Chapter 18
Sadie
Get two tattoos – from Sadie’s list of things she’s never done
“Nervous?” Cam asks, grabbing my hand.
“No,” I answer, squeezing his as we dash across the PCH toward a white stucco tattoo shop with black window frames and a sign that reads Shadow’s Ink .
When we reach the sidewalk, he uses our connected hands to pull me in front of him, tilting his head and lowering his brows.
“Okay, a little nervous,” I admit. “But I’m not scared. I’m okay with a little pain. It’s just new. Kinda intimidating,” I whisper, nodding toward the shop.
“You’re getting better at doing things that make you nervous,” he says, kissing my forehead and pinching my ass cheek at the same time. “You’ll be great.”
Today is the first day we’ve been together since he got back from his latest race. It was a charity invitational, so even though he won, it didn’t count toward the championship. All the prize money went to a children’s hospital, and I managed to watch the whole thing on TV without freaking out.
Neither of us has mentioned our arrangement or our actual relationship. Physically, we’ve kissed a handful of times, and we hooked up once. But it’s deeper than that. He’s one of my best friends. He’s the first person I want to talk to when something new happens—good or bad. I want him there when I cross things off my list. I miss him terribly when he’s away at races. I’d be delusional at this point to think what’s happening between us is still pretend.
So, obviously, the healthiest thing to do is get tattoos together. I snort out a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
“What’s up, Winslow?” he asks, pushing open the door to the tattoo shop.
“Just excited, that’s all,” I answer, though we both know it’s a lie.
If any of my friends asked me if they should get matching tattoos with the person they’re dating after a few months, I’d say no . And yet, here I am, about to get matching tattoos with a man who I’m not technically even dating, who I cannot allow myself to love, and who I can’t get off my mind.
When Cam opens the door, there’s no one at the front desk, but he doesn’t seem concerned.
“Is it weird that I brought cookies?” I whisper.
“Not at all,” he answers in his normal volume. “They’re human. They’ll love them.”
“What are we supposed to love?” a woman calls from the back room. She’s short, with medium brown skin, dark hair twisted into a wild bun, and ear gauges. She must be Inez, the woman who did his Betty tattoo and is about to do mine.
“Sadie made you cookies,” Cam says, nodding to the container in my hands.
“I already knew I’d like you, since you’re attached to this giant sweetheart,” she says, taking the container from me. “But with cookies? Now I think I might like you even more than him.”
“You want me to go first?” Cam offers, sliding my hand back into his. “So you can see what it’s like?”
Anticipation buzzes in my veins. “Nope, I just want to do it. Get the nerves out.”
“Send it,” he says, squeezing my hand.
“Send it,” I agree, nodding.
Inez is incredibly sweet, explaining in what may be excessive detail everything I need to know. The drawing she prepared for me is even prettier than I imagined—a whisk crisscrossed over a rolling pin, with a pink banner that reads Life is Sweet .
Cam waits in a nearby chair, not speaking up until I ask his opinion about the exact placement. Then he and Inez help me decide on the inside of my upper arm.
He reminds me to breathe when she brings the tattoo machine to my arm. It’s okay—a little sharp and unpleasant—but it’s doable. They’ve known each other for years, so time passes quickly with stories and updates about his race season. He’s tied for first place in points with Ludlow.
When she asks how we met, I tell her about Allie and Luke—that Cam and I met at the opening of their bar and shared a drink in the back parking lot.
“That’s not really the first time we met, though,” he says. For a moment, I think he’s realized he has a tattoo of me on his thigh. But then he continues, “Six or seven years ago, I was in Portland for the invitational race I do up there every year.”
“I used to live in Portland,” I explain.
“I had a meeting with my agent after the race at some pretentious steakhouse, and this absolutely stunning blonde was standing in front of the restaurant by herself.” I didn’t know that’s why he was there. “It made me late, talking to her, but I couldn’t help myself. She looked like she needed a little cheering up—”
“And you’re just the right person for that,” Inez adds, dipping her needle back into the little yellow container of ink.
