17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Adalie
A s the weeks pass, Nate and I continue this weird dance around each other. When he doesn’t have Dani, we find excuses to meet up. Sometimes we go out for a ride on his motorcycle if the weather is nice. Sometimes we go for a walk around his neighbourhood. I’ve been to the brewery when he’s working and sit at the bar while he takes care of customers. When he has Dani, I go over on Thursdays for the painting lesson, but otherwise, I stay away, letting them have their time together.
And every night, whether we see each other or not, he calls me before I go to sleep. Sometimes the call is short because one or the other of us is tired. On the longer calls, I continue working on the painting I started of him.
Every day, we get a little closer and I forget all the reasons why kissing him, sleeping with him, dating him, would be a bad idea.
When the tattoo appointment rolls around, he convinces me to let him pick me up, saying he doesn’t want me to chicken out. So I meet him downstairs and he takes us to Ink & Steel. We go inside, and Syn greets us again.
“Welcome back,” she says, leading us into the back room where Sam is already waiting. She’s setting out ink and organizing the space. When she sees us, she smiles.
“Hey. Here’s the drawing.” She hands me a paper with an image of four roses in full bloom connected on a branch with a bunch of wicked looking thorns. There are also a few rosebuds spaced throughout the open ones.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, excitement mixing with my nerves making my stomach ache.
“Have a seat,” she says. “Good choice of shirt. Can you take the strap down?”
I’d worn a spaghetti strap top with no bra underneath. My eyes meet Nate’s as I slide my arm through the strap, heat pooling in my core at the desire I see there. He’s staring at me like he wants to eat me alive and I kind of want to let him.
“Okay. I’m going to clean the area, then I’ll get the stencil on.” Sam gets to work, wiping my shoulder and collarbone and placing the stencil carefully on my skin.
“There. Go take a look. Make sure you like where it’s sitting. If you don’t like it, we can wipe it off and try again.”
I stand in front of a floor length mirror, staring at the purple lines on my skin. The tattoo will run parallel with my collarbone, over my shoulder, and curl around to the top of my biceps. I turn, looking at what will become the tattoo on my back, but I don’t say a word as I stare at it.
After a moment, Nate takes my hand.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says. “You can use your safe word, and we’ll leave right now. I’ll take you out for lunch and we can do something else.”
I meet his stormy grey eyes, finding sincerity and concern.
“I’m ready.” I turn to Sam. “The stencil is perfect. Let’s do this.”
She sits me down so my right shoulder is against the back of the chair and my left is free for her to work. Nate sits on a stool in front of me, taking my right hand in his. I smile gratefully, squeezing his fingers.
“Here we go,” Sam says.
The tattoo machine buzzes before she touches it to my skin, drawing it along in a short line.
“How was that?” she asks. “Because if it was awful, I can turn it into a smiley face and we’re done.”
I laugh. “It was okay. You can keep going.”
“All right.” She gets back to work. It doesn’t immediately hurt much, but the more she works, the more it burns. Every time she wipes the space with the cold antiseptic wipe, I breathe in relief. Then she continues.
She moves around to my front, forcing Nate to shift further to my side, but he doesn’t ever let go of my hand. While Sam is working, we chat about art. I tell her I’m a painter and she tells me that she started drawing in elementary school and fell in love with tattoos in high school. She got her first one when she was sixteen.
“Is that even allowed?” I ask.
She chuckles, wiping away excess ink. “No.”
Nate doesn’t say much at all, but I’m used to that. I don’t try to bring him into the conversation today, focusing on talking with Sam because I can only focus on one thing at a time right now. When we run out of things to talk about and fall silent, all I can feel is the pain of the tattoo machine.
After only a moment of this, I blurt out, “Can we talk about something else?”
“Of course,” Sam says.
“It’s just, when I was talking, I was distracted from what you’re doing.”
“No problem. What do you want to talk about?”
But I can’t think of anything. I’ve lost the train of thought and all I can do is feel the tattoo machine dragging against my skin.
“What did you think about the Stick and Puck I took you to a few weeks ago?” Nate asks, his voice low and even.
I catch his eye and take a slow breath. We start a conversation about all the things we’ve been doing lately, what I’ve liked about them and what I haven’t. Honestly, there’s not much I haven’t liked.
“That’s it,” Sam says, suddenly.
I blink and look at her. “That’s it?”
She nods. “You’re all done. Let me wipe it down.”
When she’s finished, I go to the mirror again, staring at the ink. Beautiful pink roses, with delicate green leaves and sharp thorns decorate my skin. I absolutely love it.
Until I remember what my plans are for the rest of the evening.
“Oh my god,” I say, eyes widening. “I have a tattoo.”
Sam snorts. “That was kind of the point here, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. But I have to go to my parents’ house tonight. They’re going to see this.”
“And?” Nate asks.
I can’t catch my breath and feel cold all over, except for my shoulder which is burning. “They hate tattoos. They hate all body modifications. Even Calista doesn’t have anything. Or if she does, she keeps it hidden.”
“But you have a belly button piercing,” he says.
