There are three cities I can no longer drive through like they are just places on a map.
Phoenix, Atlanta, and Orlando.
Every...
There are three cities I can no longer drive through like they are just places on a map.
Phoenix, Atlanta, and Orlando.
Every time my truck gets close to one of them, I remember a woman who once waited for me after closing her nail salon.
My name is Johnny. I am 43 years old, and I live in El Monte, California.
I drive an eighteen-wheeler across the country.
Most weeks, I spend more time inside my truck than I do at home.
People think truck drivers see everything.
That is true in one way.
I have watched the sun rise over the Arizona desert. I have driven through Texas thunderstorms so heavy I could barely see the road. I have slept at truck stops in places I never planned to visit.
But most of the time, the job is lonely.
You drive for hours with nobody beside you.
You eat alone.
You sleep alone.
Then you wake up and do it again.
Over the years, I had three serious relationships.
All three women were nail techs.
All three lived in different states.
And all three relationships lasted more than a year before falling apart.
The first woman was named Linda.
She lived in Phoenix, Arizona.
I met her because one of my regular routes passed through Phoenix every few weeks.
A friend told me about a Vietnamese restaurant near a shopping center where many nail workers ate after closing.
One night, I stopped there for dinner.
Linda was sitting alone at the table beside mine.
She was still wearing black salon clothes, and there was white nail dust on one sleeve.
We started talking because she noticed the trucking company logo on my shirt.
She asked whether I drove all the way from California.
I said I drove much farther than that.
Before leaving, she gave me her number.
The next time I passed through Phoenix, we had dinner.
After that, she started waiting for my messages to find out when I would return.
Linda worked six days a week.
I lived on the road.
Somehow, that made our schedules fit.
I usually arrived late at night after her salon closed.
She brought me food, clean towels, and little bags of fruit for the next part of my trip.
Sometimes I parked my truck nearby and stayed at her apartment.
Other times, we only had two hours together before I needed to leave.
She never complained in the beginning.
She said she understood my work.
For more than a year, Phoenix felt like home even though I did not live there.
Then one night, my delivery was delayed in New Mexico.
I was supposed to see her, but I could not make it.
She had already taken the next morning off.
She had cooked and waited for me until almost midnight.
When I called, she was crying.
She said she was tired of loving someone who only appeared when a load brought him nearby.
I promised I would change routes.
I promised I would spend more time with her.
I meant it when I said it.
But trucking companies do not arrange everything around your relationship.
A few months later, she ended it.
The last time I saw Linda, she returned a jacket I had left at her apartment.
She had washed it and folded it neatly.
That hurt more than if she had thrown it at me.
The second woman was named Kim.
She lived near Atlanta, Georgia.
I met her about a year after Linda and I broke up.
I had a delivery near Atlanta and needed a haircut before going home.
The barber shop was closed, so I walked into a nearby shopping center looking for food.
Kim was standing outside a nail salon waiting for her ride.
It was raining hard.
I offered to let her wait inside my truck because the salon had already locked the doors.
She hesitated, which I understood.
I showed her my license and kept the passenger door open until she felt comfortable.
We talked for almost forty minutes before her cousin arrived.
A week later, she sent me a message asking whether I had made it home safely.
Kim was different from Linda.
Linda was quiet and emotional.
Kim was direct.
She told me from the start that she did not want to waste time.
She wanted marriage, a house, and children.
I told her I wanted those things too.
At that time, I believed I did.
Whenever I had a route through Georgia, I stayed with her.
When I did not, she called me while I drove.
She would sit in her car after leaving the salon and talk to me until I reached the next truck stop.
Sometimes she fell asleep while the call was still connected.
I could hear her breathing through the phone while I drove in the dark.
For almost eighteen months, we planned a future.
We looked at houses online.
She talked about moving to California.
I talked about finding a local driving job.
But whenever the time came to make a real decision, I delayed it.
Local driving paid less.
I had debts.
I told myself I needed another six months on the road.
Then another six months.
Kim finally asked me whether I loved her or only loved having someone waiting in Atlanta.
I became angry because the question felt unfair.
Now I know it was the right question.
We broke up during a phone call while I was parked at a truck stop in Tennessee.
She told me she could no longer build a life with a man who was always leaving.
The next morning, I drove through Atlanta without calling her.
That was one of the hardest things I had ever done.
My third relationship was with a woman named Annie in Orlando, Florida.
By then, I knew better than to make big promises.
At least, I thought I did.
I met Annie through social media.
She saw a picture of my truck and asked whether I ever drove to Florida.
I told her I went there often.
She was also Vietnamese and worked as a nail tech.
We started talking casually.
After a few months, I planned a delivery so I could spend one extra day in Orlando.
Annie was funny and easygoing.
She did not ask me to quit driving.
She said she liked having her own life and did not need a man beside her every day.
That sounded perfect for me.
When I arrived in Orlando, she usually picked me up near the truck yard.
We ate late dinners after her shift.
Sometimes we drove to the beach on her day off and stayed until sunrise.
She loved taking pictures.
There are probably hundreds of pictures of us that I no longer have.
Annie kept them all on her phone.
She took pictures of me sleeping in the passenger seat of her car.
She took pictures of us eating in small restaurants.
She even took pictures of my truck like it was something special instead of the place where I worked and slept.
Our relationship lasted almost two years.
It was the longest of the three.
I thought that meant we had finally found a way to make long distance work.
Then Annie became sick.
It was not a major illness, but she needed surgery and could not work for several weeks.
She asked me to come stay with her.
I wanted to go.
I really did.
But I had just accepted a long route to the West Coast.
Canceling it would have cost me money and caused problems with the company.
I told her I would come after the delivery.
She said she understood.
When I finally reached Orlando almost three weeks later, she had changed.
She was polite, but she was distant.
Her sister had taken her to the hospital.
Her coworkers had brought food.
Her neighbor had helped with groceries.
Everybody had been there except me.
That night, Annie told me she had realized something while recovering.
She said I was a good man on the phone and a good boyfriend whenever my truck was nearby.
But I was not someone she could depend on when life did not follow my route.
I had no answer.
