I prep her and the tattoo machine, then began the outline. Four hours in, I notice she has not flinched once. Not. One. Move. She hasn’t even broken a sweat. She could be sleeping for all I know, so I check just to make sure. She is just gazing off into space, entirely somewhere else. It isn’t as if we haven’t done sensitive spots, either. I’ve covered her ribs and sternum, and I’ve seen grown men tear up at those. Showing a little reaction is common, but none? That is too strange. I need to start engaging her in conversation.
“Leire, please tell me about this tattoo?” I implore.
She shutters, coming out of the world she has locked herself away in. “I have cancer.”
With those three words, my world shatters.
LEIRE
Oh, my god. I cannot believe I just told him that. I mean, I do…well, I did have cancer, but I never mention it to anyone. That was the other me. My hair is back now. My scars are invisible under my clothes. Once the tattoo is finished, they will be invisible without clothes. No one ever needs to know. Ever. Then I go and open my goddamn mouth. “Well, I had cancer,” I clarify. He nods, encouraging me to go on, and continues working. Apparently, tattoo artists are good listeners and double as therapists. “So, let me start from the beginning.” I smile.
“When I was fourteen, I woke up sick, but only at night. No fever, just puking. The next day, I was fine. We thought nothing of it. Maybe it was food poisoning or something. I went to school, to soccer, did everything like I normally would, then went to bed. Life was normal for me for a day. And then, two days later, it happened again. I just woke up, puked, went back to sleep, and went on like normal. Same thing, same result. I was okay during the day, but my lower abdomen began to hurt frequently.
“My mom took me to the doctor and they determined it was a yeast infection. I was fourteen and a virgin. Hell, I hadn’t even had my period yet. That was, like, the worst news to me for some odd reason. I look back now and wish they had been right. That it hadn’t embarrassed me because I now know what embarrassment is. That was not it. Not it at all.
“I did what they said and treated it for two days, despite the worsening pain. When I finally caved and told my mom it was hurting worse and I didn’t want to go to soccer, she took me back to the doctor. Soccer and swimming were my life. I think she knew it had to be something dire for me to want to willingly stay home from practice.
“This time, it was a bladder infection. Again, I went home and began treating it, but I hurt so badly. I didn’t want to get out of bed.
“It was the beginning of May. I was on track to make the varsity soccer team my sophomore year, but I couldn’t bring myself to find joy in it. I was already on the varsity swim team as a freshman and that was enough for me. In a matter of four days, I was losing the things I found joy in because of this pain. For two more days, I treated the ‘infection’.
“On Saturday morning, I forced myself up and out of bed to play an entire soccer tournament. I played four full games that day. I was a striker and an amazing player.” I stop. The tears are coming fast now. I miss soccer. I miss being good at anything. Cancer took that. It took so fucking much. “I was amazing. I loved the feeling of the wind in my hair. I loved to run and control the ball. I was fucking aggressive, too. I have had opponents carted off on stretchers! Hell, it was pro-track. They should expect it, right? I was one of the best and in the best physical condition I could be. We played all day, game after game. I don’t remember the results, only that it was one of the last good days of my life. My family was there, my friends and coaches were there. Everyone who mattered at all was there.” I pause.
Ander is still working away on the tattoo, but notices I have stopped talking. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“The next Sunday was Mother’s Day. I was so excited. I was fourteen and had planned something on my own. Something special for just my mom and me. We were supposed to attend a high tea at the Brown Palace, and be treated like the Queen of England for the day. I’d been saving forever. I felt so grown up, taking my mom out.”
The needle continues to buzz. I have been lying here for so many hours, I’ve lost track. Ander’s body has to be killing him, but he doesn’t complain once. When the needle is right on my hipbone, where my biopsy had taken place, the scars have to be noticeable to him. Still, not a word. Right above that is a bigger scar, where my appendix and spleen had been removed. Still nothing.
I look down. Ander is concentrating hard, so I reach out and gently touch his hand. “Why don’t you take a break? We’ve been at this for hours, you know.”
