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“You’re doing great,” Jonah says, warming me with his smile. Having his hand to squeeze does make the pain a little easier to handle.
“I’m impressed,” says Raven. “You picked a real tender spot for your first tat, but you’re taking it like a champ.” She dips the needle into the little cup of black ink. I try not to stare at her while she works, but I can’t help myself. She’s the coolest person I’ve ever seen. Dark purple lipstick, hot-pink braids, her body a canvas of color.
I nearly died of embarrassment when Jonah brought up the apprenticeship during my consultation, convinced that Raven would blow me off before I’d even sat down. But once she saw my sketches, she actually got excited. She wants me to come in for a few days just to observe, and if all goes well, I could start my apprenticeship as early as next week.
“There’s a good chance this bird’ll stretch a little if you get pregnant,” she says, “depending on how much your tits swell. Assuming you want kids.”
Jonah squeezes my hand, and my pulse stutters.
“If it warps, I can always fix it,” she says. “I had one of mine redone after my second kid.”
“How many kids do you have?” I ask.
“Four. Three girls and a boy. Precious little terrors, all of ‘em, especially the youngest. But I wouldn’t trade ‘em for anything.”
Watching Raven’s eyes light up as she talks about her kids burns my throat and warms my belly like a shot of something strong. If my mom ever looked at me that way, it was long before I was old enough to remember. Raven obviously adores her kids. I like kids, too, but if people learn how to be good parents by observing their own, I might as well get my tubes tied this afternoon.
Breathing deeply, I watch as she shades a shadow effect around the bird, making it look three-dimensional. When I showed her my initial sketch, she loved it, but said she didn’t feel comfortable copying another artist’s work. Using my drawing as inspiration, she spent a few minutes tweaking it and making it her own. The end result is a blackbird mid-flight that’s somehow both realistic and whimsical.
“All right,” she says, wiping the excess ink off with a paper towel. “Go take a look in the mirror and see if you think it needs anything.”
I climb out of the chair and approach my reflection. This morning, knowing exactly where I wanted the bird to go, I opted for a strapless top. The tattoo is even better than I imagined it would be. Not too clean or crisp. More like the memory of a blackbird, soft highlights and deep shadows.
“I love it,” I say. “Thank you.”
Raven smiles. “Good! Come on back so I can dress it and tell you how to keep it looking beautiful.”
She cleans and disinfects the skin, then covers it with a clear bandage that I’m supposed to keep on for at least twenty-four hours. She also gives me a print-out with instructions for caring for the tat after the bandage comes off.
Jonah pays for the tattoo, claiming it’s part of my birthday present.
“But my birthday was last week,” I remind him, “and you already got me a present.”
“That was your first present. This is your second.” He caresses the side of my face. “Fair warning, angel, my new goal in life is to make you feel like every day’s your birthday. How am I doing so far?”
I can’t help smiling. “Amazing.”
He takes my hand.
“Brace yourself, little girl. Daddy’s just getting started.”
Jonah leads me to an ice cream shop down the street, where he orders mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone for himself, and a gooey hot-fudge-brownie sundae for me. We eat side by side at an outdoor table like any other couple enjoying the sunshine.
“Still feeling like a birthday girl?” he asks.
I lick the hot fudge off the back of my spoon. “All that’s missing is the candles.”
He laughs. I fill my mouth with warm chocolate and cold cream, but there’s a burnt taste on my tongue that even the sweetest dessert can’t mask. Ever since that night Jonah said he wanted to put a baby inside me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about having kids. Meeting Cherise’s daughters at the barbecue and seeing all the parents with their kids triggered a longing to hold my own baby in my arms. The desire to be responsible for someone else, and to be there for them in ways my parents weren’t there for me.
I don’t remember much about my mom, but I remember how she made me feel. Something like loneliness and longing braided together. I can still picture her glassy-eyed stare whenever I tried to get close to her. She rarely wanted to deal with me, so most of the time, she just...didn’t. How could I ever be a good mother if I don’t even know what it feels like to have one?
“Penny for your thoughts, little girl?”
God, I love it when he calls me that.
“I’m thinking about what you said the other night,” I tell him. “About us making a baby.”
“What about it?”
