I wait for Ma to walk to the car before I fold up the blanket and squat down in front of Gracie's headstone. I lean down and kiss it. I always used to kiss both of them on the forehead, so this feels symbolic. "Bye, Gracie. Take care of your sister for me, okay, dude? I love you." Then I turn to Bright Side's headstone. I kiss it, too. And I look at her name. Kate Sedgwick. That name holds so much power over me. The best kind of power: inspiring, encouraging, and respectable. It's a name that I've always associated with badass bravery. It's a name that always meant anything was possible. It's a name that was love and goodness and kindness. "Happy birthday, Bright Side. I hope you're in charge of showtime tonight. I'm expecting nothing short of fucking incredible on behalf of your big day, just so you know. No pressure, but you'd better step up and do epic." I pause, not because I feel weird talking to her, but because I don't want to leave. "I miss you, dude. I miss you so much." I stroke her headstone one time and glance at Ma. She's waiting patiently next to the car. She'd wait for hours if that's what it took. "I love you, Bright Side. I'll never stop loving you. Peace out."
When we get home I call Franco. He answers on the second ring. "Cuntcake?" He sounds worried. And questioning. He knows what today is.
"Namaste, dipshidiot. Hey, I need a favor."
"Anything." He's already agreed. That's the great thing about true friends, they're there whenever and wherever you need them.
"I need to get in to see your brother today. Can you make that happen?"
"You want a tat?" He sounds surprised. He's covered in them from the waist up, while my body is a blank canvas. I always thought it would stay that way, but after this morning I know that's not possible.
"Yup."
"You going big? I'll need to let Julian know what kind of time he's looking at. He doesn't usually work Saturdays."
"Small. Two words," I answer. That's all he needs to know.
"I'm on it. Let me give him a call. I'll hit you up in a few minutes, man." He's so excited he hangs up without saying good-bye.
My cell rings less than five minutes later. We skip the usual derogatory name calling and get straight to business. "Well?"
"Pick you up in fifteen minutes. Julian will meet us at the shop."
"Sweet. I'll be waiting."
I head outside for a cigarette before Franco gets here. He won't let me smoke in his truck so I need to get this out of the way. His grin is joy, and excitement, and curiosity, and maybe even a little pride thrown in, when he pulls up to the house. He claps me on the shoulder when I climb in the cab. "I can't believe it. The candyass caves. Thought needles scared the shit out of you?"
I swallow and my stomach roils. I fucking hate needles. "Don't remind me." And then I catch an earful of what's playing on his stereo. "Now shut up so I can listen. This the new album?"
He turns it up. "Yeah. Sunset Sons is the shit, huh?"
"Fucking killer, dude. They can do no wrong." We continue listening while we drive. His brother's tattoo parlor is about twenty minutes away—just long enough to dwell on the situation and work my stomach into knots.
When we pull up to the storefront, my anxiety kicks into high gear. I'm light-headed when we step inside Julian's shop, but I swallow down the raging nausea, determined to make this happen.
Julian, a cool dude and mega-talented artist, greets us. He reaches out a hand to me, and when I take it, he pulls me in and pats me on the back twice for a bro hug. "How's it going, Gus? Long time no see." He's relaxed and in good spirits.
I'm not. I nod. "Good to see you, dude. Listen, I don't mean to be a dick, but can we just get on with this before I revisit breakfast and deposit it all over the floor?"
He and Franco both laugh as he takes a seat and grabs a pencil and paper. "What's it gonna be, big man?" Julian's always called me that. He's a good eight inches shorter than I am. And he's a skinny little fucker. Basically, he's just a smaller version of Franco and a little more baby faced, which makes him appear younger, even though he's the older brother by a couple of years.
Pointing to the inside of my right forearm, I describe the vision I have.
I catch Franco's smile out of the corner of my eye before he punches me in the arm. "I knew it."
I continue. "I want to keep it simple, but kinda badass, you know? And just black, no color."
Julian nods. He's already drawing.
As I watch the letters come to life, I smile. He gets it. It's flowing script, but it's masculine and bold. "That's it, dude. That's it."
Franco's on my ass as I follow Julian to his room and I want to turn around and tell him to heel or punch him in the throat. He's doing it on purpose; I know he is. He's trying to push my buttons because he knows I'm nervous. Strike that. I'm fucking scared shitless.
My eyes pinch closed as Julian cleans and preps my forearm, only opening them after he's applied the stencil drawing. He asks me to take a look and give him the go-ahead before he makes it permanent.
It does look badass, but I only nod. If I open my mouth I'll heave.
When his gun buzzes to life, I close my eyes again.
"Want me to hold your hand?" Franco asks, his voice high-pitched and ridiculous.
"Fuck off, dude. I know you've always wanted a piece of this, but I'm off-limits at the moment."
He laughs and claps his hands in amusement. That's one of my favorite things about Franco, his sense of humor. He always knows when to use it. And it's always spot on. It's always just what I need.
Surprisingly, the tattooing feels more like an irritation than actual physical pain. If I can keep my brain shifted away from the fact that a needle is jabbing and piercing my skin in rapid succession, it's almost bearable. Almost.
"You doing okay?" Julian asks. "You need a break? We're about halfway there."
Keeping my eyes closed, I shake my head. "Just keep going. Stopping makes it worse."
"Well, this is something I never thought I'd see." It's a new voice that's joined our little soiree.
"What the fuck? I thought this was invite only." I challenge from behind closed lids.