by Jane Charles
The front door closes on the last of the guests and Martha comes over, smiling sadly. “You heard I’m leaving?”
“Why?”
She sighs and sits down. “Peggy and I were planning on moving to Florida, to get away from this damn cold and be closer to our kids. Most of them are down there.”
“She never told me.”
“She didn’t want to worry you guys.” She pats my hand. “We were going to wait until next fall, but I don’t want to be here anymore.
“I understand.” I really do. Peggy was her life, not the shop. “So, you’ll be closing Skin Scribes.”
Martha tilts her head. “Not exactly.” She opens the drawer in the side table and takes out papers. “I had these drawn up. I’ll still own the place, but I want you to run it.”
I don’t even take the papers. “I can’t run Skin Scribes. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“It’s easy honey. Get yourself a receptionist and bookkeeper, and they’ll do all the work.”
“There’s more to a business than that.”
“My lawyer will do the rest. Anything business related, licenses and all that crap.”
All I can do is stare at those papers. This is not what I want. I was going to go back to school to teach.
“You won’t like teaching Alex,” Martha says as if reading my mind. “Your heart is in the right place, but you won’t like it.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen you with your customers since you met Kelsey. The people who come in for a tattoo need you listening, understanding and then doing their ink. Nobody else has what you have.”
“There are five other guys. Hell, maybe even Caleb and Pete will come back.”
“They just care about the ink, the skin and the money. They don’t care about anything else, but you do.” She presses the papers toward me. “Send me my cut every month. Or, you can send me a little more, the amount is in there, toward the purchase price of Skin Scribes.”
“As in buy it?” I’m shocked she even suggests such a thing. I am not a business owner. I do tats. I was going to go back to school. I once wanted to be a graphic artist. I never wanted to own a business.
“I just need you to open after the first of the year. The customers expect it. Operate it the way you want, and change the name.”
“It’s a popular tattoo parlor. Changing the name could ruin that.”
“It’s yours now, Alex. Make it your own.”
“I haven’t said yes,” I argue.
“Ah, but you will.” Then she winks at me. “Just think about it.”
Christmas has thrown up in the brownstone. None of this stuff was out when Alex and I left for the funeral, but in just a few hours, a tree is up in the corner, greenery is wound around the banister of the stairs, a red tablecloth now covers the dining room table and more greenery is looped along the mantel of the fire place. A bunch of red and white stockings are hanging, overlapping each other, and red, white and green candles are everywhere. Why so many stockings? Only six guys live here. There are names written on them, like some kids decorated them with glitter, but I can’t read them from here.
Thrown up may not be the best way to describe the festive decorations. They are tasteful and not overdone. Alex stops just inside the entry to the living room, grabs me close and kisses me long and deep. My knees nearly give out before he’s finished.
Goodness. I blink at him as he pulls back grinning.
“I haven’t put the mistletoe up yet, dipshit,” Sean calls as he opens boxes beside the naked tree.
“Practicing,” Alex retorts.
“Practice later. Help me decorate the tree.”
Sean has a fire going, making it even cozier in here. I’ve never decorated for Christmas. I never really saw the point. We didn’t do holidays at Baxter, and everyone went home when I was at college. It was easier just to treat it like another day and not think about all the families who were making special time to be with each other.
Sean starts unwrapping glass bulbs and putting small hooks on them before handing each to Alex, who hangs them on the tree.
After about five bulbs are placed, Sean stands and looks at it. “You still don’t get it do you?”
Alex rolls his eyes. “They are ornaments. They go on a tree.”
“You put the hooks on. I’ll hang the bulbs. At least I know about balance of color.” Then he turns to me. “Want to help me, Kelsey?”
I just hold my hands up. “I’ve never done this before. I’ll just watch if that’s okay.”
“Hey, Kels, I’m making hot chocolate, want some?” Dylan calls from the kitchen.
Hot chocolate on a cold, dreary day like this in front of the fire while the guys decorate the tree sounds perfect. “Please.”
A few minutes later he brings in a cup with little marshmallows on top. I take a sip and creamy goodness coats my tongue. “This is so much better than the instant stuff I make.”
Dylan frowns at me. “I don’t do instant. Milk, vanilla, chocolate, sugar and a dash of salt.”
I moan. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“What about us?” Sean demands.
“Get the damn tree decorated first.”
Alex hasn’t mentioned Martha’s offer since we left her apartment. We couldn’t really talk on the subway because it was too crowded and loud. We would have ended up yelling at each other over the crying babies and the musician who jumped on at the last minute.
I expected Alex to say something to Sean. They are decorating the tree and talking about other things, but he’s said nothing, so I take my cue from him. But, I do want to know what he’s thinking. Running Skin Scribes will keep him permanently in the city. I’m moving three hours away in June. Not that I expected him to go with me, and it is six months away and who knows what we’ll be by then. Until today he wasn’t exactly tied down here and could do tattoos anywhere.
I’m so jumping ahead, but I can’t help but wonder. If we are just going to break when I graduate and move, why invest now?
