Page 8 of Unhitched

My pink straightener on the white marble counter contrasts the way it looked on the carpet in my bedroom at Matt’s, and it sends my thoughts back to Valentine’s Day as I comb through my hair and get ready to make the first snip.

Everything happened so quickly, I could hardly process it.

If anything though, I was more focused on the way Matt’s eyes shifted between Kace and me, filled with questions.

Something in my gut told me he wasn’t wondering if it was true or not–if I had a boyfriend on the side.

I’m sure it only helped his case when I defended Kace to the manager as he was dialing 911.

As soon as he stormed off, Matt asked, “Did you plan that?”

I stared back at him blankly.

“Answer me, Mya. Was this some mastermind plan to get me to break up with you because you were too chicken shit to do it yourself?”

What a brilliant idea that would have been , I thought to myself.

It’s not like I wasn’t creative enough to come up with the idea on my own.

My first few breakups in high school were “staged.” The first boyfriend I ever had was sweet.

He was everything I could have wanted, but he was a year younger than I was, and we weren’t on the same page sexually.

I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him feel bad for not being ready to have sex when I was, so I decided to break up with him.

I logged onto AIM–because my mom wouldn’t let me have a cell phone until I turned eighteen like Ella, and I was two months short of that milestone.

I pretended to instant message my friend that I felt bad and didn’t know how to break up with my boyfriend without hurting him.

I intentionally sent the message to him, and it initiated his breakup with me.

That was a chicken shit way out. This would have been too, if I had planned it.

I wish every inevitable breakup fell into my lap that easily.

If only it were as simple as folding my arms with a nod and a wink like Jeannie.

Matt had taken my silence from across the table at the dimly lit restaurant as confirmation. “Seriously, Mya? This whole time I thought maybe you were just busy trying to make your little crafts into a career. But you were avoiding our relationship, weren’t you?”

That was the nail in the coffin for knowing this breakup was the right choice. Despite my inability to take steps toward it before, it was enough for me to push away from the table and leave without arguing to save a relationship I didn’t want to bring back from the ledge.

I sigh, shoving away the final thought of Matt shaking his head before telling me to leave and returning to the pasta he had twirled around his fork.

Refocusing on my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I watch as the chunk of hair mirroring the missing one falls to the floor.

I’ve never cut my hair before, but Ella and I used to cut each other’s growing up.

I gave my sister the adorable shoulder-length hair she’s been rocking for years, so surely I can manage.

Fifteen minutes later, I’ve snipped away at least eight inches of my hair, leaving the remaining blonde strands sitting right at my shoulder.

I tousle my fingers through it, shaking away any loose hairs, and twist my head from side to side to get a better look at my work.

I went for the choppy look to give myself some extra leeway, and it looks pretty dang good if you ask me.

I spin away from the mirror, looking over my shoulder to make sure the back is more or less even when the bathroom door flies open.

It misses hitting me by a fraction of an inch, slamming against the rubber jam on the wall behind it.

With my heart racing, I freeze at the image in front of me.

Kace stands there with a look of panic in his gorgeous brown eyes, his hair more ruffled than usual like he was just tugging on it.

His chest visibly deflates with an exhale. “Are you okay? ”

“I think the better question is, ‘Are you okay?’” I giggle.

“Jesus, Mya. I thought something was seriously wrong.”

I tilt my head. “Why did you think that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I come home from a meeting and the practical stranger I let live with me is nowhere to be found, and yet, her abandoned phone is blasting music next to a pile of her hair. It looks like the start of a gone missing, then murdered story out there.”

“Love Just Is” plays from my phone in the living room, although the sound is faint from here. I can’t help but think how I can’t make sense of this guy .

“Mya,” he says like he’s trying to get a reaction from me.

“Yes. Hi.” I clear my head with a shake, a few newly cut wisps of hair falling to the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just had a slight accident while I was working, and I got distracted trying to fix it.”

His eyes scan my body from head to toe like he’s taking in my appearance for the first time.

My arms fold over my mid-section, all of a sudden acutely aware that I’m still in my pajamas shorts and a sports bra.

