Tattoos
TWO YEARS LATER
WILL LAY BACK IN the saran wrap-covered chair, his Wrangler jeans unbuttoned and pulled down to an indecent level. The gloved tattoo artist had his head bent, working on the design on Will's hipbone, a tattoo machine in his hand, permanently inking the purple pattern.
Stars to match mine.
One was already done; we had returned for his second, matching star.
My lover. My soul mate.
My husband.
I sat in a chair to the side, my legs tucked under me, my arms resting on my swelling belly, my fingers playing with my ring, twirling it around. In about five months, there’d be a new Thrash child. We had decided not to find out if it was a boy or a girl, but to be surprised.
Since I met Will, I’d finished up my degree at UCSB and opened a small therapy office in a downstairs room of the ranch house. I had patients come from miles away for counseling, mostly children, and I think that the relaxed air of Headlands Ranch aided in their recovery.
The avocados came in really well last year, with the lucky coincidence of prices going sky high, and he was able to make a sizable down payment on the neighbor's property. We were in escrow to close, and the acreage would ensure that the area would remain rural, without the development. These days, since he wasn't getting development pressure, he was a lot more relaxed.
Will had proposed to me a year ago, while we were out riding Thor.
It was a summer's day and the first time that I’d ridden bareback. He was teaching me how. Once you got the feel for it, bareback riding wasn't that hard. But it was fun to go riding together, me in the front and Will behind, holding my waist.
We ambled through the orchards and took a ride through the vineyards, back around, and then went out to our favorite bluff overlooking the beach. There, looking out at the ocean, the sun shining, and the air sultry, he pulled an antique filigree diamond ring out of his pocket and slipped it on my hand while we had stopped to look at the view.
Startled, I looked down at my hand, and then turned around on the horse to look at him.
"Want to be with you forever," he told me, sincerely. "I’ve loved you since I met you and always will. This was my grandmother's ring. Asked my dad for it. Want you to wear it. Marry me, Marie."
Overcome, unable to form words, I simply nodded, and burst into tears, and he wrapped me in an enthusiastic hug and then kissed me.
"Tonight. I don't want to wait anymore."
"Tonight?" I answered, startled. He smiled.
"Do you want a big wedding?"
No. I didn't. "No."
"Then tonight, baby. Pack a suitcase. Tell the Fieldings to meet us in Vegas."
I burst out laughing, and he pulled out a printout of the plane tickets from his pocket.
"You’re serious?" I asked, astonished.
"Yep." His brown eyes were amused, but completely serious.
"What if I’d said no?" I asked him, unable to stop challenging him.
"You haven't said yes yet," he retorted.
Giddy with excitement, I burst out, "Yes, you crazy cowboy, Okay, yes, today." I paused. And it hit me. "Ohmigod, we're getting married today." And I totally squealed.
He dug his heels into Thor and we galloped back to the stables, put the tack away and settled him in, cleaned off, and were in his truck, headed to the Santa Barbara airport within an hour and a half. I shook, trembling with excitement, and could barely keep my hands off of him.
Even Will kept laughing, happy.
Ryan and Amelia met us at the airport. I shrieked when I saw her and almost bowled her over with a hug. Ryan gave Will one of those dude handshake, half hug, back slap things, and then wrapped me in a big hug, too. Will had apparently tipped them off to our trip. Actually, not just that, because Amelia had packed up a special suitcase with a new dress for me. She remembered my favorite one, she said, from going shopping with her for her wedding, and she went ahead and bought it for me.
We were all wired with excitement and could barely sit still in the small charter plane. Ryan had hired one as a wedding present.
It felt like we were barely up in the air and then we touched down in Las Vegas. When we pulled up to the Wynn, Amelia and I squealed yet again, and the guys looked amused. I was joyous and ridiculous, and I didn't care who knew it. Courtesy of Mr. Fielding, we were booked into two over-the-top luxurious suites, and I couldn't stop pacing around, checking it out. The guys took over one to watch television while Amelia and I used the other to get ready.
Amelia had bought me a bias cut slip dress, very 1930s Jean Harlow, in an off-white silk satin. She helped me wrap my hair up in a chignon and tucked a huge red rose behind my ear. While the dress was old-fashioned, my tattoos made it edgy and I loved it. Amelia, who thought of everything, even remembered to pack a pretty strapless bra. She’d brought me strappy stilettos and handed me a bouquet of dark red roses, so dark they were almost black.
An hour and a half later, we sent the guys off in a limo because I wanted to be at least marginally traditional and not let Will see me. The limo came back, picked us up, and we met the guys at the Chapel of the Flowers. When we arrived, Amelia got out first, wearing a tight, knee length, red strapless dress. She scoped out where the guys were, and made sure the coast was clear and that the chapel was ready for us.
Then I walked in, and walked down the aisle, holding her arm, trembling from excitement, but completely ecstatic to be marrying my guy.
Will stood at the end of the aisle in black pants, a white shirt with a bolero tie, a black western jacket, and boots. Fuck me, cowboy. The white shirt contrasted with his tan skin, and his hair was a mop of dark lusciousness. Ryan, stunning as always, wore slacks, a jacket, and a shirt and tie. They both had red roses in their lapels. Amelia to the rescue.
I turned to Amelia. "Is this heaven?"
She laughed.
When I arrived at the end of the short aisle, Will held my hand, and looked down at me, his brown eyes loving. "You okay?" he whispered.
"Never better," I whispered back and squeezed his hand.
"You look so beautiful," he whispered, "Can't wait until you’re mine."
“I’ve been yours since I met you,” I whispered back and he smiled.
And then it was "I do," and "I do," and when it was time, he dipped me back and kissed me so that the entire outside world dropped away. Then I noticed Amelia whooping next to me.
When he finished, I put my hand over my mouth and giggled.
Mrs. William C. Thrash III.
I felt like I’d come home at last.
When we were outside, giddy still, Ryan asked what we wanted to do next.
Did he need to ask? Vegas is my kind of place. The party girl in her element.
Let's just say we had fun that night.
Now, a year later, as the tattoo artist wiped up the blood, I asked Will, "You're seriously going to vote no on that proposition?"
"It's gonna cost the taxpayers money," he responded.
"Well, I'm voting yes, so it's gonna cancel yours out. We might as well not vote."
He laughed.
I turned to the tattoo artist. "This is the way we are. Fight and then makeup sex and then fight and then, well, you get the idea."
The tattoo artist looked up at Will, who shrugged, and then said, "Better to argue about something than to argue about nothing. It means you care what the other one thinks."
Will and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"Yep," said Will. "We do." And he motioned for me to come close, and gave me a wet kiss.
That night, in the ranch house, a dressing on his hipbone, the stars on his hips united with mine for the first time.
And definitely not the last.