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Epilogue
Conor
When I brought Aurnia pancakes in bed that morning, she rolled her eyes.
“What?” I laughed, something that I was getting more and more used to. Something I was liking more and more. “It’s a big day!”
“No,” Aurnia insisted, hiding her face in the pillows. “It’s not.”
“Well, I can take these away then—”
“Don’t you dare.”
Because, of course, pancakes.
But the bouquet and balloons I had Mason and Rian arrange at the shop were “too much”.
“It’s not a big deal,” Aurnia complained before popping one of the balloons with a tattoo gun and storming off.
Mason and Rian grinned over their glasses of champagne which was deemed “way too much”.
“Do you think she’s seen the banner yet?” Mason asked me.
He choked on his bubbly when her angry shout came from the storeroom. Rian grabbed the rest of the bottle and bolted upstairs as Aurnia came stalking back into the living room, dragging a torn banner behind her.
“What is this?” she demanded, stuffing it against my chest.
“You don’t like it?” Mason asked, holding back a burst of laughter.
A glare from Aurnia had him clearing his throat. “Um, I wonder where Rian got off to with the champagne,” he said before taking the stairs two at a time.
“Aurnia,” I said, trying to brush her cheek as she shooed my hand away.
“Why is everyone acting like I’ve never done this before?” she grumbled as she sank miserably to the couch. “I’ve totally done this before.”
I let the custom banner that read “Happy First Tattooing Day” fall to the carpeted floor and joined Aurnia. She scooted her knees away from mine when they brushed against one another’s. Her toes were bouncing. She was yanking at her lip. Her eyes darted around the room from equipment to equipment.
I placed a hand on Aurnia’s leg. I held it in place firmly as she tried to tug it away.
“You’re going to do great,” I said.
“I know,” she countered petulantly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone. It’s not a big deal. I’ve done a tattoo before. Hell, I’ve done your tattoo. Why is everyone making such a big deal?”
Calmly, I repeated, “You’re going to do great.”
With desperate, panicked eyes, Aurnia turned to look at me. Her voice was close to breaking as she said, “But what if I don’t?”
I laughed and drew her against my chest. I hugged her till the little bell sounded at the front door. She pushed me away like an embarrassing dad in the drop-off lane.
“Samantha, hi, come in, come in,” Aurnia said, all bravado and confidence. “I’m all ready for you.”
It was hard not to hover. Hard not to pace back and forth behind her like a father awaiting the birth of his child. Hard not to double-check that everything was going alright every two seconds. I tried to busy myself as much as possible during the tattooing. Content myself with listening to the two girls chat. Sam was a friend Aurnia met at art school, at a great program here in Dublin.
I swept. I wiped down the kitchen counters twice. I organised the storeroom and then the teas and then the packets of soy and chilli sauces from the local takeout in the junk drawer.
At long last I heard Aurnia say, “Do you mind if my boss takes a look?”
I was ready when Aurnia peered around the corner.
