Tattooed Moon

by Tiana Laveen

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! You just…surprised me. Why do you say things like that?!”

  “Things like what?” He looked up at her, as if truly clueless.

  “You know what.”

  “Well, it’s true.” He showed that sexy smile again, the one she loved to hate, then turned away, looking around the restaurant. “Is that not what men and women want?” He focused back on her.

  “I would hope it would be more than that.” She stuck her lips out, certain she looked like a duck as she reprimanded him.

  “Of course it’s more than that, but sex is a goal, right?” he argued. “Look, if I’m involved with someone, I expect that it will eventually happen. Do you not?” He appeared confused, as if she’d grown a horn in the middle of her damn forehead.

  “I think when two people know that it’s the right time, they move forward. No need to plan out every little aspect of it. Otherwise, it is just premeditated nonsense and it gets people into a lot of trouble,” She said.

  “Trouble, what kind of trouble?”

  “Like not being on the same page. The woman may think she is in a relationship, and the man just sees her as a friend with benefits. That’s why giving things time, and for that chemistry to be there, is important. People don’t talk enough before sex happens to know where they stand, but some things just come about. There isn’t a discussion, you just kind of know.”

  “I totally agree with that…and I know exactly what I want, so do you want to discuss us making love now or after dinner?”

  “What?!”

  “I’m only kidding!” He burst out in laughter. “Look, here comes the waitress. Are you ready to order?”

  “Uh.” Milan looked down at her menu as if just noticing it. “I have no idea what half of this stuff is…”

  “You want me to order for you?”

  Milan shrugged and slammed her menu closed as if it were to blame for the lousy selections written inside of it.

  “That’s fine I suppose.”

  He flashed a smile in her direction then turned towards the waitress.

  “Hey, how are you doin’? Let me get the Mid-E Platter for my friend here, the falafel platter for myself, a cup of your black bean chili and—”

  “Large or small?”

  He hesitated, shot Milan a look, then answered, “Large…I want to share it.”

  The waitress nodded. “I’ll bring out an additional soup spoon. Did you wish for anything else?” She reached for their menus.

  “Milan, do you prefer root beer or coke?” he asked, throwing her for a loop. She hadn’t planned to order a soft drink.

  “Um, coke.”

  “Okay,” He looked back at the waitress, his elbow on the table, gesturing as he spoke. “At the end, when it’s over, bring me a root beer float, and my friend a coke float.”

  “Got it!” The waitress disappeared, leaving them alone. They remained quiet for a little while, though she didn’t miss the man staring at her, damn near drilling holes into her clothing with his intense eyes. He ran his hand across his chin and leaned back in his seat, real comfortable like, as if he were chilling on his own couch.

  “So how’s that tattoo healing? You didn’t mention it when I picked you up.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. A little tender, but I looked at it and it looks normal. I know you said I could stop, but because of the tenderness and slight redness, I applied the ointment again this afternoon and re-covered it.”

  “Good. Soon that should be unnecessary.”

  He nodded and tapped the table, his fingertips slightly dragging across it.

  “So what is in this medieval platter you ordered for me?”

  He burst out laughing and rolled his eyes. “It’s called the Mid-E Platter, and it will allow you to sample a few different things, you know, get a better idea of what you like and don’t like. It’s really good. It has…”—he began to count off his fingers—“pita, hummus, some nice uncooked veggies, you know, whatever’s in season, falafel and tabbouleh.”

  “What’s tabbouleh?”

  “It’s buckwheat, tomatoes, olive oil, parsley, lemon juice and a little seasoning to taste. It’s really nice, and the one they serve here has lemon sauce drizzled over it. It’s a salad, basically…really tasty.”

  She nodded, trying her damnedest to not show her displeasure. It didn’t help that her stomach was rumbling.

