When Lightning Strikes

by Brooke St. James

  "Hey Mia," she said, answering.

  "Hey, are you working?"

  "Yeah, but the doctor's with the last patient and all I have to do is straighten the waiting room. I can talk while I do that. Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just that I had a crazy experience at the tattoo studio just now."

  She gasped. "I forgot that was coming up," she said.

  "I did too! I almost missed the appointment."

  "So what happened?" she asked. "Did that guy jack it up?"

  I laughed. "No. It's the opposite."

  "You love it?"

  "I love him."

  She gasped again, and I giggled.

  "Seriously? You fell in love with the guy who tattooed you?"

  I let out a frustrated groan.

  "What?" she asked.

  "He's so perfect, Lauren. I don't know what to say, other than if I could take a pen and draw my perfect guy I would draw him."

  She let out a muted girly squeal. "Are you serious right now?" she asked.

  "I'm totally serious, but don't get too excited, there's a catch."

  "He's married?" she asked.

  "No."

  "Gay?"

  "No, if you'd let me talk, I'd tell you. He's an atheist."

  She was quiet for a second. "That's the one where you believe there's no God, right?"

  "Yes. He's smart and sweet and honest to goodness the most gorgeous guy I've ever laid eyes on, and to him I must have seemed like a big Bible thumper."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Because we talked about God a ton!" I said. "I should have just kept my mouth shut and said I like crosses, but no, I had to run my mouth. Now he thinks I'm a Jesus freak."

  Lauren was quiet for a second, thinking. "Maybe God wants to use you. You know, to reach him or whatever."

  I laughed. "God knows I can't keep my mind on the game when He puts someone in front of me who looks like that. I would totally fail at trying to witness to this guy. Seriously, it's like high school when I'm around him. I would be a terrible choice for a witness. I can't even breathe when I'm around him, let alone make an intelligent argument for God. It's too much for me to handle."

  "What if you witness to him and then start dating him. Then you're having your cake and eating it too."

  "I wish God would just give me a gorgeous man who's already a Christian. I never said I want to witness to atheists. I'm not good at it. I didn't know what I was talking about today. I started babbling about a dad taking a knife away from his kids and stuff."

  "What?" she asked, laughing.

  "I don't know. I was just trying to explain about… never mind it doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is that I stink it up at witnessing to atheists. I'm not smart enough for it. I haven't studied the Bible enough to know what I'm talking about, and he can tell when I'm bluffing. But…" I let out a long sigh. "Myyyyy bodyyyy tells me I want him. My body says I don't care if he believes in God or not as long as he's not trying to tell me what to believe."

  "So you want to go out with him and ignore the whole atheist thing?"

  "I mean, I guess I can't really ignore it now that I know. The worst part was that he kept looking at me like he was interested." I groaned again. "I wish we would have never brought up the subject of God."

  "Well, it's gonna come up at some point, don't you think? I mean, how far can you get into a relationship without discussing it? It's not like you're gonna get married and have babies and just never talk about it."

  She was right and I knew it. "You're right, but it just sucks to meet the man of my dreams and find out that he's not only neutral about God, but he openly denies His existence. What stinks even worse is that I really like this tattoo, and I'm not going to be able to go see him again because I'm so dang crazy about him."

  "I didn't know you wanted to get another one," she said.

  "It doesn’t matter because I can't go to him for it anyway. The temptation is too great."

  "And you're convinced that you can't be a good example to him?"

  "The thing is, I don't want to do that. I want to date him. I want to kiss him. I want to hold his hand and go to the movies with him. Witnessing is for guys in suits on bikes."

  She laughed. "Those are Mormons, and there's no reason you can't witness to him and then date him afterward," she said.

  I let out a defeated huff. "That's what I'm saying… I don't want to be the witness. I don't know how to witness. I want him prewitnessed-to and ready for a girlfriend. That's what I'll be… the girlfriend."

