by Kylie Scott
The silence rings in my ears when I finally turn off the waste disposal. “I want a divorce.”
For once, Ryan doesn’t say a thing.
Larsen and Sons Tattoo Parlor is only a few blocks away from Leif’s condo in the same cool urban area with busy streets. Purse on my shoulder and bottle of single-malt scotch in hand, I head inside. The buzz of the drill sets my teeth on edge, but everything is clean and orderly. Not even my mother could find fault with the place. There’s an old grandfather clock and a green chaise. Lots of framed drawings on the walls. And rock ’n’ roll plays over the sound system. Some old Tom Petty song, I think.
At the counter stands a woman with beautiful dark curly hair and a whole lot of ink on her umber skin. She seems flustered and sets the phone down as she asks, “Can I help you?”
“No,” a familiar voice yells from farther back. “But I can.”
The woman raises a brow and gives him a questioning look over her shoulder.
“I’m here to see Leif,” I say with a hesitant smile.
He’s standing beside a massage-type table giving me his devil-may-care grin. Or maybe it’s the scotch he’s smiling at.
My hands shake from nerves. “Hi.”
“You come bearing gifts.”
“Yes, I do.”
There’s a large man with gray hair laid out on the table in front of Leif with a fresh tattoo happening on his left arm. He turns his head and looks me over with interest. Same goes for the other tattooist working at the back table on a woman. Only this man isn’t a stranger. He’s the one who stood watching while Ryan tried to pick a fight with Leif. The one from in front of the condo that day. Awesome. This is so embarrassing.
“You’re turning pink,” says Leif, head cocked with obvious interest. “What does it mean when you turn pink?”
Oh, God.
“Don’t be an ass,” says the woman with the fabulous hair. “Come on through, you’re fine. I’m Tessa.”
“Anna. Nice to meet you.”
Tessa pulls out a chair close to Leif and directs me to it. I like Tessa. She takes in the collection of small pink scars on my face and the one dissecting the edge of my upper lip, but doesn’t dwell on them. I put on makeup, but didn’t go overboard trying to cover them. They’re part of me now. Time to accept and move on. My face is different, my body is changed, and my life is altered. It’s not the end of the world. It just feels like it sometimes. As for how I feel about Leif, I’m still deciding. The other dude keeps working on the lady’s back, sneaking looks at me. Fair enough. I’m a little curious about who he is too. Without another word, Tessa heads out the back door. I’m kind of sorry to see her go. I could use all the emotional support I can get. Girl power and all that.
“I’m sorry,” says Leif. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
I settle into the chair, placing the scotch on my lap. “Yes you did.”
The big guy on the table, the customer, just snorts.
“Help me out here, Art. You’ve been married for roughly forever,” says Leif. “What do I do?”
“When in doubt, apologize. Profusely.”
“Wise words,” says the other dude. “I’m Ed, Leif’s brother.”
“Anna. Hello.”
He gives me a chin tip. Now that I know they’re brothers, it’s obvious. Like Leif, he’s a very handsome man. The same amber eyes and dark blond hair. A heavily tattooed body that’s muscular, long, and lean. Must be some great genetics going on in that family. Unlike Leif, however, Ed is wearing a wedding ring. I try not to worry about what he must think of me. But he can’t be happy about a married woman causing trouble for his brother. No one would willingly welcome this nonsense into their life.
It took me a week since my birthday to work up the nerve to see Leif again. Sad but true. But kicking off the divorce proceedings made it a busy week.
“How have you been?” asks Leif, eschewing further apologies.
“Good,” I say, my smile weak. “You?”
He just nods. Conversation is so not flowing. The tattoo gun buzzes to life and he starts in on the piece in progress. There’s a lot more blood than I imagined. But every so often Leif wipes the skin clean, and his work suddenly comes into view. The design is an old-style compass, beautiful and ornate. Above the northern point is a woman’s name, ‘Glenda.’ I wonder if that’s his wife of forever. I hope so.
