Love at First Ink (A New Beginnings #3)

1. Marisol

Marisol

M arisol Roberts contemplated pulling out of the parking lot and driving to the nearest bakery.

She would buy her own damn birthday cake and eat it in peace and quiet.

After all, it wasn’t every day a person turned thirty, and that felt like a milestone worth celebrating.

But a friendless, husbandless woman like herself didn’t want to be reminded of the years swiftly ticking by.

Marisol could hear her mother now, droning on about how much cardio Marisol would have to do if she so much as looked at her birthday cake.

She was certain her mom would have a heart attack if she ever saw Marisol eating a slice of the sugary pastry.

Even at thirty, she couldn’t seem to get her mother out of her head.

Which is why she turned off the engine, grabbed her Michael Kors bag and emotional support water bottle, and got out of the car.

The gust of wind that greeted her was a welcome reprieve from the unusually hot day.

The last remains of summer clung to the California air, and she couldn’t wait until sweater weather officially began .

Her therapist’s office was located in downtown Berkeley, nestled between two other office buildings.

Her beige heels tapped loudly against the porcelain tiles as she made her way through the building and up to the second floor where her therapist resided.

Using her hip, Marisol opened the door to a small but cozy waiting room.

The walls were painted a light gray color with inspirational photos adorning them.

A bookshelf full of self-help books was nestled between two upholstered chairs.

They looked stiff, but Marisol had never sat in them because her therapist, Alice, was always waiting to greet her. Today was no different.

Marisol was not a stranger to therapy. For a year, her sister Lola had convinced her to see a therapist. Dr. Edmon was a nice enough man, helped the sisters learn how to communicate better with one another, but Lola stopped going once she became a mom of two.

There was still much Marisol had to work on, but she didn’t feel comfortable seeing Dr. Edmon by herself.

He was too intense. Far too serious. She needed someone more nurturing.

After four failed therapy visits with different therapists, Alice was the one Marisol clicked with the most. Perhaps she made Marisol comfortable because she was an older woman who gave off grandmother vibes.

Or the fact that she would smile when Marisol walked into the room, making her feel like Alice was genuinely happy to see her.

Not many people were, and, honestly, she couldn’t blame them.

“Good morning, Marisol, and happy birthday.” Alice smiled, making the wrinkles near her eyes more prominent. She was dressed in her usual attire and color scheme: beige slacks and a lavender button-down shirt with minimal jewelry on.

Marisol did her best not to cringe at the mention of her birthday. Just another reminder she was getting older with nothing to show for it. No friends, no fulfilling career, and no husband.

Technically, she did have a husband—one she desperately wanted to be free of. Like most things in her life, that was still a work in progress.

Alice motioned for Marisol to follow her back to the office she was very familiar with.

Alice’s leather chair sat at one side of the room, while the small, matching couch sat at the other.

Only a coffee table separated them, but it still felt like a safety barrier.

Like if things got too intense, Marisol could retreat into herself without Alice probing her mind.

It was delusional, of course, because Alice read her like a gossip magazine.

“So, how are you doing today? Do you have anything planned for your thirtieth?” Alice asked just as Marisol plopped on the couch, putting her bag and water bottle on the coffee table.

Marisol shrugged, something her mother hated. Use your words, Marisol; don’t make people guess what you have to say, was what her mother always lectured. “I’ll call my lawyer and ask him if Archie has signed the divorce papers yet.” Which would be the greatest gift of all.

Her almost ex-husband, a man she regretted marrying, was taking his sweet time addressing their divorce papers.

Marisol could have pushed her lawyer to take action, but…

she hadn’t yet. The longer she dragged her feet, the more time she had to prepare for her mother’s inevitable nuclear fallout from her divorce.

It was her mother who got her into this predicament in the first place.

She had hand-chosen Archie for her. The only problem was that Archie wasn’t single at the time.

No, Archie had been dating Lola, but her sister never fit her mother’s beauty standard.

Was never her puppet. That was Marisol’s job, and like an obedient sheep, she went along with it.

She always went along with it, which only chipped away at her relationship with Lola until it nearly shattered completely.

“It is important to check up on the divorce, but that isn’t a proper way to celebrate your birthday. Thirty is a big milestone. Maybe we should take this time and think of ways you could celebrate,” Alice suggested.

As if Marisol’s life couldn’t be more pathetic, now she needed her therapist to help her celebrate her birthday.

“How have you celebrated your birthdays in the past?” Alice asked.

“My mom always threw me parties.”

“Did you enjoy them?”

“I mean, I’m not really a birthday person, but I guess.” Marisol hadn’t been a birthday person ever since she hit double digits, and her birthdays changed from celebrating her into more of a networking event.

Alice didn’t say anything. She did this when she wanted Marisol to continue talking. She learned the hard way that her therapist had the patience of a saint and would sit in her chair all day if she had to. But bottom line, Marisol had to speak.

“I guess they could have been better,” she offered, hoping this was enough to satisfy her.

“What could have been better?”

What couldn’t have been better? The guest list, the decorations, and even the menu had all been planned by her mother.

She had no say in the themes of the parties.

She remembered being thirteen and begging her mother to let her have a pool party because it was the one perk of having a summer birthday.

Her mother had scoffed at her, stating pool parties were for little children and were tacky.

Because Marisol strived for her mother’s approval, she had nodded in agreement and let her mom plan her birthday party like she wanted.

She never did this for her sister, though.

Lola got to have any type of birthday party she wanted.

They were never as grand as Marisol’s, but that didn’t matter because Lola got to celebrate with her friends.

Real friends who actually liked her sister and weren’t forced to be there by their parents.

