The Other Black Girl(105)

The lie didn’t get past Malaika, who shot her an inquiring look. “Well, it smells incredible,” she said, reaching for it. “Can I see the label? Nella didn’t tell me she found something new.”

Kiara’s eyes snapped up from her magazine and locked on Malaika, then on Nella, but she didn’t say a word.

A beat passed. Finally, Hazel picked up the jar and handed it over. “Sure. Only thing is, there’s no label to see.”

“Are you one of those people who loves to read labels, Malaika?” asked Ebonee.

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Kiara does that, too. I practically have to drag her out of the grocery store; it can get so bad sometimes. We’re roommates,” Ebonee explained.

“Hey,” said Kiara, putting her magazine down in protest. “I like to know what I’m putting in my body. Nothing wrong with that.”

“That’s fair,” said Nella. “Hey—kind of random, but do you get Harper’s on the regular? I’ve been thinking of getting a subscription.”

Kiara shook her head. “Whole Foods checkout aisle. I’ve thought about it, too, because that’s what my creative writing teacher suggested to do during my last semester, but it’s too rich for my blood. Besides, I already get the New Yorker, New York magazine, the Atlantic—” She paused, staring at the fingers upon which she’d been ticking off her subscriptions as she tried to remember the others. “There are a couple more. But I can’t remember which. Most were gifts from family.”

“I hear that. That stuff adds up,” said Nella. “I work in book publishing and I’ve been blessed enough to get a discount on Publishers Weekly. One of the many perks to compensate for the low pay,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Hey—the pay could be worse,” said Hazel, rubbing a bit more grease on a part she’d just created. “The magazine I was working at before paid me a tiny bit less to do almost twice as much.”

“You were in Boston, though, weren’t you? Cost of living is different there versus here.”

“Not necessarily better, though.”

“Which publishing house do you work at?” asked Kiara, putting the magazine down at her feet.

“I’m at Wagner,” Nella said, at exactly the same time that Hazel said, “We work together.”

“Ohhhh,” said Kiara, nodding slowly as she gestured for Ebonee to pass the small ramekin of Wheat Thins. “Makes sense. God, they publish the best books there. You must love it. And Richard Wagner is, like, a god.”

“He’s pretty decent.”

Malaika raised an eyebrow. “Really? Weren’t you just telling me that—”

“You must be brilliant,” Ebonee interjected, staring at Nella. “It’s harder than hard to get a job there, from what I’ve heard.”

“Even just getting an internship seems harder than getting Lauryn Hill to show up on time,” Kiara agreed, slipping a cracker in her mouth. “Congratulations! That’s a pretty big deal. You should be proud.”

“Thanks.” Nella grinned. A tide of pride started to roll over her as she resisted telling them what Richard had said: I see how hard you’ve been working. We value you. “I’ve been there for more than two years now, and it seems like I may be getting a little more responsibility soon. Maybe even editing my own book!”

Nella felt a light tug on one of her strands of hair, but when she looked up, Hazel’s hands were in her lap, not on Nella’s head. “So, um, what do you do guys do? If you don’t mind me asking, of course,” she added quickly, remembering that she was at a natural hair party, not a networking event.

“It’s all good. I just finished my bachelor’s in English,” said Kiara. She did seem young, not just because of her baby face, but because she appeared to have spent maybe forty-five minutes in front of the mirror getting ready, judging by the heaps of eyeliner encircling her top and bottom lashes, her foundation, and her perfectly done matte lips. “But I’m looking at jobs right now. That’s how I met Hazel.”

“Same,” said Ebonee, gesturing to have the Wheat Thins back. “We went to NYU together, although I graduated a couple of years ago. I’ve been interning at the Paris Review the past year.”

“But we’re almost positive they’re going to offer her a full-time assistant position before the year ends,” Hazel boasted. “Sorry, I can’t help but brag, Eb—you’re a badass.”

“Whoa, okay. Tons of literary people here,” observed Malaika lightly. “Nell, aren’t you always telling me how white the literary world is?”

Nella raised an eyebrow. She’d been thinking the same thing. “Very white,” she said stiffly. “It would be great to have you guys in this world, too.”

“So great,” Hazel agreed. “The two of us can only do so much.”

“Well, I’m not into books or writing or any of that,” Juanita said proudly. “I’m working on getting my hair technician degree.”

“Nice!” Malaika looked down once again at the jar she’d been handed. “Since you know hair—tell me what the deal is with that goop Hazel’s slathering into Nella’s hair. Is it homemade or something? Is that why there isn’t a label?”