“You haven’t told her she looks pretty,” says Art, the relationship specialist.
Leif takes in my flowy white blouse and faded blue ankle jeans with a pair of flat black leather mules. Nice but not fancy. It only took me three hours to settle on it. Why it mattered so much I’d rather not say. Friends is great and friends is fine. Thinking of anything more would be foolish. No matter how attracted I might be to the man.
“She always looks good,” he says.
Nice to hear, but I’m still not sure whether I’m welcome. Or what to do. Showing up at his job might be just as great an idea as turning up at his home. What was I thinking? I could just hand over the bottle, apologize, and leave. He and I don’t need to be spending time together. It was my initial plan, but now words are a tangle on my tongue. Or maybe I’m looking for excuses to stay.
“I should be finished in about ten minutes,” says Leif, giving me a gentle smile. “We could try giving the whole eating-a-meal-together thing another try?”
I relax back against the seat. “Sure. That would be great.”
“Better,” grunts Art. “There’s hope for you yet.”
The weird thing about being down and out for seven months is how the world moves on without you. Great-Aunt Susan died of breast cancer. Angie and Erin finally had IVF success. A childhood hero of mine died in a drowning accident. My cousin Jack got married. A new president was elected. So many things, big and small. Then there are the movies and songs that come on TV or the radio that everyone knows except me. Little holes in my reality to remind me I was missing for a while.
“Taylor Swift put out a new album?” I ask, listening to the new tune that started playing.
Leif shoots me a grin. “Should have known you were a Swifty.”
“Leave Tay Tay alone,” Ed joins in with a smirk. And to think Leif called me judgmental.
“She’s a fine musician and songwriter,” says Art, my new hero.
“Of course she is. And yes, Anna, she did. Two albums, in fact.” Leif again wipes away the blood rising to the surface on the tattoo. “About eight or nine months back.”
I nod.
“Who’s talking smack about Taylor?” asks Tessa, striding back into the room.
“No one,” says Ed, face suddenly serious.
“We wouldn’t dare,” adds Leif. What a clown.
Nina Simone comes on next and Tessa hums along, swinging her hips to the music. She’s wearing a pair of yellow loafers I’d kill to own. Along with a matching ’50s-style tight sweater and artfully ripped jeans. I dream of being this cool. Of wearing bright colors and daring to stand out.
“I fired the new receptionist,” says Tessa, apropos of nothing. “Thinking we were friends, he confided in me that he was just too hung over to join us today.”
Ed shakes his head. “Fuck’s sake. Why is this so hard?”
Leif’s brow wrinkles into the most serious of frowns. Tessa gives his shoulder a squeeze in passing and whispers, “Not your fault. Let it go.”
Curious.
“We’ll find someone eventually,” Tessa says in a louder tone.
Art’s session finishes with smiles and manly back slapping, then Leif cleans up his area. This is more involved than I’d imagined. But then they are dealing with blood and ink and other fluids.
“Do you mind a short walk?” he asks as we head out into the afternoon sun. “Otherwise I can call a car?”
“No,” I say. “A walk would be nice if we can take it slow.”
Despite the long legs, he sets a pace I can manage just fine. Side by side, in perfect sync, we wan
der along, me hanging onto my purse strap and scotch. Him with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. The breeze is cool, but the sun is warm. Behind the cover of my sunglasses, I can pretty much watch him to my heart’s content. Catalogue the multitude of ways in which he’s different from Ryan. Which is something I probably shouldn’t do, but here we are.
While my ex strides through the world toward his destination with great purpose, Leif is content to amble and take everything in. The sky, the buildings and trees, the people wandering by. He even smiles and raises a hand in greeting to some. The walk itself is an event for him, a moment to be cherished. He is a happy, open sort of person. Or at least, he gives off that impression.