His gaze finally stops on my face. “You cut your hair.” His tone is so matter-of-fact that his opinion on it is unclear.

I nod. “Does it look awful?”

His eyes scan my head, but then I watch them briefly dip toward the rest of my body. “No.” He clears his throat. “It looks good.”

“Okay good.” I square my shoulders. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He taps the doorframe with his fist twice. “Sorry for barging in. I’ll leave you to it.”

“It’s okay. I’ll go clean up the crime scene.”

A smirk flickers across his face. “Do your thing. I’ve got to get back to work.” With that, he gives a slight nod and exits the bathroom.

I call out after him, “Thank you for being concerned about me being taken, Liam Neeson,” and wonder if he heard me.

While I’m in the bathroom, I shower and blow dry my hair to ensure it’s acceptable.

Tapping my finger against the plate of my straightener to test the temp, I pick out chunks of my hair and twist them in loose waves.

The spunky vibe that results is a dream come true and makes me wish I had kept my crimper.

This isn’t awful mid-life crisis hair. It definitely isn’t the over-gelled scrunched ramen hair from middle school.

This is comeback hair, and I’m obsessed.

Happy as a bird with a french fry, I peek my head out from behind the door to make sure Kace isn’t in the main area.

With no sign of him, I make my way to my suitcase in nothing more than a towel and drop it as I dig through my bag when I realize my roommate left again.

I pull out my camo print short overalls that scrunch at the waist–not caring that it’s only fifty degrees outside–and a black tee to go under them. It’s not as colorful as I usually dress, but I feel edgy with my new hair.

Finding my place back on the ground, I switch the music to Ashlee Simpson’s Autobiography album and pick up my bookmarks again. I finish cutting them, still leaning into my cutter to get a precise cut, not worried since I’m not sure it could do much more damage to my hair.

Bobbing my head to “Pieces of Me” as I make a neat little stack of my fifty bookmarks, I pick up the top Daughters of the Moon one and grin at the black and neon green print, glowing under the holographic laminate.

I finish it with a tiny hole punch and an eyelet before tying on a black tassel to match.

I hold my bookmark in front of me, turning it in the natural light streaming through the window. It’s perfect.

Happy with my work, I start a pile of completed ones to my right and pick up the next bookmark to finish.

An hour later I’m done with all of them plus taking pictures of them on Kace’s coffee table.

His place might be simple and plain, but I can’t deny it’s also aesthetic and perfect for product marketing pictures–especially with the light from an entire wall of windows.

I glance at the metal snowboard clock on the wall. 3:52 . Dang. This day is flying by. I mentally toggle through the rest of my to-do list.

List bookmarks.

Grocery shop.

Ask Kace for a key.

All doable in the remainder of the day. But first, food. I haven’t eaten.

I pour myself a bowl of cereal–Rice Krispies with a cut up banana on top. It’s not like I’ve seen Kace eat anything besides his sandwich yesterday, but I have a feeling we have similar tastes in food. If only he had marshmallows so I could make us some Rice Krispie treats.

I finish my late lunch, savoring every snap, crackle and pop in my mouth, before putting my dishes in the dishwasher and cleaning up the chaos I left in the living room.

After making sure everything looks good enough to prevent Kace from panicking again, I do my makeup.

I usually stick with a basic look, letting my green eyes do all the heavy lifting.

Today, however, I’m going for edgy energy–at least until my undeniable bubbliness overwhelms it. I twist the black eyeliner up and apply a thin line–more wannabe edgy, less Avril Lavigne.

Satisfied with my look, I finish my mental grocery list. Assuming Kace went to the taco place, I’m going to stop by there first to find out when he will be home.

Then I can plan my shopping accordingly or see if he has time to get a key made for me.

I lock the door on my way out, not wanting to leave it open for so long, and press the down elevator button once I’m in the hallway.

The steel doors open with a whoosh, and a man stands on the other side of them, nearly falling over from the box piled high with liquor bottles in his hands .

“Do you need help?” I ask, and he peers around the side of the handle of Smirnoff as he steps off the elevator.

“No, I’m good. Thanks though.” He readjusts the box in his arms.

