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"Yeah?" he said, and it was just the right level of interest without judgment.
I thought for a moment and haltingly tried to articulate my reluctance. "Atra is the best place to work. It's not even a job for me. I love going there. Tucker, Rachel, Omar, and even Gig are part of my family now. Tucker's reputation is growing. He's winning awards. People are coming from all over to get ink done there. I'm a really good artist, but I have this weird fear of the tattoo gun. A tattoo is a permanent scar, and I'm afraid of making mistakes that I won't be able to erase or paint over."
He pushed to a sitting position and gestured for me to give him my tiny square of woven grass.
"A couple of years ago my dad became obsessed with the downtown revitalization project. He kept telling me it was a way to put our name on something lasting. I wasn't interested in stamping my name on anything. I flipped houses for a living. I was in and out in thirty days and onto the next project. I loved it. When Dad died, he'd just won the bid. Uncle Pat wanted to forget about the project and have the next-lowest bid take care of it, but I couldn't let it die too. Unfortunately, the crew hates me."
"You should bring donuts. That's what I did with Tucker and his crew. I brought them donuts like once a week for about a month."
"And that worked?"
"Didn't I say I was family?" I turned both my thumbs up, and he laughed as I'd intended.
"I'll have to try that because now I dread going to work. Every day I get a new piece of bad news, and I can't fix it myself like I could with a house flip. So I understand not wanting to change from something you love to something you might hate."
"Are you saying that I should stretch anyway and take a risk?"
"No." He dropped back on his hands and stretched his long legs in front of him. "I'm saying that you're probably the smart one between the two of us. If you love what you do, keep doing it."
"You don't really think that do you?" I arched an eyebrow.
He gave me a wry smile. "Am I that transparent? I do think you should do what makes you happy, but you know, people will still love you if you make a mistake."
He said all the right things—things I knew in my head, so I nodded even though I couldn't fully embrace them with my heart.
14
WINTER
When Finn brought me home, Ivy was gone, and I didn’t hear or see her until I woke the next morning to the sound of retching.
"That's it. We're going in," I commanded.
"Fine." Ivy's voice was weak with defeat.
After dressing, I found Ivy in the living room sitting on the sofa, hunched over, her head between her legs.
"You going to make it to the clinic?"
"Probably. I threw up those damn crackers. Only thing left in me is water."
"Can I get you anything?"
"A new stomach?"
"Crackers? Sprite?"
She shook her head and then groaned as if even that much movement made her ill.
"Why don't you lie down in the back?" I pressed my hand on her forehead. "You feel super clammy."
"It's probably toilet water."
"Gross." I laughed helplessly.
"You laugh now¸ but you're in the circle of infection, which means I'll be holding your hair in a few days."
"I hope not. Let's get you to a doctor and see what's wrong with you. Don't you want to feel better?" I wheedled.
