7. Katerina #3
I slip to the front of the shop, where laughter still rings.
Nico’s entertaining the group with an elaborate story about someone wanting a portrait of their pet ferret across their entire back, and how the mentor threatened to partially shave her own eyebrows if Bex pulled it off.
Everyone’s in stitches, half from the wine, half from the ridiculous mental image.
I fold into a corner near Skye, who’s gingerly pressing the edges of the fresh wrap on her forearm. She sighs in relief. “Okay, so that was surprisingly not horrible. I can’t wait to send Jordan a photo.”
Lexi, leaning on the counter, beams at me. “You sure you don’t want to join our matching set? We have an extra chair.” She gestures flamboyantly.
I wave a hand, deflecting the question. “You all look great. That’s enough.”
She laughs. “Suit yourself, but I think you’d look fierce with a tiny fleur-de-lis on your bicep.”
My mouth gives a half smile, but inside, something itches.
Like a missed opportunity. And I hate that I feel that way.
I exhale, willing my shoulders to stop climbing toward my ears.
Sofia rubs her new tattoo, wincing a bit.
Casey shows off her shoulder piece to Skye, who’s impressed by the crisp lines.
Everyone’s bonding over the shared victory.
I just nod politely, feeling out of place.
Behind me, the buzz of voices dips for a moment.
Bex is finishing up her cleanup. I sense her presence, even though I’m not looking directly.
We used to just exist in the same circle around Sofia, never side by side.
Now, something about how we keep orbiting makes me uneasy in the best possible way.
I force myself to rejoin the conversation, which has turned to whether we should order food to the shop.
Lexi is lobbying hard for late-night gumbo delivery.
Sofia’s game. Skye’s worried about getting sauce anywhere near her bandage.
Nobody is reaching for their bags. Nico has declared the night officially open-ended, and the group has taken them at their word.
I try to act normal, chiming in with delivery suggestions.
I read half a dozen Yelp reviews earlier in the day, so at least my research is finally useful.
But from the corner of my vision, I see Bex removing her gloves, stashing her gear in labeled drawers, systematically reordering her station like it’s second nature. Her face is calm, confident. No restlessness. That’s the real Bex, and I feel like I’m only just meeting her.
I wonder if she’s always had that capacity for focus, or if it developed during those brutal apprenticeship nights she mentioned. She has a life separate from anything I used to assume about her. We all have lives like that, I guess. Mine included.
The front door opens, letting in a spill of street noise.
A couple of pedestrians glance in curiously, but Nico gently waves them off, explaining they’re closed for a private event.
The pedestrians laugh, hustle away. The door swings shut, and the shop seals back around us: wine, laughter, six women and their new ink, nobody going anywhere.
Sofia thanks Nico for roughly the twelfth time.
Nico waves it off and disappears toward the breakroom, announcing they’re hunting for a second bottle and possibly snacks.
Lexi cheers like this is the best news of her life.
Someone changes the playlist. The overhead bulbs above the tattoo chairs stay on, but the front of the shop settles into a looser, warmer light.
I linger where I am, indecisive. My mind thrums with the question: Did I just miss something? Or is it good that I stuck to my boundaries? My chest feels hot. Unsettled.
Then Bex appears at my side, apparently done with cleanup. Her voice is low so only I can hear. “You okay?”
I force a short laugh. “Fine. Surprised I stayed on my feet. I don’t deal well with… needles.” A half-lie, but I can’t find the energy to correct it.
Her eyes flick to me, then over the group. She doesn’t say anything else. For reasons I can’t articulate, it feels like her silence holds a question. Or an invitation. Or both.
My breath stutters. I realize that Nico is calling Bex to come sign something or finalize a payment slip. Bex offers me a small nod, then walks away. I watch her cross the room, stepping over coiled cords and paraphernalia with practiced ease.
No one’s pressuring me to do anything. The night hums with possibility, and I tell myself the moment has passed. This is good. I was never going to get a tattoo. I’m not an impulsive person. That’s final.
And yet a flutter in my stomach remains. I can’t quite name it. Something akin to longing. Or curiosity. Or maybe something more dangerous.
Across the shop, Bex signs whatever Nico needs signed, then glances back over her shoulder, noticing I haven’t moved from her station. Our eyes meet. For a long second, neither of us looks away. The group’s noise carries on a few feet ahead of us, a world with its own weather.
Then Bex turns back to Nico. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. Somehow, I’m still carrying a question in my chest with no clear answer.
I press my lips together and stay exactly where I am.