“I see. I did the same thing. My mother practically forced me to go to nursing school, but I cancelled my enrolment and ran away to paint instead.”
“Nice. Where’d you head?”
“Here,” Jo said with a fond smile. “Melbourne. It was the first place I ever felt at home.”
“Cool. What kind of art do you do?”
Jo waved her free hand as though it didn’t matter. “Earrings, pottery. Right now, I’m doing a few oil commissions for Candour House.”
“Sweet,” Tabby said, impressed. “They hardly take anyone on.”
“I know the owner. So, your older sister owns Silver Daughters?”
“Yeah, it used to be my dad’s, but he bounced.”
Jo looked shocked. “He left you?”
“No, not like that,” Tabby said quickly. “He went away to live by himself. It was this spiritual ‘rite of passage’ thing. You’d have to know my dad for it to make sense.”
“Okay...”
“Anyway, that’s why the studio’s called Silver Daughters Ink. He named it after us. And, yeah, Sam runs the shop, and I work here, and my other sister, Nix, does the accounts. She and Sam are twins. Identical.”
“Hmm. So, Nicole runs the books, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s an accountant. She has her own business, but she does this place for free. Which is great until she comes in to bitch about the price of hand sanitiser.”
Jo laughed. “She’s a little uptight?”
“She gives ponytails a run for their money. To be fair, her husband works here, so that’s at least part of the reason she’s always clogging up the studio.”
“Husband?”
“Did you see the huge criminal-looking bloke in the other room? That’s Noah. He and Nix are having a kid.”
Jo’s fingers flexed against the arms of the tattooing chair. “Really?”
“Yup. They had a hard time with it, though. Nix has had a few miscarriages.”
“Oh my…”
Tabby felt a faint stab of guilt. Maybe she shouldn’t have told this random punter something so personal. Then again, Nixwantedto be open about her experiences. She already ran a not-for-profit educating girls and women about sexually transmitted diseases. She wanted to do the same thing for people struggling with conception and infertility.
“Are they happy together?” Jo asked. “Your sister and the tattoo artist?”
“Disgustingly. You’ve never seen more repulsive displays of heteronormativity.”
“What about the one who runs the studio?”
“Sam? Ahh, she’s happy, too. She’s with this dickhead who used to live next door. Scotty ‘Doesn’t Know’ Sanderson, I call him.”
Jo’s eyebrows contracted, and not like she thought the ‘Scotty Doesn’t Know’ thing was funny. Her lip stuck out, and for a second, it looked like she might cry. “That’s… so nice.”
An awkward silence spiralled between them, and confused, Tabby bent back to her work. This was what she got for oversharing.
“Sorry,” Jo said. “I’m just… I haven’t eaten very much today. I get dizzy sometimes.”
“Oh shit. Do you want to take a break? I can get you a cup of tea or something?”
