The Other Black Girl(102)

Nella nudged her playfully. “He-ey. You owe me for all that Pitbull, remember?”

“Pretty sure you’d already owed me at that point. Which means now you’re going to owe me again. But this is going to count double, I think. Yeah. So, now you double-owe me.”

“This is going to suck as much for me as it will for you. But just remember what we discussed: We pretend we don’t have any problems with Hazel, so we can get rid of the problem that is Hazel.”

“That’s exactly what I just said, but fine.”

“Right. Whatever. Okay.” Nella reached up and pressed both buzzers. Hazel materialized in front of them, locs posted high atop her head.

The muscles in the back of Nella’s neck slackened. She didn’t know what she would’ve done if a maid had answered. Probably gone home and cried into yet another sad meal of cheap Chinese takeout. “Haze! Hey.”

“Nell! You made it!” Hazel rushed to hug her, as though they hadn’t been seated across from each other a mere three hours earlier. Meanwhile, Nella could feel the chill coming off her friend a few feet away as she waited to be greeted. Even still, she made an effort to grab Malaika’s arm and tell Hazel how excited they were to be in this very vestibule.

“It’s lovely,” Malaika added flatly.

“Thank you! Melanie, right?”

“Close, but a little Blacker. Malaika.”

“Right. You work for that big exercise guy, right?”

“Igor Ivanov.”

“Right. I just love his IG,” Hazel said, straightening the hem of her black T-shirt. It was the most casual Nella had ever seen her dressed, she realized, taking in the girl’s purple leggings and her lime-green pair of fuzzy socks. She felt overdressed. It had been silly, really, for her to have worn the same cream-colored lacy blouse that she’d worn to work to a natural hair party, where she would most likely be shedding bits of hair and hair grease all over it. But it was too late to worry about that now.

“It’s a shame we couldn’t properly meet at Curl Central a few weeks back,” Hazel added.

“Yeah. Well.” Malaika cleared her throat. Nella did, too, feeling a bit like a child who had stupidly rounded up her divorced parents for a dreaded school function. She craned her neck over Hazel’s shoulder. At the end of the hallway, she saw a sheer yellow curtain that seemed to serve as a door for another room. “That must be where the party is. And where Anita Baker is, it sounds like?”

Hazel perked up. “Mm-hmm. That’s the foyer. I’ve told Manny this has to be one of the first songs we play at our wedding,” she said, starting toward the music.

Nella practically felt the air change as Malaika sucked her teeth. “Such a good choice. Is Manny going to be here tonight?” she asked, hopeful.

“Nah, I told him girls only. He’s out with the boys.”

Damn. Manny was supposed to be her way in. She considered excusing herself to the bathroom and texting the person she’d spoken to on the phone to say that things were already taking a turn from the plan. But she didn’t trust that Malaika wouldn’t get into trouble without her.

Plus, it wasn’t like Nella wouldn’t be meeting a handful of other women that she could size up. She could already hear bits of their laughter bubbling beneath Anita’s crooning. “Girls’ nights are what I’m all about,” she said.

“He was disappointed, of course,” Hazel added, leading them first past a huge rubber tree plant, then past a small vintage wooden table that was home to three framed photos. Nella peered closely at the largest one: a six-by-nine black-and-white picture of four smiling Black folks who appeared to be no older than twenty-five or so. She was able to steal only a brief glance at the other two photos, although it was obvious from their faded condition that those, too, had been captured in another time. Hazel was in neither of them. “He has long, curly hair that he takes really great care of. Better care than I do of mine, actually.”

“Better care than you do? Now, I find that hard to believe,” Malaika piped up from somewhere behind them.

Nella froze. There it was: nudge-nudge number one. It had been stupid of her to show that photo of non-dreadlocked Hazel to Malaika, she decided, but it was too late to change that. Once she was positive Hazel was too busy leading them toward the living room to notice, Nella turned and shot Malaika a look. Stop it, she mouthed.

Malaika pretended not to see, feigning interest in an antique-looking mirror that was hanging on the left side of the hallway.

“What was that?”

Nella felt a touch of whiplash as she spun to look forward once more. Hazel had paused and was looking back at the two of them curiously. Anita finished and a livelier En Vogue song started up.

“I was just admiring this intricate bronze frame. This mirror is so lovely.”

“Oh, that old thing? Thanks, Mal. That was Manny’s grandma’s. This was her home since the seventies; her daughter gave us this place when she passed.”

Malaika nodded solemnly. “How nice. ‘Malaika,’ please. Not ‘Mal.’ Thanks.”

“Um, wow—look at that! Are these Manny’s grandparents here?” Nella practically shouted, pointing at the old black-and-white photo of the smiling couple she’d been eyeing a few seconds before.

“No, those are mine,” she said. “This was taken the day before they rode down to Washington for King’s march. All four of my grandparents marched together, which I think is pretty cool.”