Let's go.

Part 21: Clarity

"Cut it off."

Ray fastens the hair cape around my neck and then begins to comb my hair back. He lifts the ends between his two fingers and studies the length with a scrutinizing eye.

"Wrenna, honey, you have never had short hair in the twenty years I have known you," he says and his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

"I need a fresh start," I reply and reach for the glass of champagne his assistant had left for me.

"How about I just cut right above your chest?" He says and brushes my hair forward to show me the length he is considering. He places the comb at my chest and says, "How about here?"

I take his hand and move it higher until it rests at my jaw. "Here," I say and his eyes widen.

"Wrenna, this feels less like a fresh start and more like a hasty, emotional decision. Long hair is your identity!" He says.

"But an identity I never consciously chose. And now I feel like it is holding too much baggage," I sigh.

"Honey," he says and lifts his eyebrow up at me, "What is going on?" He motions at me with the comb in his hand.

"Oh Ray, I don't even know where to start," I admit.

"Just start from the beginning. I haven't seen you in a couple of months," he says.

Ray has been cutting my hair for as long as I can remember. He grew up down the street from me and even at a young age, he had a talent for makeup and hair. He used to practice the makeup and hairstyles he'd see in his mother's Vogue and Housekeeping magazines on Brooke and me.

"I'm going to need more than this," I say and point at the small flute of champagne.

"I'll go get the bottle," He says with a grin and leaves me sitting in the chair.

My long hair is brushed forward and its length falls to my waist. I reach my hand out from under the cape and begin to fiddle with the ends as I stare at my face which has become overwhelmed and overcome by my thick, dark tresses.

I pull my shoulders back and fix my posture in the chair, "I can do this, I can live for myself," I say aloud.

Ray returns with a full bottle of champagne and says, "Let's hear it."

******

*72 Hours Earlier*

I am sitting on Layne's lap in the hotel suite as we pick at the room service breakfast he ordered us this morning. Neither of us has an appetite even after the morning we spent saying our goodbyes. Neither of us has been willing to accept the day.

"Our manager is going to send you our tour schedule," Layne says and brushes my long hair back off my shoulder. He drops a kiss on the exposed skin then adds, "Her name is Susan and I'll give you her number. But she already has yours."

"I don't want to talk about this, Layne," I say and feel the tears begin to sting my eyes. I curl up into his lap and nuzzle my face into his neck. I'm going to miss the smell of his skin. I place a soft kiss against his neck and he wraps his arms around me.

"I know," he says quietly.

We sit silently for a moment. Then he leans forward and selects a ripe strawberry from one of our plates.

"When do you think you can come see me?" He asks, his voice low.

"I don't know. I have a crazy next few months at work," I reply, "I don't know when I can take time off." My eyes begin to mist and he squeezes me tighter against him.