While Ryan stood tall, proud, and upright, taking up as much room as possible, Leif slouches in an oddly graceful manner. Ryan reveled in being busy; our life was always planned to the nth. Work dinners, get-togethers, family outings, and so on. Something always seemed to be happening. Maybe it’s why my new life is so jarring. The silence between medical appointments. The emptiness of my calendar. I need to get a life. A new one.
“Got much going on this afternoon?” I ask, making conversation.
“No. Had a cancellation.” He shrugs. “Figured I’d chill.”
So they’re basically complete opposites. Day and night, sun and moon, et cetera.
“Care to chill with me?” he asks with a smile.
“Sure. That’d be great.”
A nod. “Cool.”
Ryan hated last-minute plans or alterations, while Leif seems content to live life on the fly. It’s official, the two men couldn’t be more different. Also, I need to stop comparing them.
“You’re frowning,” says Leif. “Why is that?”
I scrunch up my face. “Oh. Ah . . .”
“Be honest,” he chides.
“I was thinking deep thoughts about my soon-to-be ex-husband’s character.”
He scratches his stubble. “Yeah, see, this is difficult for me. Because I kind of want to high-five you for dumping the asshole. And make no mistake, he is an asshole and completely undeserving of you. But on the other hand, you had your heart stomped on by that whole situation and I don’t want to be an insensitive dick.”
I frown. “Yeah.”
He bops his head like he’s listening to music. Or just agreeing with himself. “You seem like a smart woman who’s got it together. So I’m sure he wasn’t always a complete cock splash. At least, I hope not.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“But it sounds like it’s probably time now to catapult that marriage into the sun.”
“This is true.” I heavy sigh. “You know, I used to think we were perfect. It’s kind of been a wake-up call to find out that we were far from it.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just cocks his head to let me know he’s listening.
“We used to coordinate outfits and finish each other’s sentences and all that annoying couple stuff.”
A grunt.
“Now I just wonder if our wardrobes were boring, if we never had an original thought between us, and perhaps urgently needed to each get a life irrespective of the other,” I say. “I used to think his shortcomings were so cute. The way he’d carry on and on about work stuff. How he’d scream at the television during football games. Guess everyone’s cute and funny until they’re not.”
“The veil has been lifted.”
“Indeed.”
“Relationships.” His broad shoulders deflate. “What can you do?”
“I take it they’re not your thing?”
He sighs. “That’s a conversation that needs to be accompanied by alcohol.”
“Got it.”
“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your birthday bash,” he says, face tense. “I, um . . . I’m not much into group things at the moment. But I hope it was a good day and everything.”
“Sure. Thanks.” That Mom invited him is news to me. Though she knew I’d been to see him, so I guess her inviting him makes sense. Why he’s against group events, I have no idea. But it’s not like they’re my thing right now either. People en masse are a problem. Their opinions and expectations and just how generally overwhelming it can all be.
We wander through downtown, the city bustling around us. It’s nice to be out amongst it all. I’m grateful for so many things these days. Maybe that’s the main difference between old me and new me. New me knows what it’s like to lose your independence. New me has been through some shit.
A few blocks away from the water we turn into a brightly painted bar in an old building. The booths have scarred old wooden tables and teal leather bench seats. It’s cool. Behind the bar, a tattooed woman with a braid of gray hair hollers hello to Leif and he blows her a kiss. Obviously he’s a regular. We grab a booth near the back.
“What do you suggest?” I ask, checking out the menu.
Head cocked, he asks, “May I be so bold as to order for both of us?”
“Go ahead.”
“Any allergies or strong dislikes?”
“I don’t like pickles.”
“You don’t like pickles? Weirdo.” He turns in his seat, waving a hand at a passing waiter. “Two of my regular, please, Andi. And may I say you’re looking particularly radiant today.”
The lady smiles. “Why thank you, Leif.”
“What do you have on your burger if you don’t have pickles?” Leif asks, making himself comfortable. Which apparently means reorganizing the salt and pepper shakers, straightening the cutlery, and smoothing down the white paper napkin. The man is a fiddler.
