by Zeia Jameson
I hear a child whine. I look over to see the source of the noise, and my throat goes dry. My body stiffens.
Mallory.
In my square.
Certain things should be deemed illegal just on principle alone. Mallory’s being allowed in my most favorite square of the city should be one of those things.
Son of a bitch.
There is a little boy making a fuss over something.
And in the stroller is another tiny baby.
And clasping the handles of that stroller is a man. A man who has a tat on his arm that I did of his woman and child. I recognize him instantly.
I feel like my throat is closing up. I stare at them. Gawk at them as they all look perfectly happy and tidy—except, perhaps, for the toddler, who is disgruntled over something. His attention is focused on the grass. Mallory tries to console him. The man—I can’t fucking remember his name—gently bounces the stroller, trying to keep the littler one happy, I assume.
I can’t take my eyes away from the slightly skewed Rockwell moment.
I have to leave.
They cannot see me here.
Why are they in my square?
Mallory knew this was my favorite square.
But that was almost four years ago. They are here because people move on.
Everyone except you, Luca.
I try to make my feet move. In any direction. But they don’t. They stay planted firmly at the bench. It is only when the guy looks in my direction that I have the wherewithal to actually move. I can’t let them see me here. I can’t let Mallory see me here. She would know I haven’t changed, haven’t moved on since the last time I saw her. I told her I was fine. If she knew I wasn’t fine, how would that affect her? I do not want to find out.
Why do I even care?
I feel as though the guy is focused on me, perhaps trying to figure out where he knows me from. It is only then that I stand and bolt as far away from them as I can get.
Kerry and Stella stop by the shop. They made a candy raid at one of the candy shops on River Street. They stopped by to see if Padraig or I wanted any of their stash.
I haven’t spoken to Kerry in two days, with the exception of some short texts I sent to make excuses as to why I couldn’t see her. Since seeing Mallory and her happily ever after in the square, I’ve come to realize that I have no business trying to make someone happy. If for no other reason than that I myself am not happy. I am stuck in this limbo, and I have no idea how to get out.
I don’t care how good she smells or how her eyes shine when she smiles at me. I don’t even care if she and I share a common interest that most people find laughable. I can’t fall for her. I have to stay away. This casual agreement we have isn’t going to work. I knew that when I agreed to it, but Kerry has proven herself hard to say no to.
I exhale hard and run my hand through my hair as I watch her talk to Stella on the other side of the room. Her hands are moving swiftly in front of her as she explains something to Stella. I love how she always talks with her hands.
No, I don’t.
I don’t love it.
Not one bit.
She looks over at me and gives me an enormous smile. Without hesitation, I smile back. But as soon as she looks away, I duck back into one of the tattoo booths. I sit on the swivel stool and look in the mirror as I rake my hand over my face.
I can’t continue to give Kerry what she needs. It’s only going to result in a bad ending.
And I know I can’t handle another one of those.
I stay back in the booth for a while. I think I hear the bell on the door chime, but I don’t know for sure.
“Hey,” I hear Kerry’s voice say from behind me.
“Hey.” I look at her in the reflection of the mirror.
“Stella and Padraig left. Just you and me,” she says. “Want to get high on candy?” she jokes.
I shake my head. I can’t say anything to her. I want to say everything, but the words will not come out.
She comes closer to me. “What’s wrong, Luca?”
I wait a long, silent moment before I say anything. “Kerry, I can’t do this anymore. You and me. I can’t. It is inevitable that I will hurt you. And if I do, I will not be able to live with myself. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
“What?” she says in a shocked whisper.
“I’m too fucked up. I’m no good for you. I can’t be anything you want me to be.”
“But you already are everything I want you to be.” She comes directly behind me and places her hands on my shoulders.
I shake my head. “You think you know me. But I’ve only shown you part of me. The other part, you don’t want to know. The other part is not a part you will like.”
“What? Are you like the Hulk or something?” she tries to joke again.
“Kerry, I think you should go. I don’t think you should be around me anymore.”
“Don’t say that. That is ridiculous. What happened?”
“Please, just go.”
“Luca, remember what I said? You won’t lose me. You can’t.”
“Kerry! You are not listening! Just go!” I yell, and I don’t recognize my own voice. I close my eyes and squeeze them tight so I can’t see the hurt look on her face. So I won’t take it back.
I hear her back away. Her voice trembles as she tries to say something through tears. I do not speak. I do not move. Eventually, she walks away. I hear the bell chime on the door. I finally leave the booth and walk over to the door to lock up. Kerry is standing on the other side of the door. She looks me directly in the eye. Pleads with me.
For a flash, I know I can take it all back. I can be everything she needs, and everything will be okay.
But it’s only a flash. A dream. Not a reality.
I lock the door and go upstairs.
Present Day
It’s been three weeks. I haven’t heard from Kerry. Padraig asked about her once, and I harshly replied to his inquiry. He hasn’t mentioned her since.
I work my sessions, fill in when I’m needed, and otherwise stay in my apartment and draw.
