Meant for Me | ✔️

28) it all changed

July, two months ago

A D D I E

The salon was overpowered with the scent of lacquer, sanitiser and harsh remover. The hum and spark of UV lights could be heard under the low hum of Kpop music in the overhead speakers and the bubble of foot spas was a soothing rhythmic pattern despite the arrangement of other noises.

"What colour?" Margo mumbled, staring at the wall of nail polishes, arranged in an intricate rainbow. There were hundreds of colours. Dozens of shades in each colour. I'd been about to pluck a canary yellow down when she reached out for a pale pink. "This one."

"That's cute. I think I'll go for yellow."

"What?" She looked at me, palming the bottle in her hand. "We have to get the same shade. Toes, fingers, lips."

"I'm not putting nail polish on my lips."

"No," she laughed and linked her arm through mine, pulling us toward the table that was arranged with manicure instruments. "I have a shade like this at home. It compliments our olive skin. Trust me on this one."

It didn't bother me enough to argue. If she wanted us to wear matching pink nail polish, so be it. This entire afternoon was her idea anyway. A girls date, followed with a night out to celebrate the fact that I had been implanted with her baby this morning. It wasn't a guarantee that it had taken, it never was with IVF. But Margo refused to believe that in two weeks time, the test would be anything but positive.

So, we were celebrating a new beginning. It was her treat.

Two women were smiling, waiting for us to situate our hands on the rolled white towels in the middle of the table top.

"How are you today?" One with her hair in a tight ballet bun asked, dropping a few drips of oil on to my fingertips before massaging it into the cuticle area. I was feeling more relaxed already.

"Good thanks," I answered. "You?"

She just nodded and kept her focus on the job at hand. It appeared that there wouldn't be much chatting going on between us and that was fine with me. I preferred less conversation from hair dressers, beauticians and anyone else that was in close proximity to my personal space.

There's something obligatory about salon etiquette and having to uphold a chat, a pressure that the stylist feels to keep the client feeling as though she or he is being paid attention to. I don't like my stylist to feel that way. There's no pressure from me. As long as my hair is done or my legs are waxed or my nails are painted, I'm happy.

Of course, Margo and the other nail technician with a fishtail plait slung over one shoulder were murmuring away as if they were old friends. They could have been. Margo got her nails done far more often than I did. It's a business expense. She has to upkeep her appearance for events whereas, I sit behind a computer or paperwork 90 percent of the job.

"Yep," Margo beamed and I tuned in at the end of her conversation. "She's pregnant with my baby."

Her technician looked at me with total delight illuminating her almond shaped gaze. Mine looked confused for a moment until she nodded between us.

"Congratulations happy couple."

Margo's technician furrowed her brows at mine and gave a slight disapproving head shake for not understanding the context of the situation.

Margo grinned. "Thank you."

The conversation became quiet again for a moment, simply the filing of nails could be heard between our tables until Margo leaned toward me a little and said, "I think that we should move."