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My frustration with her fades. Knowing she isn’t one to get deep or emotional, that statement was huge. I uncross my arms and pull her into a gentle hug.
“Alright, time for coffee. What do you want to do during your weekend of freedom?” I ask, but before she can answer I need to make one thing clear. “I will not be running with you again,” I say, pointing my finger at her. “It took three days and five bubble baths before I could recover from your little marathon last week.”
Evie laughs under her breath, holding up her arms in surrender. “Okay, okay, no running.” She walks to the table and sits down while I brew us a pot of coffee and grab her cream and sugar. I’m not convinced the girl even knows what coffee tastes like with how much creamer she uses.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had a girl's day before. The closest I’ve ever come to one was our movie nights. What do friends do together?” She asks, sounding a little sad.
“Well, back home, we would usually do mani-pedis. My little sister always wanted to join us. We would paint little flowers on her toes and practice our artwork on her. She loved it. Then we would dress up and go into town to go shopping and get coffee. Unfortunately, the only thing we could really do here is the mani-pedi part, but I assume that isn’t up your alley.”
“Who says it’s not up my alley?” she asks me, dramatically throwing her hand over her chest like I’ve wounded her. “Laney DeLuca, are you making assumptions about me?” She’s referring whenshemade assumptions aboutme.
“I guess I am,” I admit. “I have tons of nail polish if you’re interested, and I’ve gotten really good at the art. I could probably do something you would like.”
“I think that sounds fun,” she says smiling. “You have black though, right?”
I laugh, now knowing my assumption wasn’t too far off. “Yes, I have a black one. But, if you’ll trust me, I think I have something you’ll like even more.”
“There are very few people I trust in this world,” she says, “but with fashion and movie choices, I trust you implicitly.”
We both laugh while going back and forth on what to do with our time together. We eventually settle on mani-pedis followed by mimosas and facials. Then we will go out with a bang down at the archery and knife throwing courses.
???
“Holy shit, girl, these are amazing!” Evie exclaims when I finally allow her to check out her nails. The artwork took a little over an hour, but it turned out perfect. I crafted a skull on her middle finger that’s worthy of being worshiped whenever Evie flips you off. On the other three fingers, I put crowns fit for the Kings.
Her pointer finger has a black base and a white crown with a green gemstone in the center. Her ring finger has a white base with a black crown and a red gemstone. On her pinky finger, I used a red base with a gold crown. However, her thumb is my favorite. It’s a crown fit for a queen, a black base with a gold crown holding green and red gemstones.
Evie is soaking it all in, tilting them back and forth in the light. “Do you see the story?” I ask her. I’ve always been a fan of art creating a window to our soul, and no matter how much Evie tries to pretend she doesn’t have one, I’m learning to know better.
“The story?” she asks, looking at her nails again to try and understand.
“Yeah, the three crowns here,” I say gesturing to her fingers as I speak, “your pointer finger, that’s Lev. Your ring finger is Damien, and the pinky is Alexi.”
Evie doesn’t open up about her feelings often, but when it comes to these men, she seems to tell me most of what goes on between them. “The skull is not only so you can flip them off with flare,” I say, laughing, “it also symbolizes the darkness in you. Your thumb is a symbol for you. The queen in the fire. You can hold them all under your thumb, and I get the feeling one day you will.”
“Fuck, Laney,” she says, her voice sounding forced. She clears her throat. “Alright, I have to admit, I have only ever had my nails painted like once in my life. But damn, you can do this any time.”
I beam at her praise. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to do someone's nails. I flip my hair back. “I got you, girl. So what’s next?”
“Do you think they have hair dye at the store here?” Evie asks me.
“Have you seen the fake blondes here?” I ask her sarcastically. “They no doubt have hair dye. Do you need a touch up on the silver? I can do it for you if you’d like.”
“That would actually be amazing. It’s hard to do it all myself sometimes.”
“You created that silver on your own?” I ask her, pretty shocked by the idea. She nods at me, blushing. “Dang girl, that’s impressive. Have you ever had your hair done by someone?”
“Other than getting it cut when I was a child, no.” She squirms in her seat looking uncomfortable.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” I tell her, hoping she knows she doesn't have to tell me anything if she’s not ready.
“You didn’t,” she whispers, “I haven’t done anything girly or pampering since my parents died. I guess, since I couldn't do it with my mom, I just had no desire to do it.” She clears her throat, taking a second before she continues.
“I learned how to do some of the basic maintenance for my job, but that was about it. Except for my hair. My hair has always been special to me because it looked just like my mom's. However, someone found out it was a weakness of mine and chopped it all off.”
I watch as my friend struggles with her inner demons. She’s fidgeting on the barstool across from me, causing it to sway back and forth. It’s amazing what I know about her, and the fact that she’s still standing today. If I could ever hope to be as strong as someone in this world, I want to be as strong as Evie.
“When it started to grow back,” she continues, “I didn’t want to give anyone the power to take it away from me again. In Greek mythology silver symbolizes protection. So in order to protect the memory of my mother, I colored it silver.”
