"What did you do?" her boyfriend babbled, eyes wide, arms akimbo.
"Don't you like it?" She ran her fingers through the darling pixie cut. "I love it. It's professional; it's fun; it's perfect!"
"But why?" he moaned. "It was so pretty, and now it's gone! They'll think you're a lesbian!"
She'd expected some push-back, but that last bit threw her. Plenty of heterosexual women had short hair, and it didn't matter to her if people thought she were gay. But those arguments seemed somewhat contradictory, and she couldn't decide which one to use. So she stood there for a minute, mouth open, hands on hips.
He sighed. "I'm sorry, baby. You're still my foxy Roxie. And it's…okay, I guess, but you really didn't need to do that. It just makes you look, I dunno, cold. Was it your editor's idea? Because I really think you're worrying too much about this silly job."
That did it. She slammed the door in his face and locked it. Barely aware of the fact that this was a major decision (cold?), and that they'd been dating for over a year, and that he'd certainly said worse things to her (severe? Had he said that?), and that she should at least try to consider this reasonably, rationally, and calmly (SILLY JOB?)…she scoured her apartment for his belongings. T-shirts, sneakers, CDs, boxers, pictures, a coffee mug, a book on the Three Stooges, and three pairs of Ray-Ban knockoffs went into a garbage bag. She opened the door and dropped the bag at his feet. He was livid, she noticed, but she discovered she didn't particularly care. She couldn't remember why they were dating. He already looked a bit like a stranger, or like a random acquaintance from long ago. She wasn't sorry, but she had the feeling she'd be sorry later, so she lied.
"I'm sorry." That sounded a bit forced. "Really, I am sorry." Better. "I just don't think this is working for me anymore."
"Roxie," he said, and his voice broke. He wasn't angry, just confused and upset. Her indignation and rage abandoned her, leaving only the dully painful certainty that this was the right decision. He was afraid of being alone, and she was, too. But she was already the only one fighting for her career, and who really needed a warm bed? So she hugged him, kissed him, and closed the door a second time.
She went to the bathroom and saw his toothbrush by the sink. And then she cried. She cried for a very long time, and without any particular reason.