The Other Black Girl(16)
Hazel looked over her shoulder. “Oh, I was just wondering if you’re into Diana Gordon. I stumbled across an old piece on her by Joan Circatella last night, and it made me want to reread Burning Heart, like, right now.”
“Joan Circatella? That’s amazing! I relied pretty heavily on her work for my thesis in college.” Seeing what seemed to be curiosity unravel across her companion’s face, Nella added, “?‘For Us, by Us: The Effect of Black Eyes on Black Ideas.’?”
“Girl.” Hazel’s eyes widened as she put her mug down so she could clap for emphasis. “That. Sounds. So. Dope. Look at you, being all modest. You should own that thesis.”
“Thanks!” Nella smiled. Worried she might be coming off as just a hair pretentious, she added—even though Hazel hadn’t asked—“I’d always been really into the fact that Burning Heart was both written and edited by Black women, and that inspired me to put that element into conversation with its societal impact. And I compared two other books that were also written by Black editor-writer pairs.”
Hazel clapped again. “That’s brilliant! I could see something like that running in Salon or someplace. Please tell me you’ve done something with it, sis. I’m begging you.”
“Well—it’s been kind of hard, you know… with Kendra Rae Phillips, and all…” Nella shrugged.
“What do you mean? Wait, oh my god—does she still work here?!” Hazel’s locs slapped her cheeks as she glanced excitedly around the kitchen.
“No, definitely not,” Nella said, lowering her voice. “That’s the thing. She’s been MIA for years.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I imagine that leaves an annoying hole in your work.” Hazel picked up her mug once more. “It’s too bad she left. This business needs more Black editors, more Black mentors… more Black everything.”
“I know, and—” Nella shook her head, feeling frazzled. This was a conversation she wanted desperately to have, just not right now. “God, I am so sorry. I’m going to miss this phone call.”
She thought she’d said it softly enough. She’d spent so much time on the so, and had indicated how little control she had of the whole situation. Nevertheless, there was a shift in Hazel’s disposition. Her shoulders were slumping, as though a weight had been tied to each one. Even her hold on her mug was different—rather than letting it sit in the palm of her hand, Hazel was pinching the handle with almost all of her fingers, using the last one to tap the side with her long nail.
“I’m sorry!” Nella said again. “It’s not a personal thing. The call, I mean. It’s an author thing. For work.”
Hazel shrugged, her eyes narrowed. “I get it. I’ll be doing that, too, at some point. I guess.”
“You’ll be doing it a lot. Maisy doesn’t like talking on the phone to anyone but Tony.”
“Her husband?”
“Her therapist.”
That got a smile out of Hazel. “So many things I need to learn!”
Feeling confident she’d smoothed things over well enough, Nella tried once more to leave the kitchen. Hazel followed after her this time, keeping pace.
Nella cast her a quick, awkward smile. “Hey, how about we do lunch sometime this week, now that you’re a little bit settled?” She looked around to see if any of their coworkers were ambling through the halls, even though most upper-level employees didn’t float in until ten or so. “I can fill you in on everything. Off the record, of course.”
“For sure. I would love that.”
“Great. Let’s plan for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s perfect.”
They’d finally reached their desks. Nella moved a stack of papers that had been snowballing over the last couple of weeks in order to make room for her practically untouched coffee and took a look at her desk phone. There were two missed calls: one from Vera, and another from Colin Franklin, presumably confirming his meeting with her and Vera next week.
She groaned.
“What’s up?” Hazel asked. “Shit, did you miss that call you were waiting on? My bad, girl.”
When Nella looked up, Hazel was by her side, her mouth formed in a perfect O.
“Um. No. No, I didn’t miss it. I’m—I just have a lot of things going on right now. Author stuff, you know.”
“Aww, you poor thing. Well, hey, just know this: I’m here. To talk about Diana, Zora, Maya, literally any Literary Black Queen… I can go on and on. But I’m also here for you. To spill the tea, complain, anything.” Hazel dabbed Nella’s shoulder. “I didn’t have any Black coworkers in Boston, and I didn’t think I would have one here. So, this is… pretty awesome.”
A warmth Nella hadn’t felt for any other cube neighbor since Yang flooded her senses. She smiled, her eyes welling up with… were those tears? What the hell? “I feel the same way, Hazel,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Of course!”
Nella turned to reach for her phone, rejuvenated and raring to get to work. But something stopped her.
It was Hazel, whom she could still feel lingering above her.
“So, you’re good, then? Everything’s okay?” Hazel’s voice had dipped a couple of octaves, hovering at a register usually reserved for a mother comforting her child. Her eyes seemed vacant, void of anything other than a needy emptiness.