“Yes!”Livishouts. “Oh, do you know what we should do?Goget pedicures!Ibet that indoor mall we saw by the freeway has a nail salon.”
Lividoes a lot of hands-on work with minute and often greasy things at her job, so her nails are usually short and “not pretty.”Herwords, not mine.Shehates the nail thing but loves her job, so she compromises with pedicures.Somany pedicures.I’mnot complaining— if it wasn’t for her pedicure addiction, my toes would probably look like aSasquatch’s.
Ilike this road.IfIdon’t care whereIam going,Ifeel like a race car driver on it.Butnow thatIknowIneed to head back in the direction of the freeway, and with all the brakingI’mdoing while trying to figure out whereIneed to make a turn,Ifeel more like a teenager driving a stick shift for the first time thanIdo a professionalFormulaOneracer.
Amoment later, we are both laughing because, once again, neither of us can figure out how much of the circling road we’ve traversed or which of the many, many roads we are supposed to turn onto.Liviends up asking her phone how to get to the mall, and it eventually leads us there andIfind a parking space near an entrance.Aswe are walking into the building,Iturn and do one more scan of the parking lot and the road leading to it— not a single blackSUVin sight.
It’sa little thing, butI’mnot going to lie— it makes me feel pretty accomplished.
Andso does magically showing up at the nail salon at a time when we have to wait less than ten minutes before two pedicure chairs open, and we’re both seated.Todayis my lucky day.Ifound the greatest shoes ever,Igot my purse returned,Iran into the guyIwas hoping to run into,Isuccessfully evaded a (possible) tail, andIhad almost no wait after walking in without an appointment.Ishould probably think about betting on horse racing, asking for a raise, or attempting to parallel park in a small space while a crowd is watching.
Weare seated in the best view for people-watching, too— right where we can see everyone walking down the main walkway as the nail techs file and buff and we talk about strategies for findingJace.Asthe two pedicurists massage oil into our freshly exfoliated feet (my favorite part— as a physical therapy technician,Iknow the value of a good massage),Livistarts giggling (even though it’s her least favorite part).Thegirl is ticklish, and soon, the giggling turns into laughing.
I’vedone enough pedicures in the seat next toLivito know that if it turns to laughing, it’s almost always closely followed by her reflexively (and completely accidentally) kicking the nail tech and/or the bottles of creams and oils, apologizing profusely, and occasionally knocking over more things while trying to right the tipped bottles.Fora woman who relies on the steadiness of her hands, they somehow forget how to function when her feet are tickled.
“Maybemove on to the next step?”Isuggest to the younger tech doingLivi’stoenails.ThenIreach across the space between us to put my hand onLivi’sarm and try to distract her with a question— it sometimes helps to lessen the chance of chaos ensuing. “Tellme about this date you’re going on withFelipe.”
Sheshakes her head. “No.Thesubject is still on you andJace.”Shecringes, andIglance at her foot to see that she’s summoned the strength of every muscle in her leg and foot to keep it still. “Solet’s say we do some sleuthing and we find this guy again.Whatdo you think the chances are that you’ll go on more than one date with him?”
“Igo on more than one date with guys!”HasLivibeen talking toMaggieandRowan?Okay, maybe my going on a second date doesn’t happen often, but it isn’t exactly unheard of, either.
Myoutburst seems to have distracted her enough because her foot relaxes and the woman wraps a hot towel around it.Andno one got kicked.See?Mylucky day.
“Okay, sometimes you go on two dates with a guy,”Livisays, “ifthe guy is very obviously fantastic.Haveyou ever asked yourself why that is?Becausehaving a committed relationship is actually pretty great.”
Theolder woman sitting at my feet wraps mine in hot towels, too.Insteadof just changing the subject, likeInormally do whenLivibrings up a tough subject like this,Iactually let myself think about it.Maybebecause those hot towels on freshly massaged feet are so relaxing.
Forthe first time possibly ever,Imentally acknowledge that a big part of it probably has to do withDan, my ex.Hewas so dismissive of me and was a master of making me feel not seen, especially in public.Andthat was during the rare times when we went places where people could actually see us.
Buthe did it gradually enough thatIhadn’t even noticed it was happening at first.Probablybecause he was so great when it was just the two of us, and he was so good at convincing me thatIwas incorrectly interpreting everything that happened when it wasn’t just the two of us.
ButbeforeIknew it, my self-confidence was shot, andIwas convinced thatIwouldn’t ever find someone who would be interested in me or treat me better.Luckily,Ihave a friend likeLiviwho understood what was truly happening and pulled me out. “Idon’t know,Livi.MaybeI’mjust skittish.”
“Iget it.Ido.Butdo you know the best way to get over being afraid of riding on that horse?”
Iknow she’s about to say, “Getback in that saddle,” butI’mpretty sure ifItried to get back in the saddle,Iwould get one foot in a stirrup and the other would slip on mud.ThenI’dsomehow bring the whole horse down on top of me, and neitherInor the horse would be happy about that.Evenon a very lucky day.
Butthen,Ithink ofJaceand howImight be willing to go on more than one date with him.There’sjust something about him.He’sunbelievably attractive, for one.Andhe’s so much fun to be around.Plus, he just seems like a good guy.Ihaven’t dated enough truly good guys.Especiallynot ones that make my stomach flutter and send a rush of dopamine coursing through my body.
Insteadof responding toLivi’squestion,Ilean to the side a bit and look at the two men on the opposite side of the hall from the salon thatInoticed a few minutes ago and ask, “Don’tthose two guys look like they could be the drivers of that blackSUVthat was following us?”Notthat we saw who was driving the blackSUV.Itwas probably a mom with most of a soccer team as passengers.Butsince we didn’t see inside, it’s easy to pretend it could be them.
Livileans a bit and spies the men dressed in suits, andIswear that even from this far away,Isee sunglasses hanging from their jacket pockets and the curly wire of earpieces in their ears.Maybethey’re private security and there’s someone famous in the mall that they are protecting.
ButLivibuys into my distraction. “They’retotally dressed likeFBIagents!Mac, we have to try to shake their tail.”
Thewoman at my feet is unwrapping the towel from my right foot when her eyebrows draw together. “Youdon’t want polish?”
“Nottoday,”Livisays to my tech, then turns and smiles at her own. “Thankyou.Mynails look so great they don’t even need polish.”
Iam pretty sure it is a sentence thatLivihas never uttered before in her life.WhileIam totally fine going without beautifully painted toenails,Livithinks it’s a crime against nature.Ittells me that she’s loving this game of “LosetheFBI” as much asIam.
Clearly, we don’t have enough real excitement in our lives.
Weboth hurry to slip our shoes on and pay, giving the two women the size of tip we usually reserve for whenLivikicks something or someone, just to make sure they know that leaving without polish doesn’t have anything to do with them.Thenwe slip into the hallway with a big crowd of middle school-aged girls.
Whenthe big group goes straight,LiviandIturn down a hallway and duck into aBedBath&Beyond, taking a detour through the towels before slipping back out at the other end.Thenwe skip to the other side and look at some funny socks with a group of teenage boys, then head back the way we came.Wego in and out of stores, trying to take a path that’s the least logical.
Tenminutes later, we are both breathing heavily between an end cap of necklaces and a wall of mini backpacks inClaire’s.Theracing heart and the breathing heavy aren’t bad, especially because the heavenly scent of aCinnabonis drifting in from just outside ofClaire’s.
