Present Day
It’s been three weeks. I haven’t heard from Kerry. Padraig asked about her once, and I harshly replied to his inquiry. He hasn’t mentioned her since.
I work my sessions, fill in when I’m needed, and otherwise stay in my apartment and draw.
Kerry’s face. I draw nothing but her face. Different angles. Different expressions.
I called Dr. Kohl about seeing Mallory in the square. How my freak-out resulted in me pushing Kerry away. In her most professional way, she told me I was a fucking moron.
I respectfully disagreed with her opinion.
Virgil has just gone home for the evening. Darma went home a while ago. It’s late. I’ve finished the books for the evening. I make my way to the front door to lock up.
She’s standing there. Staring at me.
Kerry.
I inhale and exhale a deep breath. I could do what I did three weeks ago. Lock the door in her face and walk away. But the look she is giving me is stern. Determined. Unforgiving. I deserve whatever it is she has to unleash on me. I can at least give her the time to say her peace. If that’s what she needs to move on. She deserves that.
I open the door. She walks in, never taking her eyes off mine.
She stands directly in front of me, her chin lifted proudly.
“Whatever it is you need to say to me, Kerry, say it. Just say it.”
She takes a deep breath, and I think I see a tinge of a smirk on her lips.
“I would like a tattoo, please.”
I’m taken aback. I was ready for a full-on onslaught of ass chewing. Or tears at least.
“I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“You do tattoos, right? I’m here for a tattoo.”
I furrow my brow and try to comprehend what the hell is happening at this moment.
“You want a tattoo?” I ask for clarification.
“Yes. I have an idea for a design.” Her face softens slightly. “Will you please give me a tattoo?”
I try to have the motto of “Professionalism above all.” I shouldn’t falter on that now, right?
“You are the best tattoo artist in town. I want a tattoo, and I want you to do it.”
I narrow my eyes at her and try to read her expression. She’s not here to chew me out or ask me a million questions about why I’m the biggest dickhead on the planet. She wants a tattoo.
From the best.
I purse my lips and ponder the situation.
I shrug. “All right.” I point her over to the counter. “What did you have in mind?” As she walks toward the counter, I lock the front door. I don’t need any randoms traipsing in here and making this moment any more bizarre than it already is. I follow her to the counter.
“Well, I heard someone got a pretty wicked vagina-flower tattoo from here.”
She looks at me, completely straight-faced. Her words and expression cause me to chuckle hard.
“You want a vagina tattoo? Really?”
“Maybe I do.”
“Well, you heard correct, ma’am, but I was not the artist of that fine piece of work, I’m afraid.”
She nods.
“Okay, fine. Then I’d like a lily.”
Her words shock me. “Why?”
“It will remind me of something great that I once had. Something that I hope to get again.”
I shake my head.
“Luca,” she says. The words coming from her mouth bring on a sensation I haven’t experienced in weeks. My knees almost buckle underneath me. “I would like a tattoo, please. Of a lily.”
I nod and pull out a sheet of draft paper from underneath the counter. I begin to sketch. I draw a varied version of the logo of my sign out front. She intently watches every stroke of my pencil. When I’m done, I spin the sketch in her direction to show her my finished design.
“That’s perfect,” she says.
“Do you want color?”
“Yes. Just one color. What is the color of hope?”
I smile. My heart swells for her. She looks at me with that. With hope. Hope that we still have a chance. Even though I’m a dumbass.
“This year, I think it’s lavender.”
“Lavender is good.”
I work my sketch onto transfer paper and lead her to a booth.
“Where are we putting this hopeful lily?”
She lifts her shirt and points to the side of her rib cage, underneath her bra line.
“Why there?”
“Because it’s close to my heart.”
I furrow my brow at her explanation.
She rolls her eyes. “As close as I can get to my heart without sitting directly on top of my boob.”
I laugh. And finally, she laughs.
“Fair enough,” I say.
I help her lie on her side on the chair. I position the transfer paper where she indicated, smooth it over, remove it, and show her the trace. “Is this good?” I hand her a mirror to assess the position.
“Perfect.”
I prep the gun. “You know, this is probably the most sensitive part of the body on which you can get a tattoo, right?”
“Fully aware. Kind of the point.”
“You want it to hurt?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“It’s not up to you, Luca. Just do the tattoo, please.”
“Okay. I’m getting ready to start. There will be a sting.”
“Okay.”
I spend the next thirty minutes etching the tattoo into her skin. Instead of staring at the gun, which most people tend to do when they can see it, she stares directly at my face the entire time. It makes me only a tad nervous, but I power through it.
When I’m done, I clean it up and show her the finished product.
“I love it. It’s perfect.”
I give it a good rub with salve and bandage it up. I tell her how to take care of it over the next few weeks. I’m in full professional mode. At least, I’m trying to be.
She lowers her shirt and stares at me while I clean up the booth.
“Luca, you have to talk to me. You just tattooed me, for crying out loud. You have to talk to me.”
I stop cleaning, place what I have in my hands on the counter, and sit in a chair. “What do you want me to talk about?”
She leans against the half wall of the booth. “Well, for starters, why did you make me leave? Why did you push me away?”
“Kerry—” I start.
“Luca!” she says rather loudly. She pushes herself off the half wall and walks toward me. “I gave you time to think. But you do not get to treat me the way you did and expect me to get over it without an explanation.”
She’s unwavering.
I sit there, staring into her determined eyes, and think for a moment. I know Kerry enough to know she’s kind and not in the least judgmental. If I talk to her . . . just maybe . . .
“You want a beer?” I ask. She smiles, and I lead her up to the apartment.
We crack open some beer and sit on the bed. Face-to-face. I give her full disclosure that what she’s about to hear is going to sound wackadoodle and she is free to bolt at any time.
I tell her about school. About the internship and Europe. About Mallory. And about my recent freak-out over Mallory. She listens. She never interrupts. She never makes suggestions on what I should do to make things better.
After about two hours of listening, she grabs my hand with both of hers. “I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care what you think about yourself. I only care about what I think about you. And I think you are pretty fucking fantastic. I’m not going to run away. I’m not leaving. Like I told you before, you won’t lose me.” She lifts up her shirt and points to her bandage. “You’re kind of stuck with me now. I got inked for you. Doesn’t that mean something? Prove anything?”
“It sounds like you are a little crazy. Maybe obsessive.”
She gives me a deadpan look in response to my sarcasm. But she’s right. “It does prove something. It means the world to me. I am thrilled that you let me tattoo a lily close to your heart.”
“So, are we okay, then? Can we still—”
“If you say ‘hang out’ I will lose my mind.”
She laughs. “Okay. Can we see each other? Be friends? More than friends? I don’t care what label you put on it. We don’t even have to have a label. I just want to be around you, Luca.”
She smiles. I call her a sorceress for coming up with her master tattoo plan to prove I won’t lose her. To help me pull my head out of my ass when no one else was able to.
I kiss her. I’ve missed her, and I am eternally grateful that she is more stubborn than me.
“Can I request a condition?” I ask. “About our non-labeled relationship?”
“Maybe,” she answers.
“Can we still fly under the radar? Not tell Padraig or Stella or anyone? I know it’s ridiculous, but I have a lot more work to do on myself before I’m even close to being good enough for you. Can we just work on that together? Without everyone else’s input?”
She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me.
“Whatever you want. Whatever you need to heal. Move on. Grow. I’m okay with that. I’m here for you.”
I rest my forehead on hers. I take a deep breath. I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. A burden I’ve been carrying for way too long.
I can do this.
I can make Kerry happy.
I grab the hem of her shirt and lift it slightly. “Now, let’s see how that tat is healing.”