Kerry’s face. I draw nothing but her face. Different angles. Different expressions.
I called Dr. Kohl about seeing Mallory in the square. How my freak-out resulted in me pushing Kerry away. In her most professional way, she told me I was a fucking moron.
I respectfully disagreed with her opinion.
Virgil has just gone home for the evening. Darma went home a while ago. It’s late. I’ve finished the books for the evening. I make my way to the front door to lock up.
She’s standing there. Staring at me.
Kerry.
I inhale and exhale a deep breath. I could do what I did three weeks ago. Lock the door in her face and walk away. But the look she is giving me is stern. Determined. Unforgiving. I deserve whatever it is she has to unleash on me. I can at least give her the time to say her peace. If that’s what she needs to move on. She deserves that.
I open the door. She walks in, never taking her eyes off mine.
She stands directly in front of me, her chin lifted proudly.
“Whatever it is you need to say to me, Kerry, say it. Just say it.”
She takes a deep breath, and I think I see a tinge of a smirk on her lips.
“I would like a tattoo, please.”
I’m taken aback. I was ready for a full-on onslaught of ass chewing. Or tears at least.
“I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“You do tattoos, right? I’m here for a tattoo.”
I furrow my brow and try to comprehend what the hell is happening at this moment.
“You want a tattoo?” I ask for clarification.
“Yes. I have an idea for a design.” Her face softens slightly. “Will you please give me a tattoo?”
I try to have the motto of “Professionalism above all.” I shouldn’t falter on that now, right?
“You are the best tattoo artist in to
wn. I want a tattoo, and I want you to do it.”
I narrow my eyes at her and try to read her expression. She’s not here to chew me out or ask me a million questions about why I’m the biggest dickhead on the planet. She wants a tattoo.
From the best.
I purse my lips and ponder the situation.
I shrug. “All right.” I point her over to the counter. “What did you have in mind?” As she walks toward the counter, I lock the front door. I don’t need any randoms traipsing in here and making this moment any more bizarre than it already is. I follow her to the counter.
“Well, I heard someone got a pretty wicked vagina-flower tattoo from here.”
She looks at me, completely straight-faced. Her words and expression cause me to chuckle hard.
“You want a vagina tattoo? Really?”
“Maybe I do.”
“Well, you heard correct, ma’am, but I was not the artist of that fine piece of work, I’m afraid.”
She nods.
“Okay, fine. Then I’d like a lily.”
Her words shock me. “Why?”
“It will remind me of something great that I once had. Something that I hope to get again.”
I shake my head.
“Luca,” she says. The words coming from her mouth bring on a sensation I haven’t experienced in weeks. My knees almost buckle underneath me. “I would like a tattoo, please. Of a lily.”
I nod and pull out a sheet of draft paper from underneath the counter. I begin to sketch. I draw a varied version of the logo of my sign out front. She intently watches every stroke of my pencil. When I’m done, I spin the sketch in her direction to show her my finished design.
“That’s perfect,” she says.
“Do you want color?”
“Yes. Just one color. What is the color of hope?”
I smile. My heart swells for her. She looks at me with that. With hope. Hope that we still have a chance. Even though I’m a dumbass.
“This year, I think it’s lavender.”
“Lavender is good.”
I work my sketch onto transfer paper and lead her to a booth.
“Where are we putting this hopeful lily?”
She lifts her shirt and points to the side of her rib cage, underneath her bra line.
“Why there?”
“Because it’s close to my heart.”
I furrow my brow at her explanation.
She rolls her eyes. “As close as I can get to my heart without sitting directly on top of my boob.”
I laugh. And finally, she laughs.
“Fair enough,” I say.
I help her lie on her side on the chair. I position the transfer paper where she indicated, smooth it over, remove it, and show her the trace. “Is this good?” I hand her a mirror to assess the position.
“Perfect.”
I prep the gun. “You know, this is probably the most sensitive part of the body on which you can get a tattoo, right?”
“Fully aware. Kind of the point.”
“You want it to hurt?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“It’s not up to you, Luca. Just do the tattoo, please.”
“Okay. I’m getting ready to start. There will be a sting.”
“Okay.”
I spend the next thirty minutes etching the tattoo into her skin. Instead of staring at the gun, which most people tend to do when they can see it, she stares directly at my face the entire time. It makes me only a tad nervous, but I power through it.
When I’m done, I clean it up and show her the finished product.
“I love it. It’s perfect.”
I give it a good rub with salve and bandage it up. I tell her how to take care of it over the next few weeks. I’m in full professional mode. At least, I’m trying to be.
She lowers her shirt and stares at me while I clean up the booth.
“Luca, you have to talk to me. You just tattooed me, for crying out loud. You have to talk to me.”
I stop cleaning, place what I have in my hands on the counter, and sit in a chair. “What do you want me to talk about?”
She leans against the half wall of the booth. “Well, for starters, why did you make me leave? Why did you push me away?”
“Kerry—” I start.