He continues, “Once I made her smile, I wanted to keep seeing her smile. Still do.”
At those words, I can’t help but do exactly that.
“See?” he lifts a hand toward my face. “The dimples? She’s fucking gorgeous.”
None of that was pretend. It’s all true. That’s how we met, and apparently, that’s how he felt about it. How much of the rest of this between us has been true?
When the tattoo is finished, I go over to the mirror to check it out, turning my arm one way, then the other.
Leaning over, he whispers, “Looks good on you.”
“You feel up for doing the other one?” Inez asks. “It’ll be a lot quicker than the first, but we can definitely do it another day if you’re tapped.” The Life is Sweet tattoo took a couple hours, and by the end, I was ready for it to be over. But I want the matching one with Cam, so I agree.
This one is a different style, much simpler. It’s all black—the outline of sunrays behind a palm tree and a cactus, to represent Palm Springs. We put it inside my other arm, just above my elbow. It hurts a bit more, but it’s over in fifteen minutes. And now I have two tattoos.
“Not too bad for one afternoon,” I say, admiring my arms in the mirror.
He gets the same tattoo, but since he’s pretty much out of arm real estate, it goes a few inches above one of his knees.
After we pose together for a picture that Inez snaps, I ask, “Can I just make another appointment with you right now? I have this gingerbread idea, and also this cat friend I kind of want a tattoo of.”
She and Cam share a laugh. “You sure can, babe,” she says, then asks Cam if he’s coming too.
“Of course.”
“Do you even know what you want?” I ask.
His eyes settle on me, and he brushes an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “I know exactly what I want,” he says.
“You two are so cute, it’s almost sickening,” she laughs.
“Do you think your mom would like the Life is Sweet tattoo?” Cam asks, as we step outside.
“That’s exactly what I was just thinking about, actually. I think she’d love it. I wish she could see it.”
Cam tucks his hands into his front pockets. “If you’re up for it, you could send her a picture.”
“I could,” I admit, watching my toes drag an arc on the sidewalk below.
“Or, you could call her. Cross two things off your list today.”
It’s overdue. It’s so far overdue. She hasn’t called me in over a year either, and part of me wants to leave it to her. She’s the parent. Shouldn’t she have to be the bigger person by default? But I miss her. And I’m not even mad at her anymore.
“I’m gonna do it,” I say. “Right now, before I lose my nerve.”
“Proud of you,” he says, turning back toward Shadow’s Ink’s door. “I’ll hang with Inez until you’re done.”
And then I’m standing on a sidewalk off the PCH, staring at my phone. I have to do this. I want to do this. I can do this. I can do this.
I dial her number and hold the phone to my ear.
She picks up halfway through the second ring. “Sadie? Are you okay?”
Of course she asked that. I haven’t talked to her in forever.
“Hi, Mom. Everything’s great. Really great actually, um…” Should I apologize? Should I explain why I haven’t called? “I did something today I thought you’d be excited about.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks, and I hear the familiar squeak of her favorite chair as she sits down. “I’d love to hear about it.”
“I got my first tattoo. I’m gonna text you a picture right now. It’s so cute, and it’s about baking, and I just thought…”
“Oh, Sadie,” she squeals when the picture comes through. “I love it. Now I kind of want one too. Tell me everything .”
“Okay, so, obviously I love baking. You taught me that.” I walk to the side of the building where the noise from the cars rushing by on the busy freeway isn’t quite so persistent. “Life has been so good, and I’m realizing that whether or not life is sweet is within my control. And I wanted that to be my first tattoo. Baking makes me happy on sad days, happier on happy days, and it reminds me of you.”
I hadn’t realized until I started explaining just how much I connected this tattoo to my mom. It’s a reminder of her, of my connection with her, and the fact that she taught me how to do one of my very favorite things. We fall into an easy conversation—the way it feels when you catch up with an old friend without missing a beat. But it’s a thousand times stronger because it’s my mom . We only stay on the phone for about twenty minutes, and we don’t address any of the reasons we hadn’t been talking. But the door between us is open again.