Chapter 2
CLARISSA
You did what?”
Margot stops walking, and Biscuit’s leash goes taut between them. Biscuit circles back, nosing Margot’s ankle.
“I got a job,” I say, turning back to look at her and seeing her staring at me with her mouth open.
Biscuit pulls forward, and she falls back into step beside me. “You got a job at a tattoo parlor.”
“I sure did,” I smile. I’m still not sure why I went in on Thursday, other than seeing the sign, knowing I needed a job, and also because I knew my father wouldn’t like it.
I love Father, but everything with him is “don’t do this” or “don’t do that” or, more often, “do what I say regardless of what you want.” I want something I choose, even if it turns out to be a mistake.
She stares at me, her purse buzzing. She holds the leash out to me. “Take Biscuit while I turn this off. Tell me about this place.”
I loop the excess cord around my fingers and let it go.
We are in Caldwell Park because this is what we do on Sundays: same path, same loop around the pond, while Biscuit sniffs the same trees and benches like they’re brand new every week.
I smile as I spot a kid on the playground playing with a pinwheel.
“His name is Carmine.” I smile as I say his name. “He runs the shop. There are four other guys.”
She holds up one finger. “Stop. Carmine.” She lowers the finger. “Tell me about Carmine.”
I watch Biscuit nose into a hedge so my face has somewhere to be. “He’s my boss, Margot.”
She lifts her sunglasses by one knuckle slowly and looks at me over them.
“It’s only been three days,” I say.
She waits. “And?”
“And it’s been intense.”
The corner of her mouth tugs. She lets the sunglasses drop back down. “Intense how?”
“There was a guy in the shop on Thursday. Giant and tattooed. Wanted same-day. Carmine told him no.”
She leans forward mid-stride. “What happened?”
“He bumped into me and I told him, ‘Excuse you’.”
She stops again. “Clarissa!”
“He didn’t apologize for bumping into me.” I shrug. “You know how many shifts I had at the soup kitchen or the shelter growing up. I’ve dealt with these kinds of men before. Be polite, firm, stand your ground. Plus, I’m pretty sure Carmine and the guys would have stepped in if anything happened.”
“Clarissa.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. When she opens her eyes, she pulls me into a hug. “I love you so much. I’m not sure about your sanity, enforcing manners on some tattooed giant, but I love you,” she says, squeezing me before Biscuit strains the leash and jerks me forward.
“I love you, too.” I smile.
“Have you told your dad?” Margot asks, taking the lead back from me.
My stomach clenches. I know I should, but it’s the last thing I want to do.
I’m so tired of my dad’s judgment, and me not having a post-graduation plan already has my father on edge.
What I want is to try new things and see what I find.
I’m not unhappy with my life, but there’s a voice inside my head saying there is more to the world than what my father wants for me.
I look at the kid on the playground. He has the pinwheel above his head now and is running with it. I wish my life could be so carefree again.
“No. Not yet, and I’m not sure I want to. He’d lose his mind, Margot. His daughter working for a guy covered in tattoos who looks like—” I stop.
“Like what?” It’s not a question.
“Nothing.”
“Clarissa.” She pulls her sunglasses off entirely. “Like what?”
The path curves around the pond. Biscuit strains toward a duck, and Margot loosens the leash.
“He has this tattoo that goes up the side of his neck. And when he turned around after the guy left—after he’d scheduled his appointment, after the whole shop exhaled—he looked at me and said, ‘You good?’ And his voice was—” I swallow.
“And I couldn’t breathe. Like, I actually couldn’t get a full breath. ”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s been three days.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know.” The leash cord is cutting into my fingers. I unwind it. “Every time he walks past the desk I can feel it in my—I feel it. He has these hands…”
She is grinning. I can feel it without looking. “Hands? Anything particular you want him to do with these hands?”
“Shut up.” I laugh, fighting the fierce blush flooding my face and neck.
“His tattoos… they’re so sexy. I’ve never particularly thought about tattoos before, but they’re so personal.
You’re putting what you love out on display for anyone to see.
He has ink all the way down to his wrists.
And when he reaches across me for the appointment book, I stop thinking.
” And my core floods with heat that makes me want to squirm. “My dad would put me in the ground.”
“Your dad would send you to a convent.”
“This is not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “You got a job at a tattoo shop and fell for your boss in seventy-two hours.”
“I didn’t fall for him. I’m… noticing him.”
“You can’t breathe when he’s around you and you think his tattoos are sexy.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “Girl, you’re falling for him.”
Maybe I am.
“Does he know?”
“God, no.”
“Are you sure?”
I think about the way his eyes always drop to my mouth when I’m talking. I’m still not sure if that means anything, but I know I don’t look at a man’s mouth unless I want him to kiss me.
