Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter
Twenty-Four
An hour later, April and Daphne were back on the sidewalk, meandering slowly through downtown. The night was warm, the air sugar scented and summery, a loamy breeze coming off the lake.
“Thank you for tonight,” Daphne said, her arm looped through April’s as they walked. “I didn’t think anyone knew it was my birthday. And I was feeling…” She shook her head. “Anyway. I needed that. So thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” April said.
Daphne pulled April to a stop, swinging her around to face her and taking both of her hands. “Are you okay? Things looked a little tense with you and Ramona in the café.”
April shrugged. “They were. It’ll be okay though.”
“You can talk to me,” Daphne said. “About Ramona. The wedding. Anything.” And suddenly Daphne was desperate for exactly that. She wanted to know April’s thoughts, her fears, her sadness—she wanted to know everything.
April curled their hands together and held them against her chest, then kissed the top of Daphne’s knuckles. “You’re sweet. But tonight is not about me.”
“But it can be.”
“But it won’t be,” April said, smiling. “Because we’re not done yet.” She kissed Daphne’s fingers one more time, then pulled her along the sidewalk.
“What do you mean?” Daphne asked.
April just laughed and kept walking until she stopped outside a darkened storefront. She took out a ring of keys from her bag, then selected one before sliding it into a turquoise-colored door.
“April, wait, what—”
But Daphne cut herself off when she saw the lettering in the window—Wonderlust Ink. “Oh my god. This is…”
“My failure of a shop, yes,” April said, pushing the door open.
“I was going to say yours,” Daphne said, nudging April’s shoulder.
“I said it was my failure,” April said, laughing as they walked inside the dark space. She clicked on a switch, and soft golden light spilled from the vintage-style fixtures set into the tin ceiling tiles.
Daphne gasped as the space came into focus.
She couldn’t help it. Art covered nearly every inch of the teal walls, a collection it had to have taken April years to amass, everything from images of Dolly Parton to Moira Rose from Schitt’s Creek in her crow costume to landscapes done in funky colors.
She had every queer identity flag represented, but painted in unique ways, like a humpback whale done in pansexual colors and the hues of the lesbian flag coloring an illustration of a Subaru Outback.
Daphne guessed she’d done a lot of the art herself, and there were plenty of gothic touches, barren winter trees, old wells captured in black-and-white, as well as a few creepy nineteenth-century photographs of unsmiling and miserable-looking people.
The space was moody and eclectic and strange.
It was perfect.
It was April.
“This is gorgeous,” Daphne breathed.
April stuck her hands in her pockets, looking around as though with new eyes. “I guess it is.”
“You guess?” Daphne asked, fingers trailing over a neon portrait of Elphaba from Wicked, the words I don’t cause commotions, I am one swirling around her pointed black hat in elegant calligraphy. “It’s magic.”
April nodded, her eyes a little sad as she continued to survey the room. Finally, she picked up her bag and took out an iPad cocooned in a hunter-green case.
“I actually brought you here for a reason,” she said, tucking the device under her arm. She gestured toward one of two client chairs, a pale pink pleather that had seen better days. Still, the station was clean, and there was plenty more art on the walls to capture Daphne’s interest.
She sat down, still gazing around like a kid in a candy shop, when April sat on the rolling stool next to the chair and flipped open her iPad. Daphne’s heart froze—she wanted to see April’s Devon project so badly, but she knew that was hidden within the pages of a sketchbook.
April tapped around, then handed the iPad to Daphne. She took it, the case velvety under her paint-stained fingers. As she stared down at the screen, it took her a few seconds to realize what she was looking at.
And then, all at once, she knew exactly what it was.
“April,” she said. “This is…” But she trailed off, taking in the colorful image on the screen. In the center, there was an old-fashioned lantern. It was shaded beautifully, grays and steel blues, and the top was slightly curled decoratively, the handle arching over the back.
And inside, a flame.
It was small but bright, all golds and pinks, glimmering on the tiny wick.
The real beauty of the piece surrounded the lanterns—wildflowers.
Similar in color and style to the ones in Daphne’s first painting, full blooming poppies and marigolds in apricot and coral and pumpkin, shy buds and green stems and leaves curling around them.
And to the side, a single purple coneflower.
Daphne had never seen anything so perfect. It was simple and beautiful and—
“It’s yours,” April said.
“My tattoo,” Daphne said, eyes still on the screen.
“You asked me to design one for you,” April said. “So I did.”