He looks up, a little shocked and dazed. “I agree. Why don’t we call it a day? I’m almost done with the outline. Next time, we should be able to finish it and maybe begin the color of the phoenix. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I reply.
He gently wipes me down, using soft, smooth strokes. As he begins to apply some sort of cream and explain the aftercare, he hesitantly says, “With a tattoo this size, sex is going to be hard for a while. I mean, you are pretty much committed to all fours if you don’t want it chaffing and sticking to the sheets.”
He is blushing so much, I can’t hold the laugh in. It just escapes. I look up. “I don’t think that will be a problem, seeing as there is no one.”
He looks up with the largest smile I’ve seen on him yet. “Babe, that’s the best news I have had in months. Let’s get you dressed, and then I’m taking you to dinner. I know it’s late, but neither of us have eaten for hours and, for some reason, I really want to spend more time with you. We can continue to get to know each other. You don’t have to tell me anything more serious. Just normal, everyday stuff. Please say yes.”
He looks at me with such sincerity in his eyes, I can’t disappoint him. “Yes.”
ANDER
She said yes! Holy hell! She said yes! “Just let me get this cleaned up, then we can head out. Is there anything you don’t eat?” I ask.
“Not really,” she shrugs. “I love food. Now that I can eat it, I make a habit of never letting a day go by without truly enjoying life — including food. I’m not a salad eater, as I’m sure you noticed my curves.” She blushes.
Oh god, did I notice? And I am so very glad for that food. This girl hit all my buttons so far. I have always felt that if a man wanted to date a rabbit, they should look into bestiality, not women, so I don’t date women who only eat salads or are constantly dieting. That is no fun for anyone involved. Plus, they are always angry, probably from lack of food. Then again, one could also say that I have never really dated, so this entire thing is new to me.
As she dresses, carefully covering up the most sinfully erotic and beautiful body I’ve ever seen, I clean the tools and close the shop for the night since we seemed to have worked past when everyone else left. I rummage around to find her some Tylenol figuring, at some point, all that work would come back at her.
When we get outside, I hand her a helmet. “A motorcycle?” she asks.
“Not just any motorcycle. She’s a 1938 DKW N2350, and has been featured in a Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition because she’s so beautiful.” I pat the thing reverently. “I put this thing together using an old German 1938 DKW and a spare engine from a Yamaha Diversion, along with other parts.” I know I am bragging but, man, she’s a beauty. She is perfect, unique, and all mine. Just like another lady I am currently working on. “She’s fast,” I tell her.
Her eyes light up. “Well, what are we waiting for then?”
I can tell she is just as ready as I am and we both hop on the bike. I love this thing almost as much as my store, so having her on the back of it is huge for me. I put my heart into everything I do…store, bike, and tattoos. Now I am wondering if that extends to relationships. I reach around and help her fasten her helmet, then do mine. I grab her hands and wrap them tightly around my waist. With no clue where I am headed, I am thinking on the fly. I have zero experience with this. She, however, is enjoying the ride. Her hands are slowly gliding under
my shirt, and her chest is rising and falling rapidly with her breathing. I am beginning to love my beast even more now.
I find myself flexing my abs at every opportunity just to feel her reaction when she runs her hands over them. This is fun. I can smell her, too. That is one reason to get a motorcycle. The vibrations. God, every woman deserves a man with a motorcycle. I have a feeling there is going to be a wet mark on the seat when we reach our destination. She doesn’t seem ashamed. Instead, she hardens her hold on my abs and groans as she leans into me.
“Nire Zeruko, you need to stop that or we won’t make it to dinner,” I tell her. That is the second time I’ve uttered Basque, my family’s language, to her. It doesn’t happen often, and never with women. While I am American, my skin color gives away my family background of other cultures that remain hidden. With her, though, I can’t wait to explore.