I smile at him, and right before he continues on his way, he turns his head back toward me. “Are you new here? I thought I knew everyone on this floor.”

“Kind of, yeah.” I motion back down the hall. “I’m Kace’s new roommate.”

The man glances toward the ceiling like he’s trying to put a face to the name. “Oh.” I can practically see the lightbulb turn on with how his furrowed brows shift to wide eyes and a nod. “The moody guy who always keeps to himself?”

I chuckle. “That’s the one.”

“Well, I’ve already interacted with you more than I have with him in the three years we’ve both lived here, so here’s to hoping your neighborly-ness is contagious. This floor is a lot of fun for adults in their quarter-life crisis. Don’t let him make you believe otherwise.”

I like this guy already. When I was with Matt, we lived in a townhome next to an elderly couple who kept to themselves. I would love to make some friends. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him bring me down.” I grin.

“We’re having a party tonight. Starts at six. I know that’s early, but we like to be done by midnight instead of 4 a.m. Come meet everyone.”

“Oh my gosh,” I muse. “Remember the days when we could stay up half the night, then fall asleep on someone’s floor using a jacket as a blanket, with a stereo blasting?”

He laughs. “Now my wife and I can’t even sleep without a sound machine, an essential oil diffuser, and a blackout shade.”

“Thirties hit differently, that’s for sure. Sounds like fun, though. I’ll let you go so that vodka doesn’t take you out too early.”

He grins. “We’re apartment 708. Stop by anytime after six. ”

I thank him and say goodbye, then wait for the elevator door again while he walks away.

Thankful the rain has let up, I make the fifteen-minute walk to Little Conejo bundled in my puffer jacket.

I see why Kace loves it here. The tacos I had yesterday were out of this world, and the cactus and aloe plant decor screams cute roadside cafe in Arizona desert vibes.

Peering through the window, Kace isn’t in the same seat he was yesterday.

I step inside and scan the restaurant. I don’t see him anywhere.

I make eye contact with the bartender. “Is Kace here?”

The woman looks up from behind the bar. “No, hun. He hasn’t been in today.”

“Oh, alright. Thank you.”

She nods in acknowledgment, and I turn on my heel, walking outside just to freeze on the sidewalk.

Crap. I didn’t think this through. I don’t have a key.

I don’t have his phone number. I have no idea what time he’ll get home.

I guess my only option is to go back to the apartment and wait for him to let me in.

The party.

I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket to check the time. There’s still another half an hour until it starts, so I head toward the grocery store to pick up a few pantry items.

Snagging only what I can carry in a newly purchased reusable bag, I end up with rice cakes and peanut butter, Cocoa Puffs, Trix and Frosted Flakes.

I also grab a few apples and bananas. I try to eat decently healthy outside of my guilty pleasure.

If I knew I could get into the apartment I’d also grab plenty of veggies and chicken to stir fry.

But cereal is my weakness. Well, that and Blow Pops.

I also get a box of almond milk because it won’t go bad in my car for a few hours, and that way I can at least stop using Kace’s milk.

I can hardly taste the difference, and since that time I researched the reason behind the “Got Milk?” ads, I’m convinced there’s no benefit to choosing the “real” stuff.

Though, I do wonder what Mary-Kate and Ashley are up to these days–more so than any other milk mustache celebrity.

After walking the few blocks back to the apartment and leaving my groceries in my Jeep, I double-check to make sure Kace isn’t home yet.

Still nowhere to be found.

I wish I knew more about him so I’d have an idea where to look, but I don’t even know where to start. And Vancouver is way too big for me to go looking for a needle in a haystack. I’m not sure if he cares where I am, but on the off chance he comes home and wonders, I should leave him a note.

Back at my car, I find a notebook and rip out a blank page.

Pulling my rainbow tiger Lisa Frank pen holder from my glove compartment, I pluck out the orange and green gel pens.

I feel like if Kace liked color, he would like those.

I tell him I’ll be at the apartment party up the hall and leave my phone number.

I take an extra minute to fold the note up into a little triangle football and make my way back upstairs to wedge the paper between the bottom of the door and the floor before taking off to hopefully make a few new friends.