by Emma Scott
“Forget I said anything,” I said, my hands making fists under the table. “See, this is why I don’t talk about shit. It just doesn’t do any fucking good and it just…”
“Hurts,” Zelda said. “It hurts, right? It’s messy and complicated and it’s like a tattoo that never ends. A million needles inking something on your heart that isn’t even beautiful.”
“Something like that.” Something exactly like that.
“You can’t let it all stay buried, T. I mean, I’m no expert at throwing it all out there, believe me. But you’re a good guy. You deserve some happiness, too. What the hell happened to convince you you’re worthy of nothing?”
I sucked in a deep breath to cool my blood, and took a sip of ice water. Zelda watched me for a moment, then scooted her chair around the table to sit beside me.
“You need to answer Kacey’s text,” she said. “Tell her you’re on a date too. The worst date of your life.”
I stared at her incredulously. “What for?”
“So she won’t feel guilty. You both tried out other people, you both failed. Tell her that. Tell her I suck. Tell her I had spinach in my teeth and talked nonstop about my ex.”
“I’m not telling her that.” But suddenly I was laughing and irritated at the same time; like the way you get with a sibling. Like how I’d get with Jonah.
“Fine, then I’ll tell her.” She snatched the phone from my hand and started tapping.
I lunged. “Wait. Don’t.”
She contorted out of my reach, thumbs flying. “Aaaand, sent. There you go.”
She turned the phone back to me, showing her text: My date was the WORST. Call you later?
I grabbed it back. “You little punk.”
Already the dots of a reply were rolling under the message. Zelda put her chin on my shoulder and squeezed my arm. “This is so exciting.”
“Get off me, I’m not speaking to you.”
The rolling dots appeared, then disappeared, then started up again.
“Type, delete, type,” Zelda said. “She’s second-guessing her message.”
“Jesus, I hate this.”
“You love it.”
With a cheerful bloop, Kacey’s message bubbled up: Is it wrong I’m glad about that?
I looked back at Zelda, whose expression was triumphant. “Tell her the truth,” she said.
No, I typed back, my heart thudding in my chest. I’m glad too.
Call me soon, OK? I miss you.
Zelda signaled a passing waiter. “Check, please.”
Zelda lived on the northeast side of town. Her apartment building was a shabby cement block, similar to mine, with lights and loud music spilling out of a corner window.
“That would be my roommates,” Zelda said with a sigh. “Always a party at my place. Thanks for the dinner, T.”
“Thanks for being cool about everything, Z. More than that. For being…well, shit, for being like a sister to me.”
“Just what I always wanted.” She smirked and reached for the door handle, then stopped, her smile softening. “I don’t think I ever said it when Jonah passed but…I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.”
She sighed and climbed out the truck. “You know what you have to do, right?”
“Remind me.”
“Either tell Kacey how you feel about her…” She shrugged. “Or just throw her on the nearest flat surface and fuck her senseless. God knows you both need it.”
“Those are my two choices?”
“Yup.” She sighed dramatically. “You know I’ll miss you when you move to New Orleans.”
“I’m not moving to New Orleans.”
She grinned and shut the door. “Yeah, right.”
Kacey
I paced my living room, circling the coffee table and my cell phone lying there. Taunting me.
Are you seriously this pathetic?
I’d lied to Theo in my text. My date hadn’t been terrible. Matthew Porter was sweet, considerate, and easy on the eyes. He didn’t chew with his mouth open, he was polite to the waiter, our conversation flowed back and forth. He was a perfect gentleman at the end of the night, kissing me on the cheek and asking if he could see me again.
I said no because the only thing I could think of when Matthew leaned in to kiss me was that I wished it had been someone else.
The phone rang.
My someone else…
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“So you had a date tonight?” I blurted. Oh, very smooth.
“Yeah, I did. It sucked.”
A smile burst over my face. “That’s too bad.”
“And your date was shitty too?”