We sat in her living room without speaking for a long time.
The next morning, she drove me back to my truck.
Before I got out, she kissed my cheek.
She said she hoped one day I would stop driving long enough to let someone truly know me.
That was the last time I saw her.
Many years have passed since those relationships ended.
Linda is married now.
I saw it online before I stopped looking at her page.
Kim also moved on.
A mutual friend told me she has a child.
I do not know what happened with Annie.
Part of me wants to search for her.
Another part is afraid of what I might find.
I am still driving.
I still pass through Phoenix, Atlanta, and Orlando.
I know the exits near the salons where they used to work.
I remember which restaurants stayed open late.
I remember where I could park my truck without being bothered.
Sometimes I slow down near those places even when I have no reason to stop.
In Phoenix, I remember Linda standing outside with my clean jacket.
In Atlanta, I remember hearing Kim fall asleep on the phone.
In Orlando, I remember Annie taking pictures of my truck because she wanted proof that I had really been there.
All three women loved me.
They cooked for me, worried about me, waited for me, and tried to make room for me in their lives.
I loved them too.
But looking back, I think I loved them in the only way I knew how.
From the highway.
For a long time, I blamed the distance.
Now I understand that distance was not always measured in miles.
Sometimes I was sitting right beside them and already thinking about the next delivery.
People ask me why I never married.
I usually laugh and say the road kept me too busy.
The truth is harder to explain.
I had three chances with three good women.
Every one of them asked me to stay in a different way.
Every time, I chose to keep driving.
Now when I cross those state lines, nobody is waiting for me after the salon closes.
There are only old exits, dark shopping centers, and memories riding in the passenger seat.
9 min read ·
I met my husband because I needed a simple manicure.
Now we have two children, and strangers sometimes look at me like I took...
I met my husband because I needed a simple manicure.
Now we have two children, and strangers sometimes look at me like I took them from someone else.
The funny part is that both children look so much like their Vietnamese father that even he jokes I contributed nothing except carrying them for nine months.
My name is Misty. I am a white American woman living in Cheyenne, Wyoming.
I moved here several years ago for work. I did not know many people, and almost everything in the area was new to me.
A few weeks after moving, I searched for a nail salon close to my apartment.
That was where I met Tuan.
He was the nail tech assigned to me during my first visit.
The first thing I noticed was how good-looking he was.
He had dark hair, a calm face, and strong arms that did not look like they belonged to someone who sat at a nail table all day.
He was quiet at first.
I tried making conversation, but he only gave short answers.
I thought he was not interested in talking to me.
Then I asked how long he had lived in Wyoming.
He smiled and said almost six years.
After that, he became more comfortable.
He told me he had moved from Vietnam and learned the nail business from relatives.
He worked six days a week and rarely went anywhere except the salon, gym, grocery store, and home.
I laughed and told him my life was almost as boring.
By the end of the appointment, we were talking like we had known each other longer than an hour.
I returned two weeks later even though my nails still looked fine.
I told myself I wanted a different color.
The truth was that I wanted to see Tuan again.
He remembered my name.
He also remembered that I had just moved and asked whether I was getting used to Cheyenne.
That small detail made me happy.
After a few visits, I started requesting him every time.
Sometimes I chose services I did not really need just so I could sit with him longer.
One afternoon, he asked whether I always went out alone.
I told him I did because I did not know many people.
He looked nervous for a few seconds and then asked whether I wanted to get dinner with him after work.
I said yes before he finished asking.
Our first date was at a small Vietnamese restaurant.
Tuan ordered several dishes because he wanted me to try everything.
I tried to use chopsticks and dropped food twice.
He laughed so hard that he almost spilled his drink.
That was the first time I saw how different he was outside the salon.
At work, he was quiet and careful.
Outside, he was funny, playful, and always teasing me.
We started dating seriously after that.
There were a few difficult moments in the beginning.
My family had never met anyone from Vietnam.
His family worried that I would not understand Vietnamese culture.
Tuan also worked long hours, especially on weekends, while I had more free time on Saturdays and Sundays.
Sometimes I became frustrated because every date had to happen late at night or on his one day off.
But we made it work.
I learned that working six days a week was normal for him.
He learned that I needed more than a quick dinner after closing.
We started planning short trips on Mondays.
Sometimes we drove somewhere nearby.
Sometimes we stayed home, cooked, and watched movies all day.
After almost two years, Tuan proposed in the same nail salon where we met.
The owner helped him set it up after closing.
When I walked inside, I thought I had an appointment.
Instead, Tuan was standing beside his station with flowers and a ring.
I started crying before he even got down on one knee.
We married the following year.
Our wedding included American food, Vietnamese food, country music, and Vietnamese karaoke.
Nobody knew exactly what was happening, but everyone had a good time.
A year later, I became pregnant with our first child.
During the pregnancy, people kept guessing what the baby would look like.
My mother said the baby would probably have my light eyes.
Tuan hoped the baby would have my nose.
I imagined a perfect mix of both of us.
Then our daughter was born.
She looked exactly like Tuan.
She had dark hair, dark eyes, his face shape, and even the same serious expression he made when he was tired.
The nurse placed her on my chest, and Tuan stared at her for a long time.
Then he laughed and said she looked like he had made her by himself.
As she grew older, she looked even more Vietnamese.
People usually assumed Tuan was her father immediately.
When I took her somewhere alone, the questions started.
Some people asked whether she was adopted.
Others asked where I got her.
One woman at a grocery store looked at my daughter, looked at me, and asked whether I was her babysitter.
I told her I was the mother.
She looked surprised and asked whether I was sure.
I did not know how to answer that without becoming angry.
When our second child was born, I thought maybe he would look more like me.
He did not.
He looked even more like Tuan than our daughter did.
Both children had dark eyes, dark hair, and features from their father’s side of the family.
The only thing they seemed to get from me was their skin tone, and even that became darker during the summer.
Tuan thought the whole thing was funny.
He started telling people I was the family nanny.
I told him it was funny only because nobody ever questioned whether the children belonged to him.
Then something happened that stopped being funny.
I took both children to a local indoor play area while Tuan was working.
