by Meika Usher
We sat that way for a while, only the sound of Anya munching on popcorn to interrupt the quiet. As I rolled our conversation around in my brain, I kept circling back to one thought:
“Do you really think I don’t need to tell her?”
Anya tilted her head to see me better. “I think you think you need to tell her,” she replied, a contemplative expression on her face. “Because you’re that kinda guy.”
“I sense a but.”
She straightened and turned toward me, resting her elbows on her knees. “But, no,” she continued. “Unless she asks, I don’t think you need to tell her.”
“She might ask,” I said. “It was, uh, over pretty quick.”
“In which case, yes. Tell away. Otherwise...” She shrugged. “It’s your business, man.”
She punctuated her statement by picking up the remote and pointing it at the TV. “How’s about a little Buffy to make you feel better?” Then, without waiting for my answer, she started the show.
I don’t have to tell her, I thought. Unless she asks.
God, I hoped she wouldn’t ask.
38: Birdie
“...and it’s just, like, totally badass, right?”
I blinked and forced myself to tune into the endless stream of chatter coming from the frat boy in my chair. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been talking. Or even what he’d been talking about. So I just nodded along.
“Totally,” I said as I laid the stencil carefully around his forearm. Originally, it was supposed to be a silhouette of pine trees his girlfriend had found on Pinterest. But when they’d brought it in last week, we spent an hour redesigning it. Now, it was a silhouette of the sycamore trees he’d grown up climbing in Nebraska. More personal. Slightly less cliché. “Badass.”
He nodded, looking from his arm to his girlfriend, Lindy. Frat Boy Freddie—whose name was actually Brett—was nervous. I’d find it endearing if I were in a better mood. And I’d have been in a better mood if a certain dumbass nerd would just call me already.
I could call him, sure. I was a modern woman, after all. I didn’t need to wait by my phone. But after the way he fled my place last night—not for the first time—I was standing my ground, dammit.
And...waiting by the phone.
Ugh.
“So, I know you must have done this a million times, right?” Brett continued, his left foot shaking at twice the beat of the overhead music. “Like, you’ve probably got a ton of tattoos.”
I glanced up, momentarily forgetting that my long sleeves concealed most of my skin today. I could lie. I could tell him I’d gotten so many tattoos I barely felt the sting of the needle anymore. It’d calm him, maybe. Or maybe it wouldn’t, and then I’d just feel like shit for lying.
Ah, the never-ending dilemma.
Across the shop, I heard Veronica snort. She’d be over here in a flash if I so much as side-stepped his question. Hell, she’d probably be over here, anyway, with some snide remark. She couldn’t help herself.
Keeping my eyes trained on Brett’s arm, I answered. “Actually, I have none.”
“Really?” he asked, and I braced myself for the questions. The doubt in my ability. I prepared to defend myself, like I had a hundred times before. I questioned why I put myself in this position in the first place.
But all he said was, “That’s cool.”
My body relaxed. I sat back in my chair and gestured to his arm. “How’s that look?”
Brett studied the stencil, rotating his wrist. “What do you think, babe?” he asked Lindy.
She leaned closer, her blond hair falling over her shoulder. “It’s gonna be so hot.”
“So hot,” I repeated with a smile, wheeling my chair over to the cabinet where my supplies were stored. “If you wanna get up and stretch or whatever while I set up, that’s—”
“Hey, Bird?” Julian called from the lobby. “You got company.”
I leaned down, reaching for a vial of black ink. “I’m busy, tell ‘em to come back in a few hours,” I called back.
“I think you’re gonna wanna take this one,” Lindy said, her voice much closer to my ear than I expected.
I jumped, smacking elbow on the open cabinet door. “Shit,” I hissed, rubbing the spot.
“Sorry.” She gave me a sympathetic smile. “It’s just, the guy at the door is super cute, and I figured you wouldn’t want him to leave. You know, in case he didn’t come back?”