I have no clue where I am taking her, and being that I have never taken a girl on a real date before, I am at a loss. I didn’t make reservations anywhere, but don’t want to take her someplace cheap. I am going to have to bite the bullet tonight and take her someplace normally reserved for close friends and family. After about a half-hour, I pull up to a small strip mall with a restaurant. “Don’t let its rundown looks fool you,” I proclaim. The look on her face is priceless, like I hung the moon. What the fuck did I do and how do I do it again?
I can’t believe I am taking her here of all places. This will open a whole new can of worms but, for some reason, I am ready for this. I have never mentioned a girl to my folks, let alone brought one to the restaurant. I am actually surprised no one has asked if I am gay by now, since I never have females around. Maybe they just assume I am asexual, since there are no men around me, either. The restaurant, “Basque”, is a family tradition started by my great-grandfather when he immigrated to America. It is now run by my parents, older brother, and younger sister. I am the outcast, so to speak, but they still love me. As long as I am happy, they are happy.
I open the door to escort her inside and my mother spots me immediately, rushing over and kissing my cheeks. The scent of garlic and seafood overwhelms and comforts me. “Muzaka nazazui, my son!” she exclaims.
“Leire, this is my ama, Maria. Mother, this is my girl, Leire. Be kind. She is new to this,” I say, clearly trying to hide that I am probably even newer at this whole dating thing. My mother just tsked and took Leire by the arm, guiding her to a table.
“I am so excited to meet you, neska polita. My Ander has never brought a girl by before.” She pauses. “Come to think of it, he’s never even mentioned a girl before.” She is looking at me, and I just shrug. What exactly does one say to that? I already know there is something different about this girl, and now my mom does, too, virtually announcing it. Leire is looking a little pale.
“Mom, why don’t you give us a little time alone? I will get us some water. Leire is looking a little scared. Please don’t run her off.” I raise my brow. She tsks again, then walks off. I return shortly with our water and laugh at my mother lurking around the corner. She may have acted put out, but I can see the joy in her eyes.
“My girl?” Leire says when I sit down.
Crap, I had said that, hadn’t I? “Oh, so you noticed that, did you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I couldn’t quite tell them I found you on the street corner working for food, could I?” I wink.
Smiling back at me, she asks, “What does neska polita mean? You keep using it.”
“In Basque, it means ‘beautiful girl’ or ‘my beautiful girl’, and you are. My neska polita, my beautiful girl. ”
Blushing, she looks away, completely ignoring my statement. “So, what’s good here?”
I have to laugh. The very first time I open up with a girl and she decides to derail me with food? This woman is going to drive me crazy. With every emotion I can put behind a word, I answer, “Everything.”
LEIRE
Oh, my god. I am so over my head! Ander is perfect, I am so…not. I don’t even know how to process what he just told me. He worked his way up, owns his own business, loves and treats his mom with such love and respect, looks amazing, and has called me sexy names in a fucking foreign language! He called me “his girl”. I’ve never been someone’s anything. I have been doctor’s experiments, I have been my parent’s miracle, but never once have I let myself open up to be someone else’s anything. And here he is, pulling me into it without my choice. Well, who am I kidding? Like I would choose not to be? Do I want to be someone’s girl? Do I take on that risk, the pain of hurting myself and others if something goes wrong? The answer is simple. I am beginning to think it is “yes”.
Redirecting again, I ask, “So, what are we having? Nothing with garlic or onions, I hope,” I say, smirking.
He blushes. “Why? Are you planning on taking advantage of me, Miss…? Wait. I don’t even know your last name. It’s on your paperwork at the shop, but I don’t feel like I know it. Mine is Giovide’, Ander Giovide’.”
“MacCarthaigh. Leire MacCarthaigh. Apparently, it means ‘loving person’. My mom wanted to name me Aiobhean MacCarthaigh, which would have meant ‘beautiful loving person’. My family may be a little full of themselves. My dad saved the day by naming me Leire.” I laugh, remembering some good times as a crazy family, before the darkness descends again and pain takes joy’s place.
He starts laughing, too. “Our families must be from the same school of thought. My name means ‘the warrior who takes the high road in life’.” He stops and stares at me. “You are truly the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, Leire.”
