“If it was no one, then why didn’t you answer?” She’s on the scent like a bloodhound searching for its next kill.
“I can call him back later. It’s not a big deal.” I turn and grab a glass from the cabinet before attempting to fill it with water.
“Him?What would poor Teddy think?” she hisses in a breath.
“Teddy? Is that what we are calling him now?” I set my glass on the counter, spinning to face her.
“Yes, he is going to be my son-in-law. Of course I have a nickname for him.” She feigns innocence.
“No, Mother, he isn’t. Unless you have another daughter, there is zero chance that Theodore is ever going to be your son-in-law.” I’ve had enough. Enough of the meddling, enough of the demanding way she tries to dictate my life, and enough of the showing up unannounced. It’s too much, and frankly I don’t even understand why she wants to be around me. When she is, nothing I do is ever good enough.
“You will come around. Once you come to your senses and realize you’re done living in this squalor. I just hope he waits that long.” She shifts on her feet and crosses her arms in defiance.
“Out!” I shout at her, my voice shaking. I point toward the door as my stomach lurches to my throat. I’ve never once in my life stood up to her. But for some reason, today I feel like I can. It strikes me as odd, but it’s freeing at the same time.
“Excuse me? Do not yell at your mother, young lady.” Richard has decided to enter the conversation.
“This is my home. Which I pay for completely on my own. I love you both very much and appreciate all you have done for me, but enough is enough. You show up unannounced, judge me and this beautiful town, and now you are trying to dictate who I spend my life with. Nope.” I pop thepin the word for effect. “Get out and do not come back without calling first, ready to apologize.” They look stricken, as if I have just laid out the most despicable behavior they have ever seen. To be fair, I’ve never once raised my voice to either of them. My mother grabs her coat, scarf, and purse and scurries onto the porch, slamming the door behind her so hard the walls rattle.
My father approaches, kissing my forehead and whispering that he loves me before following her and shutting the doorsoftly behind him. It’s at this moment, for the first time ever, that I truly see him as spineless. He allows her to run his life, and he follows along with her ideas even when they’re wrong. I grab a bottle of wine and an opener from the cabinet, then go to draw a bath.
Pouring bubbles into the tub as the warm water splashes and fills it, I undress and uncork the wine. It isn’t until I’m soaking and a few glugs into the bottle of red that I realize my tattoo is changing again. It’s been one week and the tattoo covers most of my upper arm now, a few of the pieces are permanent, like the book, the truck, the pumpkins, and Boo. But woven in between are pictures that change with every thought or feeling that pops into my head. It hits me that this is a reflection of my life, like a live action reel depicting it as it unfolds. The red streaks mimic my rage, the bubbles blossoming represent the soothing bath I’m taking, and there’s even a bottle of wine continuously pouring red liquid that drips down my arm only to fall into nothingness. It’s weird having my internal war that’s raging visible in technicolor before my very eyes. At the same time, where my usual inner monologue is muddy and full of self-doubt, this makes it easier to unscramble my emotions, and I’m not sure what that says about me.
sixteen
Sam
Something Isn't Right
“I understand, thanks for calling and letting me know. I will see you next week on Thursday at three.” I hang up, shaking my head at how my day has completely fallen apart. I was supposed to do two large tattoos today, but both clients had to reschedule. One for the stomach flu, thank you for not sharing the love. The other because his in-laws decided to come into town, and now he is playing “entertainment committee.” (His words not mine.)
It’s not unusual to see cancellations in this business, tattoos are a big commitment. But it is weird to have blocked my whole day for these two, only to have both of them unable to make it.Walk-ins do happen. I suppose I’ll be hanging out and waiting around most of the day.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message. I’m hoping it’s from Olive. She hasn’t responded to my attempts at checking in, and I’m starting to worry she really is sick. I’ve already consulted with my mom and Max. Both told me to wait it out and if I haven’t heard anything by the end of the day, they would check in with her themselves so I don’t scare her off.
I glance at my phone, a small flutter in my stomach, until I see the name Beau Brooks in my notifications.
Beau
Are you busy today?
I shoot back a reply.
No, my day completely fell apart.
Beau
Olive called out. I need help at the shop if you can swing it.
It’s not the first time I’ve given Beau a hand. Whenever he is short-staffed and I don’t have appointments, I come over and relieve him for his lunch break.
Sure. I’ll be there at eleven.
Beau sends me back a thumbs-up, and I scan my shop thinking of what I can do to kill time for the next hour. The books are up to date and everything has been cleaned. I guess I’ll burn time by sorting old files and clearing out drawings I don’t ever plan to use.
At ten till eleven, I lock up and walk over to Black Kettle Bindery. The door chimes as I enter, there’s not a customer in sight.
“Hey, Beau.” I spot him nodding off reading a book behind the front counter.