Straightening in my seat, I glanced toward the door. My stomach dropped to my toes. Nate stood in the waiting room, shifting nervously from foot-to-foot as Julian and Sahara eyed him up and down. Didn’t blame them. He didn’t look like he was here for a tattoo.
My expression must have been really something, because Lindy giggled. “Told you,” she whispered, wheeling my chair toward toward the lobby. “Now, go. We’ll wait.”
I hopped out of the chair and glanced backward. Lindy grinned excitedly as Brett looked cluelessly on. Shaking my head, I turned around. My shoulders stiffened as I drew closer to Nate. He didn’t deserve the smile hovering on my lips. He didn’t deserve the flip-flopping of my heart. He didn’t deserve the happiness simmering in my belly. No, he deserved a swift kick to the shin and a Dude, you fucking suck.
But as I reached him, it became evident that that wasn’t what he was going to get. He was much too cute for a steel-toe to the shin.
Instead, I settled on a cool once-over and a level, “Hello.”
At the counter, Julian and Sahara watched with open interest. I glared their way and grabbed my coat from the hook, walking toward the door. Nate followed.
Once alone—unless you counted the wide-open view everyone still had via the window—I faced Nate. “What’s up?”
He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and exhaled, his breath a white cloud before his face. “I’m an asshole.”
“You are,” I agreed, folding my arms over my chest. “Continue.”
“I’m an asshole and I’m sorry. I just...” He winced and searched the air above my head for his next sentence. “I shouldn’t have left last night.”
“Correct.” I shifted my weight and watched the way the Open sign highlighted the discomfort on his face. The anxiety. The bald-ass guilt. Good. He deserved it. “It’s not the first time you’ve done that.”
At the reminder of his last (sort-of) bone-and-bolt, he winced. “I’m sorry, Birdie. I was just...overwhelmed. In a good way,” he rushed to add. “Last night was...” He yanked a hand from his pocket to shove it through his hair. “Everything. Like being in an earthquake in the middle of a hurricane, while getting struck by lightning.”
“That sounds terrible.” I snorted. “Aren’t you a writer?”
“What I mean by that is,” he continued, ignoring the dig, “everything changed. For me, at least. And...I didn’t know how to handle that.” He looked like he was willing the sidewalk to open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Like the simple act of standing there, waiting for me to speak, was taking every molecule of energy he possessed. Yet stand there he did.
Ah, there was the vulnerability I desperately needed to see.
“You could have stayed,” I replied, balling my hands into fists at my sides to keep from reaching out. “That would’ve been a good start.”
He dipped his head. “I know.”
“I wish you had stayed.” My voice came out softer than I wanted, and part of me wanted to revoke the words. Because now I felt just as naked as I’d been last night when he left.
I started to wrap my arms around myself, but Nate took a step closer, fingertips brushing over my still-closed fists. I looked up in time to catch the flicker of fear in his eyes.
“I wish I’d stayed, too,” he said, eyes searching my face. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”
I knew he wouldn’t say it—the real reason he left. The embarrassment of me saying it out loud last night was enough for him. And so I decided to forgive him. To flip my hands over and let our fingers tangle toge
ther. To accept his apology and move forward. Because if I pushed, if I tried to get the whole truth from him right now, my baby deer would bolt. And I really didn’t want him to bolt.
“You should be.” I smiled playfully and closed the distance between us. “Because we totally could have spent the whole night...getting frisky.”
He laughed and wrapped his arms around my waist. “What a missed opportunity.”
“Indeed.” I tilted my face up to his, our lips inches apart. “Lesson learned. Right?”
His hand came up to cup my cheek. “Right,” he agreed. And then he kissed me.
I had to wonder as I kissed him back how I was ever supposed to stay mad at him.
“So,” he said when we parted. “I have something to discuss with you.”
I leaned back to see his face. “Oh, yeah?”
He grimaced and nodded. “I have been ordered to invite you to a thing.”
“Ordered,” I repeated, tilting my head. “To invite me.”
