“Well, right now my job is to smile. Smiling like that for so long isn’t normal! When my shift is over my face hurts”

M

My phone lets out a squeak just as Cinderella walks into the salon. I’d texted Zalmy moments before, asking if I should call my real estate friend in Elmway to see if she has anything exciting on the market. His response:

Q make wings for dinner?

U R the best cook

Wow. Flattery. Another day, another avoidance tactic.

Cinderella begins to whine. “Do something with these!” She plops down in my chair and rubs at the tiny laugh lines beneath her cheekbones. “They’re getting worse!”

I bend down to get a better look.

“Smile.”

She shoots me her most magnificent princess smile.

“They’re not worse. They’re barely noticeable.” I grab her wig — a blonde updo complete with a light-blue diamond studded band — and slide it onto her head.

“Really?”

I nod my head slowly. “You know what this is, right?” I raise an eyebrow, meeting her glare.

She lets out a long breath. “Me being me. Stressing and obsessing for no reason.”

“Remember the LSATS? How you worked yourself up over every little thing beforehand? What do I always tell you about stress?”

“Stress makes a mess.”

I nod. She tilts her head as I touch up a dangling tendril with my curling iron.

“Okay, but wait a second. If I was a professional lumberjack you’d expect my forearms to get large, right?”

I know exactly where she’s going with this.

“Well, right now my job is to smile. Smiling like that for so long isn’t normal! When my shift is over my face hurts, and I’m telling you the lines are getting worse. Honestly, I think that this is a work-related injury. I want workers' comp. If I’m denied, I’ll sue.”

I fluff up her sweeping side bang. “You’re gonna sue Disney World?” I roll my eyes. “Listen to me. You’re starting law school in two weeks. You’re anxious, worried things aren’t going to go as planned. You’re an ISTJ — it comes with the territory. You just need to breathe through it! Everything is going to be fine.”

She sits very still, staring at me in the mirror with wide eyes. Finally, she gives a little nod.

“Two weeks. And once you leave this place you never have to smile again.”

She laughs, her arms relax, and I feel her tension seeping away. She hops off the chair. “What am I gonna do without you, Miriam?”

It was a sociable grocery store employee who helped me find this job. We’d been living in Orlando for less than a week when the Publix cashier asked me what I did for a living.

“I’m a certified cosmetologist. I work mostly with wigs, though.”

She’d let out a hearty laugh. “Well, you’ve come to the right place! This town has all the wigs!”

I’m pretty sure she’d never been to Lakewood.

I sent in my resume to Disney World, assuming nothing would come of it… but the timing was good and my background in wig styling was a bonus. And that’s how I became an official employee of the Happiest Place on Earth.

Tinkerbell walks in just as I’m packing up to go home.

“I need advice.” She looks around to make sure the room’s empty.

I glance at my watch. “What’s up?” Since I explained the five love languages to Tinkerbell, she seems to think I’m some sort of shalom bayis coach, which is hysterical because I’ve only been married for three years, not to mention I’m definitely younger than her.

“So, um, my new brother- and sister-in-law are coming in for the weekend. From New York. They don’t know… well, we never told them we… voted for Trump,” she whispers. “We need to pretend to be liberals or there will be bloodshed.”

I wave my hand. “Easy. There are two steps. First you find something mundane to be deeply offended by. Like—” I look around the room. “That tray of baked goods.” I walk over and pick up a big black-and-white cookie. “Then you say something that makes very little sense, with a LOT of emotion, like, ‘The delineation between black and white on this cookie is deeply offensive and the fact that consumers buy said cookies is a clear indication that this country is going down the drain because of the current administration.’ It’s better if you cry a little.”

Tinkerbell is scribbling all this down in a notepad.

“Step two.” I pick up a meringue. “Make some sort of Trump reference like ‘Doesn’t this meringue resemble Trump’s coiffure?’ and that’s it.” I shrug. “You’re done.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, once you mention the T-word, they’ll just keep talking and talking until they run out of steam. Like a windup toy.”

