Thirty
THIRTY
WE’RE WRITING THIS ONE IN PERMANENT INK
“So, when are you going to tell me more about that tattoo?” I ask, biting a fry in half.
Kick’s been worrying his thumb over his clavicle tattoo a lot today, usually when he thinks I’m not looking. I’ve noticed his hand absentmindedly goes to it every few minutes.
“What about you?” he asks, redirecting. “You have any tattoos?”
“Not any you’re allowed to see.”
His eyebrows go up. “I’ve seen quite a bit, if you recall.”
I decide to let that go. For now. “There is one I’ve always wanted to get.”
He takes a huge bite of his loaded burger with mayo and motions for me to go on.
“I have this photo of my father.”
“The songwriter, right?”
I pause and pull the photo up on my phone. I saved a screenshot of the original in case the print got damaged. I turn my phone around to show Kick. “I’ve always wanted to get an orange flower, like the ones on his shirt.”
“I’ve seen this photo. It’s on your guitar.”
I shrug, embarrassed. “I know it’s weird, since I didn’t know him, but I like having him close to me when I play. The guitar I play, it’s his. There’s some part of me that thinks playing it will give me some of his talent by osmosis or something. Like I can be, maybe not as good as him, but some version of it.”
He studies the photo, expanding it with his fingers to look closer at my father’s shirt. “The flowers on his shirt, they’re marigolds.”
My cheeks burn. I never thought he’d notice.
“And your name is Mari Gold,” he says.
“I…when I…yes. Those are marigolds on his shirt.”
I’m trying to come up with a better response when the server comes over to check on us.
“How’s everything tasting?”
“Could I get some more water, please?” My voice cracks.
I’ve wanted to tell Kick the truth, should have told him, but I’ve been so afraid. I made the mistake of getting too close, letting him in enough to matter. Losing him now would break me.
The server is back at our table with a pitcher of water, refilling my glass, and Kick’s still staring me down.
“I hope you guys don’t mind me asking but, you’re Kick and Mari, aren’t you?”
“That’s us,” Kick says.
The server pumps their fist up in victory. “I am such a huge fan of you guys, you don’t even know. Those alcove songs? I’ve watched like, three of your livestreams.”
“That’s so cool, thank you,” I say.
“Are you coming to the show tonight?” Kick asks.
“No, which is the biggest bummer of my life. When I tried to get tickets, the show was already sold out.”
Kick pulls out his phone. “What’s your name? I’ll get you on the comp list.”
The server’s eyes pop open so wide I can’t help but laugh. “Are you serious? ”
“I’m completely serious. But I’ll need you to do something for me, if you don’t mind.”
“Anything. I’ll do absolutely anything.”
“Could you direct us to a good tattoo shop? Preferably walking distance from here?”
“Rowdy’s is two doors down. Opens at one, I think? He did this one for me.” The server turns their forearm out and shows us their arm-sized tattoo of a wolf howling at the moon.
Kick’s foot finds mine under the table. “Looks like Mari Gold’s getting a tattoo today.”
The server, Ez, is delighted. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”
After they leave, Kick’s still rubbing his foot against mine under the table.
“Mari Gold is my stage name,” I say. My pulse pounds in my neck.
“Because of your dad’s marigolds.”
“I don’t, um, I don’t really tell people my real name.”
His gaze is intense. “Do you want to tell me?”
“I do, but…it’s complicated.”
“Life would be pretty boring if it wasn’t complicated.”
I blow out a long breath and rest my chin in my hand. It’s the easiest thing in the world, introducing yourself to someone, but the words are stuck in my throat. Despite the kindness in his eyes and everything I know to be true about him, this might be the moment I lose him.
“I’m Penny Lovejoy.” Saying it out loud feels like a punch to my stomach. “Polly Lovejoy is my sister.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“And my father, John Lovejoy, was one of the original members of Sparrow. He’s the one who wrote ‘In A Dark Wood.’”
He scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion.
“They don’t know,” I say. “I never met them before this tour and my mother hasn’t been in contact with them since before I was born. There was some falling out between my father and the Sparrow brothers.”
“Which is why you’re Mari Gold instead of Penny Lovejoy.”
“Exactly. My mother always refused to give me details. She went apoplectic when she found out I was on the tour.”
He sits back, hand on his chin. “And no one on the tour knows?”
“Jasmine knows. And Cheddar found out.”
“ Cheddar ?”
