Inked Hearts

by Lindsay Detwiler

  “Ouch, honey.” Reed puts an arm around me, and Lysander flags down a bartender for another drink.

  “Yeah, it sucks. It was his secretary. A sexy little blonde.” Maybe it’s the booze or maybe it’s just the realization that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be quite free of what Chris did to me. Regardless, the bright yellow top is suddenly looking garish, and the club is way too loud. The music, the drinks—it can’t change the facts. Chris didn’t want me anymore. I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t make him happy. Why wasn’t I good enough? Tears well up.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Lysander says, sticking another margarita in my hand.

  “I can’t drink this,” I say, pushing it toward him.

  “Yes, you can. There’s only one answer to a fucked-up heart and a cheating husband. Alcohol.”

  I know I’ve had way more than I should. I’m a lightweight to begin with. I haven’t had this much to drink since college. Still, the frosty glass feels good in my hand. The thought of drinking my heart into oblivion sounds good, too. So, I hold the glass to my lips and take another sip.

  “I love you, guys,” I say to Lysander and Reed.

  “Everyone does, darling,” Reed retorts, nudging me with his shoulder. “Now enough pitying yourself. Let’s get out there and dance, girl.”

  And we do. We dance like I’m not carrying a shattered heart in my chest, like I’m just some twentysomething living for the present.

  ***

  “I’m never listening to you again,” I murmur, stumbling to the kitchen, my eyes bleary and head pounding.

  Jodie, whose hair is all over the place and mascara is streaking her cheeks, is already sitting at the island, downing a cup of coffee. She looks rough, but not as rough as I feel.

  “Here, sunshine. Take these and you’ll feel better.” She hands me two ibuprofen. I don’t even hesitate, shoving them into my mouth immediately.

  “I feel terrible.”

  “But you had fun last night, didn’t you?” she asks, grinning as she types away on her laptop. Henry plods up to me, letting out a groan. The prospect of taking him out into the sunshine suddenly seems intolerable. I feel like a vampire.

  “I’ll get him,” Jodie says, and I could kiss her feet.

  “Why don’t you look as bad as I feel?” I ask, slumping to the stool at the island.

  “I’m conditioned for this. Don’t worry, a few more weekends, and you’ll be used to it.”

  “Is this really how people live?”

  “You shouldn’t have to ask that. But yes,” she says as she leashes up Henry to take him outside.

  Jodie is back with Henry before I’ve even been tempted to move. Even the prospect of pouring a coffee seems too laborious. How the hell did I let this happen? Never again, I swear.

  “So, do you have any plans for today?” Jodie asks.

  “Other than dying? No.”

  “Good. Because I made plans for us this afternoon.”

  “Aren’t you going to let me recover? I know I said I wanted to live it up a bit, but can’t we ease into it?”

  “Relax. No alcohol or clubs. Something that needs to be done, though.”

  “What?” I ask.

  Jodie touches her shoulder. I don’t get it.

  “Your tattoo,” she says. “Your matchy-matchy tattoo with Chris. It’s got to go. You’re starting over. You don’t need that reminder.”

  I grimace, fluffing my hair. I stand and head for the coffeepot. “Yeah, well, not much I can do about it.”

  “There’s plenty we can do about it. I know this great tattoo shop. The owner is amazing. He does a ton of cover-ups and stuff. I once made a terrible mistake and got a matching tattoo with a boyfriend. The boyfriend ended up being a drug addict and we broke up. This guy was able to redesign it. See, look,” she says, pulling up her shirt to show me a fancy tree on her ribs. The tree is adorned with scattered hearts.

  “Cute,” I say, meaning it.

  “Yeah, well you know what wasn’t so cute? The devil it used to be.”

  I smirk. She looks serious. “Wait, you mean a real devil? Like horns and all?”

  “Yeah. Bright red, too. The guy had some interesting beliefs. I was young and in love. But Jesse covered it right up.”

  “How did you come across this guy?”

  “He comes to Midsummer Nights most Tuesdays. I would’ve pointed him out, but we haven’t both worked a Tuesday night together yet. Anyway, he’s awesome. I called just now, and he has an opening. Let’s get rid of that heart that makes me gag just looking at it.”

