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“So, was it weird, being back at Jason’s?” Juliet, my best friend since middle school, was sitting in the salon chair next to mine. Half of her head looked like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket while the other half had already been woven into long, skinny black braids. She’d basically staged a style intervention to get me to come with her, and now that I was there, nobody knew what the fuck to do with my frizzy mop.
“What about a pixie? We could just cut all this off,” the elegant, slender man standing behind me suggested with the flick of his bracelet-adorned wrist.
I looked into the mirror at the poor bastard assigned to me and sighed. “I just grew out my last pixie. I kinda want to do something different.”
His face fell.
Juliet put a hand next to her mouth and whispered loud enough for the entire salon to hear, “She just went through a bad breakup.”
“Say no more.” He winked. “Revenge hair. I love it.”
I turned back toward Juliet, remembering her initial question. “Yeah, it was super weird being back. Seeing my old apartment…but then Ken showed up, and—”
“I know! What about a Gwyneth Paltrow/Sliding Doors thing?” my stylist asked, gripping the hair on the back of my head in both hands. “We could take all this off”—he tugged—“and do a long, swoopy side bang in the front.”
“I had that cut, too,” I said with a shrug. “I was thinking I might want to keep some length this time.”
André—I don’t remember his name, but he looked like an André—grimaced at my request.
“You should go darker,” Juliet’s stylist suggested. She was rocking some effortlessly messy dreadlocks that had been dyed a deep reddish purple.
“Ooh, I like your color!”
“Oh my God, yes!” André exclaimed. “Burgundy. It would be perfect with your redheaded complexion. I’m seeing a sleek, angled burgundy bob. Like a sexy secret agent.”
“I don’t think her hair does sleek.” Juliet snickered.
“Oh, it’ll do whatever I tell it to, honey.”
I glanced from stylist to stylist and then shrugged. “Okay.”
André went to go mix the color, and Juliet pinned me with a knowing grin.
“What?” I snapped.
“You called him Ken.”
“So? That’s his name.”
“You used to call him Pajama Guy.”
“Well, that was back when he wore pajamas all the time.”
Juliet laughed through her nose. “Those were workout clothes, dumbass.”
If Jason was the brother I never had, then Juliet was definitely the bitchy, older sister.
I folded my arms across my chest. “Whatever. I have pants with drawstring waistbands, too. I got them in the pajama section at Target because they’re fucking pajamas.”
Now Juliet and her stylist were both snickering. “So, if he’s not Pajama Guy anymore, what does he wear now?”
I huffed and glanced at the mirror in front of me, telepathically imploring my stylist to hurry up at the color-mixing station. “I don’t know. Not pajamas. Like…a tie.”
Juliet’s face flipped from amused to confused in an instant. “A tie? Since when are you into guys in ties? You only like guys who look like they rob guys in ties. At gunpoint.”
I didn’t want to, but I laughed. “I know, okay? I know! But you didn’t see him. It wasn’t like a normal tie ensemble. It was…I don’t know…edgy.”
“Oh my God.”