“Which they’ve never seen. Nor will they. But this? I can’t hide this from them. Not forever.”
Nate turns me, gripping both my arms at the elbow. “Adalie. Do you like the tattoo?”
I nod. “I love it.”
“That’s all that matters. Fuck what your parents think.”
I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t understand, it’s not that simple. Then I close it, because maybe it is that simple. Isn’t that the point of this whole exercise? To get out of my comfort zone? To show people I’m not the pushover they think I am?
Sam covers the tattoo with a clear adhesive bandage and explains some aftercare instructions, then walks us to the front where Syn is waiting at the counter along with Taylor’s friend Zach who is another artist at the shop. It’s apparently family-owned and run by Syn and Zach’s dad, the artist who did the sleeve with the bolder line work on Nate’s other arm.
Syn and Zach tell me how pretty my tattoo is and how it flows so nicely on my body. Sam lets me know that if I want any touch ups, to call in a few weeks after it’s healed, and she’ll get me in.
I pay and Nate helps me into the leather jacket, settling it carefully on my bandaged shoulder. We say goodbye and go outside to his bike.
“I can’t believe I did that,” I say. “If you’d asked me at the beginning of this year, I would have said I’d never get a tattoo.”
“Do you regret it?” he asks, handing me the helmet.
“No. I just know my family are going to be on me about it. My parents hate tattoos. They think… well, it doesn’t matter.”
“You want me to come with you tonight?” he asks without any hesitation. “Be your back up?”
I blink, startled by the offer, then smile as a wave of relief washes through me and butterflies take flight in my belly. “You’d do that?”
“Sure.”
I consider the idea, laughing. “I can imagine what they’d think if I rode up to the house on the back of your motorcycle. If I ride up on a motorcycle, it would be Adalie, that’s so dangerous . But if Calista did it, they’d say Calista is such a free spirit . And my brother? They’d probably say something like, He’s obviously done all the research and knows what he’s doing .” I roll my eyes. “You certain you want to be subjected to that kind of thing?”
“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
My eyes travel the length of his body, from the top of his head with the slicked back hair, to the heavy boots he wears. He certainly is a big boy. Big and tough and ready to have my back.
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
So I explain how to get there and we ride out to my parents’ house in the suburbs of Vancouver. I point out the house and he parks on the street outside. As we start toward the front door, I twist my hands together in front of me until Nate takes one, squeezing it.
“Will it be okay that I came without an invitation?” he asks.
“It better be,” I say, climbing the steps to the front door. “Calista brings people all the time without asking. She brought her friend to my birthday dinner.”
I open the door without knocking.
“Mom?” I call. “I’m here. I brought a friend.”
“Oh, good,” she says from in the kitchen. “Come keep Elliot and Suzanne company while I get this roast out.”
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, reaching the top of the stairs, my heart racing while I wait for someone to notice the leather jacket I’m still wearing, or even the jeans, which are definitely not my normal attire.
“He went to get Calista,” Elliot answers. He’s sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at his phone while his girlfriend, Suzanne, sits on the other end of the couch doing the same.
Nate and I sit on the love seat.
“Um. Elliot, this is Nate. Nate, this is my brother Elliot and his girlfriend, Suzanne.”
Elliot lifts his gaze for half a second from his phone, then does a double take, focusing again on Nate.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“I told you,” I say, clenching my hands together in my lap. “This is Nate.”
“Why are you here?” Elliot asks.
By now, Suzanne has also looked up. Not because she wants to say anything, but because she loves drama.
“Adalie invited me to come with her tonight,” Nate says.
Elliot looks at me. “Why are you wearing a leather jacket?” he asks.
But I don’t answer because the door opens, and Dad and Calista come up the stairs.
“Elena, some idiot has parked their motorcycle in front of our house,” Dad says to Mom.
“Actually,” I say, “It’s Nate’s bike.” I stand, feeling like I’m preparing for a big fight.
Nate stands as well. Elliot stares at me agape, while Suzanne sets her phone down. Apparently, this drama is more interesting than whatever else she’d been looking at. Mom comes out of the kitchen, looking from Nate to me.
“What are you wearing, Adalie?” she asks.
“It’s a leather jacket,” I say.
“Did you come here on a motorcycle?” Dad asks.
Calista’s jaw drops open, but the satisfaction I gain from surprising her is overshadowed by the irritation on my dad’s face.
My fingers pinch the hem of my shirt. “Yes. Nate’s been riding for a really long time. I’ve gone with him a few times now.”
“Adalie,” Mom says. “I can’t believe you’d do something so dangerous.”
I don’t know what to say. I knew they’d react like this, but I don’t have any comebacks. My mind is completely blank.
Mom huffs and says, “Take off that jacket, Addie. You don’t need it inside.” She turns to my dad. “We can get her an Uber home, I guess.”
I don’t bother to protest the Uber thing because everything is about to get worse. I slide the jacket off, Nate helping me since my shoulder is still sore.
My parents are discussing how I’m going to get home when Calista gasps. “Oh, my god, Addie!” she squeals. “Did you get a tattoo?”