My daughter was four, and my son was almost two.
My daughter became upset when it was time to leave.
She started crying and pulling away from me.
I picked up my son and tried to guide her toward the exit.
A woman nearby began watching us.
At first, I ignored her.
Then she walked over and asked my daughter whether she knew me.
My daughter was crying too hard to answer clearly.
The woman stepped between us and asked me to wait.
I explained that I was their mother.
She did not believe me.
She asked why the children looked Asian and I did not.
I felt my whole face become hot.
Several other parents started watching.
My daughter became more frightened because a stranger was questioning me.
She began screaming for her daddy.
That made everything look worse.
An employee came over and asked what was happening.
The woman said she was worried I might be taking children who did not belong to me.
I opened my phone and showed family pictures.
There were photos of me pregnant, pictures from the hospital, birthday photos, and hundreds of pictures of all four of us together.
The employee apologized immediately.
The woman did not.
She said she was only trying to protect the children.
I understood the idea behind what she was saying.
But I also knew she had made that assumption because my children did not look white enough to belong to me.
When Tuan came home, I told him what happened.
He expected me to laugh about it like the other times.
Instead, I started crying.
I told him I was tired of strangers treating me like I was not part of my own family.
He became quiet.
For the first time, he understood why those comments hurt me.
The next week, Tuan took a Saturday off, which was almost impossible for him.
We returned to the play area together.
Not because I wanted to confront anyone.
I wanted to create a better memory there.
We played with the children for hours.
At one point, my daughter stood between us and held both our hands.
She had Tuan’s eyes and my smile.
I had never noticed my smile on her before.
After that day, I started noticing other small things.
My daughter makes the same face I make when she is annoyed.
My son laughs exactly like me.
Both children love the same foods I loved as a child.
They may look like their father, but they carry pieces of me that strangers cannot see.
Tuan still works at the same salon where we met.
Sometimes I bring the children to visit him.
Customers who knew us before we started dating cannot believe the quiet nail tech and his regular customer became a family.
Our daughter now tells everyone that her daddy made Mommy’s nails and then Mommy married him.
That is not the entire story, but it is close enough.
I moved to Wyoming expecting a new job and a quiet life.
I walked into a neighborhood nail salon looking for a manicure.
I walked out years later with a Vietnamese husband, two children who look exactly like him, and a family nobody could have designed better.
8 min read ·
😍I’m Obsessed!1
63 reads · ·
Trish @Salon OwnerLove & Affairs · Huntington Beach, CA
The first time Tom came into my salon, he brought me coffee and kissed me near the front desk.
Two months later, I saw the same...
The first time Tom came into my salon, he brought me coffee and kissed me near the front desk.
Two months later, I saw the same coffee sitting beside my youngest nail tech.
That was when I realized he had not been visiting the salon only to see me.
My name is Trish. I am 41 years old, divorced, and I own a nail salon in Huntington Beach, California.
After my divorce, I stopped dating for a long time.
Running a salon took most of my energy. I opened the shop in the morning, handled customer complaints, ordered supplies, managed the schedule, and covered appointments when a worker called out.
By the time I got home, I usually wanted food, a shower, and silence.
I started going to the gym because I needed something in my life that had nothing to do with nails.
That was where I met Tom.
He was using the machine beside me one morning and asked whether I worked nearby.
I told him I owned a nail salon.
He smiled and said he was also in the nail business.
That immediately made conversation easy.
Tom understood why weekends were difficult for me. He understood why I could not always answer my phone. He knew how tiring it was to sit in one position all day and listen to customers complain about tiny details.
He was a nail tech at another salon about twenty minutes away.
He looked younger than his age, stayed in good shape, and always seemed relaxed.
I liked that because my life was usually the opposite.
We exchanged numbers and started texting.
Our first date was simple. We ate dinner after work and talked until the restaurant staff began cleaning around us.
Tom told me he had never married.
He said he had dated several women, but the nail business made relationships difficult because he worked six days a week.
I understood that completely.
For the first few months, everything felt easy.
He brought me lunch when I forgot to eat. He rubbed my shoulders after long Saturdays. He never complained when I had to change our plans because someone called out.
I started thinking maybe meeting another person in the same business was exactly what I needed.
Then he began visiting my salon.
At first, everyone thought it was sweet.
He would stop by when his salon was slow or when he finished early. Sometimes he brought coffee for me. Sometimes he sat near the front and waited until I finished with a customer.
My workers joked that the owner finally had a boyfriend.
I was a little embarrassed, but I also liked it.
After being divorced and alone for years, it felt good to have someone make an effort in front of other people.
One of my nail techs was a woman named Kayla.
She was 27, single, and had worked for me for about eight months.
Kayla was pretty, friendly, and very good with customers. She was also the kind of person who could talk to anybody without making things awkward.
Whenever Tom came in, she greeted him and offered him a chair.
I did not think anything of it.
He was my boyfriend, and she was my employee.
One afternoon, Tom arrived while I was in the back dealing with a supply delivery.
When I returned to the front, he was standing beside Kayla’s station, laughing with her.
The moment he saw me, he walked over and kissed my cheek.
It looked innocent.
Still, something about the way Kayla suddenly became quiet stayed in my mind.
I asked Tom later what they had been discussing.
He said they were talking about a difficult customer.
I believed him.
A few weeks later, Kayla started asking more questions about him.
She wanted to know how long we had been together.
She asked whether we were serious.
She also asked whether Tom had ever been married.
I teased her and said she sounded like she was doing a background check.
She laughed and changed the subject.
Then Tom began bringing coffee for everyone.
He said it felt rude to bring only one drink when several workers were there.
That sounded thoughtful.
But I noticed he always knew Kayla’s exact order.
At first, I assumed she had told him while he was visiting.
Then one day, he brought her a drink with less ice and a different type of milk.
Kayla had never ordered it that way in front of me.
I asked how he knew.
Tom said she had mentioned it before.
Kayla immediately looked down at her table.
That small moment made my stomach tighten.
I did not accuse either of them.
I started watching.
Tom visited most often on days when Kayla worked.
If she was off, he rarely stayed long.