“Meat, cheese, ketchup,” I say. “The normal things.”
“But pickles are a normal thing.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Pickles are a normal thing to take off hamburgers, not put on them.”
“Huh.”
“What are your allergies and strong dislikes?”
“Mint,” he says. “I hate that shit.”
“You don’t eat Mint Oreos? That’s so sad. How about mint chip ice cream?”
“Yuck.”
“What are you even doing with your life, Leif?”
“Living it happily mint free, is what I’m doing.”
“We both hate green food items,” I say. “Interesting.”
“It’s like we were always meant to be together.” He gives me a wink to show he’s joking. “What’s your stance on Kermit the Frog, though?”
“He seems like a cool dude. I mean, he plays the banjo. That’s pretty great.”
“It is indeed. So it’s not the color green, just certain foodstuffs. Okay. I can live with that,” he says. “How are you taking to the single life?”
“I haven’t been single in so long.” My shoulders slump. “Oh, God, I’m going to have to register for a dating app. I’m actually going to have to go out and meet new people. That’s so depressing and scary.”
“No,” he drawls. “To the contrary. It’s an exciting new adventure in the life of Anna.”
“Are you saying that to try and make me feel better or just pointing out my general negativity and shitty attitude?”
He grins.
Two ridiculously large and ornate beverages are placed in from of us. I’d guesstimate them to be about a quarter of a gallon of Bloody Mary cocktail topped off with an entire and intact lobster roll balancing on top of the glass.
I stare in wonder. Or horror.
“Aren’t they magnificent?” asks Leif, clearly in awe of our lunch.
“This is your usual?”
“Every Saturday without fail. It’s how I celebrate the upcoming weekend since I get Sunday and Monday off.” His smile is beatific, there is no other word. The man is clearly experiencing his version of nirvana in this battered old booth. “Normally I’m here on my own. Sometimes Ed joins in. His wife Clem now and then too. But she just has the fried oyster bun and a beer, the coward.”
“How do I even . . . what do I do with this?”
Leif laughs.
He does that a lot.
Andi returns with a couple of plates and, thank God, the dismantling process can begin. I carefully remove the skewers holding the lobster roll in place and put it on a plate. The wedge of lemon comes down too. I stir up the mixture with the celery stick and skewered olives. Never has a beverage been garnished to such a degree. Now I can actually reach the edge of the glass to take a gulp. And promptly cough a lung up. That’s a lot of vodka. No small amount of cracked pepper in there either.
“Too much Tabasco sauce?” asks Leif, reaching to pat me gently on the back.
“Is that what’s in it?”
“You never had a Bloody Mary before?”
“No.”
He puts a hand to his heart. “Aw. I’m proud to be bringing you this new and wonderful experience.”
“This is hands down the strangest lunch I’ve ever eaten. Drunk. Whatever.”
“Well, you have seven months of living to make up for,” he says. “And I am here to help.”
I honestly don’t know when the last time I laughed was. But I’m laughing now. “You said the conversation regarding you and relationships required alcohol. Seems we’ve met that requirement. Go for it.”
The smile swiftly disappears from his face. “I dated the woman who tried to kill my sister-in-law.”
I have nothing.
“She was the receptionist at the tattoo shop. Obsessed with Ed. So she tried to kill Clem to get her out of the way. Tried twice, actually. The first time she hit her over the head with a bottle and gave her amnesia. The second time she stabbed her. Clem’s lucky to be alive.” His fingers beat out a frantic beat against the table. “I was staying with them and she . . . ah . . . she used me to get close to them.”
Oh no. “Leif.”
“This was about a year ago,” he reports, matter-of-factly. “Live and learn, huh?”
I cover his hand with mine. I’m not really a touchy-feely person, but this is important.
“Yeah. So I have terrible taste in women. It’s why I don’t date anymore.”