by Zoe Norman
Tanner tosses his head back in a loud laugh. “Okay, no anal…today,” he jokes back. He steps back from the gleaming truck, admiring our work. “There. Finished. And you, sir, are finally getting your ink.”
I scrunch my nose and contort my face. “Umm…” Nervously, I rub the back of my hand and forearm across my forehead. “A bet’s a bet and I’ll make good on it once I figure out what I’m getting.” That should stall Tanner awhile.
“You’d better figure it out soon, asshole.” He looks at his watch. “Because when our shift ends in an hour, I’m taking you to see my guy, Moose. He’ll fix you up.”
“Today. I’m getting this done today,” I say in more of a statement then a question way.
“Yes. Don’t be such a pussy. It doesn’t hurt…that bad. You’ll be in and out of his chair before you know it,” Tanner assures me.
“I’m not worried about the pain, dipshit.”
“Whatever, loser.” Tanner grins as he throw his waxing rag at me. “This’ll be fun!”
Yeah… Fun.
After Tanner and I put all the wash and wax materials away and get the dirty rags going in the laundry, I called Olivia to let her know that I was going to be late getting home. She didn’t ask why and I didn’t tell her. All I told her was that I was going to be with Tanner, and then I suggested that she order in some food for dinner. She told me that she was elbow-deep in one of her grant projects for her department at NYU and not being distracted by me for a night would be a good thing. We said our I love yous and I told her that I would see her later tonight.
At around five thirty p.m., the next shift of guys starts to filter into the firehouse. A common courtesy amongst firefighters is that you always, always show up to the firehouse early. If you’re on time, you’re late. It’s just how it is. We mingle with the relief guys for another half hour until our shift ends at six. After I grab my bag containing my extra clothes and others to be laundered, I catch up to Tanner who is waiting for me at the end of the truck bay.
“Ready to pay up?” he chuckles, slamming his hand between my shoulder blades and then squeezing the back of my neck. “You decide what you’re going to get tattooed on your body for the rest of your life?” Tanner taunts.
I chuckle. “You’re mighty proud of yourself, Wilson. I was always going to get the ink, you know. You’re going off like this is some big coup for you.”
“This is!” he exclaims excitedly as he unlocks the doors to his new navy Ford F250 pickup truck. We both hop into the lifted truck before Tanner continues. “You always win our bets. The Mohawk I had to get because the Seahawks thumped the Broncos in last year’s Super Bowl?”
I laugh. I had a great time turning on those clippers and giving him that haircut myself. Serves him right for betting against the Hawks.
Tanner starts the truck and we head out in the direction of his friend’s tattoo shop. “Or when I had to be your cousin’s plus one at some family members wedding a couple of years ago?” he rattles off, clearly set on reminding me that I always win.
“Hey! Shelby is a nice girl,” I say, coming to the defense of my relative.
“No. She’s not, Owen.” Tanner turns to look at me pointedly. He’s not kidding. Not even a little bit. “She kept talking shit about your other cousin who was getting married during the ceremony. Then she thought I was her manservant all night, demanding I get her drink after drink after drink,” he drones on. “Being the gentleman I am, I complied…mostly because I thought Shelby was semi hot and if I got her drunk enough I could hit that.”
I shake my head at Tanner, unable to hide my eye roll.
“Then, when she was good and drunk, I made a move when we stepped outside to get some fresh air. We were going at it all hot and heavy. She was moaning and totally into it, right? Until she wasn’t. She hauled off and slapped me across the face! Then she grabbed me by my ears and started mackin’ on me again and groping me, and then I thought, Okay, maybe she wants it a little rough. Maybe she’s into that. So then I started pulling on her hair and kissing her back. And that’s when she decided to knee me in the jewels—while I was hard, mind you—slap me again, and tell me I was a poor excuse for a man or something… I don’t remember her exact words, but she’s the devil, Owen. The devil.” Tanner is rambling and barely coherent, but I know he was fairly shaken by his experience with Shelby. This has to be the thirtieth time I’ve heard the story.
