thirty-two
Sam
Three Beers Deep
“I understand, I’m sorry, Terry. I’ll see you next week,” I say weakly into my phone before laying my head down on my desk.
He was going to come in for a few minor touch-ups from the work we recently did together. But my heart isn’t in it. To be completely frank, I haven’t tattooed a single piece I’ve cared about this week. I should care about all of them, but the little flash art that walk-ins pick off the wall is all I’ve been able to muster since Halloween.
I’m still confused and hurt. It didn’t feel like a breakup. I’ve survived enough of those. Things with Olive were different, andthis hurts more because of that. Like a limb was amputated from my body, and now, I have to learn to walk around without it forever. It sounds crazy—how could I love someone this deeply so quickly? Somehow, I did.
And that’s not even the worst part of the whole thing, living without her. It’s by far more painful that she believes I don’t know her, that I was taking advantage of her curse to be a perfect boyfriend, not that I’m just a good and caring person. I realize that she has been through a lot, but does she not get how fucked up that is? She basically accused me of being fake, a showboat, a master manipulator. If I didn’t care about her so much, I’d be pissed enough to last a lifetime. It was that first night—running off to Golden City, chatting with the bartender—that helped me gain a little perspective. But when I got back to Mage the next morning and a whole other day passed that Olive didn’t come try to talk to me, I think that’s when I finally realized it’s over for her.
Shaking myself from my depressing thoughts, I stand and stretch for a moment before locking the front door and flicking off the open sign. I walk to the back, grab a six-pack from the fridge, and spread out in the recliner I have in the break room. When I installed the TV and placed this cozy blue leather chair in the corner, I imagined this room would be used on the days where I had long appointments with gaps in between. I envisioned it being a relaxing space, not my new living situation as it’s become this week.
Someone pounds on the front door.
I check my watch: It’s a quarter till eight, and while the sign says I close at eight, there isn’t enough time to squeeze someone else in. That’s a lie, I have worked way past closing, but I’m not going to when I feel like this. I’ve never felt like this before, completely alone, lost.
The knock echoes through the space again as my phone rings and my brother’s face lights up the display.
“Max?”
“Open the door, asshole,” my brother spits out.
Shit! He sounds pissed. I hop up and sprint to the front to let him in.
“Where the fuck were you?” he shouts, shoving past me and into my shop.
“I’ve been here. Where was I supposed to be?” I ask, taking a second to recognize his freshly showered appearance and team gear.
Fuck! It was his opening game. The realization that I missed it makes me feel even worse than I was already feeling. I’ve never missed one before.
“My game, you know the season home opener, the one I got a hat trick in? Why didn’t you come?” Max’s head hangs. He’s disappointed in me, I can tell.
“Max, I wish I had an excuse. I forgot, and I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“How?”
“How did I forget?”
“Yeah, because I told Olive about it, and she wrote everything down. How did you both manage to forget? Neither of you showed.” I’m relieved he didn’t say she came, that would have hurt even worse, I think.
“Uh, well . . .” I run a hand through my hair and think of how to break the news. “We broke up. I haven’t talked to her since last weekend.”
Max doesn’t say anything, he just walks toward the back and grabs a beer from the pack sitting next to the recliner before taking a chair and sliding it into the break room.
“Have a seat. Tell me everything,” he says, gesturing for me to take my place in my comfy chair. His anger over me missing his big night seems all but forgotten.
“This is going to sound nuts, and you can’t tell Mom. You can’t tell anyone, ever,” I warn him.
“Okay? Go on.”
“Olive was cursed by Irina—you know, the famous witch—during the Hollow Hearts Festival. It sounds insane, but she cursed her to wear her heart on her sleeve in the form of a tattoo.” Max is looking at me like I need to be committed, but I continue anyway. “I didn’t believe it when she first told me, but then she showed me. The tattoo changed with every emotion or thought she had. It was wild. But Olive hated it. She searched and searched for Irina to get rid of it, which honestly, I still don’t understand. On Halloween, she saw Irina’s shop appear again, and when I tried to stop her from going in, she ended things.”
“Why did you try to stop her?” Max asks.
“Because the last time she got close to Irina, Olive ended up in the emergency room. And because I didn’t really think it was a big deal. I mean, I have tons of tattoos, and no one that cares about me ever pays attention to them. She acted like the tattoo made her too vulnerable, but really it was covered most of the time.”
