Her eyes filled with tears.
“My grandmother used to say things like that.”
“Was she a good woman?”
“She was wonderful. She used to braid my hair when I was little.”
“Does she still do it?”
Brittany looked down.
“No. She died a few years ago.”
I felt a familiar ache in my chest.
“I’m sorry.”
“She would have laughed at this whole situation,” Brittany admitted. “She always said I had a big mouth and a small amount of patience.”
I smiled despite myself.
“She sounds like a sensible woman.”
Brittany gave a small laugh, then wiped her cheek.
For a few moments, we sat quietly while the airplane hummed around us.
Then she looked at her hair again.
“Is it ruined?”
I studied the extensions.
The slime had coated several strands, but it had not destroyed the hair itself.
“I think we can remove most of it.”
She looked at me suspiciously.
