2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Avery
“I know it sounds crazy, but I really think this is what I need to do,” I say as I scan the street for an empty parking spot.
I called Cass on my drive here this morning to tell her that I was finally implementing my plan. I know I could have waited until it was done, but I think I’d wanted to tell someone. I’m not sure if I wanted her to talk me out of it or to hype me up. She’d been just as dumbfounded by my idea as I’d expected.
“Crazy is an understatement, A,” she says, her voice incredulous.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like I’m robbing banks or something. I’m just trying something new.”
“Trying something new is…like, getting pink highlights or deciding to bring back low-rise jeans. It’s not uprooting your life and moving to a new city to become a tattoo apprentice. I mean, did you have to move all the way to Boston?”
I ignore the way her voice shifts to a tone of something bordering on disgust when she says 'tattoo apprentice'. Cassidy isn’t a snob. Not really. Well, she’s less of a snob than anyone else I know. She’s my best friend. She can be a little judgmental. But then, so can I sometimes. Anyone who says they don’t judge is lying, at least a little. But at least she listens to me and tries to understand what I’m going through. That’s more than I can say for a lot of other people in my life.
I sigh because this has been a point of contention between us since I first told her my plan. “We’ve been over this, Cass,” I say. “You know there was no way I could do this back home and keep it under wraps.”
“I know,” she grumbles. “But you could have stayed in New York for the summer.”
It’s an argument we’ve had multiple times in the month since I left New York for Boston. It’s true that I could have stayed in New York for a few more months. I could have spent the summer with Cass, pretending we were both still wild, free college kids. But, as much as I love my bestie, I need to try to make something of my own before settling into the life my family designed for me.
“We had to grow up eventually, Cass,” I say, my voice gentle.
“I know, A,” she says, her tone more sympathetic now. “But this? You don’t know shit about tattoos. You don’t even have any tattoos.”
I shrug, even though I know she can’t see me. I pull my car into an empty spot just down the block from Elemental Ink Tattoos and take a deep breath, hoping Cass can’t hear it through the phone. Not that she doesn’t know I’m nervous. I’d be an idiot not to feel at least a little bit nervous.
“You don’t need to have a tattoo to learn how to create them,” I say.
Cass sighs into the phone. She’s been my best friend since freshman year of college, so she’s used to most of my crazy ideas by now. Usually, she’s right there beside me, encouraging me to go for it. Hell, there have been plenty of times when I’ve had to be the voice of reason and talk her out of some wild scheme. This is one of those rare times when she’s the one encouraging me to be cautious. But she doesn’t understand. She’s got her dream job all lined up. She’s doing exactly what she always wanted to do. And her family is proud of her for it. Unfortunately, things are different for me .
“Maybe you don’t need to have tattoos to create them, but have you ever even set foot inside a tattoo studio?”
I feel my stomach twist uncomfortably at her question. She knows damned well I’ve never been inside a tattoo studio. A couple of years ago, the two of us had tossed around the idea of getting matching tattoos. We spent hours online searching for the perfect tattoo design and researching the best artists. It’s how I found out about Elemental Ink in the first place. In the end we chickened out, both of us realizing that girls from families like ours don’t get tattoos. Girls from families like ours get Range Rovers and become trophy wives. Not that the idea of being someone’s trophy wife has ever appealed to me.
I never told Cass, but I never really let go of the idea of breaking away from the life I was born into and making my own path. I never gave up on the dream of being the type of girl who could walk into a tattoo studio and let someone permanently mark my body.
“There’s a first time for everything,” I say, trying to sound confident, rather than anxious.
Cass sighs. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”
“Nope,” I say.
“Fine,” she says. “You know I just want what’s best for you, right?”
“I know.”
“And you really think this is what you’re supposed to be doing?”
I think about what lies ahead for me if this doesn’t work. My future has been laid out for me since I was in the womb. I’ve been groomed since birth to take over my family’s foundation one day. It’s not the worst fate, I know. I’ve lived a life of luxury for the entire 24 years I’ve been alive. I’ve never gone without. I’ve never had to worry about money or material things. Even with the tough times I’ve gone through, it’s nothing compared to what so many other people deal with. Having money spared me from the worst of it, even during some of the hardest times of my life.
