Chapter Seventeen
Two weeks later, I parked in the community lot downtown and watched the busy street for Alicia’s arrival. Anticipation danced along my skin when she finally pulled into the space beside me.
Her dark hair swung around her chin as she climbed out and closed her door. “What’s this?” she asked, scanning the area, then me. “Are you wearing a concert T-shirt from freshman year?”
I grinned. “Do you remember how much fun we had that night?”
“Barely. Where on earth did you find that?”
“It was with these jeans and a bunch of my old clothes marked for donation inside one of Mom’s closets.” To my delight, I’d also found my old shoes, stuffed animals, books, and posters. She’d kept everything folded neatly in boxes marked with my name. Some had small hearts drawn on the lids.
However she’d behaved outwardly, she’d still marked the passage of my life just as I marked Camilla’s, and that knowledge was the boon I never knew I needed. Now, everywhere I looked, I found inarguable signs of my mother’s love.
And her poor mental health.
Endless self-help books filled shelves in her closet. Books on healing after trauma, on grief recovery and surviving narcissistic parents. The latter reshaped my memories of Mom and Grandma together.
Mom needed help she never received, and she’d shielded me from her struggles the only way she could, by pushing me away. I’d shed gallons of tears over that realization.
Whatever else happened, I would keep choosing happiness. That was what Mom would’ve wanted, what Camilla should see modeled, and what I deserved.
Alicia’s expression was dramatically blank when I met her gaze again. “You still fit into your jeans from college?”
I nodded, and she opened her car door as if she might climb in and leave.
“Wait!” I laughed. “Stop. The outfit is part of today’s theme.”
Curiosity glinted in her eyes, and she closed the car door. “There’s a theme?”
No decent teacher could resist.
I rocked onto my toes, adrenaline pumping. “I’m embracing my lost youth,” I announced. “Starting with things I missed out on by marrying too young and putting myself last all these years.”
“Because you married a man who didn’t allow you any joy,” she added.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about him. This is about me.”
Alicia’s expression brightened. “I can get behind that. Any chance there’s lunch in your plans? Because I’m starving.”
“Absolutely. First we have to cross the street.”
She turned her gaze to a tavern that catered to a demographic likely half our age. Neon beer signs hung in the windows beside flyers for live karaoke, local bands, and beer pong championships. “Interesting choice, but let’s go.”
“Not yet.” I pointed to the smaller building next door. “I have an appointment there in five minutes.”
“I don’t understand.” She jutted her chin forward. “You’re pointing to a tattoo parlor.”
“What do you think?”
She puffed out a disbelieving laugh. “I think I’ve birthed three gigantic, big-headed boys. My body is already covered in shiny silver warrior tattoos that amateurs like to call stretch marks. I don’t need more body art, but I will hold your hand while you do you.”
I linked my arm with hers and headed for the crosswalk. “I’m having my nose pierced.”
“Oh, cute!” Alicia said. “I love that. I forgot how much you wanted one.”
“Robert always said facial piercings, tattoos, and unnaturally colored hair are all signs of trashy people.” People going nowhere. People with no financial future. People he didn’t want to be associated with.
Alicia made a low throaty sound. “I know you’re technically still married, but is it okay if I call him a cunt?”
I barked an explosive laugh. “You probably shouldn’t call anyone that, but yeah, fine by me.”
I steeled my nerves as I entered Impressive Ink. I wondered briefly if the piercing was a bad idea. Was I too old? Was it too out of character? What would people think?
“Change your mind already?” Alicia asked.
I internally guffawed at the direction my thoughts had gone. Further proof I needed this small act of defiance. “Just wondering if I should also get that lower-back tattoo I’ve always wanted.”
“Definitely,” Alicia agreed. “Maybe get a sleeve or two. I’m adventure deprived and living vicariously through you this summer.”
The gentle buzz of a tattoo artist at work carried through the studio. A song I didn’t recognize played on hidden speakers. A man at the front desk lifted his chin in greeting as I tapped my name into the screen at the welcome kiosk.
We walked the waiting room perimeter after I checked in. Hundreds of airbrushed images covered the walls. All were next-level artistry. I moved slowly, lightly mesmerized, as if touring a modern art museum.
“Fuck it,” Alicia muttered, then headed back to the entry.
“Where are you going?” I asked, tracking her with my gaze.