When she walked toward the back room, his eyes followed her.
If she laughed with a male customer, Tom became unusually quiet.
The worst part was that he still treated me well.
He called me every night.
He stayed at my place.
He talked about taking a trip together.
Nothing had clearly changed between us, which made me wonder whether I was imagining everything.
Then Kayla requested a Saturday off.
That was unusual because Saturdays were our busiest days.
She said she needed to attend a family event in Los Angeles.
I approved it because she rarely asked for time off.
Tom also told me that week that he had to attend his cousin’s birthday on Saturday.
I noticed the coincidence, but I did not say anything.
On Saturday morning, one of my regular customers arrived and showed me a picture on her phone.
She had been at a restaurant in Long Beach the night before and thought she had seen my boyfriend.
In the background of the picture, Tom was sitting across from a woman.
I could not see the woman’s full face, but I recognized her purse.
It belonged to Kayla.
I had seen it beside her station every day for months.
My hands started shaking, but I finished the customer’s nails.
I did not call Tom.
I did not call Kayla.
I waited until Monday.
Tom came to my apartment Sunday night and acted completely normal.
He said the family party had been boring.
He even showed me pictures of his cousin and several relatives.
For one moment, I thought maybe I had made a mistake.
Then I noticed the shirt he was wearing in the family pictures.
It was not the same shirt he wore in the restaurant photo.
He had gone somewhere else before or after the party.
On Monday morning, Kayla came to work looking tired.
I asked her whether the family event had gone well.
She said yes, but she could not look at me.
I waited until the salon was empty and called her into my office.
I placed the restaurant photo on the desk.
Her face lost all its color.
She began crying before I asked a single question.
Kayla admitted that Tom had been messaging her for almost two months.
At first, she ignored him.
Then he told her that our relationship was casual and that I was also seeing other people.
He said I only called him my boyfriend because I did not want the salon staff asking questions about my personal life.
None of that was true.
Kayla said she finally agreed to have dinner with him because he kept telling her I knew and did not care.
I asked whether anything physical had happened.
She looked at the floor.
That was enough of an answer.
I felt angry at both of them, but mostly I felt stupid.
Tom had been walking into my business, kissing me in front of everyone, and then waiting for a chance to speak privately with my employee.
He did not have to hide across town.
I had been opening the door for him.
That evening, I asked Tom to meet me at the salon after closing.
He arrived carrying flowers.
I think he already knew something was wrong.
Kayla was still there.
The second Tom saw both of us standing together, he stopped smiling.
He tried to explain that he had feelings for both of us.
He said he never planned for it to happen.
Then he said Kayla understood him in a different way.
I almost laughed when he said that.
They both worked as nail techs. Of course she understood his work.
So did I.
That was how he had become close to me in the first place.
I asked him whether he had told Kayla that I dated other men.
He admitted it.
Then I asked whether he had told me that Kayla was interested in him.
He said he did not want to create problems at my salon.
That was the most ridiculous thing he said all night.
He had already created the problem.
He just did not want me to know about it.
I told Tom to leave.
Then I told Kayla to take the next two days off because I needed time to decide whether we could continue working together.
She apologized repeatedly.
She said she had believed him in the beginning, but later she suspected he was lying and continued seeing him anyway.
I appreciated that she finally told the truth, but it did not erase what happened.
Kayla resigned before I made a decision.
She sent me a message saying she was too ashamed to return and face the other workers.
Tom continued calling me for weeks.
He said Kayla had also stopped speaking to him.
He wanted another chance because he had lost both of us.
I told him losing both women did not make him loyal to either one.
It only meant his plan had failed.
I have not dated anyone since.
Sometimes I still see Tom at nail supply stores or industry events.
He always tries to approach me like enough time has passed for us to be friendly.
I keep walking.
The strangest part is that I once believed his visits to my salon showed how serious he was about me.
Now I understand why he always seemed so happy to wait there.
I was working ten feet away while he looked for his next date.
9 min read ·
The first time the salon owner asked me to spend the night with her entire staff, I thought I had misunderstood her.
I was their...
The first time the salon owner asked me to spend the night with her entire staff, I thought I had misunderstood her.
I was their customer, not their coworker.
But by midnight, I was sitting on a hotel-room floor eating Vietnamese food with six nail techs while everyone argued over who snored the loudest.
My name is Joanne. I am a 43-year-old American woman living in Portland, Oregon.
I started going to the same nail salon more than ten years ago.
Back then, I only wanted a simple manicure before a work event. I chose the salon because it was close to my house and had good reviews.
I did not expect to keep going there for a decade.
The owner, Kim, greeted me during my first visit. Most of the workers were Vietnamese, and I could not understand what they said to each other.
They talked quickly, laughed loudly, and sometimes pointed at something across the salon.
At first, I worried they might be talking about me.
I think many customers have that feeling when they hear another language around them.
Then one of the nail techs noticed me looking nervous.
She explained that everyone was laughing because Kim had arrived at work wearing two different shoes.
Kim lifted both feet to show me.
One shoe was black and the other was dark blue.
I started laughing with them, and after that, I felt comfortable.
I began returning every two or three weeks.
The workers remembered my usual color, how short I liked my nails, and that I hated having the bottoms of my feet touched during a pedicure.
They also remembered things I had forgotten telling them.
They asked about my mother after her surgery.
They remembered when I changed jobs.
They knew when my relationship ended because I came in one Saturday with swollen eyes and asked for the brightest red polish they had.
Over the years, I watched workers come and go, but a small group stayed together.
There was Kim, the owner.
There was Tina, who talked nonstop but could finish a perfect full set faster than anyone.
There was Lan, who looked serious until she laughed, and then the whole salon heard her.
There was Mimi, who brought enough food for everyone even when nobody asked.
There was also Nancy, who always asked me about American words she heard from customers.
They called me their white Vietnamese sister.
I knew they were joking, but part of me liked it.
Our friendship slowly moved outside the salon.
At first, they invited me to lunch after closing.
Then they invited me to birthday dinners, karaoke nights, and weekend trips.
Sometimes we rented a house near the Oregon coast and stayed overnight.
Other times, everyone came to my house.