A smirk tilted his lips. “Ordered by Aidan,” he started. “And the thing is a birthday party.” A pause. “My birthday party.”
“Ooh,” I said, “A birthday party.”
“Don’t get too excited,” he cautioned, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It’s not that kind of party.”
“Pray tell, what kind of party is it?”
“Ah...” He hesitated, his hand moving from my waist to push through his hair. “A family party? At my parents’ house?” His eyes widened. “You can totally say no if you want to. Aidan threatened to invite you himself if I didn’t. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone and so—”
“Nate,” I interrupted, holding back the laugh that was dying to break free. Nervous Nate could very well be my favorite Nate. Well, maybe behind Sexy Nate. Which was basically just Nate all the time, so...
I shoved that train of thought aside and smiled, putting Nervous Nate at ease. “I’ll go.”
“Really?” He frowned. “I don’t think you realize how—”
“One condition,” I cut in before he could finish. “You have to promise me there won’t be a bunny cake. That thing was creepy as fuck.”
A laugh tumbled from him and I let my own laugh break free. “No bunny cake,” he agreed, pulling me in for another kiss.
After a moment, I pull away. “Okay, I gotta go. I’ve got a frat boy to stab.”
Nate winced. “You do that,” he said, glancing toward the window—where everyone might as well have had their noses pressed to the glass—and back to me. “I’ll call you later with the details.”
I watched him amble down the sidewalk for a moment before heading back inside. Everyone scattered as if I hadn’t seen them spying. I rolled my eyes and headed back to my station.
“All right, Brett,” I started, halting abruptly when I found Veronica on my stool, idly studying Brett’s stenciled forearm. “Did you need something?” I asked, clamping down the intense urge to...just...kick her.
“Oh, no,” she said lightly, not even looking my way. “I was just telling Brett that fine stenciling like this,” she pointed to the arching, sharp branches of the tree, “isn’t really your strong point.”
Anger bubbled through my bloodstream. Spooking clients was one thing. Hell, making them late for their appointments wasn’t even a huge deal. But this? Flat-out talking shit about my abilities to my client? Who the fuck did she think she was? I opened my mouth to tell her just what she could do with that self-righteous look on her face, but Brett spoke up before I could say anything.
“And I was telling her,” he said, gesturing to Veronica. “That you got this.”
“Yeah,” Lindy piped up from beside Brett. She crossed her arms over her chest and sent Veronica a look of pure contempt. “Bird’s dope. She’s got this.”
“Fine, fine,” Veronica said, putting her hands up in surrender. “But don’t come to me if she fucks it up. I don’t fix other artists’ mistakes.” Then, she stood and let my stool roll backward.
“What a bitch,” Lindy muttered under her breath once Veronica was out of earshot.
“Agreed,” I muttered, wheeling my stool back into place. Then, I looked at Brett. “I’m not gonna fuck it up.”
He nodded, his earlier nerves absent. “I know.”
Relief replaced the anger and I exhaled. “Good. Now. You ready to do this?”
Brett nodded. “Let’s do it.”
“Was that your boyfriend?” Lindy asked as Brett took his seat. Her eyes were lit with Disney princess eagerness and I found myself glancing toward the exit, where Nate once stood on the now-empty sidewalk.
“He’s...something,” I replied, failing to squash the smile on my face. Because, yeah. He was definitely something. My something.
39: Nate
“Where is she?”
Ma yanked the front door open as soon as I hit the porch steps. It was not unexpected. In the two days since I invited Birdie to my birthday party, I had received no less than fifteen phone calls from various members of my family, asking approximately one thousand questions. When did you start dating someone? James wanted to know. How long have you been dating? Sarah asked. Ma went in for the kill with, Does she want children?
I dodged most of their questions—especially Ma’s—with a blanket, It’s all very new, so please do not frighten her off with your weird overeagerness.
