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“Evie? It’s Dad. Can I come in?”
Scrambling to hide the notebook, I double-check it’s in the drawer, which is a crazy thing to do, but I can’t imagine what would happen if Dad found out about this.
“Yeah,” I say, turning in my computer chair.
Dad walks in, one of his classic warm smiles on his face. It’s the smile that would always flood me with guilt when I was a kid and had just finished one of my crazy notebook sessions, heart drawing, and lists of possible names for mine and Brian’s future children.
Since Dad told me Brian is retiring and moving back to the city, my mind has gone into overdrive. It’s Brian, Brian, Brian on a loop.
Dad sits on the edge of my bed. “I’ve got good news.”
“Oh?”
As he talks, his voice is all bubbly and happy. He tells me about the job opportunity.
“I know you won’t be an artist, per se, but it’s related to art. It’s a great opportunity to work on your craft while earning money. I know Brian will be a better boss than that other douche.”
If Dad weren’t here, I’d close my eyes, take some deep breaths, and calm myself down. Ever since the crush started, it’s like there’s this other person inside me, this obsessive who can’t see a future that doesn’t contain Brian. He’s the point, the purpose of my life. The end goal. The happily ever after.
“But there’s a condition,” Dad goes on. “Brian said that for him to be comfortable enough to hire somebody without any experience, he’d need you to be able to tattoo him.”
“Tattoo… him?”
My mouth is suddenly dry. Dad has no idea the effect his words are having on me. He speaks breezily as if it’s no big deal, and I haven’t dreamed of touching Brian’s muscled body since I was a kid.
No, no—little kid. That’s so wrong. I would wait for him to notice me and pay me special attention. I know now, as an adult, that he’d be an evil man if he did that. It doesn’t change how I felt then, but it can change how I behave now.
I no longer have a crush…
“Sorry?” I say when I realize Dad has been talking.
“I said, are you up to the challenge? He’s giving you a week to learn the necessary skills, but your art should be transferable, right?”
“Hmm, maybe… I think so,” I say.
“Brian said it would be.”
It’s absurd, the flutter this provokes in me. Warm sensations rise through my body, teasing me with impossible notions like Brian wants me to work for him as if he’s as desperate and hungry for contact as I am.
“I’ll need to research how to practice,” I say.
“But you’re interested?”
If I were a good daughter, I’d tell Dad no. I’d tell him that I’ve got no interest in working for Brian Pearson, seeing him every day, being close to him.
It would be torture, anyway. Close enough to watch how women drool over him, or maybe standing at the front window as he walks outside to greet his girlfriend. Daggers of pain stab into me just thinking about it, so I don’t know what it would be like to experience it. Thinking of him with another woman makes me feel a sense of ownership, a voice hissing that I must stop any relationship Brian might enter.
He. Is. Mine.
“Yes,” I say after a pause.
Dad claps his hands together. “Great. I’ll let Brian know.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
This is an old, bad habit, asking Dad for news of his best friend. Dad was always happy to speak about Brian, giving me snippets of his life overseas, the training, the deployments, never knowing that I stowed each one in a special place inside of me. A Brian box, a place to nurture my crush, to ensure it never waned when letting it die should’ve been my main objective.
“You’ll see for yourself soon,” Dad replies.
“Huh?”
“I’ve invited him to the barbecue tomorrow.”
Dad’s hosting a barbecue for neighbors, friends, and a few of his accounting clients.
“Oh, great.”
I’m not sure how I manage to say this without my voice trembling or without throwing up or screaming, You can’t let him anywhere near me. I won’t be able to control myself, but that last part isn’t true.
I’ve had lots of practice being close to Uncle Brian and not letting my crush show.
“I don’t have a crush on him anymore,” I tell Kelly.
My friend winds her dyed purple hair around her finger, over and over, kicking her legs as she sits on the edge of my bed, almost the exact spot Dad was in yesterday. Kelly is on the thinner side, punk rock and cool. She’s got a tattoo of a snake curling up her left arm.
“So why are you going red, huh?” she teases lightly.
I shake my head as if that proves anything, as if shaking my head is enough to wipe away all the times I spoke to Kelly about Brian, about my hope that I’d get to kiss him one day or that he’d wrap his strong arms around me. All of it is madness. All of it childish stuff I need to let go of.
