Her Hometown Girl

by Lorelie Brown

  “Not that it’s your business, but I did leave her. I packed my stuff the next day.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Not platitudes. Not a polite lie. For some reason I really do feel weight lift off my shoulders. “Got your own place now?”

  “Kind of. I’m pretty lucky; one of my students’ parents is letting me use an apartment they own. I’m still looking for something permanent though. It’s all so freaking expensive.”

  “The market is rough lately. I’m sure you’ll find somewhere soon.”

  “Tell me about it. I could go back to school for as much as some places are charging.” She tosses a small tote onto my extra chair. “And it’s not like I enjoyed college that much the first time around.”

  “I enjoyed it too much. So much that I dropped out.” I pat the big, padded tattoo throne. “Up you go.”

  “I have to admit, I thought about it like a dozen or a hundred times or so.” She gives me a slightly embarrassed look from under her brows. “It was Jody who got me through. Not the academic stuff, I was fine with that. I was so lonely. I’m from Idaho, and the adjustment to Cal State Fullerton was overwhelming.”

  “And Jody rescued you?”

  “We lived in the same hall. She …” Tansy trails off, looking past me into her memories. Then her mouth twists into a wry smile. “She set herself up as my rescuer, told me no one would ever understand me the way she did, and they wouldn’t want me anyway. I shouldn’t keep romanticizing her. So say the self-help books.”

  “Self-help books talk a good line.” I like the way she smells today, like fresh flowers and rain. “It’s a hell of a lot harder to live. If they weren’t, I wouldn’t be nearly as screwed up as I am. Maybe I’d even settle down with a nice woman and a Subaru and a couple mastiffs.”

  “A Subaru and dogs?” She laughs. “You’ve read the Lesbian Bible one too many times. You don’t have to live the stereotype, you know.”

  “I’m actually bi,” I say in mock-seriousness. “Throws the gaydar off every time.”

  “No, I mean, yeah, I thought you were gay of some sort, but that was mostly wish fulfillment because I thought maybe you were flirting with me last time I was here. Before Jody showed up at—” She breaks off abruptly, clamping her mouth shut. She goes so red that the apples of her cheeks circle round to white while the rest of her is scalding. “Sorry. Rambling. I know it’s annoying.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I grasp her upper arm. She’s shaking, and hard. “It’s cute.”

  “You don’t have to lie.”

  “I’m not.”

  She’s looking down at her lap, where her hands are locked together. Her shaking subsides before she manages to look up at me. “Honest?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  She takes a long, slow breath that lifts and lowers her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  Her bravery is so in my face that it’s startling. I rub the arm I’m holding, keeping the move as brisk and reassuring as I can manage. I don’t do relationships well. Connection is difficult—but it’s exactly what this girl needs, which means I’m exactly who should stay away from her. “Lay down and let me see your leg.”

  She’s facedown practically before I can blink. I fight the urge to call her a good girl, and settle for patting her shoulder. She’s like petting a baby duck or a puppy. Makes me want to nuzzle her.

  “Mostly it’s perfect,” she says, and for a minute I think she’s poking around inside my head and telling me this temptation is okay. Except of course she’s talking about her tattoo. “I didn’t heal well on the left and now there’s some light bits?”

  “I see what you mean.” I lay a finger on about an inch of lighter gray among the black. “Right here.”

  “Yeah. Can you fix it?”

  “Totally. You head to the front again, and I’ll get everything sanitized. Let you know when I’m ready for you.”

  “Awesome,” she squeaks and then she does this amazingly, mind-numbingly sexy/cute butt wiggle.

  I deserve a Nobel fucking Anti-Sex Prize for not gripping that soft bubble with both hands and squeezing tight. “Right,” I manage to choke out. I clear my throat and repeat myself. “Right. Off with you.”

  “I’m really happy. I was freaked out that I’d done something wrong and it wouldn’t be fixable and it’s so beautiful. I would be so mad at myself if it was ruined.” She seems to recognize that she’s doing that rambling thing, because her fingers lift to her mouth and she blushes again. It’s not as fierce as last time.