  "You want me and Eli to go in there and talk to him?" she asked. She sounded sincere, which made me laugh.

  "Nooooo," I said.

  I could just imagine them all dressed in their Sunday best, going in there with a Bible and some tracts about why he should repent and change his ways. Witnessing to Patrick the way I imagined it, was pretty much my worst nightmare—and especially when you add the thought to doing it at Seven Stones with the other quick-witted atheists there to back him up. They'd eat Lauren and Eli alive.

  "Please don't try to go talk to him," I said. "I just called because I thought it was funny that I met Mr. Right and he was an atheist. I thought you'd get a kick out of that."

  "Are you going to avoid getting another tattoo, then?"

  "Probably," I said.

  That was the last thing I wanted to do. In fact, I wanted to drive up to that studio right then and see if his sleeve canceled so we could do another one tonight.

  "I guess you'll just forget about him eventually."

  "Oh, I don't really care," I lied. "I just thought it was funny."

  "It is pretty funny," she said. "I wish I could see what he looked like so I know what your dream guy is. I thought you were gonna go out with Stewart."

  She was talking about a guy at church that she and Eli were trying to set me up with. He was nice enough, but not the guy for me. I wasn't really trying to get set up with someone at church anyway. That thought made me feel a wave of frustration at myself. What was wrong with me that the idea of picking up a guy at a tattoo shop was a thousand times more appealing than picking up a guy at church?

  "Stewart's cool," I said. "But I'm not really looking to go out with anyone right now."

  "You're looking if his name's Patrick Mallory," she said.

  "What? How'd you know his last name?"

  "I had to look him up to see what does it for you. I'm on Instagram right now. His account says 'Patrick Mallory, tattooer at Seven Stones Tattoo in Austin. Upcoming tour fully booked. Please email with inquiries for booking in Austin later this fall.' I'm looking at his page right now. Your brother follows him."

  "What's his Instagram look like," I asked. "Does he have any pictures of his face in there or is it just tattoos?"

  "All tattoos from what I can see. It looks like it's his business account. I don't see any selfies or anything… oh wait… oh yeah, here's one."

  "Is it him?" I asked.

  She laughed. "How should I know? It's two guys. One's a big, Samoan-looking guy and the other's tall with dark hair. It's probably him because he's really handsome. Like all-American football star handsome. Wow."

  "I know, but he's smart and sweet and he travels the world doing this amazing art."

  We were silent for a few seconds.

  "Hey, Dr. Shirar's ready to finish up here. I'll call you later."

  "Okay, sounds good," I said. "Sorry for venting."

  "I like it," she said. "There's nothing I like more than some good old-fashioned atheist converting."

  I laughed. "I'll talk to you later."

  We said goodbye and I finished the drive to my house. I took a shower before downloading the Instagram app so I could check him out. It asked me to register with an email, and rather than go through all that when I shouldn't be looking at him in the first place, I deleted the app.

  I read a little and watched some TV, but no matter what I did, my mind kept going back to Patrick.
I'd already said I wouldn't' get tattooed by him again, but booking a tattoo with him was about a six-week process and somewhere in the back of my mind I thought that by the time six weeks rolled around, I'd be wanting another one.

  Who was I kidding? In reality, I knew I wanted to see him again and the tattoo was just a means for me do that. In fact, now that I thought about it, six weeks seemed like an eternity.

  So somehow during that chain of thoughts, I went from making a point never to see Patrick Mallory again to contacting him ASAP. I laughed at myself even as I took out my phone and composed an email.

  Hello Patrick, It's Mia.

  I came in today for a cross on my forearm. I love it and wanted to let you know that I would like to schedule an appointment for another small piece sometime. I know you're traveling soon, so it's no big deal if you can't get me in before your trip. I just wanted to get the ball rolling while I’m thinking about it. It was nice meeting you today. Thanks again for the great work!

