Tattooed Dots

by Kimberly Knight

  After drinking a glass of water and taking a handful of aspirin, I drove with Nicole and Jared down the street from our apartment for breakfast at Denny’s. My sister, Bailee, called me on the way to Denny’s to wish me a happy birthday.

  I hadn’t seen Bailee since her winter break from Berkeley. I was proud of her. I was a bit jealous that she was able to go to college when I hadn’t, but at least I raised her right. When she told me almost four years ago that she was leaving Boston to go to sunny California, I was crushed. I felt like my own daughter was leaving since I practically raised her since she was six—no, scratch that. I did raise her. My mother shouldn’t get credit for being a parent when she was only home a few weeks out of the year.

  Not only did Bailee call to wish me a happy birthday, but she also called to tell me that she and her friends were planning on going to Cabo for Spring Break instead of coming home. Having Bailee tell me that I wasn’t going to see her until the summer was not a very good birthday present and made me more sick to my stomach. Nothing sounded good except pitch darkness and my bed.

  “I’m not hungry,” I said, pushing my menu away from me.

  “What happened to tacos and donuts?” Jared smiled, acting like he was the funniest person in the world.

  “Eww, if you mention that again, I’m going to throw up all over you,” I said, pointing at him.

  Jared and Nicole both thought it was funny. Yeah, okay, they rarely saw me like this, but it was my fucking birthday, and I wasn’t against punching both of them in the face. Yes—yes, my thirties were making me angry.

  The waitress came and took our order, and I finally decided on pancakes and bacon. I was hoping the grease from the bacon would make me feel better and that the pancakes would soak up all of the alcohol…like bread does. Bread does that, right? I should have asked Jared. I’m sure there was an episode of Mythbusters about that.

  “Before I forget, I want to give you your birthday present,” Nicole said, looking in her purse before handing me a card.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I said, but still reached for the envelope.

  “This is actually for the both of us,” she said as she smiled warmly.

  “A spa day?”

  Nothing sounded better than a day at the spa to relieve the pounding in my head and the sore muscles on my right side—particularly my shoulder.

  “Nope,” she shook her head. “Just open it.”

  I did as she asked. After all, it was my birthday and I liked presents. After reading the front of the card about taking shots and some other mumbo jumbo, I opened it to find a piece of paper folded up. I eyed Nicole curiously and opened the piece of paper to find it was an email confirmation about a cruise.

  “We’re going on a cruise?”

  “Yep.” She was still smiling brightly.

  “You bought me a ticket to go on a cruise?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about me?” Jared asked.

  “Sorry, Jar, it’s a girls trip and not your birthday.” Nicole stabbed at her scrambled eggs before taking a bite.

  “How can you afford this?” I asked.

  “Well…the catch is, you need to buy your plane ticket to California.”

  “Oh…” I thought for a moment. “California? Why California?”

  “So we can go to Mexico where it will be warm.”

  “I’ve never been to Mexico. When do we leave?” I asked, searching the piece of paper for the date.

  “In about two months—for Spring Break.”

  Nicole worked as a nurse for a doctor’s office and had weekends off like I did. We both worked hard during the week, relaxed on the weekends and rarely used vacation time. This was not only out of the norm for us, but would be good for us, too.

  I sat there trying to process what she was telling me. “Is Bai really going to Cabo?” I asked, trying to put the puzzle together.

  “I guess so; I haven’t talked to her,” she said as she shrugged.

  “So it’s a coincidence that we are going to Mexico and Bailee is going to Mexico for Spring Break?”

  “Looks like it,” Nicole said and then took a bite of bacon.

  “Does the ship stop in Cabo?”

  “I’m not sure. We can check online later. I just know we are going to Mexico for seven sunny days!” She sighed like she was daydreaming about lying in the sun and getting a tan already.

  I had always wanted to go on a cruise, and I was happy that I would be going. I just needed to tell my boss and book my plane ticket. I hoped that we would port in Cabo so I could see my sister, because summer break was too far away.

  After we ate breakfast, Nicole and I dropped Jared off at home, and she and I went to get manis and pedis and cupcakes—plural as in we each ate two. What? Don’t judge—it was my birthday!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Easton

  “What time do you get off?”

  And there it was. The question asked nightly by multiple women who have had me serve them one too many drinks throughout the night.

  “I get out of here around seven,” I replied, yelling over the loud thumping of the bass.

  “Oh…” the blonde stammered, leaning in close to hear me, her clouded, glazed dark eyes looking back into my blue eyes that were almost grey at times.

  Usually the women think I get off at five in the morning when our bar closes; they have no idea that it takes a while to close everything up on a Saturday night, especially since I’m the owner.

  People have asked me over the years, “Why do you work Friday and Saturday nights when you have a daughter at home?” What they don’t realize is that I work the busiest nights of the week because I have a daughter at home. A daughter that I alone have to support. A daughter who is my world and for whom I would starve myself before I let her go without food.

  Since losing her mother five years ago, Cheyenne has had a hard time. While she bravely puts a smile on her face, I know she misses Dana every day—even if she was only five when her mother died. I know in my heart that Cheyenne’s heart isn’t complete, because her mother isn’t here. My heart aches as I watch her growing up, looking more and more like Dana every day.