  I still want to kiss her, and that could not be a more terrible idea. I’m too hard for her, too cold. Far too cold.

  I send her off to wait and rabbit through all the sterilization that will keep both her and me safe. The whole time, I turn the possibilities over and over in my mind. Six weeks since an aborted wedding probably isn’t long enough for her to be over her terrible-sounding ex, but maybe that’s okay. I’m not exactly looking for forever anyway. A drink and some flirting and seeing what possibly happens from there … It’s not out of the realm of things that could come true.

  I’m not built for complicated. I know that. But she probably can’t handle complicated. I may even be doing her something of a favor by helping her get into the world again without expecting too much.

  Once my gear is ready, I go back out to the waiting area to collect her. Only this time she’s not studying the art. She’s sitting and waiting and watching for me.

  And, Christ, the way her face lights up when she smiles is a thing of magic. My fingers curl with the need to touch that smile. How can she be so sweet? So happy? If I had been the one to walk in on my fiancée boning some dude, I’d still be a rage ball. Instead, she worries that she’s the one who’s fucked up the tattoo—not the way most customers would pin the blame on me.

  “All set,” I tell her.

  “Great,” she pipes and hops up. “I hope it doesn’t hurt as bad as last time.”

  I usher her back to my station. “If it does, at least it’ll be over soon. Much less to do this time.”

  “Awesome.”

  She lies facedown and indeed it’s all over in no time. I darken up the smudges and have to round out one too-sharp curve. Over all, I’m pretty stoked with how her ink turned out. It’s less than fifteen minutes of touch-up, but once I finish and she sits up, there are tears in her eyes.

  I hide my grin as I snap off my latex gloves. “You really do have a low pain tolerance, don’t you?”

  She blinks away the tears with a sniffle or two. “I guess so. I’ve never really tested it out before.”

  “No more tats for you? You’re not going to get ink fever and be back in a couple weeks?”

  “No way.” A tear breaks loose and skates over her rounded cheek even though she’s smiling. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this one. But no more. Ever.”

  I don’t even try to resist my urge and wipe her tear away with my thumb. My fingertips rest on her soft neck, and I think I can feel her heart racing. Or maybe that’s my own pounding pulse. “Then how will I see you again?”

  “Do you want to?” She’s motionless all over, staring at me, and it’s only then that I realize how much she’s usually moving. Her hands flutter and her shoulders shift.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  She bursts into movement again, ducking her head and using both hands to shove her curls behind her ears. “I could stop by?”

  “Or we could go on a date.” She’s freaking adorable.

  “A date would be good. When?”

  “How about now?” I’m not sure where the impulse comes from, but I decide to follow it. “I’m on the schedule until ten, but I don’t have any appointments.”

  She slides off the chair and hooks her bag over her shoulder. “I’m ready for whatever.”

  It shouldn’t be enticing, but I have lots of ideas for what whatever could entail. I put up a finger. “Wait here real quick.”

  I duck in the back room to tell Skylar that I’m headi
ng out. She doesn’t mind. I keep enough customers rolling in that I can get some leeway when I want it. And when it comes to Tansy, I definitely want it.

  Tansy waits outside the front door of the shop, turned away. She’s wearing a Henley and shorts and that blue plaid. Now that I know she’s from Idaho, it’s got a different feel than most girls I see running around in plaid shirts. This is probably something she’s worn all her life. When she was a little girl with pale-red hair in pigtails and rosy cheeks, she’d have worn the same thing. I bet she’s the type who went tromping through mud and just kept going.

  When she spots me, she turns and smiles. I love that smile. She looks joyous to see me, which makes me feel pretty damn good in turn.

  “Hi,” she says, and then she blushes. “Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Being goofy.” She shakes her head in a way that I’m coming to recognize is more a way of scolding herself into stopping whatever she’s talking about. “Where are we going?”

  “My favorite dive bar.”

  “You Californians are so cute.” She falls into step beside me. “You don’t know what a dive bar is until you’ve seen a bar in Salmon. It’s not a dive bar just because they don’t have a dance floor.”