  Mia

  I pressed send and then regretted it instantly. I couldn't believe I wrote the phrase get the ball rolling, and I cringed thinking about it. What a dork. I went to my sent folder and cursed myself for not making a mistake when I typed in his email address. Oh well, I knew it'd be at least a week before I heard back, and by that time I'd be less embarrassed.

  Chapter 5

  I got a response from Patrick the same evening. I expected it to take him at least a week to get back to me, so I was shocked to see his name in my inbox so quickly. I felt a wave of nerves wash over me, so much that it took me several long seconds to make myself open the email to read his response.

  Hey Mia,

  I'm glad you like the tattoo and want to come back to see me. I'm leaving in less than a month and I'm booked till then, but I'd like to get you in so let me see what I can work out and I'll get back with you. I picked up that Lincoln book you recommended after work tonight. The clerk told me it was good. Did you go to Trader Joes for cookie butter? Don't forget to get the crunchy kind. I'll be in touch about an appointment.

  Patrick

  I read it three times. I'd forgotten about him recommending cookie butter. If Trader Joes had been open, I would have gotten into my car and gone over there right then. I didn't write him back that evening. He did include a direct question, but the general feel of the email was that he'd be the one to get in touch with me. I decided not to respond to his cookie butter question, at least until I got some and could try it. For the next two days, I waited to hear from him, but never did.

  By the next Saturday, I had myself thinking he'd forgotten about working me into his schedule. I tried to tell myself it was better that way, but when Stewart text to ask if I'd like to grab a cup of coffee, I instantly thought of going to Moshi's just so I'd have a chance to run into Patrick. To my own shame, I acted on that thought. I sent Stewart a text asking if he could do Moshi's at 4PM and he agreed.

  I knew Patrick worked on Saturday, and that he drank coffee around that time, but I didn't dare hope I'd see him. I reprimanded myself. Poor Stewart was my ticket to a slim chance of seeing someone else, and I told myself I should feel like a terrible person because of it.

  That little bout with guilt didn't stop me from following through with plans, though. I got to Moshi's right on time, and Stewart was waiting out front. He had light brown hair and light, greenish eyes. He dressed nice and carried himself well. He was handsome and tall and had a good job as an anesthesiologist. Plus, I loved the idea of one simple flower, and that's exactly what he was holding.

  Everything should fall into place with this guy, and yet, there I was, looking over his shoulder to make sure Patrick wasn't there.

  "I like your shirt," he said, smiling as I walked up.

  I was wearing tights with a loose-fitting top that said, "aim true" across the front with an arrow. I had Choctaw way back in my bloodline, probably not enough to even mention it, but my dark eyes and high cheekbones made me look like I had more of it in me than I actually did—certainly more than either of my brothers. Anyway, I liked that feature about myself, and tried to play it up most of the time, so I had a few shirts with arrows.

  "Thanks," I said. "For the compliment and the flower," I added taking the flower from him. He held the door open for me and we stood in line to order our coffee. I glanced behind us every time the door opened, but Patrick never came in. We sat down at a small table I chose strategically based on its view of the cash register.

  We hung out for the better part of an hour before I said I needed to go so I could meet a friend for dinner. It was a partial lie since plans were loose and they were just with my roommate, but I could tell he wanted to ask me to get something to eat with him, and I didn't want to have to say no.

  I was about to stand up to leave when none other than Patrick Mallory walked through the door. I took my purse off the back of my chair and began to dig in it as both an excuse to stay for another minute, and an outlet for my sudden nervous energy.

  "Seems like I was about to tell you something…" I said absentmindedly trailing off as I rifled through my bag. I glanced at Stewart and then risked a quick peek in the direction of the register. There wasn't a line, so Patrick was already approaching the clerk. I nervously glanced into my purse again and continued digging.

  "Did you remember what it was?" Stewart asked.