  “What would I get instead?”

  “Anything you want. This is about you, Avery. So what do you say?”

  I take a sip of my coffee, eyeing this zany girl who is definitely not letting me fall into a boring rut again. I absentmindedly touch the heart on my shoulder, thinking about what it means. For a moment, my mind flashes back to the night a week after our wedding. We were two twenty-one-year-olds high on life and the newlywed feeling. I remember squealing when we looked at them in the mirror, the matching tattoos a symbol of our matching forevers.

  Now, though, the tattoo is just a reminder that we’re broken, that I’m one piece leftover of the ill-fated duo. Now, when I see the tattoo, all I see is the look on his face when we said our goodbyes, when he chose Nora over me. All I see is a symbol of our brokenness, of my brokenness, of a destroyed love.

  “Okay. I’ll do it. But no devils.”

  “Deal. Sober up. We don’t have to be there for a few hours.”

  “This guy’s good, right?” I ask again, feeling a little nervous.

  “Honey, don’t worry. You’ll be in good hands. Really nice, sexy, manly hands, in fact.” Jodie gives me a wink. I shake my head, taking my coffee out to the living room to catch up on some news.

  My mind wanders over the next few hours, thinking about the prospect of a new start, even with my tattoos. This is really happening. The Avery I’ve always wanted to be is surfacing. I can’t wait to see her in her full, shining glory.

  ***

  I readjust my bra strap, a little self-conscious that I wore my supersexy, superlacy red one. I should’ve gone more conservative. At least it isn’t the graying, grandma-like bra I sometimes toss on. I forgot the tattoo artist would be seeing a lot more of me than any man has in a while.

  I shake off the jitters as Jodie leads me through the door of J & J’s Tattoos. We’re two blocks back from the famous Ocean City boardwalk, the corner lot almost overlookable in the busy streets. The front is a chic black, and I have to admit, the shop looks classy and clean, not like the stereotypical tattoo parlors people imagine.

  Not that I actually know much about tattoo parlors, in all fairness. I’ve only been to one.

  I take a deep breath and study the inside of J & J’s. There’s a little waiting area with black leather chairs. A large bald man sits in one—actually, more like two—seats. He’s very sweaty and is tapping his foot anxiously. Pretty sure this is his first tattoo. He looks more than a bit nervous. I offer him a weak smile, but he just continues to look like he’s going to faint or vomit any second.

  Next to him is a group of giggling girls who can’t be older than eighteen. They’re sporting miniskirts and bikini tops, laughing hysterically as they scroll on their phones.

  “Hey, Brett, this is my friend Avery. She has an appointment with Jesse at 2:00 p.m.”

  Brett, the man at the front counter, gives me a smile. He looks a little like Ed Sheeran but with a few more tattoos and a nose piercing. I’m not sure what else I would expect. He does work at a tattoo shop.

  “Just have a seat, Avery. Jesse’s finishing up a piercing in the back room, and then he’ll be with you.”

  I smile, looking to the seating area. The only seat available is the one by the bald, sweaty guy. And I’m not even sure if I could fit one butt cheek on the chair next to him. I decide to just stand.

  Jodie flips through some tattoo magazines in the corner as I
glance around the shop. The walls are a nice navy blue, a few nautical decorations sprinkled throughout. Nothing over the top. It’s simple but nice. I walk over to the other corner, away from the waiting area but still in the front of the shop.

  I look up to see a picture of a tattooed man with dark spiky hair and green eyes standing beside a pretty famous singer.

  I study the picture, wondering if it’s actually him. I embarrassingly reach up to touch the picture, as if I’m Belle studying the magical rose in Beauty and the Beast. To be honest, though, I’m also studying the other guy in the picture. He doesn’t have as many tattoos as Brett, but full sleeves are visible. His arms ripple beneath his gray T-shirt. I find myself imagining a rock-hard body underneath it all, and then blush. What’s wrong with me? I’m acting like a creepy pervert eyeing up the photo. It’s like I’ve never seen an attractive man before. Besides, I’ve shut that part of my life off right now and—

  A voice interrupts my semipsychotic thoughts. It’s a voice that sends a weird shiver through my body.