  “I don’t know. This place is pretty old-school.”

  “Does it have a moose head on the wall?”

  “No, but it does have a giant mounted blue fin tuna hanging from the ceiling.”

  She narrows her eyes as if she’s seriously considering the qualifications, but I see her hiding a smile in the tucks of her cheeks. “I reserve the right to declare Whiskey Willy’s superior.”

  “Seriously? That’s the name of the joint?”

  “Yup. It’s right on Main Street.”

  I laugh. “Is it actually Main Street? Belladonna Ink is on Main too. I bet they look way different.”

  “The name’s on the signs. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She flashes me the cutest fucking grin. It lives in the way her eyes sparkle under the setting sun. I want the right to curl a hand over the back of her neck and drag her mouth to mine.

  I settle for saying, “You’re adorable.”

  She jumps so hard, it’s almost as if I told her that I think she kicks puppies. “What?”

  “You’re cute.” I think I’ve said something wrong, or something that hits a weird point in her brain or memories. I guess? I stop walking, since we’re at Mikey’s. “Your features are arranged in a pleasing manner. Is that not okay? Did I go too far?”

  “No, it’s fine,” comes out of her mouth, but her eyes are so wide and she’s standing on the tiptoes of one foot. It’s almost a sprinter’s starting stance, like she’s going to dash away.

  I don’t want to push her too much, so I hold the wooden door open but step back so she’s got plenty of room. “Here. Grab a seat anywhere you want.”

  Tansy

  The doorway to the place is draped in shadows, and I can’t see much of the room beyond. Cai is looking at me, but trying not to look too hard. I know that expression. It’s one where I’ve done something totally batshit crazy and she doesn’t know what to do. I get that at work sometimes, when I say something weird and Courtney and Imogene don’t know how to respond. The past two weeks since school started up again have been hard. I’ve been saying a lot of stupid stuff. But it’s been better than sitting alone in my new apartment.

  So naturally my heartbeat shoots into an astronomically fast pattern. Because I’m kinda crazy, even when I don’t mean to be. I’m still smiling. I tuck a bit of hair behind my ear and go through the door.

  She called me cute. Adorable. That’s not a bad thing. It’s not something that ought to make me feel like puking. It’s not the cute type of puking either, where it’s all about butterfly wings in my stomach or something like that. The back of my neck is prickling, and I feel sweat at the base of my spine.

  I am a fucked-up pile of neuroses still.

  This is Jody’s fault. It’s Jody still taking from me when I thought I was moving on. I’m going to screw up this thing with Cai before it even gets started. I don’t want to die alone.

  I pick a table near the big plate-glass windows that are folded open to an insanely beautiful sunset. “I like the pier against the colors.”

  “Yeah.” Cai sits down across from me. “The contrast gives me perspective. Like, those aren’t just some random colors.”

  “It’s a focus point, something to look at inside the whole picture.” The orange and pink and red streak across the horizon, blending the ocean and sky together. Cirrus clouds are reflected in the waves beneath. “I went to the Grand Canyon once, and it was the weirdest thing. I pinged back and forth between feeling like this crack in the ground is no big deal and being almost lightheaded with how big and intimidating and scary it was. I could only take in little bits of it at a time.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Seventeen. The summer before I left for college. We went on a family road trip.”

  “Oh my god, family road trips were my idea of hell.” Cai shudders dramatically. “Did you guys rent a van? We always took the whole family, so it was me and my cousins like five rows away from my parents. I was so at their mercy.”

  I laugh. “No, we just had Mom and Dad and my brother. Much smaller affair, but Justin did his best to be as annoying as four kids.”

  “Is he older or younger than you?”

  “Younger. Four years younger. He literally did the ‘I’m not touching you’ gig. I mean, how petty can you be?”

  “My cousin Grace once stole all my panties, soaked them in water, and shoved them in the hotel room’s freezer.” Cai folds her arms on the table, leans in, and tells me like this is a delicious secret. And I’m leaning toward her too. “They froze, but she hadn’t noticed that the ice packs for our grandmother’s medicine were in there. They got completely wrapped up around each other. Thawing my panties became a family event. I was fucking mortified.”