“Are the girls coming over on the 24th?” Alex asks.
“Like always.”
“Girls?” I ask.
“Joy, Alyssa, Mia, Kate, and Zoe,” Alex answers. “They always stay the night and we spend Christmas together.”
“Orphan Christmas,” Dylan says coming back into the living room, carrying his own mug and takes a seat in a chair.
“Where do they all sleep?” Should I be here? This is their thing and I’m fairly new, even if I am living upstairs now. I guess I could just stay in my room so I’m not intruding.
“Usually the guys double up,” Sean answers. “The girls double up in our rooms.”
“I’ll stay with Kelsey so two of the girls can have my room,” Alex says.
“Maybe Kelsey doesn’t want your sorry ass in her room,” Sean counters.
My face heats. I most definitely want Alex in my room. Getting closer to him has also had me rethinking the decisions I once made for myself. No sex until I’m settled. There are dozens of ways to prevent pregnancy and I know that fear of being in the same situation as I was when I was sixteen is why I decided on a celibate life. But, each time Alex and I are together, talking and not talking, or curled up in bed, or simply watching a movie, I want him more and more. I am ready for more. I want to be closer. I’m just not sure if he does. There have been lots of kissing and cuddling, but he’s not touched me anywhere since that one night when I ended up giving him a blow job. I’m taking my lead from him, but I also laid down the rules. Maybe I should let him know I changed them Or, I may be changing them.
Before I make any decisions, however, I’ll need to talk to Dr. Prescott. I still don’t know if I’ll be able to give blood to Brandy, or if I can donate stem cells. If I can, I don’t want to screw it up because I started taking the pill. I have no idea if it would even make a difference, but I’ll find out first before I do something else that may prevent me from helping my daughter. A
nd, the pill isn’t the only choice. One drawer in my new bathroom is now filled with every option of over-the-counter birth control that I picked up at the drug store yesterday. I just haven’t mentioned it to Alex yet.
Decorating the tree was not what I planned on doing when Kelsey and I got home from the funeral, but here I am. I need to make a decision about Martha’s offer. Normally, I would have just talked to the guys. I’ve always talked everything over with them, and I will, eventually. But, it’s Kelsey I want to talk to, alone, snuggled upstairs. In just a few weeks she’s become just as important to me as these guys, but in a different way. They are like brothers to me. My best friends who get me. She is, well, Kelsey. The woman I’m falling in love with.
At least that’s what I think it is. I’ve never been in love before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening. She’s the first person I think about when I wake and the last person I think about when I go to sleep, whether I’m with her or not. She’s strong and vulnerable. She can take care of herself, but needs me. She’s smart and focused. She’s a dreamer and kind. Just by holding my hand she calms me, warms me, comforts me and makes me hot.
It’s so odd. I’ve never felt like this before. Never. I’ve dated, but none of them meant even half as much to me as Kelsey does. And, I don’t want to make such a permanent decision that will keep me here when she moves. The more I’m with her, the more I know I’m going with her. I can take classes anywhere, and I don’t want her living three hours away.
Yet, opportunities like Martha’s don’t happen every day. I’ll have a hell of a lot more security running the place, than always hoping to be employed by someone else. The option to buy is even on the table, which would leave me permanently here while she is somewhere else.
I can’t have both. I want Kelsey. I need Kelsey. She is permanently rooted in my life now. But, what kind of life can I offer her if I’m a tattoo artist working where I can? There is no stability in that. It doesn’t matter that she’ll have the steady job, I’m the guy, and I’m the one who should have job security and take care of her. Not the other way around.
Besides, teachers don’t last long at Baxter. They are usually out the door by twenty-six or so. Or maybe that’s just how it seemed. Maybe that’s all the longer they could take it given the students at the school. When I was there, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a teacher over twenty-five or a counselor over thirty.
“Kelsey, is there an age limit on the employees at Baxter?” Wouldn’t that be considered age discrimination?
“Sort of,” she answers, sipping from her cup of chocolate. “The students respond to adults who are closer to their age more than someone much older. They see people pushing forty as out of touch, not understanding, and all that. Same for counselors. Kids like to talk to someone younger, not some gray-haired old man smoking a pipe. Not that anyone would ever smoke at Baxter. The school encourages teachers to look for other positions before they turn thirty and the age is thirty-five for counselors.”
I nod and take this in. Kelsey will have five to eight years at Baxter before she has to find another school. Then where will she move? With art programs constantly being cut from schools because of budgets, she might not find a job right away. If I’m with her, just working for someone else, hoping I don’t get fired, then neither one of us would have job security.
“Besides, Mrs. Robak told me that the burnout rate for teachers is about four years.”
“Makes sense to me,” Sean says.
Four years! That is not much time. When I started college, it felt like forever before I graduated, now I know how quickly that time could fly.
So, what to do about me and Kelsey? What to do about Skin Scribes?