Judging by the way Ma swung open the door tonight, she did not plan on heeding that request. “Is she still in the car?” she asked, peering around me. “Why would you leave her in the car?”
“I did not leave her in the car,” I replied levelly. “She’s running late at work.” Something about a Flash tattoo that’d turned into a custom piece? Something told me I was not interpreting that right and would need Birdie to translate once she arrived. Probably, it didn’t have anything to do with superheroes. I eased past Ma to enter the house and added, “She’ll be here soon.”
“Good, good,” she said, following me inside. “I cancelled the bunny cake for her.”
At that, I laughed. “You weren’t seriously going to serve a bunny cake for my birthday, were you? I’m thirty-two, Ma.”
She shrugged. “They’re on sale,” she said before heading back into the kitchen, where I knew she was finishing up my favorite: bibimbap. My stomach rumbled in anticipation.
No one looked at me as I entered the living room. All eyes searched the space behind me instead. I rolled my eyes. “She’s on her way,” I grumbled, plopping down on the floor, where James was playing a card game with Cora.
“You sure?” he asked as I settled in. “She’s not ghosting?”
“Nah,” Aidan chimed in from his spot on the sofa next to Davis. “Birdie wouldn’t ghost. It’s not her style.”
“How do you know?” Sarah asked as she wrangled a wriggling Isaac for a diaper change. “Have you met her?”
Aidan grinned. “Oh, I met her all right. And she’d never ghost. She seems to be the kind of girl who likes to, uh,” he shot a look my way, “make her presence known.” He waggled his brows suggestively my way, and Sarah looked from him to me.
“What does that mean?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, fu...dge off,” I muttered, remembering just in time that Cora was right next to me.
Aidan laughed and I ignored him. “Deal me in,” I said to James as I stretched out on my stomach.
Cora clambered onto my back as soon as I was settled. “Daddy won’t let me win,” she said, looping her arms around my neck. “He never lets me win.”
“That’s because your daddy is a sore loser and will cry for days if you win,” I replied, shooting James a smirk. “We learned that the hard way, didn’t we?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, reaching up to tug one of Cora’s braids. “I have never lost a game in my life.”
“Uh huh.” I shot him a look picked up the handful of cards Cora had abandoned, rifling through them.
James had lost plenty of games throughout our childhood. He had just blocked them out in true Sore Loser fashion. “What are we playing?”
“Go Fish!” Cora answered, leaning down to peer at the cards in my hand. “Daddy doesn’t have any fours.”
“I bet he doesn’t,” I murmured, earning an outraged squawk from my eldest brother. I ignored him, trying hard not to smile. “How about any queens. Do you have any queens, James?”
He glared hard at me and I grinned back. “Go. Fish.”
As I reached for the draw pile, there was a timid knock on the door. I moved to get up, but Ma beat me to it.
“Come in, come in,” I could hear her say. “I have heard absolutely nothing about you!”
I winced and dropped my head to the carpet. We were off to a great start.
“...so, really, there’s not a ton to know,” I heard Birdie say as they entered the living room. Lifting my head, I looked her way.
Ma had taken her coat and she’d left her shoes at the door. Now she stood, barefoot and stunning, in the living room of my childhood home, long hair falling around her face, cheeks pink from the cold. Our eyes met, and I caught a glimpse of nervousness in hers. I wanted to pull her into my arms and squeeze her tight. Kiss her and comfort her. If it weren’t for the five-year-old on my back and the captive audience filling the room, I totally would have.
Instead, I settled for a wave and a smile from my spot on the floor. “Everyone,” I called. “This is Birdie.”
Birdie lifted her hand to wave, a tiny smile on her face. “‘Sup, everyone?”
Aidan jumped up from the couch and took over introductions for me, and I sent a silent thanks his way. Once they finished, Birdie dropped to the floor beside me, leaning over to smack a kiss against my cheek. “What are you playing?”
“Go Fish,” Cora answered, resting her pointy little chin on top of my head. “Wanna play?”