I know it’s made me spoiled, at least a little. No matter how grounded I tried to be, I know some of that privilege seeped into my personality. There are any number of people who would kill to be in my position, I know. It seems hypocritical to complain about my privilege while I continue to benefit from it. But I don’t fit there. I’ve always known it, even if my family can’t quite see it.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Cass,” I say with a sigh. “But I know what I’m not supposed to be doing. And I can’t settle for that life without at least trying out a different one first.”
There are a few seconds of silence before she speaks.
“Okay, but tattooing? You know your mom will flip her shit, right?”
I nearly laugh at the idea of my overprotective mother finding out her sweet, innocent daughter is apprenticed at a tattoo shop. I’d bet money that Meredith Bradshaw Scott has never stepped a toe inside a tattoo shop. It would never occur to her.
“That’s why she’s not going to find out,” I say. “If this works out, all she’ll know is that I’m interning with an obscure artist before I turn into the happy little drone she wants me to be.”
My stomach rolls at the idea of working for the foundation for the rest of my life. Just the thought of a lifetime of matching pants suits, business lunches, and fake smiles is enough to make me want to scream. I don’t know how anyone lives that way. I want more from my life.
“It’s not as bad as that,” she laughs. “You’re so dramatic.”
I sigh. “That life would suffocate me, Cass. You know I’m right.”
Cass’s voice is more somber when she speaks again. “I know. You know I support you, no matter what.”
“I know.”
“If this is what you need, just know that I’m rooting for you. I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks, Cass,” I say. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” she says. “Now go kick some ass.”
“I’ll do my best.” I smile as I end the call.
My smile fades and I blow out a breath as I flip down the visor to check my reflection in the tiny mirror. I try to see myself as a stranger would, for the first time. My makeup isn’t over the top. I made sure it was subtle and natural-looking. My hazel eyes are probably my most prominent feature, so I made sure to emphasize them with my mascara. The small scattering of freckles on my nose stands out against my pale skin, but that can’t be helped. My black hair falls in its typical board-straight curtain to brush against my shoulders. I sigh again, not sure what I was hoping to see in the mirror. I look exactly as I did before I left the house. Anxious.
Closing the mirror, I glance down at my outfit. I tried on so many different shirts before leaving the house that I finally just gave up and went with my favorite jade-green top. I’ve been told it looks great on me, and I wanted to wear something that would inspire some confidence. Though I’m not sure it’s working. The butterflies in my stomach don’t seem to care what shirt I’m wearing. I chose jeans over slacks, thinking they’d fit in better at a tattoo shop. Not that me fitting in was ever going to be an option. I just hope that I don’t stick out like a sore thumb.
It’s too late to worry about changing my clothes now, even if I wanted to. My appointment is in 10 minutes. I try not to think about what I’ll do if this doesn’t go well. I try even harder not to think about the fact that the odds of it going well are not in my favor.
Corbin James is the best tattoo artists in the city, if not the entire east coast. He’s built a reputation by creating beautiful, original tattoos and only working with artists who hold to the same standards. His client list includes rock stars and some of the biggest social media influencers. His waitlist can take months. He’s also never taken on an apprentice. Ever.
That's why I’d had to be creative today. I knew there was no way he would see me if he knew why I was here. I didn’t want to ruin things before I even got a chance to meet the man. So, I’d scheduled myself a tattoo consultation instead. I figured it was the only way I’d be able to talk to him, let alone convince him to take me on as his apprentice.
I know Cass is right. This is a crazy idea. The most likely scenario is that he’ll laugh in my face and ban me from his studio for life. But I can’t quite extinguish the faint hope that he’ll see my portfolio and be impressed enough to give me a chance. I can’t give up without at least trying. Even if it means I’m forced to go back to New York and work for my family for the rest of my life. At least I’ll know I tried to change my fate.
It will work. It has to. The alternative isn’t something I want to consider. I wonder, not for the first time, if maybe I should have chosen a different artist in Boston. Perhaps one who isn’t as well-known. Maybe I should have taken the time to seek out an artist with a less infamous reputation. But I chose Corbin for a reason. If I’m going to do this, I need to work with the best. And I need someone who doesn’t know anything about my family. It’s the only way I’ll know for certain I’m making it on my own merit and not because someone wants to get in my family’s good graces. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened .
I take another deep breath and release it slowly.
“Fuck it,” I whisper, reaching for the door handle.
There’s no going back now.