His voice broke.
“Your mom used to worry about all the ordinary things she would miss. Getting you ready for school. Birthdays. Dances. Pictures.”
He wiped his face.
“Taking care of your hair made me feel like I was still doing something for her.”
Goldie squeezed his fingers.
“I like when you do my hair.”
“I know.”
She smiled faintly.
“Just not this much hair.”
He laughed through his tears.
“That’s fair.”
Then he became serious.
“I’m sorry, Goldie. I should have listened sooner.”
Goldie’s lip trembled.
“Your mother wanted us to do something kind. She would never have wanted that promise to become a punishment.”
“I still want to donate it.”
“I know.”
“And maybe I’ll grow it again.”
He blinked.
“Really?”
“Maybe.”
She smiled.
“But not to my knees.”
“Deal.”
“And if I hate it, I cut it.”
“Agreed.”
“Even
