Page 52 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Pick a color,” the tech directs me. There must be two hundred color options on a wall lined with the little bottles of lacquer. My eyes scan over all the shades of pinks and reds looking for something darker; black to be exact. I find one that’s close—a dark gray with some sparkle in it, flip it over, and read the color name to myself:Every Little Thing She Does is Magic.That’ll do.

I have a seat across from the technician—whose name tag says “Lily”—and Liv sits in an empty chair next to me.

Lily starts by putting my nails in a shallow dish of warm soapy water. She assembles her tools on a white towel—a nail clipper, filer, buffer, cuticle scissor, etc.

“Could we just cut to the massage and polish?” Liv asks Lily.

“No file?”

“No file.”

“No cut?”

“No cut.”

“Just massage?”

“And polish,” I butt in. Liv may be hijacking this manicure, but I want to at least walk out of here with fancy-looking nails.

Lily excuses herself to fetch a bottle of hand lotion and I take this opportunity to remind Liv that perfectly trimmed cuticles and square shaped nails never hurt anyone.

“That’s not the reason you’re here,” she in turn reminds me. “This is about taking your twenty-sixth birthday present out for a test drive. And we need to get the car in gear. Got it?”

Lily sits back down and pumps some lotion into her hands, warming it first between her fingers.

“Just relax and focus,” instructsLiv. Ironically, that’sthe same thing I tell Nora’s kids when they have a stuck poop onthe toilet.

Lily grabs the tips of my fingers with her left hand, and uses her right hand to apply a glob of lotion to the top of mine.

“Anything?”Livwhispers.

“Nope.”

“Do your palms itch?

“Nah.”

“How’s your head?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, that means it’s fully hatched then.”

At that, I realize how bizarre this must all sound to Lily. But then I remember that nail techs have to be sworn to some kind of secrecy with all of the tea a day-time housewife client probably spills. Affairs, money issues, delinquent kids—those things are way more salacious and interesting than a littlehocus-pocus. Right?

Lily goes on to work each finger. Then, she interlaces her fingers with mine and our palms connect as she squeezes down. My hand gets warm, but not itchy. My eyes shoot closed as a reflex.

“It’s happening,” Liv excitedly whisper-yells. “Keep your eyes closed.”

I want to explain to her how it feels like I couldn’t open them if I tried, but I’m sure she already knows how this goes.

I follow my sister’s direction and I see it. It’s a vision of Lily in her nail shop. She is opening a piece of mail. It’s a letter of some sort. She’s quiet as she reads it, but then tears up. I can’t tell if whatever is inside is happy news or sad news.

I try to stay tuned, but Lily moves on from my hand and works her way up my arm, massaging just below my elbow. The vision is gone. I open my eyes, resisting the urge to say out loud, “Hey, I was watching that!”

Instead, I ask—or rather,insist—“Can you do my left hand now?”

Liv smiles. I’m her little grasshopper.

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