lights.”
She strokes my hair away from my forehead, then down the sides. She rubs her fingers over the outer edges of my ears.
“Remember when I used to give you ear massages?” she asks.
“Mmm. Turned me to putty in your hands.”
“You used to especially like it when I did this.” She gently trails the tips of her forefingers around the crevices of my ears.
“I still love that,” I remark, as warmth trails down my spine. “But you’d better be careful, lady. Only you could turn head shaving into foreplay.”
Liv laughs. A real laugh this time, one that makes me smile in return. She takes her hands away from my ears and reaches for the clippers. When she turns them on, an unpleasant buzz fills the air.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“Yeah. Give me a Mohawk before you shave it all off.”
She bites down on her lower lip as she positions the clippers at my hairline and draws them back. My hair falls to either side, leaving a path of smooth scalp. She concentrates on shaving the sides of my head. Tufts of hair rain down onto the towel and floor.
After she’s finished shaving both sides, we both look at the sheer weirdness of me with a stripe of hair running right down the middle of my scalp.
“Maybe you should leave it like that,” Liv suggests, her eyes lighting with amusement. “Shock your students and the other professors. Can you imagine?”
I turn my head from side to side to examine the effect. “They’d never take me seriously. Go on, get rid of it.”
She places one hand on my forehead and moves the clippers over my head again, shearing away the last of my hair. The reflection staring back at me looks alien with his shorn head and ears that stick out too far, but whoever that guy is, I think he’s doing the right thing.
After Liv finishes shaving off any remaining patches of hair, she puts the clippers on the counter and studies her handiwork.
“You have a very nicely shaped skull, professor,” she remarks. “I never would have known that.”
I rub a hand over my bald head. “We’re going to save a fortune on shampoo.”
I take the towel from around my neck and shake the hair clippings into the trash. “I’ll vacuum later.”
Liv drapes the towel around her shoulders before sitting down. She takes a deep breath and reaches for the clippers.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Okay.”
She turns the clippers back on. This time, the buzz sounds like a chainsaw. A bolt of rage fires through me so fast that I have to step behind Liv and away from the mirror so she won’t notice. My fists clench as anger and grief claw up my throat.
Keep it together, West.
I shut my eyes and force the helpless rage back down. The sound of Liv’s voice over the noise of the clippers dilutes some of the pain.
I open my eyes and step toward her. She’s holding the clippers out to me.
“What?” I say.
“Will you do it?” she asks.
Oh, God in heaven, don’t make me do this. Don’t make me shave off my wife’s beautiful hair.
I take the clippers from her. My hand is shaking. I clench my teeth and move behind her, unable to bring myself to meet her gaze in the mirror. I can’t even ask her if she’s ready because if she hesitates for an instant, I’ll never be able to do this.
It’s just hair. She’s the same. She’s always yours. Always will be.
I put the clippers back on the counter and pick up the brush. I don’t know if this will torture me or comfort me, but I do it anyway.
I brush Liv’s hair, gently tugging out the tangles, watching the bristles move through the thick strands like water. Ignoring the excess of strands that cling to the brush. When her hair is a shiny curtain against her neck, I pick up the clippers again.
I take a breath and put my hand on the side of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin. Liv is very still, her gaze on the mirror.
“I could just do a buzz cut,” I tell her. “Short but not gone.”
“No. It will all come out soon. I need to get used to it.”
I look at the blades of the clippers and focus my concentration.
This is a job. I know how to get a job done. I do it all the time.
But something shrivels inside me when the blades saw through the first strands of Liv’s hair. I pull the