Shelby
The nail tech at Vinny’s on Baker Street gently removed the chipped black polish from my nail beds. I recognized her narrow face half-hidden behind a mask to protect herself from inhaling dust and acrylic all day. She glanced at me, and I saw something like pity staring back as her eyes then flicked briefly to my guest.
Shelby was waiting for her pedicure to start, sitting in the chair beside me and talking my ear off in her LA accent. Her straw-blond chin-length bob smacked her cheeks with even the slightest movement, and she chomped a wad of gum after every few words.
“Ugh, I need a pedicure so bad. I’ve been looking for a good place,” She glanced around at the rather normal nail salon I frequented and had apprehensively invited her to.
I was suspicious of Shelby, which stunted even the most mundane mode of conversation.
“I like it here,” I said a bit too late, and my nail tech winked at me before vigorously buffing my bare nails. Painful silence settled between us, so I reached for the first question that came to mind. “You live with your parents?”
“Yeah!” She chimed brightly. Shelby was self-described as bubbly, and her determined enthusiasm struck me as insincere. “OMG, the girls and I have the best sleepovers. You have to come next time!” Her lips stretched into a wide smile, and my heart lifted at the prospect of having a group of girlfriends again.
“Yeah, that would be great,” I said quietly. As much as I wanted — needed — a friend, there were red flags surrounding this particular group from the start. Agreeing to get to know Shelby over mani-pedis was a sort of peace offering on my end.
Quite a few new members moved into our Mormon congregation while I was visiting home for the summer, rapidly changing the dynamic to somehow become even more unwelcoming. Shelby and her group of friends all followed me on Instagram before we’d met, hearing my name on the lips of others. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure. But I had a feeling it wasn’t good.
“You’d love the girls,” Shelby gushed.
“Did you know each other before moving here?” I asked, truly perplexed by the constant social media pictures and captions that read S.I.S.T.E.R.S. when they’d only recently met.
“Yeah!” She chomped on her gum with ferocity, and my nail tech asked me to go wash my hands. I took my time scrubbing underneath my nails and soaping up my hands twice. I noted Shelby’s nail tech was just switching on the water to fill her basin and felt a flood of relief. I thoroughly dried my hands before returning to my seat.
“You’d love Megan and Chelsea. They are so funny. I love being around, like, actual British people. They are so posh,” Shelby said.
“I haven’t met them, but you all followed me on Instagram on the same day,” I admitted. Shelby tossed her head back and laughed loudly.
“Yeah, we heard about you. Everyone was like, talking about this random girl that was in the States, and we were like, who is this chick?” She managed to get out between trills of laughter.
“Oh yeah? Who was talking about me?” I knew the answer before I asked, but I still wanted confirmation.
“We heard you were talking to Marcus. Then, James said something about that. Obviously, we knew as soon as you came to church you were into Jack.” She paused, eyeing me carefully.
I kept my face neutral as I said, “Seems like there’s a dire need for hobbies.” She waited for me to continue, but I wasn’t going to fold. “You’re friends with Mary, too, right?” I changed the subject. I’d heard of Mary. She made waves after only a few weeks in the ward.
“Yeah, we’re besties,” Shelby said, then scrunched her nose as if sniffing something foul, “But honestly, I don’t know what the boys see in her.”
My jaw dropped. Shelby and Mary were joined at the hip, always sitting side-by-side at church and walking to and from the tube station together on their way to the chapel. They posed for Instagram pictures together, and Mary was always invited to Shelby’s exclusive dinner parties and booze-less brunches at her parent's flat.
“I thought you said you were best friends,” I guffawed, which is the only time I have used that word and probably the only time I’ve guffawed. Taken aback by her brazen remark about her dearest friend, I inhaled sharply and focused on my nail tech, strategically shoving my cuticles back.
“We are.” She said casually, shrugging her shoulders, “I’m not being mean. It’s just the truth. Megan and Chelsea are gorgeous and have so much to offer, I have no idea why they are wasting their time hanging out with Mary.”