I’m doubled over from laughing so hard as Tanner recounts his traumatic story. I remember that bet—he said he could lift more weight than me at the gym. He couldn’t. Sucker.
Tanner chuckles as he recounts the story. “So, yes, I finally won a bet against the great Owen Maxwell and I’ll be damned if you’re going to stall. You’re paying up today, my friend. You. Will. Pay.” He laughs menacingly.
“Moooose!” Tanner bellows low and deep as we enter his friend’s tattoo parlor. He and his friend greet each other before Tanner turns to introduce me. “This loser here is my good friend, Owen. He lost a bet to me today and he’s here to get a tattoo,” Tanner scoffs. “He’s a newbie for the ink, Moose, so don’t go easy on him. At all.”
I shake my head and smile. If Tanner had a handlebar mustache, he’d be twirling it. He’s getting a real kick out of this.
Moose and I shake hands before he ushers me to an open seat at the shop. Looking around the store, I see that the walls are covered in pictures of all of Moose’s artwork—family crests, hearts with various peoples’ names written in them, and impressive likenesses of kids, dogs, and lots of Marilyn Monroe. There are pictures of women showing off their newest tramp stamps and men with close haircuts displaying a military affiliation. Lots of roses, tribal arm bands, skulls, and lettered script.
“So, Owen, what am I doing to you today?” Moose asks.
Tanner crosses his arms and grins down at me with mischief behind his green eyes. I glance from him to Moose and take my wallet out from the back pocket of my jeans. Among my fives, tens, and twenties, I remove a piece of paper two inches by four inches and silently hand it to Moose—almost reverently. Both ends of the paper are frayed and jagged from my looking at it all the time.
Moose looks from me to Tanner and then back to me again. “So this is what you want, huh?”
Tanner walks around to stand behind Moose and looks over his friend’s shoulder at the well-worn piece of paper. His arms unfold and Tanner’s eyes soften. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks.
I nod, smiling proudly. When push came to shove, I knew exactly what I wanted to permanently have on my skin for the duration of my life.
“All right! I’ll go trace this and be back in a few minutes.” Moose smiles and excuses himself to prepare my new tattoo.
After nearly an hour of feeling a mixture of cat scratches, burning, and someone repeatedly snapping a rubber band against my skin, I survey the one-and-a-half-inch-by-three-inch tattoo on the inside of my left forearm.
“Looks good, man,” Tanner affirms. “Olivia is going to fuck you so hard tonight when she sees this…”
I smile back at Tanner in the mirror. “How is that different than any other night?” I tease.
Tanner gives me a fist bump and grins.
Once I’m satisfied with the ink, Moose slathers the fresh artwork with vitamin A&D ointment before putting a protective bandage over it. He gives me a speech he no doubt gives several times a day: use an antibacterial soap, dab with a paper towel to dry, keep the ointment on for a couple of days, don’t scratch, tap, and a slew of other rules. I pay Moose for the tattoo, leaving him a generous tip for being able to see me last minute, and he sends me on my way with a handout reiterating all the instructions he just rattled off.
Thirty minutes later, Tanner is dropping me off in front of my apartment building.
“Thanks for making me follow through with the bet today, Tanner,” I say. “Once I figured out what I wanted, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“It’s a good choice for you, O
wen.” Tanner’s words are full of sincerity. “It obviously means something important to you, and that’s what’s important. Congratulations again on the baby and on the new ink. You did good.”
“I’ll always remember you as the one who took my tattoo cherry, Tanner,” I joke.
“Get the fuck out of my truck, Maxwell. Go be all cutesy with your woman upstairs. I’ll see you in a couple days.”
“Hi, baby,” I call out to Olivia as I enter our apartment.
Immediately, I see her seated at the kitchen table. White takeout boxes littering her workspace are interspersed with yellow legal pads and loose-leaf papers. Her hair is gathered at the top of her head in a messy bun and she’s wearing one of my sweatshirts, which she is swimming in. But dammit, she looks sexy. The heel of one foot is planted on her seat while the other is on the floor, and she looks exhausted.
