Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
The guy who comes forward to collect us from the small waiting area is no older than nineteen or twenty, with buzzed black hair and tattoos covering his neck and arms and hands. Piercings litter his ears and eyebrows, but he offers a timid smile and greets us in Spanish. I like him immediately.
He doesn’t speak English well, but between all of us, we patch together instructions for what we want. I decide to go first since I already have my design in mind. I draw it (poorly) on a scratch piece of paper and then he tweaks it (expertly), bringing my idea to life in a way that actually makes me emotional over the process.
“I love it,” I say, giddy now with nerves. “Me encanta.”
He chuckles, then points to my body, asking in Spanish where I want the tattoo to go. The design is no more than an inch wide and a few millimeters tall—as far as tattoos go, it’s extremely small. I could place it just about anywhere, but I want it inside my arm, right above the crook of my elbow. It’s the same spot Winnie wanted hers, and the outlined letters will be faint enough to nearly go unnoticed.
He nods for me to lie back on the table so he can angle my arm perfectly. Simone catches my eyes and waggles her brows.
“You’re really going to do it?”
“I’m lying here, aren’t I?”
The tattooist touches something cool to my arm and I jump a mile in the air. “S-sorry. Lo siento.”
My friends laugh as Annika tells me, “He was just cleaning the area. Chill.”
“Let’s see how calm you are when it’s your turn!”
The tattoo artist transfers the stencil of my design onto my skin and holds up a mirror for me to inspect it. I love it, but I also know that if I linger over any detail for too long, I’ll talk myself out of the whole thing, so I hand him back the mirror and tell him to proceed. “It’s bueno. Perfecto.”
Simone takes my hand and squeezes as he continues his prep. I can’t look at him. Already I’m sweating.
“He’s about to start,” she warns me. “Three… two… one—”
Okay. Ouch. This will come as no shock, but the tattoo gun hurts. Of course it does, but I breathe through it and try to relax.
The tattoo artist has barely started when my phone rings in my hand. I look at the screen and go rigid when I see it’s my mom calling me.
We haven’t talked since I left California, which hasn’t been intentional. She’s called while I’ve been at Aura, and in the mornings when I try to call her, she’s still asleep. I know it would raise a few red flags if I let it go to voicemail now, again.
“It’s my mom. I have to take it.”
I motion for everyone to be quiet so I can answer. By the time I swipe my finger, the only sound in the background is the steady whirr of the tattoo gun. With any luck, my mom will assume it’s phone static.
“Hey!” I say with a smile, hoping she can’t sense my unease.
“Oh good, you answered! What are you doing? Are you busy?”
I swear the tattoo gun just got louder. “N-no, not busy. Just hanging out. Reading.”
Annika slaps a hand over her mouth so she doesn’t laugh. I shoot her a lethal warning glare.
“Is your grandmother around?” my mom asks. “I tried to call her a little while ago, but she didn’t answer.”
“Strange. Hmm. Maybe try her again in a bit.”
I’m purposely trying to sound vague so she won’t catch us in our lie. We haven’t corroborated our story, and if I make a misstep here, the jig is up. It’s starting to feel silly being an adult woman lying to my parents about where I’m really spending my summer, but I have no doubt that if my mother found out I’m currently lying on the table of some dingy tattoo parlor letting a man with facial piercings permanently etch ink into my skin, she’d be on the first flight to Spain.
“How are you and Dad? I’ve been meaning to call, but Lita’s kept me busy.”
“We’re good. Keeping busy ourselves. We had a work dinner for Dad last night that was really nice, but I want to hear about your trip so far! I can’t believe you’ve already been in France for two weeks. I bet you’ve seen so much.”
“Some. You know, less than you’d expect. I’ve been settling in for the most paaaaAAA—”
The tattooist draws his needle over a new, incredibly sensitive patch of my inner arm, and I lose it for a second.
“Sorry, what? I missed that.”
I’m sweating bullets now, looking down at my arm and trying to keep it together. “I said I’m settling in for the most part. I just—OH MY GOD!”