“Yes, he was.” I frowned. “Well. No. He wasn’t that bad actually, but…”
“What?”
He wasn’t you.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t feel a connection, I guess.”
“Was he a good kisser?”
“I didn’t kiss him,” I said, wondering why a ball of warmth bloomed low in my belly at Theo’s tone. It sounded like jealousy. “He tried, but I turned the other cheek.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. What about you? Did you get any action?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer.
“No kiss,” he said. “No connection.”
I eased a breath as quietly as I could. “Bummer. We both struck out.”
“Kace?”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing this week?”
“Finishing reno on the house. Waiting for final edit of the video. You?”
“I was thinking I’d fly out to visit you.”
I dropped onto the couch, my heart pounding ridiculously hard. “You are? I mean, you would? Why?”
“No reason,” he said slowly. “Except I want to.”
“You can take off work? And school?”
“I actually have one whole vacation day accrued. How about I get there Friday, leave Sunday?”
“I’ll take it. Oh my God, I’m so happy. I mean, I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“We say that a lot, don’t we?”
A silence fell, filled with unspoken words. I twirled my hair so tightly, the tip of my finger lost circulation.
“Kace?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll kiss you goodnight.”
A warm-water heat swept through my entire body. His voice… God, his voice. Deep and gruff and sexy as hell. I’ll kiss you…
I wanted him to say it again.
“Okay.” I laid down, stretched out on the couch. “Tell me when.”
“Shhh. I’m touching your cheek now.”
I raised my hand to my cheek. “Feels nice.”
“Close your eyes.”
“I did,” I whispered.
“Open your mouth, just a little…”
I sucked in a breath. With my eyes shut, the power of his words was amplified. Every nerve ending stretched out to listen. To translate sound into touch.
“I’m going to kiss you goodnight now.”
“On the lips?”
A pause. “Yeah.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “Okay.”
“Goodnight, Kacey,” he said softly.
I ran my tongue over my bottom lip, but in the dark—with Theo’s deep voice like a purr in my ear—it was his mouth I felt and his lips that brushed mine softly.
A sigh eased out of me, leaving me heavy and content.
“Did you feel it?” he asked.
I nodded against the phone, snuggling into couch cushions. “I felt it. So nice. Made me sleepy.”
“It did?”
“Mmhm. I feel warm all over. And safe. How did you do that from so far away?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Get some sleep now.”
“I will. Goodnight, Teddy.”
I usually hung up then, but I hesitated. I heard his intake of breath, like he was about to say more.
“Teddy?”
“Nothing. Just… I'll see you soon.”
Theo
Friday afternoon, Kacey greeted me outside the Louis Armstrong Airport by flying at me and throwing her arms around my neck.
“You’re here!” she cried.
“I’m here.” I hugged her back as long as I dared. She smelled so good. Like fresh flowers, fresh paint, and the green heat of New Orleans. It permeated her skin now, the scent of the Nevada deserts long gone.
At her place, I noticed the green and magenta paint outside had been freshened up. Jonah’s whiskey lights hung over a porch that looked sharp and sturdy, and Kacey fitted a key into a brand-new front door.
“Ready?” she said. “Prepare to be amazed.”
“Holy shit,” I said, stepping inside and setting my bag down on the new hardwood floors. “It hardly looks the same.”
She snorted. “After fifteen grand, I hope not.”
The hardwood planks were gray with shades of beige running through the grain. New travertine tile in the kitchen picked up the light browns. The cabinets were new, pale gray, the countertops beneath a shiny white quartz. Gone was the fridge, and the stove that had seen its heyday in the seventies. Stainless steel appliances gleamed in their place.
“It looks amazing,” I said. “You did good.”
She beamed, buffing a smudge on one of the refrigerator doors. “I had help. Yvonne worked her butt off and then I hired some guys for the floor. But the tile work in the bathroom? All me. Check it out.”
