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"Um, well, I'm not sure that it's about liking, really?" Mel says. "It's more that it's neat and quick. Oh, and if I have a lot of hair right on the back of my neck, sometimes that gets sweaty and I don't really like the sensation?"
"Okay, but it's not like you've only got one choice to work with," Trinity says in a stage whisper. "Live a little."
There are some things that Mel could say to that, but Trinity is already settling in behind her, her legs snugged around Mel's hips where they're sitting on her living room floor. She's glad that she vacuumed before Trinity came over, although Trinity doesn't seem to be the kind of person who fusses overly much about home decor.
"You don't have to—"
"Uh, I know I don't have to," Trinity says. "That's not the point."
Mel doesn't have to see Trinity's face to know the kind of eye-roll that must have accompanied her words, but regardless Trinity undoes Mel's usual braid with fingers that are deft and careful. She doesn't tug on Mel's scalp. She works her fingers in among the strands, gently ruffling them loose, while her thumbs press in against the tight fibres of Mel's upper trapezius. Trinity works precise circles into Mel's neck, and a tension that Mel hadn't been aware of shivers out of her. It feels like how their first karaoke duet had, except it's Trinity's hands that are coaxing this out of her rather than her voice.
"You should be grateful that I'm not making jokes about how tight you are," Trinity says, and Mel would have questions about that but Trinity's fingers do feel very good. She knows, too, that she should have questions about how Trinity had suggested this as if it were some spur-of-the-moment idea, just the kind of thing that friends might do together on a lazy weekend morning, but that she'd produced from her bag a rat tail comb and a hairbrush—both still in their original packaging—together with an unopened packet of hair ties.
"Um," Mel says, once Trinity's got everything opened and is sectioning out Mel's hair with practiced movements. She hopes that it's not going to be a high ponytail. Mel doesn't like having her hair in a high ponytail. "It's just also that I don't like it when I've got too much traction on my scalp? So that's—"
"I got you," Trinity says, leaning forward so that Mel can feel the puff of her warm breath against the nape of her neck. They really are sitting very close together. "Relax."
At first, Mel has to focus very hard on doing just that, but soon she finds that her body is relaxing in spite of herself. Trinity's hands provide a light, grounding pressure as she works, braiding first one side of Mel's head and then the other. In the slightly dusty reflection of her dark TV screen, Mel watches as two Dutch braids appear. Somehow, Trinity gets the balance just right: tight enough that the braids are neat and pleasing to look at, loose enough that they don't hurt.
"You're good at this," Mel says.
"Gymnastics," Trinity says with a shrug, which isn't quite an explanation and definitely isn't accepting the compliment.
"You know," Mel says, "my mom always used to say to me and Becca that knowing how to be gracious about a compliment was a sign of good manners."
"Ugh, are you using your dead mom against me? Low blow," Trinity says, but when she leans forward to get one of the hair ties out of the packet, Mel can see that her cheeks are flushed pink.
"No," Mel says, because she thinks she's come a long way in understanding Trinity these past few months. "I'm using the fact that you do actually care about what other people think of you against you. That, and you are very good at this."
Trinity's hands go still for a moment, before she finishes out the last of the second braid and secures it with another hair tie. Quietly, she says, "Thank you." She digs her phone out of her pocket and takes some pictures of Mel's head from various angles, to show her what Mel herself can't see.
"Oh!" Mel says as she flicks through the snapshots. It's only one small difference—she's still wearing her glasses, still in her favourite blue Greater Pittsburgh Equine Rescue t-shirt—but she's so used to seeing herself with her hair pulled back in a single practical braid that this will take some getting used to. But she doesn't hate it, and she thinks that—like belting out '90s hits at karaoke and sipping Aviation cocktails and eating lechon kawali and all the other things that Trinity has introduced her to—she could grow to really like it. Being the same Mel, but not the same old Mel. "Oh, it's so nice! I should send these to Becca, because I won't see her until Wednesday and I'll never be able to do this again all by myself."
"Who says you'll have to?" Trinity says, and her voice is very light but there's a tentative note to it that Mel can understand. It tells her that Trinity's question is actually an offer, being made with the maximum amount of plausible deniability, and that makes Mel acutely aware that they're still sitting so very, very close to one another at ten on a Saturday morning.
"Um." Mel twists around so that she can look Trinity in the eye. Trinity's chewing on her lower lip but her gaze is steady. Hopeful. "Me? Really?"
Trinity shrugs, diffident, but she doesn't look away. Doesn't leave. "Yeah, I guess," she says, and maybe Mel would be taken in by that if she didn't know Trinity pretty well by now.
"Gosh," Mel says, and smiles, and grins, and she leans in and kisses Trinity and thinks well yes, this part is definitely about liking—this part is about being the same Mel, but also reaching out for something new.