  I never imagined raising Cheyenne on my own. When Dana and I were going through our divorce, I was fighting for joint custody. I knew that I too needed Dana—at least I thought I needed Dana. I moved to New York from California six months after my daughter lost her mother. I didn’t know how to be a single father, and my parents lived in New York. Of course, my in-laws fought me on it, but I made them a promise that Cheyenne would see them at least once a year, and I’ve stuck to that promise.

  After a few years, I convinced my best friend, Avery, to move to New York, too. We both needed more. Avery wanted to meet the love of his life, and I needed my best friend. Growing up, we were inseparable. After Dana died, he stepped up to be Cheyenne’s uncle, even though we weren’t blood-related. Cheyenne grew more attached to Avery, and I thought that maybe she needed someone else from her past in her present.

  Since Avery moved to New York, we opened up our bar, Halo, and we have been doing very well with our business. We know how great tips can be on the weekends, and we both work them, or if one of us needs a day or two off, we cover for the other—and we both enjoy the ladies. While Avery may be looking for the one, I’m not.

  I’m not looking for the one, because I’ve been there before and it resulted in divorce. Actually…we never got divorced. After Dana died, my divorce was null, and I was left a widower and single father. Thank God for my parents. I don’t think I would have had the strength that night to tell Cheyenne by myself that her mother died in a car accident.

  I wasn’t even sure if five-year-olds knew what death was. When you were in Kindergarten, your life should be about naps, drawing shit and just being a kid–not dealing with the aftermath of losing a parent.

  “Chey, Baby, your grandparents and I need to talk to you,” I said, trying not to break down as I knelt to be eye
level with her while she sat on the couch, swinging her short legs since she couldn’t yet touch the floor.

  “Am I in trouble?” she asked, her legs stopping for a brief second, waiting for my answer.

  I actually wished she were in trouble at that moment. I wished that her only punishment would have been to stand in the corner of the living room for five minutes instead of having to face a lifetime of not having her mother.

  “No, Baby,” my mom said to her, tears rolling down her face.

  I couldn’t do it. How do you tell your world that she would never see or talk to her mother again?

  “Cheyenne, remember how we always have to make sure you’re buckled in your car seat?” my father asked, stepping in as he stood just behind me.

  In that moment, I was so thankful to have my parents with me. They had decided to fly in for the weekend to support me during my long divorce trial with Dana. None of us knew how much support I would end up needing—how much support we both would end up needing.

  “Yes,” my little peanut replied, her blue eyes confused as to why we were talking about the car when we weren’t going anywhere. “Can we go get pizza?”

  “Not tonight, Princess. But you know we make you buckle your seatbelt because we don’t want you to get hurt, right?” my dad continued.

  I looked at my mom as she tried to contain her tears. That was a mistake. I couldn’t look at her and hold it in. Knowing that my baby girl’s heart was about to be stomped on was killing me. I turned my head, staring at the front door, not able to look at my angel. My heart was beating hard, a large lump was in my throat, and I knew that at any second, I would cry.

  I wanted to go back an hour and make Dana wait five more minutes before driving off. I wanted to go back and not let her see me with Allison. I wanted to just go back and change everything. My baby needed her mother. Hell, I needed her mother.

  “I know, Grandpa. My mommy and daddy tell me that all the time,” she said, irritation in her voice.

  “Yes, Princess. That’s right. And when you don’t wear your seatbelt or aren’t buckled in your car seat, you can get hurt.”

  “I know.”

  I was trying to gain my strength to be her rock. She needed me. We all needed each other. There was no manual for telling your five-year-old that her mother had just died. You don’t learn how to deal with this when you read books about what to expect when having a child. Hell, this wasn’t even in your marriage vows or something you usually discussed with each other—at least not until later in life. This wasn’t supposed to happen!

  “We know you know, Baby, but your Mommy was hurt in her car tonight and…”

  My dad paused. I needed him to finish. I didn’t think I could, and I knew my mom couldn’t. There was silence as my dad gained his strength… the strength I was trying so hard to find.

  “And…she was hurt really bad, and you won’t be able to see her anymore. She went to a place where she won’t hurt from the car accident.”

  “Like the hospital?” she asked, her little legs still swinging in front of her as she rested on her arms behind her, not having a care in the world.

  “No, Baby, Mommy is in heaven now,” I said, finally finding my voice.

  I was still kneeling in front of her and I could feel my eyes were glassy with tears. If she were older, she would know I was on the verge of crying at any second. She would be able to read it more in my face or register why my mom was crying.

  I had no idea if she knew what heaven was. We never had an animal that died, we never even had fish that I had to flush down the toilet, and we never had anyone die around us period—until now.

  “Mommy’s an angel now?”

  My mom lost it. Like really lost it when Cheyenne spoke those words. I wasn’t far behind her, but I needed to be strong. I could do it. She needed me.

  As my mom sobbed into my father’s plaid button-up shirt, I continued, “Yes, like an angel. She’s up in heaven watching over you now—watching over us.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Now can we go get pizza?”