“You really did,” Daphne said, glancing up at her. Her eyes felt damp.
April rolled the stool closer, rested her arms on Daphne’s thighs. “I meant for this to make you smile.”
Daphne laughed and wiped her eyes. “It does. It’s perfect. I love it so much.”
She stared at April, their eyes locked, and felt the sudden urge to finish that last sentence differently, insert a different pronoun after a very important word, but that was rash.
That was just emotions and art talking.
Wasn’t it?
“Obviously, you don’t have to get it,” April said, tapping the screen. “But I wanted you to see it here just in case. And I wanted to show you Wonderlust.”
“Oh,” Daphne said, sitting up straighter. “You mean…” She waved her hand at the nearby counter and cabinets, complete with a sink and, she assumed, tattoo supplies.
“Whatever you want,” April said, hands sliding up Daphne’s thighs and squeezing reassuringly. “No pressure. A tattoo is a big deal, and I can make any changes to the drawing you want. Plus, this one will take a few hours, and we don’t have to—”
“Yes,” Daphne said firmly.
April’s brows lifted. “Yes?”
“Yes. I want it now. Just like this,” Daphne said, handing the iPad back to April.
She’d honestly never been so sure of anything.
Not leaving home, not art school. Not even Elena.
But right now, this tattoo—this piece of art that April had created just for her—she knew beyond a doubt she wanted it inked onto her skin.
She kicked her feet up onto the chair, then lay back and closed her eyes, ready.
April laughed. “God, you’re adorable.”
Daphne flipped her eyes open, then reached out and grabbed the scooped neck of April’s tank top, pulling her in for a kiss. She meant it to be quick, but once they’d started, she didn’t want to stop.
Finally, she pulled back a little, April’s mouth still close. “Ink me,” she said.
April laughed again. “Yes, Ms. Love, but there are a few details to work out.”
“Like what?”
“Like where you want it.”
Daphne grinned. “Oh, that.” She looked at the piece again on April’s iPad. It was so lovely—so her, plucking at something deep inside her chest—she didn’t want to hide it away. She wanted it visible.
Wanted to show the world.
Wild and soft.
A spark of light in the middle of chaos.
“Right here,” she said, then tapped her right upper arm.
“You’re sure?” April asked, sliding one hand to where Daphne had indicated. “This soft baby skin?”
Daphne laughed. “Mar the hell out of it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” April said softly, then kissed her one more time before she went to work.
It took some time to get everything set.
April had to size the image for Daphne’s arm, then print an outline that would transfer to Daphne’s skin like a stencil.
Soon, though, everything was ready, including a tattoo gun with new ink April said she’d just gotten from her distributor for the occasion.
“You bought new ink for me?” Daphne asked. She was sitting up on the chair, her legs out in front of her like she was at the dentist, her right arm propped on a paper-covered armrest stand next to her.
“Maybe,” April said, grinning as she set the ink on her worktable, black latex gloves on her hands. She spread a bit of Vaseline over Daphne’s arm. “You ready?”
Daphne swallowed. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah, feels like a massage.”
“Really?”
“No, not really.”
Daphne laughed but then stuck out her tongue.
“I’ll be right here the whole time,” April said, winking.
“I certainly hope so.”
“Ready?” April asked again.
Daphne nodded, then added a “Yes” because a verbal confirmation seemed important when one was about to have a needle draw a design permanently into one’s skin.
“Here we go,” April said, and the tattoo gun started buzzing.
The needle came closer and closer and soon it was pressing into Daphne’s skin, a dull sting. It felt like a needle scratching at a sunburn, but Daphne found she could handle it.
She sat back and tried to relax. April had turned on some chill music, and they talked off and on as April worked. Daphne was fascinated watching her draw, her hand steady and sure, the indelible art taking shape.
It took a while.
A few hours, in fact, during which Daphne alternated between being completely fine and even euphoric to wanting to punch April in the face, particularly during the shading.
“Pain endorphins,” April said three hours in. “They come and go.”
“Does this propensity toward violence also come and go?” Daphne asked, her teeth gritted as April colored in a stem near the inside of her elbow.
“Let’s hope so,” April said.
“You’re lucky you’re hot,” Daphne said, and April laughed.
And actually, the entire process was kind of hot.
Intimate.
Daphne couldn’t stop staring at April—the art she was creating, yes, but also her face as she did it, her warm breath on Daphne’s arm, face pressed close.