“No,” I say, then hesitate. “Maybe? I’m not sure. You know I don’t have much experience with guys at all.”
She loops her arm through mine and squeezes. “If you like him, you should do something about it.”
“He’s my boss, Margot. My father is a pastor.”
“I didn’t say it was simple. I said you’re allowed.”
I check my watch as Margot tugs Biscuit away from a trash can.
“Speaking of,” I say. “It’s time for Sunday dinner.”
She visors a hand against the sun. “You want me to come?”
“You’d do that?”
“You know I’ve got your back. I know he won’t yell at you in front of company.”
I squeeze her arm. “You’re a good friend.”
“Excellent friend,” she corrects. “Text me after dinner.”
“We missed you this morning, sweetheart.”
My father looks up at me as he puts a forkful of Mom’s pot roast in his mouth. My mother inhales sharply and reaches for her water glass.
“I needed a slow morning,” I say, eating a green bean. The truth is, I was exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted. I was at King Ink all day yesterday, learning things and getting to know the guys, and my brain was just fizzing so much that it was nearly dawn before I could finally fall asleep.
My father sets down his fork. Picks up his napkin to wipe his mouth, then spreads it back out over his lap. “The Lord’s day isn’t about what we need, Clarissa.”
“I know, Dad.” I keep my eyes on my plate. Maybe I should have taken Margot up on her offer to stay with her this summer while I figure things out. I haven’t lost my faith, but I’m not sure I want to go to church every Sunday, either. I need to figure out what I want.
“You’ll be there next week.” He doesn’t frame it as a question, and I know better than to challenge him.
“Yes, Father,” I say quickly, regretting it because I know I probably won’t be. The decision is tight in my heart, because I know my father will be angry about it.
“Richard Holt asked whether you might be interested in clerking at his firm this summer. It would be a productive use of your time, Clarissa, and put something serious on a resume.”
“I already found something.” I say it before I think twice. Damn it. I should have just said I’d think about it.
He pauses and looks up at me. “Oh? Is that where you’ve been lately?”
“A front-desk job. I’m on a trial.” I take a bite of food, so I can’t speak right away.
“A trial.” The skepticism is clear in my father’s voice.
My mother reaches for the bread basket. “Where are you working, sweetheart?”
“It’s just a place downtown. I’d rather wait until I know it’s real before I—there’s no point talking about it now if it doesn’t work out.”
My father sets the fork down. “Clarissa. What kind of business?”
“Father. I’d really rather wait.” My thumb presses into the pad of my finger under the tablecloth.
An image fires through me before I can stop it—Carmine’s hands on the appointment book, the ink disappearing under his cuffs—and my core floods with a heat that makes me want things I’ve been told I shouldn’t want until I’m married.
Not here. Not now! My father would explode from hearing about King Ink and have a nuclear meltdown if I told him I have a massive crush on my boss.
“I asked you a question.”
“I heard the question, and I ask you to respect my decision,” I say, trying to keep my voice as even as possible. My pulse is racing. I’ve never stood up to my father, and he’s not accustomed to being told no. Ever.
“Clarissa Anne.” The warning in his voice is clear. I only ever hear my middle name when I’m in trouble, and I haven’t heard it in a long time.
I put my fork down. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet, Father. If it works out, I’ll tell you. If it doesn’t, there’ll be nothing to tell.”
He folds his hands on the table and explains that he is concerned. That my choices suggest a lack of direction. That this is exactly the kind of pattern that—
“It’s a job, Father. Can you just leave it at that?”
He stops and stares at me.
“Excuse me?” He sets his napkin on the table.
“I have a job. I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, it’s legal. No, I’m not stripping on the internet. Can you give it a rest?”
I have interrupted him, and I’ve challenged him.
My father opens his mouth, then closes it. He narrows his eyes at me. “This conversation is not over.”
“Sure,” I say, hoping my voice isn’t wavering too much.
After dinner, my father takes his coffee into the study and slams the door. I join my mother in the kitchen to help with the dishes.
“He’s not angry, sweetheart,” she says, handing me a plate to dry.
“He’s sure not happy,” I say, wiping down the plate and setting it in the rack.
“No, I suppose not. You’ll tell us when you’re ready, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Mom. I love you.” I give her a big hug, and she sighs in surprise, then hugs me back tightly.
I walk quietly upstairs to my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. My phone is already in my hand and I text Margot.
alive. interrupted him at the table.
you WHAT?! proud of you. how bad did he react
tbd. I wouldn’t tell him where I work and he was angry.
not as angry as he’ll be when he finds out… love you, girl.
I am twenty-two years old. I have a job I like, and I’m good at it. I have a crush on a man I shouldn’t, but this is my life. If there are mistakes to make, then they are mine to make and mine to fix.
This is the life I’m choosing.