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I look into his eyes. “I’ll scratch that itch later.” I hold out my fingers and he rubs his nose against them. “Better?”
He nods and grins at me.
“Almost done?” I ask him.
He nods again.
I’ve been trying really hard not to look, but where he’s sitting, it’s hard not to look down. I’m dying for him to finish it so I can see.
Finally, he lays down his machine, stands up, and stretches his arms and shoulders. Then he cleans the ink from my skin and applies ointment.
“What do you think?” he asks.
I look down and my heart stops. He took everything I ever told him about my parents and put it on my forearms. The new tattoo is another beach scene, kind of like the one on the other arm, si
nce he had to do a lot of tiny shells to cover up the spatter scars. But it has a totally different feel. While the first one had the concentration on the birds, this one has kites.
The kite strings are my suicide scars. You can clearly tell what they are, that I once tried to kill myself. Each kite looks like a Scrabble tile, canted so that it’s shaped like a diamond. The five kite tiles spell out the word Perry. He even went so far as to include the point value for each tile on the kite. At the base of each string is a different chess piece, holding the string. They’re the anchors, which is what my father was. He was the anchor. My mother was the one who kept us all dreaming. My father was the one who kept us on task.
It’s a perfect representation of my family. But the piece that gets me, that totally guts me, is the fact that he’s tied it all together with the name Vasquez written in the clouds. You could only find it if you knew what you were looking for. But I know. They’re perfectly entwined.
“Explain this to me,” I say aloud and sign too. My voice cracks, and I’m glad he can’t hear it.
He points to the Scrabble tiles. “Your mom.”
I nod.
He points to the chess pieces. “Your dad.”
I nod again, and swallow past the lump in my throat.
He lets his finger trail down one of the suicide scars. “Your grief when you lost them.” He looks at my face. “Maybe guilt.” Then he points to the clouds. “Hope.” He draws a circle with his finger around the whole thing. “Your future is not defined by the past or the present, but it does lead you at times.”
He pulls out his phone, snaps some “after” photos of the finished tattoos, and shoves it back in his pocket.
Ryan wraps both of my arms up with some clear wrap, and then he pulls his gloves off and stretches his back.
“Are you too tired to hang out tonight?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No.” Then he grins at me. “Can we watch another scary movie?”
“You don’t like scary movies,” I remind him, but my heart is pounding.
“I like having you grab me and hold on tight.” He walks toward me slowly and presses his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. Then he rubs the side of his nose slowly up and down mine, and then he kisses me, and it’s never been so perfect.
“I want to hold you tight, even if we don’t watch a scary movie.” With my thighs. But I keep that part to myself.
Ryan
On a normal day, Lark is beautiful. But today…today she’s glowing. Her arms are uncovered for what I think is probably the first time ever, or at least the first time since she discovered gloves could shield her from the past.
She tells her dad goodbye and he says something in her ear. Her face flushes and she points a finger at him. She’s warning him about something. Then she starts to talk to Friday about her new ink, showing her the images.
Emilio walks over to me. “I like you, Ryan,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say. What are you supposed to say to that?
“But…”