  “You are either perplexed or putting on some act,” she blurted as she took another sip of her water, her hunger pangs making her slightly aggressive.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last weekend when you were doing my tattoo, you were initially the perfect gentleman. You turned on music you knew I’d like, put a flower in my hair, all of that. And then, during the course of the conversation, you started to poke me like a bear, rearing for a fight. But then, when I left, you forced me into a kiss and—”

  “Forced?” he repeated, a slick smirk on his face as he beat his short nails against the table.

  Damn smirk.

  “Yes, forced.” She grinned, barely able to get out the statement, knowing it sounded skewed. “…And then we get in here, and you are talking about sex is expected. I honestly have nothing against the conversation within itself, but that choirboy act you tried to pull initially sure went away quickly. I’m not buyin’ it.” She theatrically rolled her eyes.

  “Choir boy?”

  “Yes, are you going to repeat everything I say back like some recorder?” She shook her head. “You heard me right the first time.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Do I now?” She crossed her arms, waiting to hear this silvery-tongued bullshit he was sure to deliver. It was time he had a mirror up to himself, Mr. High and Mighty Vegetarian Man…acting so holier than though. Besides, she was in the mood for entertainment; it would make the bland meal she’d be urged to try go down a bit easier.

  “That was no act. I didn’t know you. My mind was racing faster than my mouth, and then I caught myself. That could’ve made you uncomfortable, you know? I had no idea. What I did know is that I picked up we had a mutual attraction for one another, so I relaxed a bit, and went on and told you. Now, as far as the kiss, I didn’t make you do anything…”

  “Oh boy…” She burst out laughing and turned away, giving him a glance that said, “This mothafucka right here!”

  “I asked you for something that you wanted to give me. So, I took what was mine, and sent you on your way.” He bit into his bottom lip as if suppressing his mirth, no doubt enjoying how she squirmed about in her seat. “Now, isn’t that true?”

  She shot him a withering look, as if he were a demon sitting before her, trying to seduce her with promises of fame and glory in exchange for her soul. Still, she couldn’t lie. She tried to paint him into a corner, out of sheer boredom, and the slick fucker came out victorious, once again, seamlessly skated his way through without missing a beat.

  “Maybe.”

  He burst out laughing and slapped the table.

  “You just can’t give in, not even a little bit, can you?! Everything has to be a struggle, hmmm? I think you are all an act, Milan. All this shit right here,” he swirled his fingers around a few inches above the table as if circling an imaginary map, “is Milan-flavored bullshit. It is what you do.”

  “Oh really now?” She laughed hoarsely. “So you know all about this right here?” She pointed at herself, put on an innocent expression.

  “Yeah, I know your type. I am what I am. It is your choice to take it or leave it. I’m not going to perform for you or anyone else. That’s not me, baby girl.” He grunted.

  “Baby girl?!”

  “Now who’s the recorder? I actually know more about you than you realize.” He stabbed the table with his finger, while she turned away to avoid his gaze. “I think some women just think men only see you as physical conquests, that we don’t pay attention. That’s not true.” He served her another wink on a platter, smothered in charisma.r />
  Player…

  “From what, astrology?” She guffawed.

  “Not just that. I know women.”

  “Oh… you know women, huh?” Her brow shot up. “How old are you, Julian?”

  “Twenty-eighty, one year older than you.”

  “And in your twenty-eight years, you learned all about women, huh?” she egged on.

  “What does age have to do with it? If I were fifty-eight, would I then be considered more wise on this topic? Maybe, maybe not. Knowledge on something is based partially on interest. It interests me…you interest me.”

  Before she could respond with another snarky remark, their food arrived.

  Fifteen minutes later, after her first taste of the platter that the man fed to her from his fork, she decided she was having a culinary love affair. Initially, she put up a bit of a fight, but damn it, she ended up in epicurean love.

  Soooo delicious!