We would eat, play cards, watch terrible movies, and talk until two or three in the morning.
If people drank too much or became too tired to drive, they slept wherever they could.
My guest room filled up first.
Then someone took the couch.
The rest brought blankets and slept on the floor.
The next morning, my kitchen looked like a Vietnamese restaurant had exploded inside it.
There were bowls, herbs, sauces, rice cookers, and containers everywhere.
They always cleaned everything before leaving.
For years, I thought they invited many customers to these gatherings.
The salon was friendly, and several customers had been going there as long as I had.
I assumed I was only one person in a large group.
Then something happened during a weekend trip that made me realize I was wrong.
We had rented a cabin outside Portland for Kim’s birthday.
Everyone arrived with food, blankets, and more alcohol than we needed.
Late that night, while the others were downstairs, I went upstairs looking for my phone charger.
I passed one of the bedrooms and heard Kim and Tina talking.
They were discussing whether they should finally tell me something.
I stopped walking.
I knew I should not listen, but hearing my name made me nervous.
For a few seconds, I wondered whether I had done something wrong.
Maybe I had offended someone.
Maybe they were tired of inviting me.
Maybe all those years of friendship had meant something different to them than it had to me.
I quietly returned downstairs and acted normal, but my stomach felt tight.
The next morning, everyone behaved strangely.
They kept checking their phones and whispering in Vietnamese.
When I entered the kitchen, they suddenly stopped talking.
That old feeling returned.
For the first time in years, I wondered whether they were talking about me.
After breakfast, Kim asked me to sit in the living room.
Everyone stood around me.
I honestly thought they were about to tell me I could no longer join their private gatherings.
Then Tina carried out a large photo album.
On the front was my name and the number ten.
They had saved pictures from my ten years with the salon.
There was a photo from my first holiday dinner with them.
There was one of me sleeping on my couch while three nail techs drew tiny mustaches on my face with eyeliner.
There were beach pictures, birthday pictures, salon pictures, and photos from the night I cried after my breakup.
One page had pictures of my hands from different years.
My nails had changed, but many of the same women were holding my fingers in every photo.
Kim told me they had been planning the album for months.
That was what I had overheard upstairs.
Then she gave me a small envelope.
Inside was a handwritten card signed by every worker.
They thanked me for supporting the salon for ten years, but most of the card was not about money or appointments.
They wrote that I had treated them like friends instead of people who only worked on my hands and feet.
They remembered that I invited one worker to my house for Thanksgiving when her family was in Vietnam.
They remembered that I drove Kim home after she became sick at work.
They remembered that I helped Nancy practice for her citizenship interview.
I had forgotten many of those things.
To me, they were just normal things friends did.
I started crying before I finished reading the card.
Then Kim began crying.
Within a minute, almost everyone was crying except Lan, who kept handing out tissues while pretending she had something in her eye.
That was when they finally told me something I had never known.
They did not invite other customers on their overnight trips.
It was only me.
For years, I thought I was the customer who had somehow been allowed into their group.
They thought of me as family.
Later that afternoon, we took another group picture outside the cabin.
Everyone looked tired because we had stayed up too late.
Our hair was messy, nobody was dressed nicely, and Kim was still wearing the same sweatshirt she had slept in.
It is my favorite picture of us.
I still visit the salon every few weeks.
Sometimes new customers look worried when the workers start laughing in Vietnamese.
I understand that feeling because I once felt it too.
Now Kim usually points toward me and explains that they are making fun of somebody’s cooking, somebody’s husband, or somebody arriving in two different shoes again.
I went into that salon more than ten years ago expecting to stay for an hour.
I never expected those women to know my family, sleep on my living-room floor, or become the people I call when something good or terrible happens.
My nails usually last about three weeks.
Somehow, the friendships lasted much longer.
7 min read ·
Before Ken brought his wife to America, our salon was one of the busiest places in the area.
Three months after she arrived,...
Before Ken brought his wife to America, our salon was one of the busiest places in the area.
Three months after she arrived, half the chairs were empty.
At first, customers thought business was slow.
The truth was that the workers were leaving because Ken’s wife believed every woman in the salon wanted her husband.
My name is Jenny, and I worked as a nail tech at that salon in Houston for almost four years.
Ken was the owner. He was in his early forties, hardworking, and usually easy to get along with.
He was not the type of owner who sat in the office all day.
He answered the phone, greeted customers, fixed broken equipment, carried heavy boxes, and sometimes took walk-ins when we were too busy.
The salon was doing very well.
On Fridays and Saturdays, every chair was full. Customers waited near the front desk, and the phone rang nonstop.
We had ten nail techs, two receptionists, and several regular customers who had been coming for years.
Ken was single when I first started working there.
At least, that was what everyone thought.
Later, he told us that his family had introduced him to a woman in Vietnam named Mai.
They talked on the phone for several months. Then he flew back to Vietnam, got married, and started the paperwork to bring her to America.
Ken seemed very happy.
He showed us wedding pictures and talked about how excited he was to finally have a family.
We were happy for him too.
When Mai arrived in Houston, Ken brought her to the salon so everyone could meet her.
She was pretty, quiet, and younger than I expected.
She smiled at all of us and thanked us for helping Ken run the business while he was away.
That first day, she seemed sweet.
I remember thinking Ken was lucky.
For the first few weeks, Mai mostly stayed home.
Then she began coming to the salon more often.
At first, she brought Ken lunch.
Sometimes she sat near the front desk and watched videos on her phone until he finished working.
Nobody had a problem with that.
She was new to America and probably felt lonely.
We tried to include her in conversations, but she rarely said much.
Then she started watching us.
Not normal watching.
She watched how we talked to Ken.
She watched who laughed at his jokes.
She watched whenever he helped a female employee carry something or stood beside a station to discuss a customer.
If Ken spoke to one of us for more than a minute, Mai would walk over and stand near him.
The first person she became suspicious of was Linda.
Linda was one of our best nail techs. She had worked with Ken since the salon opened.
She was married and had two children.
One afternoon, Ken leaned over Linda’s station to help her fix a problem with the card machine.
Mai came from the back room and asked why they were standing so close together.