  “That’s really him,” the deep voice says. I turn to see who it is.

  It’s him, the man from the picture. Not the famous singer, but the tattooed, green-eyed guy. Still, the way I freeze up, you’d think I was face-to-face with a celebrity.

  He’s smiling at me, studying my reaction. He’s got a few days’ worth of stubble accenting his jaw. The biceps in the picture seem even more prominent in real life. I find myself studying his arms, the tribal patterns and black-and-white collages causing my gaze to dance up and down his skin.

  I finally realize it’s been an awkwardly long pause. “Oh, wow. That’s neat,” I say, mentally scrutinizing my choice of the word “neat.” What, am I in sixth grade?

  I feel a little hot, sure my cheeks are red.

  “I’m Jesse Pearce, owner,” he says, reaching out a hand. With the movement of his arm, an oaky cologne scent travels up to my nose, entrancing me even more.

  Stop it, Avery, I say to myself. Get it together.

  “You must be Avery?” he asks as his strong hand shakes mine.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” I say, smiling and laughing nervously.

  “She needs rid of the horrific tattoo on her shoulder,” Jodie says from behind Jesse, approaching us now. She leans around him to eye me, shaking her head. Jesse turns to face her, and she paints on a smile.

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “Come this way.”

  I follow Jesse, turning when I realize Jodie isn’t coming. “Aren’t you coming?”

  Jodie winks at me. “You’ve got this. I’m actually going to head home. Can’t wait to see it though.”

  I pause, eyeing her, but she shoos me on, giving me another wink. Now I shake my head. I see what she’s doing here.

  “Toodles,” she says, breezing out the door as I follow Jesse into a small room down the hallway, a chair sitting in the middle. I get a little nervous now. I’m nervous about the pain, sure.

  But I’m also nervous that this man is going to have his hands on me, is going to be staring at my shoulder for a long time.

  Which is ludicrous.

  “So, let’s have a look,” Jesse says, super professional as he sits down on the stool in the corner, no hint of sensuality in his voice.

  “Okay,” I say, grinning. I peel down the strap of my tank top and bra. “Here it is,” I say, brushing my hair aside as best as I can as Jesse leans in. I can feel his breath on my neck. I pray I don’t visibly shudder.

  “Well, this won’t be too hard to cover. It’s just we’re going to have to do a pretty detailed design so the numbers don’t show through. Got any ideas?”

  I turn to face him, realizing his face is pretty close. Good thing I had some Altoids on the way.

  “No?” I say sheepishly, shrugging. “I mean, I’ve never really been a tattoo kind of girl. Chris sort of talked me into it. But now I need rid of it.”

  I wait for Jesse to probe me for information, but he doesn’t. “Well, what kind of things do you like?”

  I feel like a fool again. I should’ve been thinking about this. “Well, I like margaritas. I like my mastiff, Henry. Oh, and I love coffee.”

  He runs a hand through his hair, laughing. “Listen, I know we just met. But I’m going to be honest. You don’t seem like the kind of girl to have a margarita glass on your shoulder for all to see. And although my specialty is hyperrealistic portraits, I’m not sure a huge, slobbery mastiff face on your shoulder is going to be exactly sexy. Same with the coffee.”

  “What’s wrong with mastiffs?” I ask, getting a little defensive.

  “Nothing at all. I love dogs. I have a bulldog of my own. But I don’t think a huge portrait of your dog on your shoulder is going to be something you want, am I wrong?”

  He’s right, I know. “What’s your dog’s name?” I ask, not sure why I do.

  “Jake.”

  “Cute. Do you have a picture?”

  He nods, pulling out his phone. Jake is the wallpaper. His wrinkly forehead and crooked teeth make me melt. “Adorable. Sorry, I know you’re busy. I shouldn’t be wasting your time.”

  “You’re not,” he replies quickly. “Plus, between you and me, the longer this takes, the higher the chance good old Brett will get stuck doing Mr. Sanders’s first tattoo.”

  “Is that the, um, larger man?”