  “Oh my god.” I’m laughing, even though I feel terrible for it. I cover my mouth with my hand as if that’ll keep her feelings from being hurt. I don’t think she’s sensitive over the story though. The way her eyes are sparking, there’s something more to it. “Did you get revenge?”

  “No.” She shakes her head, her expression solemn. “I would never. And I have no idea how her love letter to Ty Parsons got photocopied and taped up all around school that September.”

  “You didn’t!” I squeal.

  “Oh, no. I totally did.” She’s laughing as much as I’m laughing. “Grace didn’t speak to me for six months after that. I can’t really blame her.”

  “You’re lucky she ever decided to talk to you again.”

  “Our moms forced us to hash it out.” She shrugs. “Family first and all that.”

  “Are you guys still good?”

  “She invited me to dinner two weeks ago, so I think we’re fine.” She casts me a sideways glance out the corner of her eyes as she lifts a hand to catch the waitress’s attention. Her smile is sly. “I think she keeps her diary locked in a safe though.”

  And naturally I die laughing again.

  The waitress who pops up beside us has a friendly smile. “Is the joke worth sharing?”

  “Don’t share your secrets with this one,” I say as I point at Cai.

  “Oh yeah, we all know she’s trouble.” She pushes a brown braid behind her shoulder. “In more than one way.”

  “Nope. Not me. You’re talking about someone else.” Cai folds her hands behind her head, elbows pointing toward the ceiling as she leans as far back in her chair as she can manage. She’s deliciously butch, filling up the space as if she deserves the whole world. But then she makes a show of talking out the side of her mouth and faux-whispering. “Shut it, Bonnie. You’re going to wreck my chances with the pretty girl.”

  I giggle. It’s not on purpose, and I look down at the lacquered tabletop. Layered beneath plexiglass are handfuls of pretty beach postcards
of San Sebastian. Glare shines off a posed blonde’s head, and I realize the overhead lights have clicked on.

  I’m the pretty girl. I guess.

  I mean, I know I am, but … it feels like asking for trouble to admit it. As if the universe would then yank it back and give me a mouthful of sand in exchange for my hubris.

  I can’t hold back my blush, though. The heat eats up my cheeks and the tips of my ears. “I’ll take the house special.”

  The waitress uses her pen to scratch the back of her neck. “Um, we don’t really have any specials. We just kind of do the regular stuff. Like, a daiquiri, mai tai? Or a margarita?”

  Shit. I look at Cai, hoping she can’t spot my awkwardness, but of course she can. Because—duh—I looked at her with panic scribbled all over me. I rub my hand over the edge between plexiglass and lacquered, shiny wood. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll take a daiquiri mai tai.”

  “Which … one?” She glances at Cai as if for help.

  I am the stupidest person on the face of the Earth. I cover my eyes with one hand so the words will come spilling out more easily. “I don’t drink often. My ex didn’t approve. So I’ve only ever had beer or wine, and she ordered it for us anyway, so I don’t really know what to order in a place like this.”

  My cheeks are burning still, and the back of my neck and probably my entire chest all the way down to my sternum too. Because I am one flaming, spiraling ball of social maladjustment.

  Cai folds a hand over the one I still have on the table. Her hand’s warm and surprisingly rough. Her skin brushing over me reminds me of a cat’s tentative kisses. “Do you want wine? They do have some. I could tell you the types, give you a run down.”

  I lower my hand. Her eyes are dark compassion. There’s pain that swims back there, but she’s holding it away for me. I want to believe it’s not pity, but I’m probably wrong. Maybe pity isn’t so bad. Maybe it could grow into something respectable in time. “It’s okay. I’d rather … I’d rather have a Long Island Iced Tea.”

  Bonnie’s gone, I realize. Not far. She’s pulled away to the waitress station a couple of tables away, and she’s making busy straightening up a bin of lemon slices and wiping the soda dispenser. I make a mental note to tip her double whatever I spend.