Chapter 21
Navy ‘Nay’ Prescott
Day Nine
“Uh-uh. Whatever demon is living in that shoulder, you need to go ahead and cast it out, because I know damn well that ain’t just a knot.”
I would have laughed if the massage therapists’ thumb hadn’t been buried so deep beneath my shoulder blade that breathing felt like a privilege I hadn’t earned. Damn! These deep tissue massages weren’t no joke. The massage therapist laughed though.
“Don’t encourage her,” I muttered, curling my fingers around the edge of the heated table. “She’s already rooting for you to separate my arm from my body.”
The therapist kept laughing in a soft tone behind me. Her hands were warm and slick with oil, gliding over my skin before returning to the same stubborn spot near my neck. “You have a lot of tension here.”
“A lot?” Tasha lifted her head from the cradle far enough for one eye to peek in my direction.
The white towel wrapped around her hair was now crooked, making her look like she had lost a fight with a hotel bathrobe.
“Baby, she got two jobs, a stalker husband, a secret side hustle, and apparently a man putting a stupid little glow on her face. That’s not tension, that’s a group project. ”
My head snapped up before the therapist gently guided it back down. “I don’t have a glow.”
“You do.”
“It’s moisturizer.”
“That moisturizer got a beard?”
The second massage therapist pressed both palms into Tasha’s back, and the smart remark turned into a groan that sounded almost religious.
“Ooh, right there,” she breathed with her fingers spreading against the sheet.
“See, this is why I don’t believe in struggling.
Ain’t no reason I should ever be somewhere suffering when women with strong hands exist.”
“You’ve been in here ten minutes and told that lady your whole life,” I said.
“Well, she asked where I hold stress.”
“She didn’t ask for your childhood address.”
“She needed context.” She teased.
The room smelled like eucalyptus, lavender, and a faint citrus that made everything smell and feel so clean.
A narrow waterfall ran down the stone wall opposite us, as the quiet trickling blended with the music.
The lights had been dimmed low enough to soften everything around the cream-colored walls, the folded towels, and even Tasha’s nonstop mouth.
It had been too long since I had done anything that didn’t serve some immediate purpose because every hour of my life lately belonged to somebody else. Even rest had started feeling like something I needed to schedule.
The therapist dragged her knuckles down either side of my spine, and my body sank deeper into the table. “Are you snoring?” she asked.
“No.” I lied with a smile.
“You sounded unconscious.”
“That’s because I was happy.” I cooed.
“Same thing.”
I continued smiling into the cushion. The therapist moved lower, working slow circles into the muscles above my hips, and a deep breath slipped out of me before I could stop it.
Tasha immediately started laughing. “Oh, she done found the good spot.”
“Shut up.” I smirked.
“I’m just saying. That little sound came from your ancestors.”
My therapist tried to hide her laugh, but her shoulders shook.
“You’re getting on everybody’s nerves,” I told Tasha.
“And yet everybody loves me.”
“That’s because they don’t know you long enough.”
“Girl, please. I’m unforgettable.” She teased.
She really was because Tasha could walk into a funeral and somehow have the widow laughing before the repast. She filled empty space naturally, because she believed every room improved once she entered it.
Even lying face down beneath a white sheet with her bonnet-shaped towel sliding toward one eyebrow, she carried herself like the spa had been built around her reservation.
When the massages ended, neither of us moved. The therapists stepped out to let us dress, leaving behind two glasses of cucumber water and a warning to sit up slowly. Tasha lifted her head, blinked at me through sleepy eyes, then let it drop again.
“I live here now.”
I pushed myself onto my elbows, my body loose and heavy. “You can’t afford to live here.”
“You don’t know my life.”
“Whatever I muttered though a smile.
She finally sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest while the towel unraveled completely and fell into her lap. Her hair was pressed flat on one side and stuck up in the back, and I just stared at her.
“What?” she asked with a frown.
“Nothing.” I lied.
“Fix your face then.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to; your face is a bully.”
I reached for my robe and tossed hers across the space between us. “Put this on before you scare the employees.”
Tasha caught it against her chest. “See? Mean, this is why your shoulders damn hard.”
By the time we left the spa, the late morning sun was doing its job.
The cool peace of the treatment room vanished the moment the glass doors closed behind us, replaced by traffic, car horns, and pure heat.
Tasha slid her oversized sunglasses onto her face and lifted her chin toward the valet stand.
