Chapter 15 #2
‘But also … it’s never going to be just us against the world. Even if things go sideways, or the shit hits the fan, there are people around us who love us and who want to help. Zoey, I want to be your person. But I’ll never be your only person. It’s not like when …’
‘When I was a kid?’ whispered Zoey.
Nick nodded. ‘Because you can choose your people.’
Zoey turned towards him, her hazel eyes thoughtful. For a moment, Nick thought she was going to kiss him, here, in front of everyone, but then …
‘Wait, is that my hairdresser? I could’ve sworn I saw her earlier. Hey, Nova!’ Zoey waved, trying to get the attention of a slim woman with pink hair who was shuffling along with what remained of the mall walkers after the whole ‘Thriller’ episode.
‘The one who gave you the weird scalp massage?’ asked Nick, trying to be all right with this sudden shift in their conversation. ‘The massage that bordered on fetish content?’
Zoey frowned as the woman kept on lurching along, oblivious. ‘I guess it was someone else. I suppose hot-pink hair and an undercut aren’t exactly distinctive here. Although, if she turned around and flashed a smile I’d definitely know … Oh fuck, here’s Beryl.’
The blue-tinged woman was shoving her walker along the tiled floor with a ferocity that even the ice skaters weren’t able to capture.
‘I want my discounted smoothie,’ she snapped, cerulean fingers digging in her coin purse for the voucher Nick had given her. Putting that together with a handful of quarters on the cart, she shoved the lot towards Zoey. ‘That one … Mind Mush.’
‘Brain Freeze,’ said Zoey, with a smile that said Fucking watch it, or I’ll cut you. She scooped the change towards her change tin, then passed a smoothie to Beryl.
‘Nice nail polish,’ said Joaquin, who’d come over during a break between clients.
‘I’m not wearing nail polish,’ barked Beryl, looking as though she might smack Joaquin for their imprudence. ‘This is all natural.’
She popped open her smoothie and went shuffling off, forearms pressed against her walker so that she could scoot and sip at the same time. ‘Ugh, brain freeze,’ she snarled, mashing a blue palm against her face.
‘I thought Smurfs were meant to be nice,’ said Joaquin.
Zoey’s eyes sparkled. ‘Smurf on the outside, Gargamel on the inside.’
Nick had to hold back a guffaw. All right, so Zoey was maybe a tad evil sometimes, but he loved it.
He loved her sense of humour. He loved everything about her: the way her mind worked, the way she always greeted Alice with a giant hug, the way her lips curved when she smiled.
The way he caught her looking at him when she thought he wasn’t watching.
He just wished she’d let him love her – without protest, without feeling like she had to offer something in return. Without the fear that he would let her down. Because Nick had no intention of ever doing that.
Joaquin chugged their mushroom smoothie, wincing as the brain freeze hit. ‘So, a little birdie told me you two were thinking about matching tattoos.’
‘What do you say, Zoey?’ said Nick, nudging her. ‘A Frog and Toad?’
Joaquin’s eyes widened behind their thick-framed glasses. ‘How could anyone say no to Frog and Toad? I could do them on a bicycle. Or the one with the kite? Or the picnic! What about the cookies?’
Zoey bit her lip.
‘Need someone to watch your booth, babe?’ shouted Reba. ‘Gracie can do it.’
Gracie swanned over with her camera. ‘Here to help.’
‘I’ll go first,’ said Nick, allowing himself to be dragged off to Joaquin’s tent.
Zoey followed, looking curious but apprehensive.
His heart went out to her. For him, a tattoo wasn’t such a big deal.
Whatever happened, he knew he’d have a piece of art on his skin that he loved.
For her, it was a commitment. Every bit of it, from the ink itself to what it stood for.
Joaquin invited Nick over to the table they’d set up in the Inkstigators tent, which with its framed art and gold highlights did a pretty good job of evoking the vibes of the studio on Hawthorne.
‘Good to see you again, man,’ said Joaquin, pulling on a set of black gloves.
‘You too. Looks like the shop’s doing well.’ Nick nodded at the Polaroids on the wall – Joaquin had been snapping photos of the day’s pieces.
Joaquin beamed. ‘Right? I’ve come a long way from tattooing people in the living room.
But I think it’s all about this ink, really.
’ They grabbed a set of ink cartridges, holding them up to the light.
