“Good for you, old man. But what does that have to do with me?”
“I want you to take over. Buy The Inkwell from me. Or, hell, just take it off my hands. I don’t need the money, but I need to know that my life’s work is left with someone who gives a damn. I’ve gotten offers from all kinds of corporate blowhards who wanna turn the place into a Matcha Cocktail Ear Piercing Slash Sound Spa Oasis or some shit, but I always turn them down. Figured I’d rather see the place close then become something it’s not. But if you’re back for good, then I don’t gotta shut down. I can pass the torch.”
I stand there, frozen in time as his offer hangs between us like a promise.
“Cliff…that’s…I can’t…”
“I don’t need an answer right away, Ivy. Take some time. Talk it over with Delilah. I’m not making any moves until I know what you want to do. I know you turned me down before, but like you said. You’re a grownup now. Think it over.”
Cliff pats my shoulder as he passes me by, leaving me dumbstruck with a bottle of disinfectant in one hand and the weight of the world in the other.
It’s not the first time Cliff has brought this topic up with me, though he never flat out offered me the business. When Grandma Millie passed away and I was here in town for the funeral and to settle her affairs, Cliff mentioned that I might one day use my inheritance to buy his shop. The small fortune that Millie squirreled away her whole life before leaving to me was Fox Hole’s worst kept secret, so even though I was only twenty-two, he knew I was good for the funds. Thirteen years ago, I’d laughed in Cliff’s face. There was no way in hell I’d saddle myself to Fox Hole for anything.
Now? Now, I don’t know if I could imagine anything more perfect.
The bell over the door rings and a very excited Sadie comes bouncing in, ready for me to pierce herears. She’s followed by a very nervous-looking Delilah, not at all ready for me to pierce her daughter’s ears. And while Sadie picks her earrings and sits bravely in the chair, I can’t stop thinking about all the milestones like this one the three of us—four, counting Little Bean—could have together if I take Cliff up on his offer.
It feels like the universe is setting me up for the easiest decision of my life, as long as I keep it to myself until Delilah settles whatever is going on in her head.
12
CAUGHT YOU WITH YOUR HAND IN THE COOKIE JAR
DELILAH
“I’m gonna text Mom and tell her to bring Sadie by. There’s no way it’s safe for her to be running around with open wounds in her head,” I mumble, pulling my phone off the stand that connects it to my Bluetooth payment method. Mom and Dad offered to take Sadie to her intramural flag football game this morning—I don’t know where the hell my kid got the athlete gene from, because it certainly wasn’t me—and thank goodness, because the Fox Hole Farmer’s Market has been booming this morning. Sadie makes a good helper when the crowd is calmer, but when it’s bustling like today, it’s nice not to have to worry about my little person while selling jam.This is the first time in two hours I haven’t had a line formed in front of my booth.
“Lilah, I pierced the kid’s ears. I didn’t perform open brain surgery on her. She’s fine to get a little rough and tumble on the field today. Suzanne and Henry have the care instructions I gave them just in case her lobes get a little red or swollen. Plus, Sadie has my old flip phone now, so she can text you if anything happens.”
Right, the two of them talked me into setting up a service line for Ivy’s old cell phone from high school that somehow still works. I felt old as dirt when Sadie brought the hot pink Motorola Razr she found buried in the depths of Ivy’s closet and asked what it was. And I felt even older when we explained to her it was a cell phone, she asked why it had buttons. Against my helicopter mother instincts, I agreed that Sadie could use the old phone as long as the only numbers she called or texted were approved by me or Ivy.
I won’t pretend there wasn’t a bit of heartbroken smugness in my soul when the kid didn’t bring her dad up as someone she’d want to contact. And while I still think Sadie is too young for things like pierced ears and cell phones, I do think that learning to T9 text—obsolete as it may be—is an important part of ayoung woman’s culture and I’m glad my daughter will have the chance to develop that skill. Sort of like how I plan to teach her how to drive a manual vehicle one day. What would she do if she were stranded in the middle of nowhere with only a 1995 Honda Accord and a Nokia 5110 cell phone in her pocket? Sadie will never have to wonder because she has me for a mom.
“Did I tell you she asked if we could bedazzle the phone tonight after dinner? The kid is so early aughts and she doesn’t even know it.”
“I’m down for some bedazzling, but I hope she keeps the worn Emily the Strange sticker on the battery case intact. That thing belongs in a museum.” Ivy laughs and shakes her head. “Thank god I cleaned that room out after Grandma Millie passed. I would die if Sadie found the skunk weed I hid under the floorboards or that battery-operated back massager that I bought at the drugstore and used as my first vibrator. Cell phones with buttons I can explain, but I’m most definitely not ready to open the Pandora’s box that is self-pleasure.”
“Yeah, good thing,” I mutter.
My face flushes a deep red, and I stare down at my lap, shame from how many times I’ve thought about that damn green pouch in Ivy’s drawer filling me from my toes to the top of my head.
Okay, maybe it’s not all shame. There is definitelystill some insatiable horniness mixed into all of it, too. I blame it on the fact that I’m sharing a bed with someone I’m not sleeping with and have had no time or privacy to masturbate. I swear, if I can just get in the bathtub alone for twenty minutes and rub one or two out, I can put the image of vibrator nirvana and the filthy things my best friend might be doing with those toys out of my head for good and move on with my life.
Tonight, I think. I can plop Sadie down in front of a movie, tell Ivy I need to soak my muscles and quietly and efficiently orgasm myself back to normal.
“Miss Delilah, I hope you’re ready for me!” Artie calls out, breaking me out of my thought spiral. The old man is pulling a small but mighty-looking cart on wheels behind him, empty save for a small bouquet of colorful wildflowers. “I came prepared to buy you out. Ivy, darling, it’s good to see you. Would you mind fixin’ me one of those HJs I love so much?” He taps the handle of his cart as he pulls to a stop in front of our booth. He and Ivy exchange a friendly fist bump.
“Hey, Art. I was expecting to see your wife, not you. You’re never at the Saturday market.” It’s a good thing Ivy brought the small griddle she uses to make her sandwiches. I don’t offer anything but jam at my booth, but when Ivy is in town, those in theknow can always count on her to whip up her weird specialty.
“Yeah, well, it’s my first Saturday off in about ten years. Earl, uh—” Artie pulls at the collar of his worn t-shirt. I reach across the booth and pat his arm.
“You can talk about him. I promise I won’t self-combust.”
“Right. Sorry. Well, the kid closed the shop today. Something about needing to get his own car checked out. Thinks a squirrel might have crawled into the engine and died or something. Though why he can’t just look at the damn thing himself, I’ll never know. Never in my life have I met a mechanic who wasn’t willing to get their hands dirty, especially on their own motors. Did you know he wears gloves when he does oil changes? That woulda gotten your ass kicked by the other mechanics back in my day.”
Beside me, Ivy snickers as she spreads strawberry jam over a slice of sourdough bread.
“A squirrel, huh? That sounds…stinky,” I say, unable to hide my own amusement. Artie’s eyes flick back and forth between Ivy and me, picking up on our obvious amusement. But he only presses his lips together to suppress a smile.
