I have an idea for a new tattoo that I’ve been kicking around. Maybe Eve will bring me. I can’t tell her what it is. She’ll tell me not to do it. The Claddagh and Celtic knot are a perfect representation of what I’ve lost and what I want to remember every day for the rest of my life. Yeah, it might be torture. Maybe I deserve it. Faith was mine, and I let her go.
“Will you bring me to Inked sometime? I’m itching to get another tattoo,” I say, looking at Eve as her eyes light up. She’salways loved tattoos, too. We’ve been to the small tattoo shop a few times together.
“I can do that,” Eve says. “When are you thinking?” She swipes the ring from my hand playfully and twirls it around her own finger.
A mischievous smile spreads across my face, knowing she won’t be able to resist. “How about now?” I ask, raising my brows.
Eve shrugs and lets out a quick scoff. “Guess we’re going to Inked.”
ONE
FAITH
After a long day at the office, I turn into my driveway as my tires crunch over the leftover snow from a couple of nights ago. It’s a Cape Cod-style home with natural shaker siding, a farmer’s porch and a two-car garage—which is convenient tonight.
I pull into my garage and finally take a much-needed deep breath when I slide my car into park and turn off the ignition. I suppose being the boss has its perks, like leaving early—something I took full advantage of today. As my heated seats begin to lose their comfort, I gather my bag and mug and head inside.
I flip on the light that illuminates the stark-white kitchen with sparkling countertops and gleaming hardwoods. My great-aunt left me this solid built home in Saxville in her will a few years back. Growing up in this small lakeside town in New England, it was perfect for all my college friends to move into for a couple years after graduating. When they decided to purchase their own homes, it was time to have some updates completed, especially the kitchen. I love walking in and feeling like a blanket of love wraps around me. It’s my safe place.
My bag hits the island with a thud, and I remember my laptop is in there and hope I didn’t break anything. I let out along sigh, knowing I need to get back into work-mode before I throw the towel in for the night. There isn’t much to do, but I’ll make a few notes then get ready for tonight’s dinner.
Being a therapist and running my practice is a dream come true. The amount of paperwork I have as a therapist would probably come as a shock to some. Thankfully, we’re mostly digital, but there are still notes to be compiled—probably one of the most tedious tasks of the job.
I don’t think there will be a time when I don’t have clients, but I am working toward decreasing them to focus on my transition to the practice owner. I’m so grateful for the amazing staff. They’ve done a great job migrating some of my clients to other therapists, and I can count on them to get the job done. My clients are incredibly important to me, so if they aren’t quite ready for the transition to a new therapist, my staff can pick up on it and we can postpone the transfer.
As I sit at the island and stare at the files, I’d rather slide into comfy pajamas, turn up the heat and snuggle on my couch to watch a rom-com. I’m a total introvert who loves her alone time and romantic movies. There’s no time for that at the moment. I take my scrunchie off my wrist and toss my hair up into a messy bun.
I’m ready to get this done.
Since music helps me focus and write my client notes, I fumble around in my bag and snag my phone. I find theClient Noteplaylist and then press play. I shake off the day and write my notes. The faint scent of my apple pie candle lingers from this morning.
As I finish the last of my clients’ notes, my heart jumps out of my chest as my three best friends Kendall, Lane, and Addison barge through the front door. I lost track of time. When they step into the kitchen, they stare at me—probably wondering what I’m doing.
“Why aren’t you ready?” Kendall asks with her arms outstretched.
She is the most outgoing of the four of us and can be opinionated and pushy, but I love her. Let me reiterate—welove her. When I needed someone the most, she was there for me back in that first year of college. Nothing has changed. She is my ride or die friend with fiery red hair that demands attention everywhere she goes. Her CrossFit body, which everyone is jealous of, and piercing green eyes that are full of life and energy, only amplify her even more.
“I really don’t want to go!” I slouch in my chair.
“Too bad.” Kendall raises her eyebrows. “It’s girls’ night, and you need to spill about your date with Colin. The group text you sent had zero juicy deets.”
The date was my admin’s brilliant idea. She thought we’d be a match. By the time I left, it felt like my ears were bleeding. Let’s just say there won’t be a second date. I really don’t want to rehash it, but I guess that’s what I’ll be doing later.
“You are impossible.” I nudge her shoulder and give her a fake smile. “Giving you a play-by-play of my date will be my pleasure.” I dramatically curtsy.
Kendall’s heart is always in the right place, but sometimes I don’t want to share about my awful dating life. It feels like I’ll never find the love of my life, and of course, my mind instinctively drifts back to Jude—a rare breed. It drives me crazy that I do that. Whenever I think of my ideal guy, it’s my ex who I picture.
Kendall taps the face of her Apple watch. “You have ten minutes to get ready because we’re leaving.”
I love my friends and spending time with them. When I’m with them, it always ends up being just what I need, so I suck it up and get ready.
“We have reservations!” Addison yells as she brushes her fingers through her light brown, short hair and then throws her thin frame on my couch. She groans about the possibility of being late for our reservation.
There’s a tinge of red on her cheeks, probably from her annoyance that I’m not ready. When you are on time, you are late, according to her. It’s been a constant battle since we met in college. She would leave me behind if I couldn’t get my act together and be ready on time. Nowadays, she’s a little more lax, but not much. Despite her being a homebody too, she’s always lively when we’re all together.
I scurry to my bedroom, swapping my black pants for the jeans draped over the chair. In the full-length mirror, I catch a glimpse of my hip tattoo. When I see it, I pause for a few moments to think about the vivid reminder of its significance. I kiss my fingers and gently touch it, honoring the moment. As I finish pulling on my jeans, I turn slightly to catch a glimpse in the mirror. My blue eyes are bright with excitement as the denim hugs my body, accentuating my curves. Thankfully, I’m slightly taller than average height. Otherwise, I’d look more plump than curvy.
And those squats are definitely paying off.