She stopped at the front counter and spoke to the thirtysomething body builder with tattoo sleeves as divine as anything on the walls. “Can I get my belly button done?”
The man nodded, and I hustled to her side.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Surprising Cameron. If you can get a stud in your nose, then I can have a hoop in my belly button.”
A petite woman with inky-black hair met us at the counter and introduced herself as Iris. She led us to a table in back, then walked us verbally through our procedures. We took turns in the hot seat, holding hands through the scary parts, just as we had during each of our labors.
Before I knew it, my nose was numbed, the stud was placed, and we were on our way to the desk for payment.
Alicia passed the worker her credit card. “This one’s on me,” she said.
“No,” I protested. “I can pay for this. It was my idea.” And I’d gotten my first two paychecks from Chez Margot, which was nearly double my actual rate per hour, thanks to two large pastry orders for the Invisible Baker that Lucas had placed.
I hadn’t made much progress on the house recently, and I was losing sleep working double time to fill the Invisible Baker orders, but for the first time ever, I was earning decent money, and that felt wildly empowering.
She waved me off, nodding for the attendant to continue with her payment. “This was the first spontaneous thing I’ve done in ages. I love it. I also owe you for the inspiration,” she added, motioning to her middle. “Cameron is going to flip.”
I leaned forward and inspected myself in a small freestanding mirror on the counter.
The difference in my appearance was minimal, but it felt astronomically huge.
The shimmery rhinestone on my bright-red nostril felt like a declaration long overdue.
I was free and worthy of joy, even if others didn’t understand my choices.
“You look incredible,” Alicia said.
The man behind the register slid his eyes my way as he passed her the receipt. His lips parted in a whisper of a smile. “That’s what’s up,” he said.
Alicia tucked the paper into her purse. “See? That’s what’s up,” she echoed.
I left the studio feeling infinitely lighter. Outside, the world seemed brighter.
“Are we—” Alicia paused dramatically, letting her mouth hang open for a long beat. “Are we total badasses?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Makes sense,” she agreed. “I think that hunk behind the counter was checking you out.”
I frowned. “He was in his thirties.”
“So?”
“So he’s probably closer to Camilla’s age than mine. Besides, men only look at younger women.”
“Men look at all women,” she argued. “Especially the hot ones.”
I stopped outside the tavern. “Are you still hungry? Want to get a drink with lunch?”
“Big yes to all of that.” Alicia opened the door, then peeked over her shoulder at me. “God, I love this day.”
I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior. The faint yeasty scent of beer met us at the threshold. Decades of grease, salt, and cigarette smoke permeated the walls. A thousand happy memories made at similar burger and beer joints back in college curled my lips into a smile.
We sat ourselves in a cracked vinyl booth, grinning like two Cheshire cats.
Alicia liberated a battered menu from behind the metal napkin dispenser and immediately perused the options.
I touched a fingertip to my new nose stud, confirming it was real.
A classic rock ballad played on the jukebox.
Dartboards and pool tables filled the back corner where a handful of patrons bent over their cues.
Old wooden table-and-chair sets peppered the dining area across from a heavily lacquered bar.
Movie posters and album covers from the late nineteen hundreds hung on dark-paneled walls.
“I think we’ve entered a time machine,” I said.
“This whole outing is a time machine,” Alicia said, never taking her eyes off the menu.
A woman wearing a sleeveless black T-shirt and ripped jeans crossed the checkered tile floor in our direction. Her long gray hair swung in a thick braid that reached below her waist. “Can I get you something?” she asked without preamble.
Alicia peered at the woman over the top of her menu. “Two tallboys of your best local brew and a pair of whiskey shooters,” Alicia said. “Jack Daniel’s,” she clarified.
The other woman nodded and left us.
I shook my head, amused.
“What?” Alicia asked. She passed me the menu. “When in Rome, right?”
I opened my bag and liberated a pink foam die the size of my fist. “I almost forgot. I made this for you.”
She eyeballed the gift, then lifted it and read the sides. “One homework pass. One quiz answer. A minute of free time. A sticker. Trinket. Gumball.” She laughed. “Why, thank you. I’ve always wanted—what is this?”
“It’s for your classroom,” I said. I found the die in Mom’s stuff and thought of Alicia. It was blank when I found it, so I wrote on the sides. “Now you can tell your classes that when they are especially cooperative for you, someone can roll the die at the end of class, and they all get a prize.”