She wore a loose cream jumpsuit that fit her curves and flat sandals decorated with tiny gold charms from Coach.
Her lips were glossy, her toes were white, and within thirty seconds of stepping outside, she looked as put together as if she hadn’t just spent ninety minutes drooling through a face cradle.
“I feel rich,” she announced.
I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out. “You paid for a massage, not a yacht.”
“Same spirit.” She shot back.
The valet pulled my car around, and Tasha stopped beside the passenger door to inspect her reflection in the window. “You hungry?” I asked her.
“Girl, I’m always hungry.” She admitted.
“What do you want?”
“Somewhere with drinks.”
“It’s barely noon Tash.”
“And?” She quizzed.
“You drove here.”
“So?”
“So? You’re not getting drunk.”
She opened the door and lowered herself into the seat. “Why do you always jump from drink to drunk? There’s a whole journey in between.”
“With you, it’s a very short journey.”
She placed a hand against her chest. “I feel judged.”
“That’s because you are.”
We ended up at a restaurant on beach with wide windows overlooking the water and greenery hanging from the ceiling feeling like somebody’s expensive backyard.
The hostess led us to a booth near the glass.
Tasha slid into the booth first and immediately reached across to move the small vase of white flowers out of her line of sight.
“I don’t like stuff blocking me from seeing who I’m talking to.”
I chuckled. “It’s three flowers.”
“Exactly, just sneaky.” She replied shaking her head.
The waiter appeared with menus and two glasses of water. Before he could introduce himself, Tasha smiled up at him and tapped one finger against the cocktail page. “Is the passionfruit mimosa sweet-sweet, or sweet like y’all want people to think it’s sweet?”
He blinked, then smiled. “It’s pretty sweet.”
“Pretty is not a measurement.”
“Tasha.”
She looked at me crazy. “What? I need to know before I spend eighteen dollars on juice.”
The waiter’s smile became bigger. “I can have them make it a little sweeter.”
“See? Customer service.” She closed the menu without looking at anything else. “Bring me that.”
He turned to me and I told him, “Just water for now.”
Tasha waited until he walked away before leaning across the table. “You’re being boring?”
“Nooo, I’m actually being responsible.”
She waved me off and picked up her menu.
For the next several minutes, we argued about appetizers as if choosing the wrong one might alter the course of our lives.
Tasha wanted calamari until she saw a plate pass our table and decided it looked “too organized.” She changed her mind to truffle fries, then added crab cakes.
When the fries arrived, she reached across and stole one before the plate had fully touched the table and I slapped her fingers away.
“Ow.” She frowned.
“You have your own side.”
“Yours looked crispier.”
“They came from the same kitchen.”
“You don’t know what happened back there.”
I shook my head and picked up a fry, watching her blow dramatically across the one she had stolen before biting into it.
This was what I had needed though. It wasn’t the spa, though my body felt better than it had in months.
It wasn’t the shopping bags we planned to collect later either.
I had needed somebody who knew me better than anybody.
Tasha knew when my silence meant I was tired and when it meant something was eating me alive.
She knew which questions to ask gently and which ones to drag out of me by being irritating.
Unfortunately, she was best at the second method. She dipped another fry into the aioli and studied me over her sunglasses, which she still had not removed even though we were indoors. “So…. let’s talk.”
I looked at the menu. “About what Tash?”
Tasha slowly pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and looked at me over the top of them. “Who is he?” She questioned and I didn’t answer but reached for my water instead. Her mouth fell open. “Oh, my God. There is a he.”
I sipped my water. “I didn’t say that.”
“You reached for water.”
“Because I’m thirsty Tasha, don’t make a big deal.”
She pointed at me. “You do that when you’re lying.”
“No, I don’t.” I frowned.
“Yes, you do. You drink water and start blinking like a damn hostage.”
I kept my eyes on the glass, which only made her point stronger. The waiter returned with her mimosa, saving me from answering. Tasha took one sip, swirled it around her mouth like she was judging a wine competition, then nodded her approval. “This is good. You want some?”
“No, I’m perfectly fine.” I declined.
“You pregnant?”
My eyes lifted to hers and Tasha laughed and then she set the glass down and reached for another fry, with her attention shifting toward a couple walking along the waterfront outside. I waited and let her turn the conversation back toward me.
“Anyway,” she said, “who got you glowing?”
“I’m not glowing.”