ANDER
“Tell me about you,” she says and I gulp. She has every reason to ask. I stepped into this willingly. I can do this.
“My great-grandparents moved here from Spain and were Basque. I am fluent in three languages because of them. I was also raised with strict tradition that I obviously don’t follow much anymore.” I point to my tattoos. “My grandparents are concerned for my soul,” I say, trying to make light of it.
She responds gently, “A pastor from the hospital once told me that the Bible says Christ had the names of all of the believers tattooed upon his palms. If your tattoos are the only thing holding you back, don’t let them.” With that little speech, she manages to make me more comfortable and at ease with myself than I had been in ages.
“Listen,” I begin, “I know we both have a history. I am thirty-seven years old and a pretty jaded ass who has never once had a girlfriend. I want that. I want to love and be open with another person so terribly, sometimes it causes physical pain. You walked into my shop and I decided maybe it was worth a try. I knew I needed to know more about you. But I am new to this. Just like you need time to trust me, I need a time to trust you, too. Is that okay, Leire?”
She nods and reaches across the table to gently take my hand. “Ander, in the end, it is worth it to trust. To live every day like there is no tomorrow…because there may not be. We are not guaranteed a tomorrow, or even a full today. I know that all too well. But there is plenty of time to get to know each other. We will explore this new thing together.”
That being said, we settle in for a great dinner discussing our favorite foods, movies, and drinks. It turns out she is a crazy freak for B-rated horror movies. When she originally started chemotherapy, she started helping her dad rebuild old cars…helping meaning reading directions and causing issues. She is so unique. Her way of looking at things is so refreshing. You can see how sensitive she is, but she tries to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and to smile at people. I notice that as we are sitting there. She smiles at each and every person passing our table, family or not.
Family members continually stop by to share stories and generally embarrass me. She particularly likes the story about the time I accidentally lit the neighbor’s car on fire because I threw a spinning firework in the air and it happened to make it straight through the open sunroof of the car. I couldn’t have done tha
t again if I tried. It really was kind of funny…except for when my parents got the bill.
We talk about her times with her sister and their stuffed animals, and my times with my brother to see who could break something first. I also learn I am not the only person with a family member who insists they were abducted by aliens. She laughs. “I know! Because sleepwalking is so much more of a stretch than being transported by a spaceship no one else saw, being tested on and then returned, only to be standing in the kitchen craving yogurt. That is exactly what my cousin believes. That is also why she won’t eat yogurt.”
I don’t think I have ever had so much fun with another person in my life, Wyatt and our crazy times included. Then she asks, “Will you tell me about your tattoos?”
I grow silent. She absolutely deserves it. She started telling me her story full of pain, and I know, over the time it takes to finish this tattoo, she will tell the whole story. However, am I ready for her to know my secrets? Her tattoo is her story. Mine are my secrets. I stare at my arms. Is it safe? I choose the shield and crest. It is done in black and shades of gray, red dripping from the swords. “This one represents my family.”
It is such a cop out, but she responds anyway, “It seems so sad. Everyone here is happy. How can your family tattoo seem so sad?”
And there it is. She hits the nail right on the head. I have to continue now. “I had a twin sister. Adra. We were inseparable. Wherever one of us was, the other was bound to be close. She was so much smaller than me, though. My mom and dad had to work. It took all their time to get this place doing well. The restaurant was big then, not this little rundown place before you now.”
She stops me. “This is not rundown. This is loved. It is love that makes it look this way.”
When I look into her eyes, I don’t see the pity I normally would expect to see…yet. It is coming, though. It always does. There is a reason I have had no relationships. I decide to continue, “So, since my family had to work all the time, I was pretty much in charge of myself. My sister and I were often left to our own devices, or in the care of our elderly neighbors. They were pretty much like grandparents to us. Charlie was the closest thing I had to a grandfather, since mine died when we were 3. But they were getting old. I should have seen it. I should have known something and done something.
One More Breath Page 3
