Bet on It (18)

“Well, you do a good job. I mean, your cuticles need some love, and your nail shape could be a little more refined, but I can tell you’ve been takin’ care of them; I can see the love you put in.”

Aja took pride in the validation. After spending years with haggard nails from both anxiety-induced biting and just a habit she had a hard time breaking, she loved that they were in good shape. It was even better that their health had come by her hand, by a concentrated effort to take care of herself. It was a small thing. She was sure there were plenty of other personal growth endeavors to undertake with such fervor that probably would have benefited her life. But she should be grateful she had even this because she didn’t always, wouldn’t always.

Miri had connected her phone to a little speaker on the manicure station next to them. Her playlist seemed to be mostly modern R&B. Some songs Aja recognized and others she didn’t, but they were all nice, vibey in a way that relaxed her with every thump of bass. The longer they sat there, the more comfortable she became. Miri’s hands were soft and strong and incredibly steady as she went to work shaping Aja’s nails with a little file.

Their silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it was. Aja had never made a habit of going to the nail salon regularly, and from the few times she had, she knew conversation wasn’t required. But Aja found herself itching to speak. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but she surprised herself when she actually followed through with the desire.

“Is this your place?” she asked.

For some reason she couldn’t see Miri owning the spot. Guessing ages was a slippery slope that she’d never found steady footing on, but had she been made to guess, she would have said Miri was somewhere around her age. Aja sure as hell didn’t know many millennials who owned their own brick-and-mortar businesses, especially not Black ones.

There was also the vibe of the place. Fresh Coat was nice, clean, and well maintained, but the decor was definitely what she would consider … auntie-ish. The entire color scheme was various shades of brown. Rich chocolate-colored chairs, tan walls, even the artwork was tinged in the color, along with burnt oranges and reds. Aja obviously didn’t know the woman, but she had a hard time imagining Miri picking those things. She wore a thigh-length dress with a muted green-and-pink geometric pattern that showed off her arms and the bold, black heart tattoo in the center of her cleavage. She wore a couple of black chokers with gold star and moon pendants dangling from the front. Even her shoes, thick-soled platform sandals, were stylish.

In short, Miri looked cool as fuck. So cool that Aja couldn’t picture her decorating a place she owned in this particular fashion.

“Uh-uh,” Miri said as she worked her rough file against Aja’s nails, slowly turning them into more pronounced oval shapes. “My auntie owns it, but she’s only workin’ a couple days a week while she gets ready to retire, so I’m holdin’ the fort down.”

“Oh, right.” That made a lot more sense. “Well, I’m glad I made it in here before the rush.”

Miri snorted, gripping her file a little tighter. “Girl, you’re probably one of maybe three customers I’ll have all day. And that’s if I’m lucky … and I might actually be the unluckiest person this side of the Atlantic.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t see how surprised I looked when I saw you in here?”

“I mean, yeah,” Aja said, nodding, “but I figured that was because I’m here kind of early in the day … and it’s a Monday.”

“Nope. It’s because you’re the first brand-new customer we’ve gotten in, like, three months. Everyone else who comes in has had a standing appointment for damn near as long as I’ve been alive.”

Aja was silent in her shock, and Miri looked up at her, chuckling at the expression on her face.

“We were the only nail salon in town for years. If you weren’t comin’ to Fresh Coat, you’d have to go to Beaufort or Yemassee for the chance at getting a decent shellac.” Miri put her file away and pulled cuticle cream from a drawer attached to the table. “But a couple of years ago the mayor’s wife’s sister opened up this fancy new shop in the part of town where all the rich folks live. They’ve got massage chairs at every station and free bottomless mimosas and all kinds of other shit we can’t afford to do and well”—she gestured to the empty space around them—“everybody who wasn’t already deathly loyal to my auntie started flockin’ there.”

There was more than a hint of bitterness in her tone, and Aja couldn’t fault her for it. Greenbelt was a small town, so their customer base would have already been limited. To have it poached so blatantly would have made her feel bitter too. Her money wasn’t going to make their situation any better, but she felt even happier about choosing Fresh Coat over the other place.

Miri huffed. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to hear our boring sob story. You came to get these pretty nails done. Do you have an idea of the kind of art you want?”

Aja wanted to reassure Miri that she didn’t view anything as a sob story, nor did she mind hearing her talk about something weighing heavy on her heart. This was the first conversation she’d had in person in days. It was also the first time she’d been touched since Walker had rested his hand on her lower back on the way out of Kenny Mack’s. She didn’t know if other people viewed getting their nails done as an act of intimacy, but it was beginning to feel like one.