“Thanks, Miriam, I knew I could count on you!”

We talk for another minute, and then I dash out of the salon and start the trek to the staff shuttle. When I tell people that I work in Disney World, they picture me riding It’s a Small World next to Minnie Mouse. The reality is a little different. First of all, I don’t work in the park, but underneath it. The Magic Kingdom is built atop nine acres of winding labyrinths, filled with offices, dressing rooms, kitchens, laundry rooms and most important, Kingdom Kutters — the employee hair salon.

After getting off the staff shuttle I make my way to my car. From there it’s only a short drive to my daughter’s playgroup.

“Wanna paint when we get home, Ruchy?” I wrap my toddler in a big hug.

“Speaking of paint,” says Morah Shani while handing me Ruchy’s tiny backpack, “can I give you my sheitel? I wore it for arts and crafts the other day. Bad call.” She holds out a short layer from the back of her sheitel, flecked with green paint.

As I inspect it, I notice her eyes look red. Poor Shani. She’s an ESFJ on the Myers–Briggs, which makes her super fun to be around, but most people don’t realize that ESFJs are also highly sensitive.

“Sure, no problem.” I hesitate for a minute, then add. “Everything okay?”

Shani’s eyes fill. “You have a minute? You won’t believe what my sister said to me.”

I don’t make it home until five.

At the age of ten, I mastered the French braid and from then I realized that running a brush through someone’s hair or wig seems to unlock a torrent of emotions.

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about people, and these days I don’t just listen, I also try to give advice. I urged Cinderella to pursue a law degree. And just last week we had a goodbye party for our Rapunzel who got into the MFA program she’d been dreaming of.

As I stick dinner in the oven, I feel an uncharacteristic uneasiness creep up around me. Summer’s almost over. There’ll be a whole new crop of princesses in the fall… but I’m not moving on. Our contracts are up next year, and Zalmy and I have no concrete plans. I’ve tried every roundabout way to bring up moving, but Zalmy always wiggles out of the conversation.

Ruchy falls asleep and I start combing through Zillow, dreaming about the future. A garden, messy with flower beds and homegrown vegetables. An old Victorian in disrepair, just waiting for me to restore it. Just as Zalmy comes through the front door, I spot a house I hadn’t seen before.

“I found a house!”

Zalmy throws his keys on the table and sniffs. “Wings,” he says with a slow smile.

“It’s literally perfect. And by perfect, I mean we’ll have to gut it and start from scratch.”

Zalmy grabs a plate from the cabinet.

“Smack in the middle of the frum community in Elmway. Near my cousin Malky.”

“Who?”

“My cousin! She has twins, they visited last summer… Legoland type, not Disney.” Since moving to Orlando we’ve had many relatives climb out of the woodwork, eager to take advantage of our very free guest room.

Zalmy shakes his head slowly.

“She brought cupcakes. Healthy ones and also these huge frosted insane…”

Zalmy snaps his fingers. “Those were good cupcakes.”

“Anyway, this house is near her and it has a massive backyard…”

Zalmy glances at his watch.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry. You’re never going to believe who asked me to learn with him!” he says, excitedly.

“Who?”

“Roi!”

“The Israeli agnostic guy?”

“That one. But I completely forgot, and now I have five minutes to get over to the center.”

“But…”

“Give me a half hour max!” he calls over his shoulder seconds before the front door slams shut.

I peek out the blinds as he climbs into his clunker. He has a problem. It’s not the first time I’m realizing this, he’s a unique blend. An ESFP on the Myers-Briggs, but a nine on the enneagram. Zalmy has a block when it comes to our future, he’ll literally do anything to avoid discussing moving on from his little kiruv post here in Orlando. The irony is that every single day I am able to gently nudge people forward.

The only one I can’t seem to get through to is my husband.