Steamed

responded. “We’re dying mine. I don’t know how to fix the Eric problem. But I do know something about friendship. I’m too blonde, and you’re in no state to be socializing with blondes right now. In an act of solidarity, I’m going brunette. Or more precisely, I’m going Walnut Shine.”
    “Oh, Ade! I don’t hate all blondes now. Just Noah’s blonde tramp. You have gorgeous hair.” She did have excellent hair: a thick, silky mane of magnificent locks that curled softly the way you see in all those shampoo commercials. She regularly colored her hair at home and had at least four different blonde shades streaked through her tresses. How her hair stayed healthy, I had no idea. Mine was full of split ends and frizz no matter how many times I conditioned, hot-oiled, or trimmed it.
    “Yes, yes, Chloe, I know there are many lovely, friendly blondes out in the world, but right now we’re going to hate all of them! Get me a towel, and help me get this glop in my hair. And get the menu for Bangkok Bistro. We need major takeout tonight.”
    After we’d ordered half the menu to be delivered, we holed up in my bathroom, Adrianna seated backward on the toilet, half-naked, with a towel wrapped around her shoulders.
    “I can’t believe you’re trusting me with this,” I murmured as I massaged the brown dye through her hair.
    “It’s just hair,” she replied, a comment I thought was pretty generous, considering that hair was her profession.
    As I worked on her new look, I found that instead of wanting to complain about my nightmarish love life, I just wanted to be quiet. I didn’t even want to think about Noah or my year and a half of infrequent and unsuccessful dating or the bloody mess I’d seen on the men’s room floor. I just wanted a night with my best friend.
    After washing Adrianna’s hair in the tub and declaring her new walnut shade a victory for scorned women everywhere, we sat in front of the TV. I had showered and scrubbed the paint out of my own hair and was comfortably wearing my sushi-print pajamas with my hair twisted elegantly on top of my head, thanks to significant tugging and pulling from Adrianna.
    Having not eaten all day, I was so famished that when the deliveryman arrived with our Thai food, I practically tackled him. The day of fasting was unlike me. I typically spent a good portion of each day thinking about what I was going to have for my next meal. Whenever I was depressed, I usually had a few hours when I didn’t want anything to do with food, but when my bad mood even hinted at lifting, I craved food. And not just food, but gourmet food. I was all about soothing trips to Whole Foods or dinner at Boston Magazine ’s review of the month. When I’d ended my last serious relationship, I’d ransacked my shelves of cookbooks and selected Charlie Trotter’s Rack of Lamb with Vegetable Ragout, Mustard Spätzle, and Mustard and Thyme Reduction as my medicine. Instead of slaving over homemade spätzle, I’d substituted store- ; bought gnocchi, but I’d figured that under the circumstances, Mr. Trotter would forgive me for cheating.
    We opened pad thai (no peanuts), tod mun, chicken curry, warm beef salad, and white rice. The smells were spicy, salty, and sweet. I inhaled the aromas and felt a cozy, healing comfort wash over me. While Sydney Bristow continued to kick some serious ass, we polished off the delectable chocolate mousse cake Adrianna had brought and washed it down with tall glasses of milk. The last time Adrianna had broken up with a boyfriend, the highlights of the evening had included, from what we could both remember, drowning our (her) woes in apple martinis, getting kicked out of the Purple Rose bar, and vomiting in my bathtub late into the night. The hangovers we’d both had the next day led to the resolution that future heartaches were to be dealt with sober.
    And sober we were when late that night we both crashed in my bed together. I was exhausted from my emotional-roller-coaster day, and Adrianna had to get up early to do yet another final hair run-through for a bride-to-be. Ade pulled the comforter up to her chin. “I keep telling her to wait until a few days before the wedding to decide, since she keeps changing her mind about what she wants. One day it’s up, the next it’s down,” Adrianna complained.
    We giggled and chatted like kids having a sleepover until we were both silent and falling asleep. I rolled on my side and pulled a pillow on top of