I chuckled as she planted two hands on my back and pushed me toward the bathroom. The tile was dark gray, smattered with graphite and glittering under the light of a small chandelier. Its light sparkled off chrome fixtures and a claw-foot bathtub with a rainfall showerhead.
Kacey planted her hands on her hips, surveying her handiwork. “What do you think?”
“It looks amazing.”
“You said that already,” she said, her smile brilliant. She took me down the last little stretch of her shotgun house to the bedroom. “I didn’t do much. Just the floors and some new furniture.”
“Looks good,” I said, my eyes on the glass ball Jonah had made for her. It was no longer in the center of her bed, but on a stand on the dresser. “Looks real good.”
Back in the living room I sat on the couch.
“Tell me everything. How are things back home?” Kacey asked, curling up in her new high-backed chair.
“Did you just call Vegas home?” I asked as casually as humanly possible.
“Well, shit,” she said, laughing. “I did.”
“Graduation is coming up,” I said. “My dad’s being a dick about my tattoo shop idea, as usual. He’s pushing me to use my degree for something else, for the business side of dealing art, or maybe curating. And he still hasn’t given up on me using my art as a graphic designer. Shoot me now.”
Kacey frowned. “No offense to Henry, but fuck that. You’re crazy-talented at what you do. Born for it.”
“Thanks.”
“I can’t wait to see you in your cap and gown, accepting your diploma.”
“You’re coming?”
Kacey cocked her head and fixed me with a look. “Theodore James Fletcher…”
I laughed and waved my hands. “Okay, okay. You’re coming. But fair warning, it’ll be boring as hell.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
A short silence fell but it was a good one. A silence where two people who hadn’t seen each other in a long time basked in each other’s presence, getting re-acclimated. Settling in. Zelda’s advice to me to talk to Kacey rattled in my head.
How do I start? ‘So I came all this way to fuck up our friendship forever…’
“That couch folds out,” Kacey said.
I blinked at her, wondering if she’d just cut to the chase and I’d be taking Zelda’s second piece of advice. “What?”
“So you can sleep here,” she said.
“Oh. Right. No, I got a hotel room,” I said.
“Cancel it. This is super comfy, I promise. Save your money.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. The back of my neck reddened. God, I wanted to take her to bed. Screw this small-talk and just show her how I felt.
Her phone chimed a text.
“Oh damn, it’s Grant,” she said. “The music video is done.” She dumped her phone and picked up her laptop from the coffee table. “He just sent me the file. I think I’m going to throw up.” She sat beside me on the couch and dumped the Mac onto my lap. “You click it. I can’t.”
“Chicken.”
“The Drowned Chicken.”
“Shh.”
I leaned into her a little, pressing against her shoulder and hip as the opening riff of “The Lighthouse” began to play against a watery background. A hand emerged. A tattooed arm. The curve of a shoulder into a long, white throat. Long strands of brass-colored hair undulating across pale lips. Closed eyes that slowly opened with a flash of blue.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
Like a mermaid, Kacey moved underwater. Her blonde hair and billowing white dress became a screen, superimposed with scenes: a club, a street, an apartment. Discovering her man in bed with another woman.
Beside me, Kacey made little cringes and flinches, occasionally hiding her face against my arm. I hardly moved. I was rapt. Enthralled. I could feel cool air moving in and out of my open mouth. I breathed in her voice, her luminous, amber-lit face. The pain and loss in her eyes shimmered through the water and found me. The Drowned Girl.
The video ended and we both exhaled.
“What do you think?” she asked against my shoulder.
“I think…” I stared at the black screen. “I think you’re so fucking beautiful.”
She raised her head and I turned mine. To look at me as I realized I’d spoken my thoughts out loud. They’d fallen out of my slack-jawed mouth before I could catch them back.
“Oh,” she said softly, her face inches away; I could feel the whisper of her breath on my lips. “Thank you, Teddy.”