Everything in her sister’s life had been real, while Marisol obediently lived in the fabricated, and often distorted, reality her mother so carefully crafted for her. That was the start of her resentment toward her younger sister.

“I would have liked to at least invite a few of my classmates. It was always the children of potential investors or well-known names in my parents’ social circle. They were okay, but I didn’t know them. Not really,” Marisol said.

“Was that a common thing? Where you didn’t know people your age at social events?”

“Yes, but eventually I started seeing these people at many social events my family and I hosted or was invited to. None of us really developed friendships, but we still had an image to uphold.”

The image was being perfect, beautiful daughters of rich business owners.

In reality, she hardly knew the girls she was instructed to talk to.

They were expected to be friends, so they played that part.

They showed up to each other’s events. Hell, these women had been Marisol’s bridesmaids, but she didn’t know basic facts about these women, even though they had known one another since they were teenagers.

It was all about proximity and making sure their parents received perfect staged photos.

“Did that make your mother proud?”

And there was the question she hated. The question she asked herself every day. One that she could never quite live up to. There was always one small flaw. One small thing she needed to fix. She was never good enough.

Thinking about her mother and her expectations made Marisol fidgety.

She played with a stray thread on her otherwise pristine jeans, avoiding Alice’s gaze like the plague.

The room felt like it would close in on her.

Like if she admitted she hadn’t—and probably never—made her mother proud, all of her failures would slowly unravel until she was nothing but a shell for disappointment and lost dreams.

“Can we talk about something else?” Marisol didn’t recognize her voice. It was a far cry from the normal haughty tone she had adopted over the last few years, never able to completely hide her bitterness.

“We’ll talk about that at another session,” Alice said. Marisol let out a sigh of relief. Then Alice said, “Let’s get back to our original topic. Your birthday. What are your plans?”

Marisol wanted to gesture around and say “this,” but that made her sound too pathetic. “I don’t know, I’ll probably go home. Maybe call for takeout.”

It would be the first birthday she didn’t have a party.

Her mother and father had taken a vacation together.

She was supposed to go with them, along with Archie, but clearly plans changed.

She supposed she could call Lola, but her sister was too busy being a mother to Camilia and her one-year-old son, Fabian.

He was a cutie but a damn handful—and the perfect reminder as to why Marisol didn’t want kids.

They were always sticky, smelled strange, and got into everything. She loved her niece and nephew—they were everything to her—but she was better suited to be an aunt. She liked the freedom of being able to give them back to their parents.

“No, that’s something you can do any day. Think hard, Marisol. There has to be one thing you’ve always wanted to give yourself but have never gone through with out of fear of what others think.” Alice smiled in what Marisol took as encouragement.

What did she want? She never allowed herself to think about things she couldn’t or shouldn’t have. But maybe Alice was right. Thirty was a major birthday, and her mother wasn’t here to plan a party she didn’t want. For the first time in her life, her birthday was entirely hers.

That was both terrifying and exhilarating.

So, how would she maximize this situation?

She could go shopping and try out stores she actually wanted to go into.

Or try out the new sushi restaurant she’d been dying to visit but never had the courage to go to alone.

Or maybe she could do something truly reckless.

Something that would make her mother spontaneously explode.

She had the answer immediately. But was she brave enough? Could she do it? She’d definitely need some liquid courage.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. My mom?—”

“I don’t care what your mother thinks. I only care what Marisol thinks,” Alice cut her off.

“This is your day. You’re an adult who is capable of making decisions about herself, especially when it comes to your body.

I think getting a tattoo would be a marvelous thing.

Doesn’t have to be too big. It’s the principle of the matter. ”

She guessed Alice had a point. She didn’t have to get a tattoo that would take up half her arm or cover her face.

She could make it dainty, in a place that could easily be hidden.

The thought of doing something she knew her mother would hate made her stomach churn.

It was almost enough for her to kill the idea before it fully took form, but a small, rebellious part of Marisol wanted to do something a little reckless.

The rest of her session, Alice made her talk about her day and goals she had set for herself. Marisol’s mind was occupied, though, still debating if she would actually go through with the whole tattoo thing.

She hadn’t even realized her hour session was up until Alice stood from her chair. “Our time is done today. Maybe next week I’ll see you with a tattoo?” Her kind smile gave Marisol confidence she didn’t know she needed.

Grabbing her things, Marisol nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see you next week.

” She followed Alice out of her office and back toward the lobby.

Usually, her therapist didn’t walk her back, but she didn’t question it.

Alice may have forgotten something in her car that she needed to get, or maybe she needed to run to the bathroom.

When Marisol opened the door to the lobby, she was surprised to see it wasn’t empty like it normally was.

Their session must have run over. A man, roughly in his early to mid-thirties, occupied one of the seats in the lobby.

His broad shoulders and tight black shirt hinted at the muscles underneath.

His jet-black hair was slicked back, giving him a I just stepped out of the shower, and I look this damn good look.

If that was even a thing. Surely it had to be.

And he smelled good. Like really good. Even from the opposite side of the room, Marisol got hints of mint and cedarwood.

She couldn’t help but notice the man’s biceps and the artwork all over both arms. Tattoos of mermaids, sugar skulls, various flowers, and other beautiful pieces that all fit together to create a gorgeous canvas.

The man could easily be a model for some alternative magazine .

The stranger looked up from his phone and gave Marisol a once-over. She was used to having men stare at her, but his attention quickly moved on to Alice. Something akin to disappointment colored her features.

“See you next week,” Alice whispered from behind her, a gentle push to get Marisol walking again.

Right. She had been here staring like a creep. Before she could further make a fool of herself, she hiked her bag up her shoulder and headed to the door. Just before the door closed behind her, Marisol heard Alice say, “It’s good to see you, Cisco.”