Shelby’s nail tech called her over, pointing to the bowl of steaming water and throwing a color swatch on her lap as she sat down.
My stomach turned. I felt sad for Mary. Somewhere in this city, she was going about her day, not knowing the malice of her own best friend or how freely she put Mary down in conversation with acquaintances.
I peeked across the room where Shelby sat. She flicked her foot at me with a giggle, sending a spray of water across the spa floor, then turned to the nail tech and requested something to drink.
“What color?” my nail tech asked, pulling my attention away from Shelby and Mary and the pit in my stomach.
“Black,” I said.
“Why always black?” She asked, no hint of a smile on her face or what I could see of it.
“You don’t like it?” I laughed softly, feeling more at ease with my nail tech friend than with my new one.
“No, I think red today,” She grabbed a red polish from her shelf and went to work, not bothering to ask my opinion. I let her, smiling at the bold move.
She gave me a complimentary paraffin dip, and I tipped her well enough to cover the fee, then stood awkwardly in the doorway waiting for Shelby’s polish to dry.
Shelby wore the pedicure slippers back to the tube station, her toes flexed and separated to keep from bumping into each other. Her heels grew darker with every step on the filthy sidewalk.
“So, I wanted to ask about you and Jack,” She said, causing my heart to jolt.
“What about him?” I asked too quickly.
She smiled, “What’s going on between you two?” Her eyebrows wagged suggestively.
“Nothing — I mean, we’ve been friends for years. But nothing,” I answered honestly. There was nothing. It had always been nothing. But, somehow, it still felt like everything.
“Good, because I kissed him,” She gushed, clawing at my arm as we neared the station.
I turned to look at her, stunned at the blatant admission. This didn’t feel like “girl talk,” and the warning in Shelby’s eyes certainly conveyed more than words. I came here searching for a friend, I was leaving with yet another Mormon woman in her late twenties, trying to secure the heart of an eligible bachelor by eliminating the competition.
“Ugh, he’s so hot!” Shelby kicked her foot on the word hot, sending her pedicure slipper flying several feet away. She yelped, digging her fingernails into my arm as she balanced like a flamingo on one leg.
I walked slowly toward the slipper, Shelby jumping in unison until she reached it and slid it back into place. Out of breath, she continued, “Yeah, so I just wanted to make sure you weren’t dating because I think there’s a connection between us.”
I faced her, reading the lie behind her sly smile. She straightened, fixing her hair and lugging her bag further onto her shoulder after hobbling after her shoe.
“Nope, it’s all good. Jack and I are close, I’m sure I’ll be hearing all about you,” I smiled and turned to go inside the tube station, where I knew the floors were slick and slanted. “I’ve got to run, but it was good to see you! Let me know about that sleepover!” I tossed over my shoulder, knowing perfectly well I wouldn’t get invited, and even if I did, I wouldn’t go.
I chewed my lip as the tube carried me far away from Baker Street to my quiet neighborhood in Ealing. Brick buildings and green foliage melded together outside the carriage windows as we rapidly made our way through West London. My mind was chaotic, sifting through the events of the afternoon and looking for a sliver of truth.
It was clear that Shelby’s weeks-long request to get pedicures together was not a bid for friendship. And as expected, the dinner party and sleepover invitations would never come. The gossip would never stop. But I didn’t have anything in common with Shelby. The men in the congregation were not the boys.
They were men I’d dated, crushed on, had long conversations with over the span of four years. I’d seen them fall in love over and over again. I’d seen them hope it was me, only to discover it wasn’t. Get married. Get divorced. I’d see them grieve and toil, working toward Celestial success. They were significant. In a complex and odd way, they were my friends.
When the carriage emerged from underneath the earth, nearing South Ealing and restoring my cell signal, I thumbed a message:
Me: “Hey! I need to ask you something.”
Jack: “Of course! What’s going on??”