“Luca!” she says rather loudly. She pushes herself off the half wall and walks toward me. “I gave you time to think. But you do not get to treat me the way you did and expect me to get over it without an explanation.”
She’s unwavering.
I sit there, staring into her determined eyes, and think for a moment. I know Kerry enough to know she’s kind and not in the least judgmental. If I talk to her . . . just maybe . . .
“You want a beer?” I ask. She smiles, and I lead her up to the apartment.
We crack open some beer and sit on the bed. Face-to-face. I give her full disclosure that what she’s about to hear is going to sound wackadoodle and she is free to bolt at any time.
I tell her about school. About the internship and Europe. About Mallory. And about my recent freak-out over Mallory. She listens. She never interrupts. She never makes suggestions on what I should do to make things better.
After about two hours of listening, she grabs my hand with both of hers. “I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care what you think about yourself. I only care about what I think about you. And I think you are pretty fucking fantastic. I’m not going to run away. I’m not leaving. Like I told you before, you won’t lose me.” She lifts up her shirt and points to her bandage. “You’re kind of stuck with me now. I got inked for you. Doesn’t that mean something? Prove anything?”
“It sounds like you are a little crazy. Maybe obsessive.”
She gives me a deadpan look in response to my sarcasm. But she’s right. “It does prove something. It means the world to me. I am thrilled that you let me tattoo a lily close to your heart.”
“So, are we okay, then? Can we still—”
“If you say ‘hang out’ I will lose my mind.”
She laughs. “Okay. Can we see each other? Be friends? More than friends? I don’t care what label you put on it. We don’t even have to have a label. I just want to be around you, Luca.”
She smiles. I call her a sorceress for coming up with her master tattoo plan to prove I won’t lose her. To help me pull my head out of my ass when no one else was able to.
I kiss her. I’ve missed her, and I am eternally grateful that she is more stubborn than me.
“Can I request a condition?” I ask. “About our non-labeled relationship?”
“Maybe,” she answers.
“Can we still fly under the radar? Not tell Padraig or Stella or anyone? I know it’s ridiculous, but I have a lot more work to do on myself before I’m even close to being good enough for you. Can we just work on that together? Without everyone else’s input?”
She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me.
“Whatever you want. Whatever you need to heal. Move on. Grow. I’m okay with that. I’m here for you.”
I rest my forehead on hers. I take a deep breath. I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. A burden I’ve been carrying for way too long.
I can do this.
I can make Kerry happy.
I grab the hem of her shirt and lift it slightly. “Now, let’s see how that tat is healing.”
One Year and Three Months Later
There was a string of arrests involving Kerry’s boss, Padraig’s stepmother—or whatever he used to call her—and a real estate agent. The chaos that ensued afterward had Kerry and Stella spun up for a while. Then they had to work hard to keep business clients and dates set, all the while doing it without interfering in any part of the investigation. It was rough on them, but they pulled through. Now they have a fairly lucrative business of their own. And while they do remain busy, they are happy and, for the most part, drama-free.
&nbs
p; Seamus and Moira opened a restaurant. Padraig and Stella are nearly inseparable.
Tonight we all sit at the restaurant that the MacNamaras built, and celebrate the engagement of my best friend and his incredible fiancée. They deserve everything. I wish nothing but the best for them.
I love Kerry. I do. And I’ve told her that. And she’s said it back. Many, many times. But I’m not ready for proposals or marriage. Not yet. And Kerry says she is okay with that. I had a minor freak-out when Padraig asked us to help him propose. I wondered if Kerry would want the same thing soon. But, as we do each time I tend to get worked up over something, we sat down and talked it through.
Even though I still don’t see her that often, I do talk to Dr. Kohl when I feel like I can’t push through something. Kerry and I have talked to her together a few times. Dr. Kohl says she is happy that I let Kerry in. It’s definitely progress. Small progress.
Also along the lines of small progress, I finally told Kerry I was okay with telling Padraig and Stella we were—whatevering. That we spend more time together than we’ve been letting on.
After Kerry and I got the third degree from Padraig and Stella—and seemingly everyone else—during Christmas, about their doubts on us being just friends, I realized that trying to hide anything anymore was dumb. Kerry and I had progressed in our relationship enough that I finally felt comfortable with letting other people into our bubble.
We invited Stella and Padraig to dinner one evening. I announced that Kerry and I were dating. That was the word I told Kerry I was comfortable using. Dating. We are a couple.
Stella hugged Kerry and kissed me on the cheek. Padraig gave me a good, approving punch in the arm.
They were genuinely happy for us. And since then, they’ve been nothing but supportive. Padraig hasn’t taunted me even once about seeing Kerry. I would say I have no idea what I was so worried about, but I’m almost one hundred percent sure Stella had a lot to do with it.
“A toast,” Seamus says. “Besides Moira and meself”—he reaches out, grabs Moira’s hand, and kisses the top of it—“I cannot think of a more perfect couple. Padraig, you are blessed to have found this radiant woman to stand by your side. And, Stella, well, I’m sorry.”