Climb the water tower.
Watch an R-rated movie.
Get a tattoo.
Kiss a stranger.
Paint the walls in my house.
I smile at it.
Sadie
It means I’ve still gotsome things to do.
Then I turn off my phone and lay the list on Milo’s pillow so he can see it when he gets out of the shower.
43
SADIE
The tattoo shopis cleaner than the café in Dusty Hollow. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t vines climbing the posts outside the door or sleek marble floors inside. There are beautiful pieces of art hung throughout, and I find myself mesmerized by a painting of a woman wearing snakes and butterflies as her clothes.
“Sadie?” a woman asks, interrupting my wonder.
I turn and see a petite woman with piercings sparkling from her ears, nose, and lips. She has long dark hair braided to one side, bright green eyes, and she’s wearing a black tank top showcasing both her arms covered in vibrant tattoos.
“That’s me,” I finally reply.
Milo texted Emmitt—who I’d noticed had a few tattoos—asking where he’d recommend for a first one. He texted back with a link to this place, and Milo made an appointment for me.
“I’m Holly, your tattoo artist,” she says as she walks around the front desk with a clipboard. “If you can fill out this paperwork, we’ll talk about what you’re wanting today.”
I glance over at Milo. “What about this guy?”
His eyes widen. “This is your thing.”
I shake my head. “No, no, no. You’re not getting out of this. The list isourthing.” Then I look back at Holly. “Do you have time for both of us?”
She smiles. “Wednesday is a slow day, so I can make time.”
“It’s not necessary,” Milo interrupts.
“It’s very necessary,” I argue. “He needs a clipboard, too.”
She laughs before going back to the desk and clipping another set of paperwork to a second board. She hands it to Milo. “I’d do what the woman says.”
“This doesn’t feel like consent,” Milo jokes as he takes the clipboard and pen from Holly, filling it out anyway.
I elbow him and then turn my attention to my own paperwork.
When I hand it back over to Holly, she asks, “So, what are you thinking?”
What am I thinking?
How do you know what you want permanently inked upon your skin?
“Um . . .” I sink my teeth into my lower lip, sorting through pages of memories until I find the version of myself when I didn’t feel heaviness on my shoulders but something hopeful and light.