  Okay? Okay was all she had to say? I knew she didn’t know what heaven was. Did she even know what an angel was?

  “Do you know what that means?” my dad asked, gently rubbing circles on my mom’s back as she still tried to muffle her tears in his shirt.

  “Yeah, she died like Bambi’s mom died.”

  I swallowed hard, “Yes, Baby, she died like Bambi’s mom…kinda. But remember Bambi never saw her mommy again?”

  “Ye…yes,” she said, her cornflower blue eyes scanning between the three of us.

  “You won’t see mommy again, like Bambi didn’t see her mommy again,” I repeated.

  I didn’t know what to expect after we finally told Cheyenne that Dana died. It took her a while to process it, and after a few days, it finally hit her. My mom stayed with us for a few weeks to help out with our loss, but my dad had to return to work in New York. As I drove around town, trying to go about my life while my first love was looking down from above, the memories of Dana surrounded me.

  I saw her everywhere. I saw her at the diner I took her to after my first Varsity baseball game when we first started dating in high school. I saw her at the park across from my old house where we would go to make-out without my parents catching us. Hell, even Target reminded me of her; she loved that store. Everything reminded me of her.

  Even though Dana and I were going through a divorce at the time of her death, I still loved her, she was my first love—my only love—and the mother of my daughter. One day, I thought to myself that she was haunting me by making me see her everywhere. I needed to move. So I packed Cheyenne up, and we moved from Long Beach to New York to be by my parents and start our new life.

  My parents moved to New York after I graduated high school and married Dana. My dad took a good job offer from a major bank in the city. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and since Dana and I had married and were living together, my parents did what was best for them.

  And that is what I did when I moved to New York. I did what was best for me and Cheyenne. When Avery moved to the city, we opened our bar with the little savings I had stashed away from doing gigs and Avery’s money he had saved from working as a manager at a major clothing chain. I was shocked to learn how much he made. I had no idea, but he worked long hours and was never home, so he saved most of his money.

  Avery wanted a change, and like I said, Cheyenne and I needed him, too. Now both of our pasts are ancient history. I’m not modeling that often anymore, but I still pick up a gig here and there, but it was nothing like I was doing before I moved to New York. Now I mainly picked up the gigs to make a little extra cash to spoil my Peanut and to pay Avery back. Avery owned sixty percent of Halo, and I was determined to get it to fifty-fifty. We were equals on our business agreement; I just needed to make it right by paying him back.

  “Do you want to wait around until I get off work?” I asked the blonde, already knowing that she probably wouldn’t want to wait around, and honestly, I didn’t want her. I wanted the brunette who wasn’t giving me the time of day–the one I kept watching. I had a soft spot for brunettes.

  “Will you buy me a drink?” she asked, batting her fake eyelashes.

  “Can’t. Boss won’t let me, and I don’t want to get fired.”

  If she were the brunette, I wouldn’t hesitate. I could also tell that the blonde just wanted a free drink now that she knew she wasn’t going to wait for me to get off work.

  “Really? How will they know?” she slurred, her large boobs almost falling out of her strapless dress as she leaned on the bar. My eyes of course looked down out of instinct.

  “See that camera up there?” I pointed to the black dome that covered the security camera. “Big brother’s watching.”

  So, that wasn’t true. I was Big Brother, and I could tell that if she knew I owned the joint, she would want more than one drink out of me.

  “Oh…” she said, trailing off as h
er friend walked up, effectively distracting her.

  I made my exit and headed over to my challenge of the night. The challenge who I knew would cave before leaving. The challenge who really didn’t know I existed other than that I poured her drinks. There were a line of people waiting to order drinks, but I knew my other bartenders would get to them eventually.

  “Want another?” I asked the brunette, pointing to the half empty lemon drop in her hand.

  Usually, I could care less if someone in particular wanted another drink. The bar was packed, people waiting to get their drinks, but the brunette was positioned at the corner of the bar, not letting anyone move her out of the way.

  “Not right now, thanks,” she said, scanning the room and licking some of the sugar from the rim.

  I could think of something else I wanted her to lick.

  I finally helped other patrons while I contemplated my next move. When I wanted something, I was determined to get it. And well, I wanted her. There was something about the way she played with the ends of her hair that cascaded passed her shoulders over her black turtleneck style halter-top, the way her skin was illuminated from the light of the bar and dance floor, and the way her tongue circled the rim of her martini glass, licking up the sweet specks of sugar.

  My eyes scanned the room with hers, looking for whatever or whomever she was searching for. I saw nothing but people dancing. After a few more minutes, she set her empty martini glass on the bar, which she leaned against backwards, still looking out at the people dancing under the multi-colored lights that played across their sweaty bodies.

  “Come dance with us, Anessa,” I heard someone shout from my left. I turned to see one of the brunette’s friends talking to her and trying to tug her out on the dance floor.

  “I don’t dance,” she said shouting back, stepping out of her friend’s grasp.

  I filled my order of Jack and Coke, grabbed a few bottles of Coors Light from the cooler, and tried to listen to Anessa and her friend talk without being too obvious. I needed to find out how to get her. I wasn’t looking to go home with her; I just really wanted to see her ruby red lips wrapped around my cock.