Everyone became quiet.
Linda laughed because she thought Mai was joking.
Mai did not laugh.
She asked Linda whether she always needed Ken’s help.
Linda’s face changed.
Ken quickly explained that the card machine was not working.
Mai walked away, but the mood stayed uncomfortable for the rest of the day.
After that, she started making small comments.
If a female worker wore makeup, Mai asked why she needed to look so nice at work.
If someone wore a fitted shirt, Mai stared at her until she covered herself with an apron.
If Ken bought coffee for the staff, Mai checked who received a drink.
She especially disliked younger women.
One of our receptionists was only twenty-two and very friendly with everyone.
Mai accused her of smiling too much at Ken.
The receptionist became so nervous that she stopped looking at him when they spoke.
Ken knew what was happening, but he kept telling us to be patient.
He said Mai was adjusting to a new country.
He said she did not understand American workplace culture.
He promised things would improve after she became more comfortable.
Instead, they became worse.
Mai began checking the security cameras from home.
If she saw Ken talking to one of us, she called him immediately.
Sometimes he stepped outside to answer.
Other times, she called the salon and asked a receptionist to put him on the phone.
One morning, she arrived angry before we even opened.
She had watched the cameras from the night before and seen Ken hugging one of the workers.
The worker was an older woman named Thu.
Her mother had died that morning, and Ken was comforting her.
Mai did not care.
She said there was no reason for her husband to hug another woman.
Thu started crying again, but this time it was from anger.
She packed her supplies and went home.
She never returned.
That was the first worker we lost.
Ken told everyone that Thu only needed time.
A week later, he admitted she had quit.
Then Linda quit too.
Mai had accused her again after seeing Ken help move her manicure table.
Linda told Ken she had worked beside him for years without any problems, but she would not continue working somewhere his wife treated her like a homewrecker.
Losing Linda hurt the salon badly.
Many customers came only for her.
When they found out she was gone, they followed her to another salon.
Ken started taking more appointments himself, but he could not replace all the business she brought in.
The salon became tense.
Nobody joked with Ken anymore.
We kept conversations short.
If we needed help, we asked another worker instead of going to him.
Sometimes Mai sat near the front desk for the entire day without doing anything.
She just watched.
One afternoon, she came over while I was doing a pedicure and asked why I had called Ken the night before.
I had called because the salon alarm was making a strange sound after closing.
I explained that to her.
She asked why I had his personal number.
I told her every employee had it.
She said married men should not receive private calls from female workers at night.
The customer sitting in my chair looked so uncomfortable that she picked up her phone and pretended not to hear us.
I was embarrassed.
After the service, the customer quietly asked whether Ken’s wife always behaved that way.
I did not know what to say.
Things finally exploded on a busy Saturday.
We were short-staffed, the salon was full, and several customers had been waiting too long.
A new worker named Sophie was helping Ken organize the appointment list.
Sophie had only been with us for two weeks.
She was young, pretty, and confident.
Mai already disliked her.
Ken and Sophie stood at the front desk trying to decide who could take the next customer.
Sophie touched Ken’s arm to get his attention because the salon was loud.
Mai saw it.
She rushed over and slapped Sophie’s hand away from him.
The whole salon went silent.
Sophie asked what was wrong with her.
Mai told her not to touch someone else’s husband.
Sophie said she had only been trying to show Ken something on the appointment screen.
Mai accused her of lying.
Then she said Sophie had been dressing too nicely since she started working there.
Sophie looked at Ken and asked whether he was going to allow his wife to speak to employees that way.
Ken stood there without saying anything.
That silence was the answer.
Sophie removed her apron, gathered her supplies, and walked out while two customers were still waiting for her.
Another worker followed her.
Then Linda’s old friend, who had been thinking about leaving, packed her things too.
Three nail techs quit on the same day.
Customers started asking for refunds.
Some left angry.
One woman recorded part of the argument on her phone.
By the end of that Saturday, the salon looked completely different.
Half the stations were empty.
Polish bottles and lamps were gone from the tables where the workers had packed their personal supplies.
Ken sat near the front desk with both hands on his head.
Mai stood beside him and said the salon was better without women who did not respect their marriage.
That was when I understood she really believed she had protected her family.
She did not see that she had damaged the business paying for their home, cars, and bills.
For the next month, Ken tried to hire new people.
Word had already spread.
Houston’s Vietnamese nail community is large, but news travels fast.
Applicants heard about the jealous wife who watched the cameras and confronted female workers.
Some agreed to interviews and never showed up.
Others worked for a few days and left after meeting Mai.
Customers also stopped coming.
They did not want to wait two hours because we were short-staffed.
They did not want to sit through arguments between the owner and his wife.
I stayed longer than most because I had regular customers and needed the money.
But I became exhausted.
I worked through lunch.
I answered phones.
I cleaned stations that nobody used anymore.
Every day, Ken looked more tired.
He stopped laughing and barely spoke.
One evening, after the last customer left, he asked whether I was planning to quit too.
I did not answer right away.
Mai was sitting across the room listening.
I finally told him I did not want to leave, but I could not keep working in that environment.
He looked at his wife.
She immediately asked whether I was blaming her.
I told her I was not trying to fight with her.
I only said that the workers felt uncomfortable and scared of being accused of something.
Mai said innocent people should not feel scared.
That sentence made my decision easy.
I packed my supplies the following Sunday.
Ken asked me to reconsider.
He offered me better hours and a higher percentage.
I told him money was not the problem.
I had worked there for almost four years and watched him build a successful salon.
Now I was watching it fall apart because he was too afraid to set boundaries in his own marriage.
He did not argue.
He only nodded.
Six months later, I drove past the salon.
The large open sign was still in the window, but only two cars were parked outside.
I heard Ken had reduced the hours and was doing most of the work himself.
Mai still stayed at the salon with him.
Maybe she finally felt secure because almost every female worker was gone.
But sometimes I wonder whether she ever understood what she had won.
She kept her husband away from other women.
She also helped empty the salon he had spent years building.
10 min read ·
The first time Ly came to our nail salon after work, she brought food for her husband.
