Myra emailed to say it had been long enough for me to fight again. Husband said he would call the Murray's people about another training session. It would be nice if he and I could practice or train without them, but neither of us is frail enough to pretend to be the people I fight.

When I stopped at the diner to pick up lunch, Mrs. Hartman asked me something I did not understand. "Your hair is always so perfect! Who do you go to?"

"Go to?"

"I go to Micalah at Hair Today, but that's all the way up 51. Did you find someone closer?"

I made a guess. "We had an aesthetician while on deployment. I have not found one here."

"Oh? But that was months ago, wasn't it? Who's been doing your hair since then?"

Many people on Novice Network talk about glamour and appearance, and how often they changed their portraits. I thought perhaps Earth people did the same with their own bodies outside of the game. Husband and I never worried overmuch about it. I only ever changed my hair once, to get it clear of my eyes while fighting.

These questions were about my body, but they did not seem as personal as the questions about birth control, since they were about things people could see. I decided I needed answers for them.

"I have not changed my hair since coming here."

"But it's so neat and trimmed! Do you take care of it yourself?"

"...Myself, yes."

"Oh. Well, if you ever need someone, tell Micalah I sent you."

Mrs. Hartman seems to fret about me sometimes. Perhaps since she is older she treats me like a daughter. Mr. Hartman does not act like a father, unless he is unhappy about something.

I took the sandwiches to the workshop and asked Husband about hair. "Why would Mrs. Hartman ask who I go to for my hair?"

I recognized the pattern of his face. This was something he had forgotten to tell me.

"Because Earth people hair grows. It gets longer. For people to have the same length hair all the time it needs to be trimmed."

"Our hair has not gotten longer."

"No. It hasn't."

His face had changed. I was not familiar with the pattern. "Is this why I see so many hair salons from the bus?"

"And nail salons, yeah. Because nails grow longer too."

I looked at my hand. "Finger nails?"

"And toe nails. Most people trim their own nails, but nail salons also make nails look pretty with paint and polish."

"Our hair and nails have not grown. I told Mrs. Hartman I take care of my own hair. Is that normal?"

"It's not un-heard-of. We can say it's something we learned to do on deployment when we were in the field."

I nodded. I still did not recognize the look on his face. It was a little confused, a little worried, and perhaps a little sad. But he was not saying why. "Should I know of anything else that grows?"

"Body hair. A lot of men have hair growing on their face and chest." He ran his fingers over his chin. "I should have needed to shave by now."

"Women do not have this?"

"Not the facial hair, and as far as I know not the chest hair. But both men and women have arm hair, leg hair, arm pit hair..."

"Arm...pit...hair."

"Yeah. Hair that grows under the arms."

I tried to imagine what that looked like. The picture in my mind was a lock of my blonde hair trailing down from my arm pit. When I googled an image later it looked more like a straggly bush. I cannot decide which image is more strange.

"I do not have hair on my arms and legs."

"I did. Or...Original Me did. Probably still does. A lot of women shave their pits and legs, and I think some shave their arms, so you should be fine. Course, we're not leaving dirty shavers lying around for people to find...guess we're just that neat and tidy."

He was still not explaining his feelings. "Do you wish you had body hair?"

He was slow to respond. "It's not like I need it. It's just...a reminder that I'm not really human."

"Is that bad? I am not human either."

"Yeah, but I remember being human. You don't."

"I do not. I remember being miqo'te in a land without bathrooms and driver's licenses and arm pit hair."

He sighed and looked down at the workbench. "Yeah. Sorry. Guess I'm just being silly."

I began to understand. This was like when he first used his phone at the diner, when he talked about fingerprints at the Pit. He was realizing he was missing things that he thought he had, that he thought made him what he was. Which left him wondering what exactly he is now.

I walked around behind him and put my arms around him. "You are everything I want and need, Husband. Whatever you may be."

I felt him tremble. I was not sure whether it was a laugh or a shudder. He put his hand over mine and squeezed. "Thank you, my love."

I rested my head on his shoulder. "Should I go to someone for my hair?"

"Risky. People here can cut it and rearrange it but not make it longer. I don't know if it'll grow back if it's cut. You might be stuck with short hair."

"Would you still love me if I am bald?"

"I would certainly try."