  She could not believe how flavorful and rich everything tasted. Rendered silent, she stuffed her mouth, though she was a bit embarrassed at how she was sure putting it away. This was a first date after all, and she was supposed to be putting her best high-heeled foot forward. Julian, however, seemed at times so crass—a cutie pie with a penchant for being a bit abrasive—but the man was on point about most everything he said. She was making things difficult for him, but truth was, she couldn’t have it both ways. She wanted to date a guy that was strong-willed and honest, and that always seemed like too much to ask; but Julian was beyond forthright and to top it all, the man had her personality pegged perfectly.

  Milan studied the man as he sat there, looking as if tangled within his own thoughts. She tapped her fork against her lip in contemplation. She didn’t believe his guess had anything to do with astrology. Rather, she placed the blame on him simply being perceptive. Yes, that had to be it…

  “Here, take a bite of this.” His fork floated over, chock full of what appeared to be flaky white meat. That terrible tofu—and though by appearances it looked like chicken, she understood her expectations needed to remain low. Surely, something out of this meatless place would be less savory…

  She was wrong.

  She wrapped her lips around the fork, forfeiting her reservations about eating from others’ utensils. Feeling a bit sheepish at the way his lips parted as he watched her, she tried to not stare him in the eye as her mouth had a damn orgasm. It didn’t matter; it was useless. She looked at him, and found that little predictable smirk clear across his face. His gaze never left her mouth…

  He was a pervert, and not doing a very good job of hiding it.

  Regardless, she played on this, relishing in the moment as she, too, began to delight in the flirtatious game they played. After swallowing the toasted tofu, she daintily dabbed at the side of her mouth with her tri-folded napkin and regarded him with a smile, her head cocked to the side.

  “That was delicious,” she admitted, tired of toying with the man. He’d fight her on every slick comment anyway. No, right now she just wanted to relax. He’d passed her little litany of tests, at least for now.

  “I know. So, eating like this ain’t so bad, huh?” He took a sip of his tea. “Dessert is coming soon.”

  “I’m stuffed.” She sighed. “And I can’t take a cola float home.”

  “You’ll eat it,” he teased. “They are really good, too. I don’t know what brand of root-beer they use, but it tastes old-fashioned. Like the ones we used to have as kids.”

  “You know, I can’t really recall having any floats as a child.”

  “You didn’t have pink cows? Root beer floats?! Awwwww man!” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “They were the best. My mom used to fix them for my stepsister and me and she’d put a cherry on top.” He took a deep breath to emphasize that detail of the fond memory. “I think she stole those candied cherries from work.” He burst out laughing—a carefree sound that made her want to grab it from the air and tuck it in her pocket. “Anyway, they were theeeeee best!”

  “Stepsister, huh? Were you two close?”

  “Kinda. She was like four years older than me, so…” He shrugged. “You know how that is. My parents got divorced when I was nine. My mom remarried when I was thirteen. My stepfather was kinda strict, but a decent man all around. We didn’t really talk much, just stayed out of each other’s way. As long as he wasn’t hittin’ her or treatin’ her bad, I couldn’t nitpick.”

  Though his words were void of much emotion, underneath, Milan sensed a layer of cloaked pain.

  “He kept the bills paid so my mother didn’t too much complain.”

  “You make it seem like they were just friends with benefits.” Milan dug a bit deeper. She was interested in this man, and she wanted to know everything about him.

  Shit. I like him. I really like him…

  “Hmmm.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure she had some sort of love for him, but it was kinda one-sided I think. My mother was just the type of woman that couldn’t do long term commitments, unless it was me or a damn cat, or something like that. She wasn’t really a one-man type of woman, ya know?” He laughed. Again, his words, though rolled in chuckles, sounded a bit forced. Milan listened intently, knowing now without a shadow of a doubt that under that faux merriment lay a torn heart and the birthplace of Julian’s personal brand of cynicism. The launch pad for what and who he was today…

  “She was a good mom, though, you know?” His eyes narrowed as he drifted in thought and played with his fork, tapping it against his now empty plate. “Anything I needed from her, she took care of. She let me get away with too much though.” He nodded, his head low. “…But she loves me, always did. I needed that most of all.”

