, never complaining, tiring, or backing down from a fight.
Even when she and Lara lived in a dumpy studio apartment by the freeway and ate dinners of Kraft Singles and Wonder Bread, Justine portrayed an image of success, fueled by sheer force of will. Lara always had the “right” clothes, attended the “right” schools. No one would ever guess that their family teetered on the edge of deprivation.
Though she could bend everyone else to her will, Justine’s influence didn’t extend to her only child. Even in elementary school, Lara’s French braids would unravel and her outfits would get rumpled and stained.
“I will never be the kind of woman my mother is,” Lara told Kerry. “Or the kind of woman she wants me to be.”
“Well, why would you want to?” Kerry countered. “She has all this power and money, but she doesn’t enjoy any of it.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t ask for much. The least I could do is take care of my cuticles for her.” Lara fanned out her fingers, inspecting Jessica’s work. Her hand looked like it belonged to someone else. Someone who spent her days toting around eighteen-hundred-dollar handbags. “And my highlights and my eyebrows and my pores.”
“But that would cut into our dog grooming time,” Kerry pointed out.
“True.” Lara blew a strand of hair off her face. “See, this is why my standards are so low. I figure as long as I don’t have ticks or mange or visible open sores, I’m presentable. Compared to Mullet, I’m a supermodel.” Lara brightened as their server approached. “We’d like two slices of pie, please. Lemon meringue for her and French
“Believe me, the knowledge that Jessica is waxing and buffing and dermaplaning you will make me ecstatic, even across state lines.”
“What’s dermaplaning?”
“I’ll speak to you on Sunday evening.” And with that, Justine clicked off the line.
* * *
“Dermaplaning, as it turns out, is when the aesthetician takes a tiny little razor blade, douses your face with acetone— a.k.a. nail polish remover —and scrapes off the entire first layer of skin, along with every single hair on your face,” Lara informed Kerry over lunch the next day.
“Is that why your cheeks are so splotchy?” Kerry asked.
Lara nodded, gingerly patting her face. “Yep.”
“Does it sting? It looks like it stings.”
“Yep.”
Kerry forked up a bite of omelet. “But on the upside, your nails look great.”
“Thanks. Before I left, the stylist gave me an at-home manicure kit, complete with top coat, emery board, and an orange stick that’s allegedly going to keep my cuticles at bay.” Lara glanced down at her newly shaped and gleaming talons. “I ask you: When did we, as a society, decide that a tiny rim of flesh at the bottom of your nail was the root of all that is evil and slovenly? What’s so horrible about a cuticle? It’s just a few molecules of skin.”
Kerry grabbed the dessert menu. “I think you need a piece of pie, stat.”
“And you know what the worst part is?” Lara gnawed her lower lip. “Even though she wasn’t there this morning, and even though I probably won’t see her face-to-face until next month, I still feel guilty because I disappointed my mother. I embarrass her.”
Kerry stopped waving at the waiter and gave Lara her full attention. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ve always embarrassed her.” Lara shredded her paper napkin into long, thin strips.
Because Justine had made her name in the beauty industry, it was easy for people to dismiss her as superficial. But beneath her flawless complexion and shiny black hair, Justine was shrewd, stubborn, and uncompromising. She had been a receptionist before Lara was born, booking appointments and greeting clients at a chichi Scottsdale salon. After she had Lara and divorced Gil, she enrolled in business classes at the local community college and worked her way up from receptionist to stylist to salon owner, never complaining, tiring, or backing down from a fight.
Even when she and Lara lived in a dumpy studio apartment by the freeway and ate dinners of Kraft Singles and Wonder Bread, Justine portrayed an image of success, fueled by sheer force of will. Lara always had the “right” clothes, attended the “right” schools. No one would ever guess that their family teetered on the edge of deprivation.
Though she could bend everyone else to her will, Justine’s influence didn’t extend to her only child. Even in elementary school, Lara’s French braids would unravel and her outfits would get rumpled and stained.
“I will never be the kind of woman my mother is,” Lara told Kerry. “Or the kind of woman she wants me to be.”
“Well, why would you want to?” Kerry countered. “She has all this power and money, but she doesn’t enjoy any of it.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t ask for much. The least I could do is take care of my cuticles for her.” Lara fanned out her fingers, inspecting Jessica’s work. Her hand looked like it belonged to someone else. Someone who spent her days toting around eighteen-hundred-dollar handbags. “And my highlights and my eyebrows and my pores.”
“But that would cut into our dog grooming time,” Kerry pointed out.
“True.” Lara blew a strand of hair off her face. “See, this is why my standards are so low. I figure as long as I don’t have ticks or mange or visible open sores, I’m presentable. Compared to Mullet, I’m a supermodel.” Lara brightened as their server approached. “We’d like two slices of pie, please. Lemon meringue for her and French
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