HUNG OUT TO DRY
They were probably breaking at least four health codes, but I’d been coming here with my mom since I was eight. This nail salon was where she had taught me how a French tip can mature you if done right, but age you if done wrong. She wasn’t here anymore— she didn’t die, but her boyfriend just “dragged” her to Miami a year ago. She told me she didn’t want to move, but I knew she did– there was nothing left for her here. Except me.
Nailed It! is in Downtown LA, one of the worst parts, but I felt oddly safe amongst the pickpockets and catcallers. My mom had taught me from a young age that they were (mostly) harmless. My rings could act as brass knuckles if needed, and I still walked with my key between my fingers, but it was more for comfort than anything else.
I moved my key to my left hand as I got closer to the double doors with long metal handles. I could see through the plexiglass that every one of the six pedicure chairs and three manicure stations were filled— I forgot to call and check if they could squeeze me in. The bell above the door jingled when I opened it, and an echo of hellos from the techs followed.
“Adelaide!”
“Hey, Laidey!”
“There’s our girl!”
I felt so loved every time I walked in. These women had watched me grow up. They had asked me about the boys I had crushes on and threatened to kill the ones who broke my heart. They were surrogate mothers to me when my mom left me behind.
Mom and I used to have money. Kind of a lot of it. Then she fell for a guy she met online, who said his daughter needed surgery and he couldn’t afford it. I think Mom knew what it was like to have a daughter who you’d do anything for. She sent him more than enough and he promised to pay her back. He never did. Mom had to start bartending to afford our apartment, and that’s where she met her new boyfriend. That’s when she forgot that she would do anything for her daughter. She had only called me twice after she left.
The oldest of the bunch, Mei, was more than just my stand-in mom, she was everyone’s. Even though the ladies had taken turns doing my nails over the years, and they were all amazing, she was my favorite. She could always tell whether or not I wanted to talk during my appointments. Sometimes I needed comfortable silence. With Mei, there was a warmth in the quiet that enveloped me like a hushed hug.
Mei got up from her client, leaving her with only six nails painted.
“Hi, my girl.”
She reached out and grabbed my hands, pulling them towards her, rubbing them with her thumbs. She looked back and forth between my eyes, trying to get a read on me.
“I’m fine, Auntie Mei. I just need a manicure and a foot massage.”
Her eyes narrowed. When she seemed satisfied with my answer, she turned toward the other ladies and said something in Vietnamese. They talked so quietly to each other, it made me want to be let in on their gossip and what I assumed to be light-hearted judgment.
She walked over to the counter that was covered in marble-patterned contact paper and grabbed the wicker bin full of gel colors. She handed them to me and told me to wait in one of the chairs by the door. I didn’t need to look at the swatches, and Mei knew that. I always got one of the same three colors: Champagne Problems, Pursed Lips, and Not On My Watch.
I looked around the store even though it hadn’t changed since the first time I came with my mom. I loved how tacky everything was— the turquoise peel-and-stick tile had started coming up at the edges, the row of gold and white lucky cat figurines had stopped waving a few years ago, and the vinyl on every rolling stool had cracked and been taped over with silver duct tape. I was starting to get a headache from the smell of acetone.
“I’m ready for you, Adelaide.”
She bent over next to a chair right next to the door to fill the pedicure bowl with hot water. I set my hand-me-down Coach purse from my mom on the floor next to the chair and grabbed the remote to change the massage settings.
“What color did you pick?”
“Pursed Lips please.”
“Tell me if the water is too hot.”
I slid my tan sandals off next to my purse and sat in the chair, dipping my toes in to test the water. If anything it was too cold. I adjusted it the same way I had watched her do it a thousand times and upped the setting on the massage. I sat back in the chair and watched Mei grab the gel from the back wall.
Before she sat down, she moved my bag towards the window so it was out of the way of her stool. She tapped the polish against the palm of her hand to mix it. She moved over to the side of my chair so she could reach my hands.
“It’s been a while, huh, Laidey?” She eyed the chipped gel and gap from where it had grown away from my cuticle.
“Yeah, I’ve just been busy. I’m trying to find a new apartment because I can’t afford mine anymore.”
The truth was, I couldn’t even afford the manicure, much less the apartment. I was waiting to hear back about an interview I’d had a week before for a better-paying job.
I realized I had been spacing out for nearly twenty minutes, replaying the interview in my head, when the bell jingled and a man walked in. He stayed in the doorway, looking around like he was trying to find who was in charge. He was probably going to buy his wife a gift certificate like all the other husbands and boyfriends that came in. I wondered if my mom’s boyfriend ever did anything like that for her. Or if I would ever find anyone that would do that for me.
“One second, hun,” Mei told him, looking up at him for just a second before finishing the second coat on my pinky finger. She got up and walked to the counter, and I expected the man to follow her. He didn’t. He stepped to the side of the door, away from the counter, and he looked down at my purse.
Before I could apologize for it being in the way, he reached down and grabbed it off the floor. He turned, pushed the door open, and left. I don’t think I even moved an inch. I only remember him looking up at me, as if taunting me, and the only thought that went through my head was, I can’t try to grab my purse or I’ll ruin my nails.