  “The sweating bald guy? Yep. First tattoo. He’s an insurance agent from Maine here for the week. He came in today and said he wanted to do something crazy. Pretty sure he’s going to pass out.”

  “Yikes. Okay, then take your time,” I say, smiling. I find myself smiling a lot. I probably look like a cheesy infomercial at this point.

  “Well, at this rate, it might take five hours to get an idea down,” he teases. I just shrug.

  “What about a flower or something?”

  “That would work. I could make it look good. What’s your favorite flower?”

  “Lilies, for sure.”

  “Boom. We’ve got it. Color preference?”

  “Nope. Whatever will look good.”

  “One more question. And it’s a big one. Are you okay with letting me have the creative reins? I’d like for it to be a surprise.”

  I feel a nervous churning in my stomach. Let this guy I barely know choose my tattoo? I’m going to be stuck with it forever. It’s risky.

  Still, there’s something about the way his voice warms me, something about his green eyes that makes me want to trust him. I stare at him for a moment, knowing it’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t feel okay with this.

  But I do.

  So before I can change my mind, I hear my voice confidently saying, “Okay.”

  And then, before I know it, I’m sitting in the chair, Jesse’s two fingers—gloved, of course—are stretching the skin on my shoulder, ready to obliterate Chris’s last visible hold on me.

  It’s silly, but I feel a tear trickle down my cheek at the thought. We’ve said our goodbyes, and I should be thrilled. The asshole showed his true colors, and I’m lucky to have escaped when I did. I want to be rid of him, want this final part of us stamped out.

  Still, I loved him once. There was a time I thought it would be Avery and Chris forever, or at least until death came. I didn’t think our lives would be like this, didn’t think I’d be nursing a broken heart at the age of twenty-eight.

  “You okay? Does it hurt?” Jesse asks tenderly, taking a break from the inking to appraise me.

  I swipe at the tear. “I’m okay.”

  “He’s an idiot.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever the guy was. I know I don’t know you, but I know enough to realize he’s an absolute moron.”

  I laugh a little. “Yeah, he was.”

  “Well, here’s the biggest screw you yet, right?”

  “Not the biggest one. But a step, I guess.”

  “Trust me, when I’m done, you won’t see him when you look at your shoulder in the mirror.”


  “I hope so.”

  “I’m not the best tattoo artist in Ocean City for nothing.”

  “Mighty confident.”

  “When it comes to this, you bet.”

  “Well, I’m glad to be in your hands, then,” I say, grimacing a little at the way the words come out.

  He just chuckles a little. “Pretty sure Brett’s not happy about what’s in his hands right now,” he says, and I laugh out loud before readjusting and lying back down so he can finish.

  In the room next door, we hear Brett calming down the bald man, who is audibly crying.

  “Dude, I just drew the first letter. Calm it,” we hear Brett say.

  “Should you go check on him?” I ask.

  “Nah. He’s got to learn how to handle the situation. It’ll be fine.”

  For the next hour, though, as Jesse continues erasing the tattoo, the symbol of the old Avery, I hear the earsplitting screams of who I learn is Marvin.

  Marvin’s tattoo is done before mine, and when he’s gone, Brett storms back to the room.

  “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” Brett says.

  Jesse puts down the tattoo machine. “Sorry,” he says to me.

  “No worries.”

  I turn to see Brett, who is visibly sweating and looks pretty angry.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t even come bail me out.”

  Jesse chuckles. “Man, you’ve got to learn somehow.”

  “But really? My first week and you left me with that guy?”

  “You handled it.”

  “I had to tattoo a heart with his cat’s name. On his freaking hip. Seriously. Do you know how unpleasant that was?”

  Jesse laughs. “Well, there’s a whole gaggle of chicks still waiting for their tattoos in the waiting area. That’ll make up for it.”

  “Wait, are you serious?”

  “I’m still finishing up with Avery,” Jesse says, nodding toward me. I give a little wave, smiling.

  “I’m sure you are,” Brett says, stomping off.

  Jesse just shakes his head. “Sorry about that. He’s having a rough week.”

  “So it’s really his first?”

  “First week full-time. He apprenticed with me for the past year and a half. He’s just being a bit dramatic.”