‘It’s a special plant ink sourced from the – apparently lightly medicinal, which makes for faster healing. And it comes out so vivid.’
Joaquin showed off a design on their own arm: the iconic White Stag sign from downtown, surrounded by vibrant roses.
Nick was admiring it when a commotion behind him caught his attention.
One of the ‘Thriller’ zombie shufflers, apparently running a bit late on the choreography, was lurching past. His red polka-dot Keds squeaked on the floor, and Nick frowned.
He knew those shoes – they belonged to that dumpster-diving customer of Zoey’s.
‘Nestor?’ Zoey’s eyes widened and she jumped up from her seat. ‘How have you been? Sascha said you’ve been off work for a bit.’
Nestor grunted unbecomingly. He lurched closer, apparently to check out the flash pieces that Joaquin had pinned to the booth’s black wall draping. As he did, he jostled Joaquin, who accidentally jabbed him with the tattoo pen they’d been showing off.
‘Oh shit.’ Joaquin grimaced as they inspected the damage. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m usually Mx Steadyhands over here. But it’s just a little dot – unless you want me to turn it into something else? Because we could do something really cool with that.’
Nestor was blinking like he’d just emerged from a stupor. Perhaps he wasn’t a fan of needles. Or maybe the fluorescent lights were disorienting him.
‘How about some promo stickers?’ offered Joaquin, brandishing a bowl of tattoo-themed stickers. ‘They’re vinyl. Great quality. Everyone loves a sticker.’
Nestor swallowed, then grabbed the bowl. After a bit more blinking, he started up on one of his usual obsequious soliloquys.
‘Oh my God, these are amazing,’ he said, his voice raspier than usual.
‘Zo-zo, have you seen these? I’ll pop some on Sascha’s desk.
She’ll be utterly delighted. Hang on, are they doing ice-skating for beginners?
I’ve always wanted to try. I think I’d be a natural, don’t you? I pirouette so effortlessly.’
Nestor demonstrated, almost taking down Joaquin’s tent as he did so, then sashayed off towards the ice-skating rink, where a group of sock-wearing skating newbies were doing a conga line in their socks.
‘Wow,’ said Zoey, cringing on Nestor’s behalf. ‘Well, I guess he’s feeling all right after all. I probably do owe him an apology for assuming he went off-grid after going on a serial-killer murder spree.’
‘Not sure you should voice that particular sentiment,’ said Nick, with a chuckle.
‘Fair,’ said Zoey. She shot him a grin. ‘Just in case it inspires him to kill again.’
Nick snorted.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Joaquin as they changed out the cartridge on the pen. ‘I’m used to moving around the shop, and this set-up is all different. Ready?’
Always.
Nick rolled up his sleeve. ‘Toad me up.’
Zoey frowned. ‘Wait, aren’t you Frog?’
‘Obviously,’ said Nick. ‘But you’re Toad. And I like the idea of having you right here, always.’
Zoey flushed.
Joaquin set to work, the tattoo pen buzzing as they outlined the image of Toad that Nick had pulled up on his phone, then painstakingly coloured it in until Nick’s wrist bore a perfect representation of a reading Toad.
‘I love it,’ said Nick, as Joaquin wiped down his arm, then applied a clear plastic adhesive to protect the freshly inked skin.
‘You know the rules of tattoo care, right?’ Joaquin cast an eye over Nick’s heavily inked arms. ‘Of course you do. Anyone who goes to see my man Remy in San Diego knows to avoid gangrene.’
Nick patted the Lucy tattoo. ‘I waited eighteen months for that appointment, but it was worth it.’
They chitchatted about Nick’s tattoos a little longer, but Nick cut things short when he could see Zoey starting to get antsy.
‘Zoey? You’re up, if you want to be. No pressure.’
Zoey hesitated. Then, to Nick’s surprise, she squared her shoulders.
‘Okay,’ she said, at last.
She took a seat on Joaquin’s table, rubbing at her wrist, where the last remnants of the temporary tattoo darkened her skin.
‘Frog me,’ she said, pointing to the image on Nick’s phone.
Joaquin set up the pen and prepared to start work. But as the buzzing implement neared her skin, Zoey scooted away, just about tumbling off the table in her determination to escape.
‘Sorry.’ She shook her head so frantically that her unruly hair slipped from her ponytail. ‘I can’t. Not now. I … have to get back to the stand.’