The second time, she brought food for...
The first time Ly came to our nail salon after work, she brought food for her husband.
The second time, she brought food for both of us.
By the fourth visit, she walked past her husband without even looking at him and placed my drink directly beside my station.
That was when I realized something was not right.
My name is Tony. I am 37 years old, Vietnamese, single, and I work as a nail tech in Wichita, Kansas.
My coworker Quang is also Vietnamese. He is 39 and has worked beside me for a few years.
Quang is married to Ly. They are the same age.
Ly does not work in the nail business. She has a regular office job and usually gets off work before our salon closes.
Before all this happened, I had only met her a few times.
Quang talked about her all the time, but mostly to complain.
He complained that she spent too much money. He complained that she wanted him home earlier. He complained that she kept asking him to exercise.
Quang is very skinny. He can eat all day and still look like he skipped every meal.
I am the opposite.
I am a big guy with broad shoulders. I have been lifting weights for years, so I look stronger than most of the men working around me.
I am not rich. I do not think I am especially handsome either.
I am just bigger and more muscular than Quang.
One Saturday, Quang invited me to his house to drink after work.
I almost said no because I was tired, but he kept asking.
He said Ly had cooked too much food and they needed somebody to help eat it.
When I arrived, Ly opened the door.
She looked surprised when she saw me.
I could tell Quang had not told her I was coming until the last minute.
She welcomed me inside and started bringing food to the table.
At first, everything felt normal.
We ate, drank beer, and talked about work.
Quang became loud after a few drinks. He kept telling embarrassing stories about customers and showing me old pictures on his phone.
Ly sat across from me most of the night.
I noticed her looking at my arms a few times, but I told myself I was imagining it.
Then Quang started making jokes about my body.
He told Ly that I went to the gym almost every day.
He said I could probably carry both of them at the same time.
Ly laughed and asked whether I had always been that big.
I told her I used to be skinny when I was younger.
She said the gym had been very good to me.
Quang laughed, but his face changed a little.
He quickly changed the subject.
Later that night, Quang became sleepy and stretched out on the couch.
Ly and I were still sitting at the dining table.
She asked why I was single.
I gave her the usual answer. I said I had not met the right person yet and worked too much.
She asked what kind of woman I liked.
Before I could answer, Quang suddenly sat up and told her she was asking too many personal questions.
She looked at him and said she was only being friendly.
The room became awkward.
I finished my beer and left soon afterward.
I did not think much about it until Ly started visiting the salon more often.
Before that night, she might come in once every few months.
After that night, she started coming once or twice a week.
She usually arrived after leaving work.
Sometimes she brought Quang dinner.
Sometimes she said she was only stopping by to say hello.
But she always found a reason to stand near my station.
She asked whether I had eaten.
She noticed when I got a haircut.
She remembered which coffee I liked.
One evening, she brought two drinks.
She handed one to Quang and gave the other one to me.
Mine was exactly what I normally ordered.
Quang looked at the cup and asked how she knew what I liked.
Ly said I had mentioned it before.
I honestly could not remember telling her.
After she left, Quang became quiet.
A few minutes later, he asked whether Ly had ever messaged me privately.
I told him no.
That was the truth.
He looked relieved, but things between us started feeling different after that.
He watched whenever Ly talked to me.
He stopped inviting me to his house.
He also started making comments about how single men should stay away from married women.
He never said my name, but I knew who he was talking about.
I tried to keep my distance from Ly.
When she came to the salon, I stayed busy.
If she brought food, I thanked her and went back to work.
I did not want trouble with Quang.
He was my friend before I ever met his wife.
But Ly did not stop coming.
One evening, the salon was almost empty.
Quang had gone to the supply store, and I was finishing my last customer.
Ly walked in and sat near the front.
After my customer left, she came over to my station.
She asked why I had been avoiding her.
I told her I was not avoiding anyone.
She said I used to talk to her, but now I acted nervous every time she came near me.
I did not know what to say.
Then she asked whether Quang had told me not to speak to her.
I said no, but I think she could see the truth on my face.
She became quiet.
After a few seconds, she said things between her and Quang had not been good for a long time.
She said they barely touched each other anymore.
She said Quang cared more about the salon, his friends, and his phone than he cared about her.
I told her she needed to discuss that with her husband.
She looked directly at me and said she had tried.
Then she said something I had been afraid to hear.
She told me that since the night I came to their house, she had been thinking about me.
My whole body became hot.
I liked the attention. I will be honest about that.
Ly is an attractive woman, and I had noticed her too.
But hearing my friend’s wife admit she was thinking about me did not feel exciting the way I thought it might.
It felt heavy.
I told her nothing could happen between us while she was married.
She asked whether that meant something could happen if she were single.
Before I could answer, the front door opened.
Quang had returned.
He stood there holding a bag of supplies and looking at both of us.
Nobody spoke.
Ly walked past him and left the salon.
Quang put the bag on the counter.
Then he asked what his wife had said to me.
I could have lied.
Instead, I told him the truth.
I expected him to become angry or try to fight me.
He did neither.
He sat in one of the pedicure chairs and covered his face with both hands.
Then he said he already knew.
That was the twist I never expected.
Quang told me he had noticed Ly looking at me during dinner that first night.
He had also seen how much more effort she made with her appearance before coming to the salon.
He said he kept inviting me around in the beginning because he thought seeing another man might make Ly appreciate him more.
Instead, it did the opposite.
I asked why he would do something like that.
He said he did not know.
He thought Ly would compare us and remember that he was her husband.
But every time she saw me, she seemed less interested in him.
I felt terrible hearing that.
Quang looked small sitting in that large pedicure chair.
For the first time, he did not seem like my funny coworker who complained about everything.
He looked like a man who knew his marriage was slipping away and had no idea how to stop it.
He asked whether I liked her.
I told him I had noticed her, but I had never touched her or messaged her.
He asked the question again.
This time, I understood what he really wanted to know.
I admitted that part of me did like her.
Quang nodded slowly.
Then he told me that if I were a real friend, I would stay away from her.
The next morning, he did not come to work.
Ly did.
She said she and Quang had argued all night.
