Mom reached out like she might be about to pull me into another hug, and I stilled, not wanting to spook her. She hesitated, met my eyes, and shot me a close-lipped smile as she patted me on the shoulder instead. “You’re still coming by for Tippi’s birthday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Tippi was our family dog, an ancient bichon frise who was half-blind, fully deaf, and an even bigger snob than the woman before me.
Mom looked me over one more time, wincing. “You’re not... wearing that the rest of the day, are you?”
I pointed toward the door. “Out.”
She opened her mouth, but I raised the urn and gave it a threatening shake.
Wisely, she made her way toward the front, but she took her damn time, making sure I knew that this was her choice. At the door, she paused, her face pinched. “I saw Maddie this weekend, at her aunt’s annual summer soiree.”
I went stiff, the name like a slap.
Mom’s expression darkened. “She asked after you.”
“Why?” I asked, unease creeping up my spine.
Mom shrugged. “Audacity?”
“Is she finally ready to take responsibility for what she did?”
Mom’s answering laugh was humorless, all the answer I needed.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I said. “Until she finally tells the truth, she and I have nothing to say to each other.”
“I told you because if she’s bold enough to say something to me, she might be bold enough to seek you out herself. And I’m not saying you should forgive her—”
“There’s no forgiving what she did,” I spat.
“But murdering her would probably give you wrinkles, and if you’re not even following a proper skin care routine, then you’re more susceptible to them than—”
“Okay, it was nice seeing you. Goodbye!” I said, practically shoving her out of the shop.
She paused, turning back with an expression close to regret on her face, like maybe she was about to come back inside and try to have a real conversation for once. I was just about to reopen the door when she seemed to think better of it, giving me a terse nod of goodbye before striding toward the waiting Mercedes at the curb.
¦ ¦ ¦
Many hours later, I was saying goodbye to my last tattoo appointment of the day. She was a blond woman in her early twenties who thought she was the coolest person in the city. Which, I mean, she probably was. She had over two million followers across her social media accounts and about as many YouTube subscribers, earning a respectable living as a cozy gamer.
Her right forearm was now covered by a large, stylized crow perched on a flower-wreathed skull. We’d been working on it for months because she had a low pain tolerance, first laying down the line art, then adding in the shading, and finally, tonight, the last of the color. The bright jewel tones popped even through the Saniderm bandage covering the tattoo.
My gaze lifted to hers. “Ashley, I swear to God, if you don’t follow the care instructions I gave you...”
She rolled her heavily lined eyes, looking harassed. “Yes, Mom.”
I stiffened. I wasn’tthatmuch older than her. “That is some of my best work. Don’t fuck it up.”
“Or what, you’ll ground me?”
I shook my head. “I’ll get on your next livestream and tell all your followers that you use cheat codes.”
“Client privilege!” she said, whipping her head around to see if any-one overheard.
“That only exists for lawyers and therapists.”
Her face turned red in betrayal. “I trusted you.”
I grinned. “That was your first mistake.”
