6:50 p.m.: Finn: Baby
6:51 p.m.: Finn: You’re late
6:55 p.m.: Nora Baby: I’m sorry I promise I will be there soon! George insisted on getting the paraffin manicure and it takes longer.
6:57 p.m.: Finn: none of this would have happened if you’d just come to get a tattoo with me
6:58 p.m.: Nora Baby: YOU GOT A TATTOO
7:00 p.m.: Finn: I TOLD YOU I WAS GETTING ONE
7:01 p.m.: Nora Baby: I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING
7:01 p.m.: Finn: Nora, tattoos are permanent, I’d never joke about something so serious
“Is she pissed?” Faraz asks.
I stare at the screen trying, to interpret her all caps. “I’d say fifty-fifty chance she’s trying to make me sweat.”
He sets his beer bottle on the counter, taps his wedding ring against the glass, and nods.
I brush my hand just above the tender spot on my waist. I didn’t believe George when she said,Yeah, tattoos hurt, dumbass.
I nearly passed the fuck out.
“You think she’ll be mad?” I toy with my own beer bottle but don’t drink. I’m suddenly light-headed again.
Faraz laughs. His head back, voice booming. “Do I think Nora will be mad at you for getting a tattoo?”
“Yeah,” I say likeSo what.
“I think you could tattoo an asshole on your forehead, and the worst Nora would do is stomp her feet around the apartment.” He twirls his finger in a circle to encompass the whole condo. “And then you’d be goofy and make her laugh, and it would turn into that weird foreplay you guys have done for the last five years.”
I grin. He’s probably right.
“Well.” Faraz tips back the last of his beer. “I suppose.”
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say, holding out my hand to shake, then pull him in for a hug. “And helping me set up.” I gesture at the abundance of battery-powered tea lights flickering around us. I considered going full candle—Nora is a big fan of candles—but not this many. She would have freaked about the fire hazard; rightly so.
He slaps my back. “You got this, bud.”
I know I do. I shouldn’t be so nervous. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten a last-minute tattoo,” I admit, following him to the front door as he shoves his feet into his boots and pulls his coat off the hook.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Shit.”
“What?” Faraz pauses, his hand on the door handle.
“George just dropped her off.”
Faraz’s eyes go wide. “Oh shit.” He steps away from the door. “What do I do? Is she coming up? Should I hide?” At the same time, we look at the small closet off the kitchen that houses our stacked washer/dryer.
“No. Wait. You can’t fit in there.” I point at the door. “Go.”
“She’s gonna see me in the elevator,” he whisper-hisses, like she might hear us, like I don’t already fucking know that.
“Take the stairs,” I whisper-hiss back.
