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“Are you kidding me? Mom’s been beside herself since she found out she was getting a grandson,” Sunday teases. “I’m pretty sure there will be minimal vegetables eaten while we’re gone as well, because they’re going to spoil the hell out of him.”
“He was so young when my folks passed, he doesn’t really remember them,” I reply. “Stacey’s folks wanted nothing to do with him when she split, so he’s past due for some grandparent spoiling.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I suspect those words are due to the fact her mom has clued her in as to the plans they have with our son.
“It’s okay as long as it’s not an everyday thing, sweetheart,” I tell her as I make my way to the tattoo shop.
Manual Alvarez, or Manny as he prefers to be called, was finally able to get Sunday in to check out her scar and see if they’d need to wait any longer for her to get the area tattooed. Apparently, he’s a whiz with scars, having apprenticed under some guy named Loki, who told him when he reached out that he’d be available to help. Kind of intriguing to me, since Loki is part of a motorcycle club over in St. Mary’s, which isn’t exactly all that close. But I keep my thoughts to myself since this is something my wife wants.
My wife.
When the Justice of the Peace pronounced us man and wife, then introduced us as Mr. and Mrs., those two words embedded themselves in my heart. Not only did he marry us, but he signed the adoption paperwork afterward, so Sunday is now officially on Dusty’s birth certificate as his mother.
After parking, I help her jump out, then we walk hand in hand to the shop, which is just off of Main Street. Walking inside, I hear the chime of the bells announce our entrance, then a male voice yell out, “I’ll be right there!”
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
“About needles? I don’t particularly like them, but I’m sure the minimal discomfort from getting a tattoo will be nothing. At least, nothing like the surgeries I had, that’s for sure,” she replies, smiling up at me.
“Hey, I’m Manny,” the guy says, introducing himself as he walks through a curtained-off area. “You must be Sunday?”
“Yes, this is my husband, Jett,” she announces, standing.
“Come on back and let’s see what we’re working with,” he invites.
I grit my teeth knowing he’s going to have to get up close and personal to her body, but he doesn’t give off a creeper vibe, which slightly allays my concerns. When we breach the work area, he points to a door and offers, “There’s the bathroom so you can slip into something more comfortable.”
While she goes to change, I sit in a chair that’s been pulled next to the table I presume he uses when working. I watch him gather a sketchpad and pencil, along with his phone. “Sunday says you’ve worked with a guy who is a rockstar tattooist when it comes to covering up scars.”
“Loki’s one of the best,” he replies. “He does a lot of work on women who have had mastectomies, as well as burn victims. While all skin isn’t able to be worked on, from what your wife indicated, her skin grafts took well, so we shouldn’t have any problems.”
I hear the door open and watch her cross the room, her stride confident even though she’s now in a one-piece bathing suit. Manny has her stand straight, and I glance over his shoulder, observing him take several pictures of her thigh before he motions for her to turn around.
“You good with lifting the fabric?” he asks, which I find respectful as hell.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, grabbing the bottom of her suit and pulling it over her ass cheek. I can see her blush, but she doesn’t say anything else while Manny again takes several pictures.
“Okay, go ahead and get redressed, then we can talk about what image you’re wanting to use as a cover up design,” he instructs.
“What do you think?” I question as soon as she’s in the bathroom again.
“Doesn’t look like we’re going to have any problems. Whoever did her surgeries should do everyone’s surgeries, because I’ve worked on some seriously fucked-up scars since I started,” he admits.
“That’ll make her happy,” I reply.
“Just putting this out there, but there won’t be a charge for her tattoo,” he states.
“What? Why? We’re prepared to cover the cost.”
“Several reasons, actually. One is that both Loki and I were in the Navy, so she’s part of our brotherhood in that respect. Even if we hadn’t served our country ourselves, she did, and those scars are because of it. The second reason is because I have that discretion and I can tell, even though she comes across as very confident, they bother her.”
“They do.”
“Well, I have the skills and abilities to change the way they look,” he retorts. “So, I’m going to do so.”
“Do what?” Sunday questions, returning to where we’re sitting.
“He was just telling me he won’t charge for your tattoo, sweetheart.” When she goes to protest, I hold up my hand. “He’s Navy, Sunday.”