  I made a face like I was trying really hard to remember. "Was I going to give you someone's phone number or something because I'm thinking my digging through my purse has to do with what I was gonna tell you." Basically I didn't even know if what I'd just said made any sense, but Stewart was smiling when I glanced at him again, so I thought I was okay.

  I risked another glance at the register before I allowed myself one last look in my purse, and low and behold, Patrick was looking straight at me. He was at the bar waiting for his coffee, but definitely looking at me when I glanced over.

  I squeezed out a smile, but quickly looked down. There is no way to describe the devastating nerves I felt right then. I had already announced that I needed to leave, so Stewart was in the processing of standing and pushing his chair back under the table. I began to do the same thing, but I heard Patrick's voice.

  "Mia?" he asked.

  I stayed in my seat and glanced up at him with a smile. "I was wondering if that was you," I said as he approached.

  He was at least as tall as Stewart, and the two of them shook hands. "What are you doing here?" Patrick asked looking down at me. I watched as his eyes roamed to the daisy that was sitting beside my coffee cup and then back up at me.

  His expression was unreadable as he shifted his attention to Stewart and then back to me. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and I knew he was saying the word, "Really?" in a sarcastic way even though he was completely silent.

  "I'm Stewart," Stewart said, seeing the awkward eye contact.

  "This is Patrick Mallory," I said. "He's the guy who did my tattoo."

  Stewart pointed at him and nodded excitedly. "That's right, I thought you looked familiar. I saw you on my friend Paul's Facebook. You did his tattoo." Stewart motioned to his own arm as if tracing his friend's tattoo. "It's a mountain bike with a tent and a sunset in the background."

  Patrick spared him a half-smile. "I do a lot of mountain bike tattoos around here, as I'm sure you can imagine."

  I couldn’t help but compare the two guys as they stood next to each other. They were both nice looking guys, but Patrick looked sleek and dark like he might own a nightclub while Stewart looked more like he was about to get on a yacht.

  "Patrick!" the barista yelled from the counter.

  "We were just leaving anyway," I said. Patrick was standing closer to me, so I stood next to him when I got out of my chair.

  "I didn't have the chance to email you yet, but I had something open up next week. Wednesday, I think. Does that work for you?"

  "Really? Next week?" I asked, surprised. "Yeah, I mean, I'm off for the summer, so pretty much a
nytime works for me."

  "Great. I think it's at 2PM, but email me and I'll let you know for sure."

  "That sounds good," I said.

  "What are we doing?" he asked.

  I didn't understand what he was asking, and the question made me giggle nervously. "What do you mean?"

  "The tattoo. What are you getting?"

  "Oh, I, uh…"

  "Patrick!" came another yell from the counter.

  "I'll be there in a second," Patrick said to the girl at the counter. "She's new," he said, looking back at me. "Sorry, you were telling me what you wanted."

  "An arrow," I said. It was the first thing that came to mind. I hadn't given it much thought because I assumed it wasn't even happening till he got back from his trip. "I was thinking an arrow. It'll probably be my last one for a while, but I love this other one so much that I wanted to try to get in before you left."

  "Yeah, her cross looks really good," Stewart said. Patrick glanced at him with another barely there smile and a nod to thank him, but quickly looked back at me. He seemed annoyed by Stewart's presence, a fact that made me want to giggle for some reason. I held it in. Patrick stood there and stared at me shamelessly. He let his eyes roam over my face and then my shirt. "Are you Indian or something?"

  "Choctaw, but it was like eleven generations back, so I feel like a big poser claiming it. My aunt got really into the family tree one time and researched it. I forget how to say his name, it's really hard to pronounce, but my ten-times great-granddad was a Choctaw chief, and he married a white woman. It's through my mom's side, and like I said, it's way back there, I just think it's cool."

  "It is cool… and a chief no less, even if he is ten generations back."

  "Eleven."

  He shrugged. "Still cool. And I see it in your features, so I think it's fine for you to claim it." He smiled. "I guess I better go get my coffee. I'm glad I ran into you."