“He, of course, thinks I should shout if from the rooftops so more people will tune in to the livestreams. I tried to explain that’s the exact thing I don’t want. I want to be here because of me, not because I’m someone’s sister.”
“And Mari Gold isn’t anyone’s sister.”
I hold my breath and wait for him to ask me about Polly, ask when she’ll be coming out to the tour, tell me he’d love to meet her.
He takes a bite of his burger. He swallows it. He takes a long drink of water.
“Your sister is really talented.” My stomach sinks. Here it comes. Or more accurately, here it all goes. Everything we’ve built together on this tour is about to evaporate on the next words that come out of his mouth.
“And judging by Sparrow’s songs, your father was too. But it doesn’t matter what your name is. It doesn’t matter who your sister is or who your father was. I know you. You . You’re like this…pain in the ass miracle of a person. You drive me absolutely crazy and make every day better with your sassy mouth and your big brown eyes. And your talent.” He shakes his head. “You’re scared about people knowing you’re Penny Lovejoy but you could call yourself Spacesuit Susan and you’d still be most incredible artist I’ve ever seen.”
Tears spring to my eyes. His words are like water to my thirsty soul. I just gave him the one thing that could hurt me the most and instead of driving the knife deeper, he’s saying everything I’ve been longing to hear.
“So you’re…you don’t care that I’m LOVEJOY’s sister?” My voice shakes, giving me away.
Kick sets his burger onto his plate and reaches across the table to take my hand in his. He looks deep into my eyes and says, “I care about you.”
I want to believe him. I’m trying to believe him.
“Thank you for telling me,” he says.
I search for any sign that he’s like all the others. That he’ll betray me the first chance he gets. All I see is sincerity. Kindness. Something more I don’t dare name.
“Thank you for being someone I trust enough to tell.”
And please, please, please , don’t make me regret it.
minutes later I’m on what looks like a massage table, my arm turned out with a light beaming on it. Rowdy the Tattoo Artist is pressing a stencil of the marigold he drew onto my arm so I can approve it before he does the ink.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I say to Kick. He’s practically rubbing his hands together in glee.
“This is the best way to memorialize your dad. And this tour. This summer…all of it.”
We lock eyes while Rowdy peels off the paper covering the marigold design. Right in the crook of my left arm is a delicate, tiny orange flower, exactly like the ones from my father’s shirt. It’s perfect. A piece of him I’ll always have with me, close to me. Even though I don’t remember him, I’ve always felt closer to him than my mother or Polly. Like him, I’m a songwriter. Like him, I’m emotionally connected to the music. Polly and my mother have always been about the fame, the money, the spectacle. That’s never been me. I want to create like my father did, want to make moments with music, give people something to hold on to, relate to. From everything I’ve learned about my father, he was the same way. And now he’ll be with me permanently.
“I love it, thank you,” I say.
Rowdy gets to work and I look over at Kick. “I’m getting a needle jammed into my arm. It’s only fair you distract me and tell me about your tattoo.”
“I already told you. It’s a melody Steven and I made up when we were little.”
“But there has to be more to it.”
“This is about you, not me.”
“Come on. Take my mind off what’s happening to my arm right now.”
He shakes his head but he’s smiling. “When Steven was about eight and I was five, we decided to write a song for our parents.” He rubs his tattoo. “We sat side-by-side at the piano, which was our first mistake. We only got through three measures before we started fighting and got in trouble. We never finished the song.”
“What were the lyrics?”
“We never made it that far. The plan was to write it about snacks. Being eight and five, our lives pretty much revolved around snacks.”
I can’t help but giggle. “I’m twenty-four and my life revolves around snacks.”
“After he died, the little melody we’d written came back to me one night when I was trying to sleep. I thought this way I’d never forget it.”
“You know, you light up when you talk about him,” I say.
He smiles a sad little smile. “I haven’t been able to talk about him much since…everything. But you’re so damn pushy. ”
“One of my many talents. And hey, I don’t think I can explain what it means to be getting this tattoo, but it means a lot. More than you know. Thank you for your forceful suggestion.”
I expect him to say something flirty, something to break the tension. Instead, he reaches over and takes my right hand, pulls it to his lips and softly kisses my knuckles. “You’re welcome.”
I want so much to believe he means it, that his sparkle gaze is just for me. That it’s not all a put-on for the show or the fans or the gimmick of the whole Marick song-and-dance. No one who’s ever treated me this way has meant it, has wanted me for me. And as scared as I am to find out if he feels something real for me, I’m even more terrified to admit how hard I’m falling for him.