That’s what I keep saying to myself as I carefully attack the unibrow in the bathroom mirror that evening. It’s not chemo. It’s not a blood transfusion. It’s not even that painful after the first twenty hairs or so. I can do this! I so want Ava to be proud of me when she gets back. Mum hears all the initial squeaks and squeals and comes in to see what I’m doing. I’m not used to being able to tell her honestly what I’m up to when it comes to modeling, so it feels weird to explain that it’s for meeting Tina. To my surprise, she smiles and offers to help. Ava’s right: She doesn’t mean to be mean. And wow — she’s a genius at eyebrow tweezing. I wish I’d known this before. “I just didn’t offer because I didn’t think you needed it, darling,” she says, deftly removing yet another offender and putting her warm finger on my skin to dull the ouch. Ah, Mum and my “inner beauty” again. That’s sweet.