Our eyes met. She glanced at my mouth, then back at my eyes. Light-headed, I looked at her lips, wondering if it was time. Now. I could kiss her. Kiss her and see what happened.
Would her lips part for me, take my kiss deep inside her mouth and give it back?
Or would she recoil because I wasn’t the brother she wanted?
My fucking hesitation cost me. Kacey pulled back and tucked her hair behind her ear self-consciously. “So, it’s pretty good, isn’t it?”
I handed her laptop back to her. “It’s a great video. People are going to go crazy for it.”
“I guess I’d better tell Grant I’ve watched it and feel it’s suitable for public consumption.”
You do that while I go dunk my head in the fucking sink.
Kacey made lunch for us—crabmeat po’boys with potato chips and soda. We ate and talked and later, we watched one of her damned 80’s movies. She curled up close to me, but not close enough, laughing easily, smiling and talking, but I was tired of playing the part of the best friend. I wanted to ask her what those smiles meant, and if they were for me. But I couldn’t ask, couldn’t push it. It was such a fragile energy, simmering in the heat between us. Too much pressure and it would dissolve away.
But goddammit, I want this life, I thought. This is what I want.
To live in her space, my razor sharing the same shelf as her toothbrush. Our clothes tangling in the bedroom. Making breakfast together, then letting the food burn as I took her on the kitchen floor…
Tell me what you want, I thought, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. Because I want everything.
Kacey
The next day, I took Theo to Magazine Street, where we wandered in and out of antique stores, pastry shops and vintage clothing stores. We hit a few art galleries, where Theo pointed out works by artists I’d never heard of—Katherine Bradford and Ted Gahl. The depth of his knowledge surpris
ed me, stirred up fresh anger at Henry for not appreciating his son’s talents. A fierce conviction swept through me. More than ever, I wanted to see Theo achieve his dream of owning his own place. I vowed to help him, support him however I could.
He doesn’t need money, I thought. He’d sooner chop off his hand than take any. Maybe a grand opening party? I could play…
It sounded arrogant, but I had to admit, the video for “The Lighthouse” didn’t suck and my songs were selling like mad on the digital sites. Maybe I’d have something of a name by the time he was ready to open his own place. A name with pull.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked.
“I was thinking about your future shop.” I nudged his elbow. “When did you know you wanted to become a tattoo artist, anyway?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Long time.”
“Come on, Teddy.”
Theo frowned. “I usually don’t talk about this stuff.”
“I want to know. For real.” We came to an old-fashioned bench in front of an antique store with a gramophone and Victorian-era dresses in the window. “Here, sit,” I said. “Tell me.”
He sat, glanced once at me sideways. “I got my first tattoo when I was sixteen. This one.”
He turned the inside of his wrist to me. A black and red scorpion perched on its tail. Helen was inked below it in beautiful script, cleverly at an angle, so the name looked like the scorpion’s shadow.
“Helen the Scorpion?”
Theo gave me a strange smile. “I’ll get to that,” he said. “I thought a scorpion was badass at the time. I knew my dad would shit his pants—it’s illegal to get inked in Nevada when you’re under eighteen. But I knew a guy who knew a guy.”
I laughed. “I knew a guy who knew a guy too,” I said, showing him the stars on my middle finger.
“They’re out there, they work cheap, and they piss parents off. Anyway, it took four hours, and while I was there, another artist was working on a client. Middle–aged woman. She’d just lost her daughter in a car accident. She was getting a tattoo of an angel with the girl’s face and her birthdate.”
“Oh God, that’s so sad.”
“I couldn’t see it from where I sat but I heard the whole story. Sat and listened as the woman told her artist everything. I was a sixteen-year-old punk kid. I couldn’t get why some woman would pour out her most personal tragedy to a total stranger. But she talked about her daughter the entire time, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing. She even talked about the moment she learned her kid was gone. And the whole time I’m thinking, That poor guy inking her. He’s gotta be wishing he were anywhere else.”