She told me she was thinking about leaving him.
Then she asked whether I would wait for her.
I told her I could not promise anything.
She looked hurt, but I did not know what else to say.
I did not want to be the reason their marriage ended.
At the same time, I knew their problems had started long before I entered their house.
Quang returned to work two days later.
We still work beside each other, but we barely talk now.
Ly has stopped visiting the salon.
Last week, she sent me a message for the first time.
She said she had moved out of the house and was staying with her sister.
She also said she wanted to meet me when I was ready.
I have not answered yet.
Every day, I sit a few feet away from Quang while that message remains on my phone.
He does not know she contacted me.
At least, I do not think he knows.
Part of me wants to delete the message and forget the whole thing.
Another part keeps wondering whether Ly and I met at the wrong time, or whether there is never a right time to fall for your friend’s wife.
9 min read ·
🫶I’m Here for You1
75 reads · ·
Julie @Nail TechAsk the Community · Louisville, KY
I have worked beside her for almost six months, and she still has no idea how nervous she makes me.
She probably thinks I am...
I have worked beside her for almost six months, and she still has no idea how nervous she makes me.
She probably thinks I am quiet.
The truth is, sometimes I avoid looking at her face because I am scared she will notice where my eyes were a few seconds earlier.
My name is Julie. I am a 27-year-old Vietnamese woman working as a nail tech in Louisville, Kentucky.
I am also a lesbian.
My family does not know. Most of my coworkers do not know either.
I have dated women before, but never anyone from work. I always believed mixing romance and work would create trouble.
Then she started working at our salon.
She is 31, tall and very pretty. She has light brown hair, long legs, and a confident way of walking into the salon every morning.
She is not the type who needs a lot of makeup or expensive clothes. Even in a plain shirt and black work pants, everybody notices her.
I noticed her immediately.
At first, I told myself it was only a small crush.
She was friendly to me, but she was friendly to everyone. She helped clean without being asked. She remembered customers by name. When the salon got busy, she stayed calm instead of complaining.
That made me like her even more.
We work at stations close to each other, so we talk throughout the day.
She asks what I am eating for lunch. She brings me coffee sometimes. When a customer gives me a hard time, she checks on me afterward.
Once, I cut my finger while opening a supply box. She grabbed the first aid kit and wrapped my finger for me.
My face became so hot that I could barely look at her.
She probably thought I was scared of blood.
I was actually trying not to think about how close she was standing.
The embarrassing part is that I sometimes look at her body when she is not paying attention.
When she bends down to pick something up or leans across her station, my eyes go directly to her chest.
I know I should not do that.
I would feel uncomfortable if a coworker kept staring at my body, so I always look away quickly. Still, afterward I feel guilty and disappointed in myself.
I do not want to be the creepy person at work.
I want to know her as a real person, not just someone I find attractive.
The problem is that I cannot tell whether she likes women.
She never talks about a boyfriend.
She has mentioned an ex before, but she only said the word ex. She did not say whether the ex was a man or a woman.
One coworker asked whether she was dating anyone, and she said she was enjoying being single.
That answer gave me hope, but it did not really tell me anything.
For months, I searched for small signs.
I noticed that she never acted uncomfortable when two women came into the salon holding hands.
I noticed a rainbow sticker on her water bottle, but it was part of a group of travel stickers, so it might mean nothing.
I noticed that she compliments my hair and sometimes touches my shoulder when she walks past me.
Then I remind myself that friendly women do those things all the time.
Everything changed last Friday.
We were closing together after everyone else left.
She was sweeping near my station while I organized my polish bottles.
She asked why I never went out with the other workers after work.
I told her I was shy and did not really enjoy crowded places.
Then she asked whether I had a boyfriend.
My heart started beating so hard that I thought she might hear it.
I told her no.
She smiled and said she did not believe someone like me could be single for long.
I had no idea what someone like me meant.
I almost told her everything right then.
I almost told her that I liked women and that the woman I liked was standing three feet away holding a broom.
Instead, I laughed and changed the subject.
When I got home, I felt terrible.
I had been waiting for an opportunity, and when it came, I became scared.
The next morning, she surprised me by asking whether I wanted to get lunch with her.
Just the two of us.
I said yes so quickly that she laughed.
We went to a small restaurant near the salon. For the first few minutes, we talked about customers and work.
Then she told me she had moved to Louisville after ending a serious relationship.
I finally asked whether her ex was a man or a woman.
She looked at me for a second before answering.
Her ex was a woman.
I nearly dropped my fork.
She asked why I looked so surprised.
I told her I did not know she dated women.
Then she asked whether that bothered me.
That was my second chance to tell the truth.
I said it did not bother me at all.
She waited like she expected me to say more, but I became nervous again and started talking about the food.
The rest of lunch felt different.
She smiled at me more. Our knees touched under the table once, and neither of us moved immediately.
When we returned to the salon, I wondered whether I had imagined the whole thing.
That evening, she sent me a message saying she enjoyed lunch and wanted to do it again.
I stared at that message for almost an hour.
I typed that I liked her.
Then I deleted it.
I typed that I was also interested in women.
Then I deleted that too.
Finally, I only told her that I had a nice time.
Since then, I have been sad and frustrated with myself.
I know she is single. I know she dates women. I know she enjoys spending time with me.
But she is still my coworker.
If I tell her how I feel and she does not feel the same way, we will still have to see each other every day.
Our stations are close. Our coworkers notice everything. Salon gossip moves faster than acetone.
I am also scared that she only sees me as a younger coworker and friend.
At the same time, staying quiet is becoming harder.
Every time she brings me coffee or asks me to have lunch, I wonder whether she is waiting for me to say something.
I do not want to confess all my feelings and make her uncomfortable.
I am thinking about asking her to have dinner with me outside of work and making it clear that I mean it as a date.
That seems more respectful than continuing to stare at her from across the salon and hoping she can read my mind.
But I am scared I will ruin the friendship and make work awkward.
I am also scared that if I do nothing, another woman will ask her out while I am still trying to find enough courage.
What should I do?
Should I ask her on a real date, or should I leave it alone because we work together?
7 min read ·
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