  “What about your biological father?”

  He looked up at her and grinned.

  “This is interesting, Milan.” He clasped his hands tightly together, intertwining his fingers. “People don’t generally ask me about my family, so I don’t talk about it a great deal.”

  “Oh…do you not want to?” She resituated herself in her seat.

  “Nah, it’s fine.” He glanced at her arm, at the new tattoo that was partially exposed, though covered in gauze. He seemed to study the area out the corner of his eye. “I feel like I know so much about you and your mother… I like this, us sharing.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he and I had a good relationship, although strained at times, like when I was a teenager. Typical stuff, I suppose. He never remarried. I think he was kinda bitter after the divorce…always asking me about what my mother was doing. Anyway…” Julian sighed.

  “After the divorce, he changed. Became less enthusiastic, but we still had good times. In retrospect, I think my father suffered from some sort of chemical imbalance, mainly depression. He’d be there, but not be there, if you know what I mean.

  “It was kind of like, out of sight, out of mind. He didn’t come over as much later, either. He apologized to me about it years later, stating that my mother always rode his ass when he’d try to come over…but you know what?” He huffed, running his hand across his forehead as if he had a headache. “I only told you part of the story regarding my father and…it’s not exactly good dinner conversation.” He bit into his bottom lip through a grin.

  She knew that grin well, now. He crossed his arms real tight over his chest and turned away, his complexion warm. Hesitating on making a move, she just stared at him for a moment.

  “Julian, it doesn’t bother me,” she finally said. “Look, if you want to tell me, tell me; if you don’t, I understand.” She didn’t want to push him, but…what if he was trying to push himself over the hurdle, if somewhere deep inside, he believed this had to be done? He folded his hands on the table, looking down at them as if he needed a moment.

  “My father died in a motorcycle accident, but it wasn’t actually an accident, Milan. It was on purpose. He left a suicide note…”

  Milan’s heart dropped lower than low. “Oh Julian, I’m so sorry…”

  …A
nd here she was again, drowning in a world of regret.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve never told anyone that before. Wow…” Now, his smile was weak, as if it needed some special vitamins just to gain any leverage ever again. “I guess, I just never wanted anyone to think badly of him, even strangers. I didn’t talk about it, not because I was ashamed, but to try and protect him, I suppose.” He shrugged. “I know people are real judgmental about suicide. I know how people think. Shit, I’m that way too, probably.” He shook his head. “There were days when I wanted to die, but I didn’t! Things happen, ya know?” Julian threw his hands up and his protective grin resurfaced.

  For the first time since she’d laid eyes on the man, she could see deep trenches of intense sadness in his eyes. Heartbreaking.

  “He was a good person,” he murmured. “He had some sort of outlandish obsession with my mom, though. The love was gone, and he had trouble accepting it. … Honestly, I think she was tired of him starting arguments with her, trying to get her back, too…sleep with her at least.” He snickered. “It’s not funny. I’m just laughing because, well, it still upsets me.” His eyes became a bit glossy.

  Damn. The truth hurts…

  “Actually, I do think they were still sleeping together up until his death, but of course that’s none of my business. It was never confirmed.” He rolled his eyes. “Is this too much, on a first date? Of course it is.” He answered himself. “Shit, I’m really sorry,” he said, leaning forward on the table.

  “You know what, Julian? I asked you the question, and I got the answer…and I don’t regret it. I think you needed to discuss this. It helps sometimes to do so.” Milan tossed her napkin in the middle of her plate, feeling a bit depressed her damn self now, though it wasn’t his fault. “But, with me crying in front of you, and everything we know about each other now, I think we can do this, and be okay with it. Plus, I want to know. Continue, please.” She tilted her head ever so slightly and smiled at him. She wanted to give him a place to be the real him and, she hoped, that place was with her.

  He took a look at his tea and glass of water, opted on the water and took a sip.