Page 87 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
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THE DINOSAURS THOUGHT THEY HAD TIME TOO.
That’s what’s plastered in big green letters on the bumper sticker of Kaity’s white Chevy. It stares me down as I follow her to the nail salon and park on the nearest side street. I’ve been thinking of getting one too, because in fact, they did not have time. Sort of like us if we aren’t careful. Plus, my car is a heap of trash. “I love that—” I start when her door opens, but she’s already talking. I shouldn’t be surprised.
“I should do something Christmassy, right?” Kaitlynn asks again. She’s been super indecisive since lunch. It was one of those last-minute decisions. Getting Julieta on the same schedule wasn’t working after all, so we just said never mind and came right after classes let out.
“Yes!” I say. I’ve known what I’m getting since she brought it up early, but like always it’s a huge ordeal for her to make up her mind. Inside, we wait half an hour before they call us back. Apparently, Monday is a more popular manicure day than I thought.
“Have you decided finally?” I ask.
Kaitlynn takes the seat next to me and puts her hands out, fingers spread wide, and wiggles them.
“I think. Yeah, I know,” she says, and then turns her attention to the dark-haired nail tech. “I want a mix. I want these to be bright Christmas red. These the same color but with a white dot at the top. And the others like candy canes.”
Candy canes? That’s going to be intense.
“And you?” my nail tech asks.
“Can I get a steel gray on my pinky, thumb, and pointer fingers? And then darkdarkgray on my middle finger,” I say, pointing to each finger. “And the same color on this one, but with a big snowflake surrounded by small ones?”
“Ah, that’s going to be cute,” Kaitlynn whines.
“No copying!” I tell her.
I don’t mind matching, but if we’re going to do that, I want it to be planned and for a reason. She’s done it a few times after I came out, and it’s just weird.
“Fine,” Kaitlynn grumbles.
The nail techs start filing and I do my usual: look awkwardly in any direction other than at them while they’re holding my hand and cutting my cuticles back. It’s the only reason I would do my own nails if I had the coordination. It feels odd, sitting here with some random person holding my hand. Like, I know they’re doing their job, they’re making art of my nails, and that’s it, but still. I asked Kaitlynn if she felt the same after my first manicure and she thought I was insane.
I try to focus on the TV in the corner. Some old show is playing silently with the black and white letterbox captions at the bottom. My eyes aren’t that good, even if I were wearing the glasses I almost never wear, to read them this far away though. It doesn’t work anyway. My head can’t let go of the awkwardness.
It's no different now after tons of them. The woman carves away at my nail. Her fingers are wrapped around mine, moving them about where she needs, and all I can do is cringe that I’m holding someone’s hand. There’s only one hand that hasn’t given me the heebie-jeebies. Zachary’s. The one hand I shouldn’t want but for some reason I do, even though he pulled a douche move and showed up to dinner last night with Hayden. Like who does that?
My phone vibrates, but I’m stuck with one hand dunked inside a bag of questionable-looking liquid while the other’s in this woman’s firm grasp with clippers traveling from finger to finger. It’s just one vibration. A text. Why do I want to see it now more than normal? Just because I can’t. It’s always that way. It’s what I can’t have that I want the most. Like Hayden was.
“What you doing after this?” Kaitlynn asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. My paper was done and handed in on Friday, so I don’t have that to stress me out anymore, just everything else. I’d thought about going home and making Mom watch moreEvil Lives Herewith me. It’s this show I found about families of murderers and serial killers and growing up with them. It’s intense sometimes. “Probably just watching some TV.”
“Lucky,” she huffs.
“Poor Kaity,” I jest. “Gotta work a little.”
“If my hands were free, I’d show you a finger right now,” Kaitlynn says, then lowers her voice to a whisper, “bitch.”
I laugh, which I don’t think makes my nail tech the happiest because it causes my fingers to shake.
“Dry,” my nail tech says, and motions to the UV lamp machine in front of me.
I put my hand in while she starts the next layer on my other hand. I watch the number tick away, counting down to when my hand is free long enough to check my phone. It blinks down to zero and I pull my hand out and steal my phone from my pocket. The name accompanying the single text on the screen sends a flurry of mixed emotions through my head.
ZACHARY: You work tonight?
Huh? Why do you want to know?
MACKENZIE: No. Why?
