I throw it back into the lagoon. Christopher’s face is aghast.
“Only you do.”
“Why would you do that?” His eyes track the ring down into the water.
“Because material things don’t matter.” I take two steps toward him and our toes touch. “If I’ve learned anything since I became famous, it’s that all the money in the world, all the fame, all the things I can afford, won’t make you happy. It’s what’s in here that will.” I poke his chest with my finger.
Christopher’s shoulders drop as his gaze finds our feet.
“I just feel like I don’t belong here. Like this world you live in doesn’t feel real.”
I reach for his chin and lift his head up so his eyes meet mine.
“Welcome to the club. Every day I look around, feeling like an impostor. Like I don’t fit in. Like one day it’s all going to be taken away from me and I’ll be back to cutting coupons out of magazines to get by.”
Christopher’s eyes widen.
“I thought you were joking about that. That you were trying to be like Jennifer Lopez and pretend you were real, like you were from the block.”
He goes to laugh, but I reach for his hand and squeeze it.
“There were weeks on end where it was eggs, hot dogs, or whatever the latest coupon provided. That’s why I will never eat another pop tart as long as I live.”
“Because you are one?” Christopher says winking at me.
“I prefer pop slut, but fine,” I say as we both let out a laugh.
“I’m sorry I never truly realized,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I just assumed after Thanksgiving that you wanted to help out the homeless shelters and what you shared with me was to make you look more relatable.”
“Next time, before you assume, maybe double check.”
The anger in my chest begins to subside, but flickers of frustration continue to course through my veins that he’s assuming things about me without clarifying.
“I didn’t mean to, I just thought you didn’t care about the ring, about spending money.”
“I do care, just not about materialism.” My tone softens as I notice a firefly starting to flicker above my head. “If you want another ring, let me get you one from the man at the stood where we parked the motorbike.” I hold his hands in mine as more fireflies begin to light up the night around us.
“Okay,” he says, squeezing my hands tightly as he leans in to kiss me.
When he pulls back, his eyes widen in awe as he notices what’s above us.
“Look at them.”
I hadn’t planned on my first tattoo being done in the Philippines. But as we drove back on the motorbike from the lagoon to the resort, my hands wrapped around Christopher’s stomach as the moon lit the road we were on, I wanted to mark the moment. To close out the year. To remind myself of everything I’ve been through, but also of everything that’s coming.
“Are you sure this isn’t a stupid idea?” Christopher asks as I look down at my ankles in the mirror.
Christopher is lying face down on the bed, with the tattooistholding Christopher’s leg. The sound of the tattoo gun buzzes away near his ankle.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say back.
Somehow, the resort receptionist managed to convince the tattoo artist to reopen his store for us when I came up with the idea of matching tattoos. I wanted something small I could easily hide, but something meaningful too. I liked the idea of a wave, but Christopher quickly shut that down. He instead suggested an anchor on my ankle, in tribute to my songMy Anchor. I instantly loved it, and once I had it done, I automatically wanted another, this time choosing to get music symbols on the bottom of my leg, tying my music career into my life with each symbol.
Rewind to remember the good times.
Stop being so hard on myself.
Pause a moment to take everything in.