I left the guys downstairs and went up to my room after dinner. Maybe Alex wants to talk about Skin Scribes and the offer without me in the room. Why else wouldn’t he have said anything? If I had friends that had stuck with me through high school and college, closer than brothers, I’d be talking to them. Besides, I need to figure out what to get him for Christmas.
Presents hadn’t even been on my radar. I haven’t given or received a Christmas gift since I left the Wilson’s when I was a little girl. That year Santa brought me a doll and piano music. I still have both.
Apparently, the guys draw a girl’s name and the girls draw a guy’s name. Alex took mine, apparently, but nobody bothered to tell me about this tradition until it was mentioned at the dinner table. Alex insisted that he didn’t expect anything and told the girls not to add him to the drawing.
He’s given me so much, how can I not get him anything? But what? And, for no more than twenty dollars? Yes, there is a limit because when the tradition started, they were all on tight budgets, and still are. I can afford to spend twenty, I just don’t know what to get. And, I have two days to figure it out. Also, each person is to add something small and cheap to each stocking, which I found out is usually candy. I can do candy, but that doesn’t help with Alex.
I turn off the shower then wrap my hair in a towel and another around my body after drying off and go into my room. Alex is on my bed, leaning against the headboard.
His blue eyes darken. “Hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”
“Of course not.” But I’m glad I have a towel and didn’t just waltz out here naked.
“Can we talk?”
Those three simple words make my stomach tighten and flip. They are said with such seriousness that I prepare myself for the worst. He’s going to end this now because he’s staying here and I’m leaving in a few months.
And it hurts. Bad.
“Sure, let me get dressed.” I turn for the closet. My pjs are on a shelf and I don’t want to be cut loose wearing only a towel.
“Please don’t.”
I narrow my eyes on him.
“I like this look.” His eyes rake me from head to toe.
Maybe it isn’t a break up talk, but a time for sex talk. It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about it, but the tightening of my stomach from fear of a break has now burst into a ton of butterflies, anxious fluttering and fear that I’m not ready for this after all.
“A robe?” I compromise.
“If you must,” he sighs.
At least in a robe I’ll be more covered, even if I’m just as naked underneath.
He opens up his arms when I come back out and I snuggle next to him. “What did you want to talk about?”
“The future.”
My stomach tightens again. What if I’m right and wrong? This is only temporary between us, but let’s have sex anyway.
“I don’t know what to do, Kels.”
I tilt my head up and turn to the side so I can watch his face and eyes. He’s troubled. Of course he is. Peggy’s funeral was today, and Martha practically handed him Skin Scribes on a silver platter.
“I’d be crazy to let the opportunity to run Skin Scribes pass me by.”
I agree completely, but say nothing. He needs to work this out for himself. Maybe he just needs to talk, to have someone listen while he figures it out. In the end, I’ll know where I stand.
“But, it will tie me to the city.”
“You are already in the city.”
“Which is great. And will be great, until June.”
This is about me. About us.
He turns and now we are both laying on our sides, looking at each other.
“Maybe this is too fast for you and had someone mentioned to me before you came to me for your tat that I could fall in love in such a short time, I would have laughed at them.”
My heart skips a beat before it starts pounding.
“Crap,” he says and pulls back. “My feelings are one-sided, aren’t they?”
“Why would you say that?”
“You just lost all color and your eyes got really big.”
A chuckle rises. “No, Alex. I’ve been falling in love with you too. I just didn’t think you felt the same.” The need to touch is too stron
g to resist, and I caress his stubbled cheek. “I didn’t want to scare you off by saying anything.”
He blows out a sigh and then kisses the palm of my hand.
“So, what do we do?”
I let the question hang there. I’m so fucking torn I don’t know what to do. I want Kelsey, and the more I think about it, the more I want to own my own place. But, I can’t have both.
“Do?”
“About us, the shop, the future?”
“We do what needs to be done.”
She is not helping.
This would have been easier if she would have told me that she wasn’t falling in love too. Actually, knowing she feels the same makes the decision twice as hard.
“Martha is right, I wouldn’t be happy teaching,” I had to admit that to myself. “It made sense when I realized that graphic novels weren’t really my dream anymore, but the habit of a dream.”
“But now?”
“I don’t know.” The answer is honest. “Tattoos have become more important. Now that I really listen to the customers. The idea of one day actually owning my own place is exciting, but scares me. The sticking point is that I’ll be here and you’ll be three hours away.” Weaving my fingers through hers, I say. “I don’t think I can do it without you.”
“Yes, you can.”
My eyes meet hers. “What if I don’t want to?”
“You’ll do what you need to.”
“You aren’t making this easy for me.”
“That’s not my intention.” She smiles gently. “Baxter is the only place that has offered me a job. I could try to find another place to teach, somewhere here in the city, but after what happened with student teaching and the segment airing, I’m not going to hold my breath and hope someone else wants to hire me.”
“I get that.” Though I was really hoping she’d say she’d stay, which is totally unfair to her, and unrealistic.
“So what, I’m here and you are there, and we get together on the weekends?” That would suck on so many levels.