He turned to the last page and stopped. There was a single sketch there, nothing spectacular or remarkable. It was a white flower with a stringy center, the thin petals in rows and rows. It was nothing they carried in the shop, but something struck him about it—an old memory trying to claw its way to the surface.
He tapped the page, then looked up at Derek and signed, ‘What?’
Reaching for the notepad, Derek wrote for a long moment. It’s my favorite. Night-Blooming Cereus. It’s a flower on cactus and it only blooms at night, so it’s really rare to see them, but their smell is amazing. I saw one once at this botanical garden when Sage and Iwere younger. When my dad… Anyway, I went home and drew it, but it didn’t look right, so I kept going until I was happy. I threw it in my book, but no one ever wants that tattoo.
Basil closed his eyes for a moment against his will, shutting out everything but the moment from his childhood. He’d been five, maybe six, and his mother had pulled him out of bed well into the early, dark hours of the morning.
‘I want you to see this, okay?’ she told him, her hands flying in the light of the full moon. They crept across the flagstones to her succulent garden and she tugged him to his knees. The cactus itself was unremarkable. Faded green in long cylindrical barrels that reached up from the main stalk. It didn’t look covered in thorns like so many of the others, there was a sheen to it like it might be soft to touch. He didn’t though. He’d learned his lesson years ago at the hands of her garden that many of the most beautiful were also the most dangerous.
He started to fidget, impatient, and then the half-formed white flowers along the side began to open. It felt like an eternity, but when they did, his mother urged him forward, and he was overwhelmed with the scent. To this day, nothing had compared, nothing had come close, and he hadn’t been able to describe it.
‘This is you,’ his mother had told him. ‘Waiting for your chance to bloom, and maybe not everyone will see it, but the ones who do will appreciate the magic you can bring.’
He forced his eyes to open, to shake that off because he was about to become overwhelmed. He felt a fierce, hollow ache in his chest from missing her so damn much right in that moment, because she would have loved this.
He reached out, tracing his finger around the flower, then looked back up at Derek. ‘Thank you.’
‘You OK?’ Derek signed.
Basil almost laughed, only because there were no real words for what he was feeling. Instead he splayed out his fingers and tapped his thumb on his chest, mouthing along with thesign, ‘Fine.’
It was obvious Derek didn’t believe him, but he didn’t push either and for that, Basil was eternally grateful. He carefully handed the book back and started to rise, but before he could take a step away, Derek touched him on the arm and handed over the notebook.
I could give you one, if you ever want. Anything you want.
Basil blinked at the note, then looked back up at Derek and smiled. I’m not sure I could afford your fee. Your work is too good to be cheap.
Derek shook his head, his hand shaking a little as he scribbled back. No, free. I wouldn’t charge if it was something you wanted.
For a split second, for just a single beat of his heart, he let himself think about Derek inking that flower on him, giving him a tangible, permanent thing between them, and a visible reminder of the person his mother wanted him to be. Then he felt a wave of irritation because he was not the kind of person who wanted any kind of charity.
Thank you, but no.
Maybe it was the look on his face, or the harshness to the letters, but Derek swallowed and nodded, taking the book back. His mouth opened, then closed, like he was going to say something, but instead he turned on his heel and walked out.
There was a moment, so awkward it was painful, where Basil let himself stand in Derek’s stall for another moment. Then he pushed past the little partitions and headed for the door. He was a few feet from the front of the shop when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and his eyes widened as he turned to see Katherine there.
‘Wait,’ she signed. ‘Please?’
He paused, nodding to her a little sharply.
‘He upset you.’
Basil licked his lips, letting out a breath, then shrugged and signed slow for her, ‘I don’t want pity. He offered me a free tattoo, but I don’t need it.’
Her face moved through a complicated expression, then she shook her head. ‘Not pity, not charity,’ she replied. ‘Men like Derek,men like my husband, this is their passion. This isn’t just a job. If an artist like Derek offers you his work like that for free, it’s because he knows you’re important, that you deserve it. Tattoos aren’t for pity.’
Her signs were uneven and her grammar a little hard to follow, but it was enough for him to understand. He could see it in the way her fingers trembled and in the way her jaw was set tight—she meant it. He’d turned and walked away from Derek because he’d misunderstood.
And maybe that was another sign from the universe that it wasn’t meant to be. The language barrier was hard enough, and he might have just ruined something good. ‘Sorry,’ he finally told her.
Her smile softened. ‘He’s not angry. The guys are all learning sign for my daughter. Come by more. They’ll sign for you, they’ll keep practicing. You’d be a good fit here.’
He snorted a laugh. ‘I’m not an artist.’
‘Yes,’ she told him pointedly, ‘you are. Not the same as us, but you are. And you’re welcome. You fit,’ she repeated.
It was…it was a lot, but it was so tempting he nearly burned with it. He hadn’t willingly let himself be part of an all-hearing group ever in his life, not even groups of students back in college. Because they never understood, and ultimately, they left it up to him to fit in with them. Yet, for whatever reason, he wasn’t sure it would be the same here. He wanted to rebel against that thought, but maybe it was worth a chance. Maybe there was room in his life for both worlds.
