Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I thought for a second. “The mermaid.”
She smiled. “Yeah? Why?”
“Because it reminds me of you.”
“So you did remember I liked mermaids, you liar.” She poked me in the ribs. “You said you didn’t last night.”
“I think I was trying to be cool.”
“I knew something was off about that—your memory was always incredible.” She leaned away from me, looking for the tattoo in question. “I can’t see it in the dark.”
“It’s here.” I guided her hand to my side, and her fingertips played over my skin. “I got it for you.” Another little truth I could offer.
She went still. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
It was dark in her room, but I could imagine the pink in her cheeks. “When?”
“Maybe five years ago.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Do you like your job?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you’re really good at it.”
“I like to think so. I stay pretty busy.” I pictured the shop, wishing I could take Maren there. “My boss is a woman named Beatriz. You’d like her. She believes in all that woo-woo stuff like you do.”
She poked me again. “It’s not woo-woo stuff. It’s real.”
“Okay, okay. It’s real.”
“What’s the weirdest thing anyone has ever asked you to tattoo on their body?”
I put my hands behind my head. “I try not to judge people’s ideas, but I do think it’s fucking strange when they want animals tattooed on their stomach so their belly button looks like the asshole.”
“You are kidding me. People ask for that?”
“Yeah. People want all kinds of crazy shit.”
“Have you ever refused to do what someone wanted?”
“Sure. If I’m positive they’ll regret it. But my only really hard and fast rule is that I won’t tattoo names of boyfriends or girlfriends, or even spouses, on anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because in my experience, people always regret it. Feelings change. Couples break up. Marriages end in divorce. People end up hating each other. You think you’re going to love one person forever, but history tells us it’s not very likely. Tattooing someone’s name on your body is like asking fate to fuck with you.”
She laughed. “You think you can influence fate with your tattoos?”
“I have no idea, but last week this eighteen-year-old girl came in and wanted a tattoo of Tweety Bird with her boyfriend’s name—which is Rocky—and the words ‘You’re my tweety pie’ underneath it. I did not want that on my conscience.”
“Yikes. Did you do it?”
“Hell no. I told her what I told you. Tattoos are forever. Love, not necessarily. Especially not at eighteen.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But I hope you’re wrong.” She lay down again, her head on my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. We were silent for a few minutes, and I tried to commit every detail about holding her this way to memory. The scent of her hair. The softness of her skin. The sound of her breath. The memories would have to carry me through.
“Dallas?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to ask you about something.”
“Okay.”
She took a deep breath. “I overheard you on the phone with Finn. Outside my bathroom window.”
My pulse began to pound. I swallowed with difficulty. “Yeah?”
She sat up again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you say something about an appointment with a surgeon, and I’m worried. Are you okay?”
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Tell her, said a voice in my head. Tell her everything. Tell her now.
“I know it’s personal, and you probably don’t want to—”
“It’s for my dad,” I heard myself say out of nowhere. “He was having some, uh, short-term memory problems, and his CAT scan revealed something abnormal. A small mass in the parietal lobe.”
She gasped. “A brain tumor? Oh, no.”
Oh, fuck.
But I kept going. “Finn got him an appointment with a neurosurgeon next week, but he can’t be there. So he asked if I would go with my dad. My mom can get a little hysterical in those situations, and she’s been very upset.”
“Of course. That’s so scary. I’m sorry, Dallas. You must be really worried.”
Yeah, that a lightning bolt is going to strike me. “I am.”
“So he needs surgery?”
“It’s an option. But it’s risky.” And since I was already in this far, I waded deeper. “Apparently that’s the part of the brain that controls upper right side mobility … guess he doesn’t want to lose his advantage on the golf course.”
My joke fell flat.
“But what happens if he doesn’t have surgery?” she pressed.
“They’re not sure. Apparently it’s acting benign right now. But eventually it would probably … cause some seizures and other problems.”
“So you need to convince him to have the surgery, then.”
“That’s what my brother wants. But my dad doesn’t want to be forced into it. He doesn’t like being told what to do. And he’s not crazy about the idea of having chemo or radiation. He doesn’t want anyone to have to take care of him. He doesn’t want anyone’s pity.”