TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER
Sunday dinner with my parents was the last fucking thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t say no.
We sat on the patio, and Mom tried to keep up the chatter over plates of roasted chicken and asparagus.
Dad shoveled his food in with hardly a word.
I kept sneaking glances at my phone and the one text from Kacey: Wanted to make sure you got in okay.
I’d replied, I did, thanks . But nothing after.
I fucked it all up, I thought for the millionth time.
I was drunk last night. Drunk on the food, the beer, and the jazz.
Drunk on New Orleans and drunk on Kacey.
I’d lost control. The drunk asshole hitting on her awoke something in me: a desire to fight for her, kill anything that threatened her.
Followed by the more potent urge to have her afterward.
To mark her as mine with my mouth and hands.
Strip her bare and fuck her hard until the only thought in her head was me.
The only name screaming in her mouth was mine.
She looked at me like I was already naked, her eyes raking me up and down, her lips parted and her tongue running along their seam. This is it, I’d thought. The end of my long and agonizing wait.
But no. She wasn’t ready. She might never be ready. Worse, we couldn’t rewind and put everything back the way it was before. Kissing changed everything.
“So,” Mom said, breaking me out my thoughts, “What's the good news this week?” She reached over and patted my hand. “Other than graduation.”
I glanced at my dad who kept his head down, intent on his food.
“I do have news, actually. I started a new tattoo series called Unfinished Ink .”
“Is that so?” My mom smiled and spooned herself more mashed potatoes.
“My co-worker showed the series to Inked magazine and they're going to do a feature on me.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Mom leaned toward Dad. “Isn’t that wonderful, Henry?”
My dad sipped his cocktail and raised his chin, as if pondering this, lips pursed, inhaling deeply through his nose.
“It could be really good,” I said, hating how fucking pathetic this whole scene was, to beg like a dog for a scrap. And yet I couldn’t stop myself. “The publicity would give me a boost when I get my own place.”
My father's lips drew down farther, which meant he was formulating his thoughts. I hated those few seconds, as my stupid heart always swelled with hope in anticipation that this time he would say, “Well done, son. I'm proud of you.”
It wasn’t this time.
“The market in Vegas is terrible for new business,” he said. “For any business. Nick Sullivan over at the commercial real estate office says growth has been slowing. Not to mention Las Vegas already has about a hundred tattoo shops.”
“Bit of an exaggeration, don't you think, dear?” Mom asked, her eyes darting between us.
“I can't drive ten feet without passing one,” Dad said. “They're as common as the nudie joints.”
I bounced my fork onto the table. “I get it. It’s a shitty market. You’ve been saying it for a year—”
“Because it’s true. If you’ve learned anything in your courses, it must be how small businesses fail eighty percent of the time. Never mind those trying to crowd into an already saturated market.”
My mother's hand rested on mine. “Henry, I’m sure Theo is aware of the risks. But this is his dream.”
“You have a business degree now,” Dad said. “It’s a wonderful achievement. I’d just like to see you put it toward something worthwhile.” He dabbed his mouth with his napkin.
“I intend to,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to buy my own place. Goddammit, Dad, it’s worthwhile to me. Why the fuck don’t you get it’s what I want to do?”
“Language, please,” Dad said with a sigh, as if he'd heard this a thousand times a day.
Mom’s fingers squeezed my wrist. “Theo, dear, calm down.”
“Yeah, I get the market’s crowded,” I said. “But Vegas isn’t the only city in the country. Maybe I’ll buy a place somewhere else.”
My mom gasped. “You’re going to leave Las Vegas?
“No. I don’t know. It’s just an idea.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Mom, wait.”
But she was already pushing her chair back. “Excuse me.” She hurried into the house, her hand over her mouth.
My father tossed his napkin down with disgust. “See? Now you've upset your mother.”
He got up from the table too, but instead of going after Mom to comfort her, I heard the door to his study slam shut.
“Fuck me,” I said to the sky. My eyes found Jonah's glass lights, glowing above the now-empty patio with a table full of half-eaten dinner. The scene of a hasty getaway.
I stared at the lights until they blurred into fuzzy white orbs.
“Now what the fuck do I do, Jonah? She’s there. I’m here…”
Of course, I knew what he’d answer.
Love her.
I closed my aching eyes and rubbed my aching chest.
“I do, Jonah,” I whispered, my words swallowed by the night. “I already do.”