“Delilah Mae!” My mother gasps while my dad chuckles.
“Don’t encourage it, Buck,” she grumbles.
“Sorry, Nana,” Lilah responds, tossing her head back in a fit of giggles.
“Language, Lilah,” I add, trying like hell not to laugh with her. “I’ll do my best,” I whisper in her ear, then set her down.
I wave goodbye, and watch my parents take her inside, then climb back into my truck, ready to start my night.
On my drive into town for work, my mind spins with everything I need to get done—appointments, payroll, supply orders, and the mountain of unread emails I know are waiting for me.
The familiar weight of my responsibilities settles in like it always does. Being a single dad and running my own tattoo studio runs me ragged. But I wouldn’t change it for the world, except maybe the single part, although I know I don't have time for that. I get to do what I love, and what I always dreamed of as a kid, so I can’t ask for much else.
Kayla started nannying for us a year ago after she graduated high school. She was one of my mom's friend’s granddaughters, and was a nice enough kid. Delilah liked her, and we never had any real issues. I didn’t know much about her beyond who her grandma was and the fact that she had a hippie boyfriend she could talk about for hours if you let her.
She used to come in the mornings and stay until I got home in the late afternoon on weekdays. Occasionally, she’d stay overnight with Lilah on the weekends when I had late appointments—like tonight—and wouldn’t be home until after midnight. She’d sleep in the guest room next to Lilah’s, since there was no way I was letting her drive home that late, especially with how far out our place is out from town.
In reality, I know my parents could watch Delilah during the day, but I just can’t bring myself to put that on them. They’ve already raised four capable,successful adults, they should get to enjoy being grandparents and not be forced back into the role of disciplinarians. They deserve to spoil her, not parent her.
They’re retired now, excited to embrace their “Golden Era” as my mom likes to call it. The idea of putting that on hold by asking them to take over childcare for Lilah just doesn't sit right with me. I need to find a replacement, and fast. My schedule is completely booked for the next month, and it will be a huge pain in the ass if I have to start rescheduling.
Sometimes I just wish I had someone to share the weight with.
Grief creeps in as I think about Sarah. She was my best friend. Not the love of my life, but we still shared something real, friendship and a daughter. One night of too much tequila for two equally lonely people, led to incredibly uncomfortable sex, and eventually… two pink lines.
I rake a hand through my hair, the other still on the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror I notice it’s gotten longer than I usually keep it, the ends fall into my eyes as I try to smooth it back. Just one more thing to add to the to-do list.
————
I step through the heavy glass door and nod a hello to Jacob, our front desk guy, and the clients scattered around the waiting area. Without breaking stride, I head toward the back of the studio.
“What’s up, boss man?” Leo calls out over his large shoulder at me from his work station.
Leo’s a big dude. Covered in ink and bald by choice—I think. He’s in his forties and built like a damnhouse. If you didn’t know him, he’d scare the hell out of you. But the second he opens his mouth, you realize he’s just a giant teddy bear.
I glance over and see him working on the massive back piece we sketched out the other day. The detail is insane. It reminds me why I hired him.
I grunt in response, and he barks out a laugh.
“Sunshine and rainbows as always,” Leo replies, dipping his needle in ink and continuing his work.
“Nanny quit,” I mutter.
“Ouch. Sorry, man. Bring Lilah to work. She’d do better than Jacob.”
“Fuck off!” I hear Jacob yell from the front.
I roll my eyes and shake my head, looking up at the big neon sign blazing “Canyon Tattoo” in bright red, Old English font on the back wall.
I breeze through the door of my office and drop my stuff, pulling out my laptop and the camera I need to download photos from last weekend’s appointments. The space isn’t huge, but it’s just big enough for the basics—a black acrylic desk and a comfortable rolling chair with solid lumbar support. Apparently, being in your thirties means your back hurts all the time, so I spent an ungodly amount on an ugly ass chair.
Two chairs and a side table fill the corner space, centered on a Persian rug Sophie helped me pick out. A small bookshelf lines the back wall, filled with helpful training materials for the artists. Framed photos of past work and articles about the studio hang on the dark walls, giving the space a personal but professional touch.
I drop into my chair and start setting up my desk, determined to get as much work done as possible before my first appointment shows up in an hour.
I hear my phone chime with a text, and I pull it from my pocket to see it’s my sibling group chat.
Lincoln:Can someone please tell mom that she needs a new coffee maker? I have to shove a butter knife in the pod holder to get it to shut.