When Olivia sees me, her demeanor changes. Her frown quickly switches to an excited smile and she rises to her feet to greet me. “Hi, sweetheart! Did you have a good time? What—hey! What’s this?” she questions, pointing at the bandage on my forearm before reaching up on her tiptoes to give me a quick kiss.
I bend down to give her another kiss before laying my jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. “Well,” I begin, “I lost a bet to Tanner.”
“Uh oh… This is starting out bad.”
I tell her the story of our bet and what was at stake as she follows me into the kitchen. I pull out an ice pack from the freezer and lay it on the countertop before returning to the fridge to grab a bottle of cold beer. After fishing the bottle opener out of the drawer, I pop the top of the beer and take a long pull. Mid swallow, it dawns on me that I probably shouldn’t be having alcohol after getting a tattoo. I halt drinking for a fraction of a second before shrugging my shoulders and taking another gulp.
“So wait. You lost the bet?” Olivia shrieks.
I nod and finish my beer, placing the empty glass bottle down on the countertop.
“Then this… This is a tattoo?!”
“Yep.”
“You got a tattoo. Because you lost a bet,” Olivia clarifies. She almost sounds angry.
“Pretty much. Mmhmm.”
Olivia exhales loudly. “Well, let me see it.”
“I don’t know… You seem kinda upset. I’m an injured man and I need time to heal. I don’t—”
Olivia smiles and rolls her eyes at my ploy for her to take it easy on me. “Just let me see your fucking ink, Owen.”
I grin and slowly start to remove the bandage that covers my arm. “Okay. What do you think? It’s the—”
“I know exactly what this is,” Olivia chokes out, cutting me off. She gazes up at me as a lone tear trails down her cheek. “What did you do, baby?”
I pull back the remainder of the bandage to reveal a three-inch-long heart monitor reading belonging to our baby. I snagged a copy of the printout Olivia showed me after her hospital follow-up visit and have kept it in my wallet. I pull it out and look at it all the time—I guess it helps make this all real for me. I looked at it earlier today after my conversation with Tanner and it all just clicked.
I place my hand on Olivia’s stomach and delicately kiss her forehead. “This baby is going to be a part of our lives forever. I just wanted to get something that was meaningful to me. This baby—our baby—means everything to me. You mean everything to me. I figure, with this tattoo, that I’ll have the heart of our baby with me all the time.”
Olivia places her palms flat on my chest and stares into my eyes. “Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more, you go and prove me wrong. I love it.” She jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around my waist, hooking her elbows over my shoulder. Using my one arm, I secure it around her middle and hold her tight to me. “And I love you. So. Very. Much,” she says, alternating pecks along the side of my neck.
I tilt my head to catch her mouth and we give each other sweet, loving kisses. Nothing hurried. Nothing wild and abandoned. Just kisses that say how much we love one other.
Olivia unhooks her ankles from behind my back and I put her feet back on the floor. While Olivia machine-guns me with questions about the bet between me and Tanner, I apply some more ointment and cover the open wound again. I grab a packet of ice to help with any swelling and ease the burn before following Olivia back out to the kitchen table. I take a seat as she gathers up her paperwork and dumps her food cartons in the trash while I recount the story of how the big, bad Moose deflowered me by giving me my first tattoo.
HE'S SHAKING HIS LEG. This, in turn, is shaking his chair. Which is, in turn, making a rattling noise that is going to make me and the other people in the waiting room scream in about two seconds. Scowling at him, I put my hand on his knee to still it.
Owen looks over at me and mouths, "Sorry."
He is so nervous. This is the first doctor's appointment he's come to since he found out about the baby. I know he's scared out of his mind. In fact, he is so scared that he brought a written list of questions. While I haven't seen the list, I caught a glimpse. I saw the word 'sex' written several times. Just thinking about it brings a smile to my face.
"Baby, relax. This is supposed to be a joyful thing. What are you worried you're going to find out?" I try to catch his eyes, and his knee starts going again.
"I don't know. I've never done this before, Olivia," he snaps.
I'm going to let this go because I know he's nervous, but I don't need to. He's immediately contrite.
"Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so...irritable." He looks me in the eye, his leg picking up pace.
I reach a hand out and cup his cheek, guiding his face to mine. When our lips meet, I give him a soft kiss, letting my tongue just lightly lick at his lips. His leg immediately stops shaking and I feel his body relax against me.
I pull back a little and whisper to him, "This is going to be fine—amazing, even. You're going to hear the baby. You'll see."
Soon, my name is called and we follow the nurse into the room.
"You can take all your clothes off on the bottom, including your panties. There is a changing room just there in the corner. Inside, you'll find a drape to put over your lap when you get back to the exam table."
Owen raises an eyebrow to me. "You're gonna get naked?" he asks.
"Just from the waist down. They don't usually do this early, but since I had the accident, they want to check my cervix to make sure everything is still okay."
As I start to walk toward the changing room, I catch a look like Owen just had an epiphany on his face.
"Wait, what is your doctor's name again?"
"Dr. Evans. Why?" I move into the changing area, removing my jeans, panties, shoes, and socks. I come back out, set the drape around my waist, and sit at the end of the examining table.
"No. What's the doctor's first name." His face is contorted, his brow furrowed and one eyebrow reaching for the ceiling. I don't get it.
"Jim. Jim Evans. Why? Do you know him?" I ask, completely confused.
He looks crazed for a moment. "A guy doctor is going to look at your pussy?"
I laugh. It starts as a giggle, and then moves to a full-on guffaw. "First, lots of doctors are males in this field, Owen. Second, I don't think he looks at it as looking at my ‘pussy.’" I use air quotes. "This isn't sexual, Owen. He's trying to make sure our baby is safe."
He doesn't look appeased. "I'm staying in the room. Fuck, Olivia. He's going to put his fucking fingers in you? You're going to be fingered by another dude in front of me!" He is yell-whispering, his anger making his volume rise. Yup, he’s lost it.
"He's not fingering me, Owen, and keep your goddamn voice down," I chastise. "For the love of Christ, if you can't handle this, you can leave the room."
He grimaces and squints his eyes at me, but sits down, frowning.
"Thank you," I say, hoping this visit doesn't turn into a shitfest.
I hear a rap at the door, and Dr. Evans pokes his head in. "Everyone d
ecent?" he asks with a little humor in his voice.
Owen grunts, but I throw him a look to shut him up. "Come on in," I call out.
Dr. Evans is very nice—and very old. Well, not very old, but in his later sixties, meaning he's not competition for Owen. I hope Owen gets that.
He shakes my hand. "Olivia, so nice to see you again. I was so glad to hear you and the baby were okay after that terrible accident. That was very scary, I presume." Dr. Evans is my regular gynecologist but was unable to see me the first two times I came in—once because it was too short notice and the second time due to his vacation. I’m glad I get to see him today, feeling more comfortable with someone I know.
I sigh. Just thinking about what could have been still scares me a lot. I often have nightmares about the loss of the baby, and while I find them disturbing, I don't share them with Owen. He has his own nightmares, and somehow, it seems cruel to tell him about my insecurities.
"Yes, I'm glad everything was okay too. We both are." I gesture toward my boyfriend, who now is looking at me with fear in his eyes. Owen is still not one hundred percent settled since the accident. He is hyper vigilant with me, scared, anxious.
Dr. Evans reaches a hand out to Owen. Thank God Owen shakes it. "And you must be Dad?" Dr. Evans says with a big grin on his face. "Congratulations are in order!"
“Yeah, I'm the dad... Owen. And thanks. We're really excited." He looks over at me, his face softening further, love evidence in his eyes. I smile back.
"Well, let’s take a look-see then!" Dr. Evans exclaims.
He pulls over a stand that has a screen and what looks like a complicated keyboard attached. Next to it are bottles of gel and an apparatus that I know is the device used in the ultrasound. As it gets closer, he sits himself at level with my abdomen.
"Today, we're going to take some measurements to ensure the baby is growing on target, and then we'll see if we can find the sex of the baby. You want to know the sex or are we keeping it a surprise?"
