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Chapter 6
It was nothing short of a privilege that she was able to work from home. Her shiny bachelor’s degree had left her with a mountain of student loans, but it had also gotten her a job at a new-age company that made up for lackluster salaries with “radical flexibility,” Whatever the hell that meant, it had allowed her to move across the country when living in busy-ass DC had become too detrimental to her mental health. Critiques and all, Aja was endlessly grateful for her job, and she loved that she was allowed as much solitude as she desired. But she also knew something absolutely had to give.
She’d rehashed the conversation with Reniece in her weekly virtual therapy with Dr. Sharp. Her therapist was a Black woman in her mid-forties who had an incredibly kind face but also had a sternness to her that always made Aja sit up straight. She had half expected Dr. Sharp to say she didn’t need to rush to make new friends. Instead, the woman had told her that fostering new relationships would be beneficial to her. The professional opinion startled Aja. She knew it was the truth, just like she knew it was what she genuinely wanted. It was just that she was… stuck.
As a child, before an insurmountable level of anxiety had descended upon her as a teenager, it had been easy for her to make friends. She’d been quiet enough not to hog the spotlight but had enough personality to make her fun and interesting. By the time she was sixteen, she was quietly drowning in anxiety more often than not, but she already had a strong group of friends. She hadn’t sought out counseling until her sophomore year of college, and with therapy and meds, she was more outgoing than she’d ever been. That didn’t last forever though. Life happened, friendships ended for reasons other than her disorder, and the older she got, the more difficult it became to cultivate new ones. Admittedly, after a while she’d stopped trying. She self-isolated, putting strain on what connections she had left, until her closest friend was someone she was related to. It sucked. A lot. She wanted to meet people she could go out with, have fun with, talk to, but she wasn’t sure she knew how to do that anymore.
Walker and his grandmother were the first new connections she’d made in a long time. And she didn’t really feel like Ms. May counted since they only ever spoke in a very specific setting. She didn’t think Walker counted either. Mostly because she knew that whatever friendship they might build was temporary and because the way she felt couldn’t be contained to pure friendliness. She needed friends who weren’t white ladies twice her age and white dudes she kind of, maybe, sort of, possibly wanted to rub herself up against like an overly affectionate cat.
She spent hours racking her brain for ways to make friends as a grown woman who worked from home and had a hard time opening up to people. She’d sat down at her desk with an actual pen and paper, relying on memories and anecdotes of how outgoing women like her mother and Reniece made friends to try and form her plan:
1. New mom clubs
2. Facebook groups
3. Friendly neighbors
4. Water aerobics classes
5. Black sorority gatherings
6. Target checkout-line conversations
7. Cultivating sparkling personalities
She’d felt no better when she finished the list. In fact, she’d felt even crappier about her options. None of them felt particularly doable for her, and that only served to increase the hopelessness in her spirit.
Had she been in DC, she probably could have bitten the bullet and gone to a few day parties and professional-development brunches before wiggling her way into the life of the first person who showed her kindness. Greenbelt didn’t have much in the way of those things. Unless you counted the Saturday afternoon rush at Minnie’s to be a popping brunch spot. Now all she could do was wait for another church event and hopefully force herself out of her own head long enough to meet some people.
The reality of it was defeating and filled her with the need to do something to make herself feel better. When neither cake baking nor staring at pictures of Trevante Rhodes was sufficient, she settled on something she hadn’t done in a very long time—a manicure.
Fresh Coat was located in a strip mall downtown, tucked between a dentist’s office and the only Pizza Hut in Greenbelt. Aja had done a quick online search for nail salons in town and quickly realized there were only two. They had the same number of reviews and star ratings, so she went with the one closest to her apartment. She hadn’t planned on getting anything extravagant, so she figured if the place was clean and the nail tech could polish sufficiently well, she didn’t need to be picky.
It was midmorning on a Monday, and she hadn’t expected the place to be busy, but when she walked in, she was shocked to find no other customers. None in the tiny little waiting area, none in the pedicure chairs that lined the right side of the shop, and definitely none at the nail stations. It was eerily quiet too—not even the small flat-screen TV mounted above the front desk was on. Aja took a few steps back until she was outside the door, making sure the little neon sign out front said “open” like she’d originally thought, before sliding back into the shop. Her feet had only just barely made it inside when someone finally appeared out of a back room.
It was a tall Black woman with dark-umber skin and a perfectly laid light-brown bob wig. The look of pure shock on her face was startling.
“Uh… hi.” Aja waved awkwardly and regretted it immediately. It seemed she was determined to act like a dork at any given moment.
“Oh my God.” The woman put the top back on the bottle of soda she’d been drinking and set it down on a nearby table before making her way towards her. “Hi,” she said with a grin. “You’re not lost, are you?”
Aja frowned. “I don’t think so.… I wanted to get my nails done.… Are you guys closed?”
“Hell no!” The woman winced the second the words were out of her mouth, and Aja couldn’t help but chuckle. “I mean, no ma’am, we are definitely open. What services were you interested in today?”
“Well, I need a manicure and… I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on getting anything fancy, but… maybe if I see something I really like…”
“Lucky for you you’re currently looking at the best nail tech in Greenbelt.” The woman reached into the back pocket of her dark jeans and pulled out her phone, tapping on her screen before handing it to Aja. “This is my Instagram.”
Aside from a few photos of the woman herself, the entire page was full of nail art. Each set was more gorgeous than the last. Nails of all shapes and lengths outfitted with designs so perfectly done they made Aja excited about the possibility of wearing the art on her own body. She peeked at the woman’s hands, noting the long coffin shape of them painted with a milky white coat of polish and a sporadic gold leaf design. Aja wondered if she’d done them herself. Based on the quality of her online portfolio, she probably had.
“These are amazing,” she breathed, handing the phone back. “Yeah… I’m definitely interested in getting some art.”
The woman grinned, her cheeks scrunching up, making her gorgeous face turn absolutely adorable. The smile was infectious, and Aja couldn’t help but return it.
“That’s great to hear. I’m goin’ to set you up at the second table over there.” She walked ahead, leading Aja forward, but turned her head to talk. “I’m Miriam, by the way, but everybody calls me Miri, since I apparently forgot all the home trainin’ my mama gave me and didn’t introduce myself earlier.”
“I’m Aja.”
