“Look, it’s not like that. She’s not my girlfriend.”
“What is she then? You don’t have a sister, and I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t tattoo your mother’s name on your body. So what gives?”
“She’s someone from my past.”
Beatriz arched one brow. “I’m listening.”
I went through the story, grateful it was early enough that only the two of us were in the shop. I’d called her and asked her to come in before we opened. She heard me out without interrupting, keeping her face impassive and her arms folded over her chest, even when I admitted the truth about the tumor in my brain. “Yesterday, I flew back here. That’s it.”
She was wide-eyed. “Wow. You really fucked that up.”
“Thanks for your sympathy,” I snarled.
“Oh, I have sympathy about the brain tumor. That is a shitty fucking piece of rotten luck, and I hate that you’re going through it. My brother had a tumor removed from his pituitary. The doctor got it all, and it turned out to be benign, but it was really hard on the entire family.” Her eyes misted over—something I’d never seen before. “I am sorry, Dallas.”
“I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Thanks. He’s fine now, by the way. Married with a kid and another on the way.”
“Good.”
“You’re going to be fine too, you know.”
“Bea. Can you just put her name on my arm please?”
“Not until you agree to have the surgery.”
I banged my fist on her table. “Fucking hell! Is it too much to ask that I be allowed to make my own decision?”
She thought for a second. “Yes. Because you’re not thinking clearly. You’ve got all this”—she moved her hands around in front of my face—“baggage that’s weighing you down, influencing your decision. Your aura is totally clogged with it. You need to let it go.”
I clenched my jaw and took a breath for patience. “I’m working on it.”
She tilted her head. “Are you? Or are you using this whole refusal to have the surgery thing to get back at your family? Maybe even to punish yourself for hurting Maren?”
“Jesus, Bea. All I wanted was some ink. Not a therapy session.”
She smiled. “Lucky you, it comes free with a tattoo today.”
“Does that mean you’re going to do it?”
“I’m deciding.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “What is getting this tattoo going to do? If she won’t see it, it won’t help you get her back.”
“It’s not for her,” I said quietly. “It’s for me. I want her with me, Bea. I’ll always want her with me.”
She sighed, her eyes tearing up again. “You’re starting to get to me, Dallas.”
“Good.”
Pulling on her disposable gloves, she shook her head. “I’m only doing this because I believe in my heart that you do love her, and that someday you’re going to take your head out of your ass so you can be with her.”
I didn’t say anything while she worked, and I welcomed the sting of the needle. It was a fraction of the pain I would have endured for her, and it made me feel like I was doing something about my feelings. As I watched Beatriz’s hands, I thought about Dr. Acharya’s, how capable they’d looked. I thought about how Finn had said the surgery could be done in ten days. I thought about the abrupt way I’d left my brother’s house, angry and resentful, when I knew he was only trying to help.
And I thought about what it would be like if the tables were turned, and it was Finn with the tumor—or God forbid, one of the kids. Or Maren. I’d want them to have the surgery, too. I’d fight them if they argued. I’d tell them it was worth the risks.
When it was done, Beatriz covered it with a bandage and tried to send me home. “You look like shit. Have you even slept since you left here?”
“Very little in the last few days,” I admitted.
“Go home and sleep. And don’t come back here until you’ve scheduled that surgery. I mean it. I will fire your ass if you don’t.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile.
She gave me a hug and sighed. “Maybe you should come back later so I can cleanse your aura. It’s all kinds of fucked up.”
That reminded me of something. “Maren cleared my chakras while I was in Detroit.”
“She did?” Beatriz looked surprised. “How was it?”
“It was … mind-blowing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Something tells me it devolved into another activity entirely.”
I paused. “Yeah. It did.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “It happens. I wish I could meet this girl. She sounds amazing.”
Closing my eyes, I swallowed the tightness in my throat. “She is.”
I went home and tried to take a nap, but failed. After an hour or so, I gave up, took the bandage off my tattoo and washed it off. The skin was pink and tender, and the sight of her name on my body made me both happy and sad. I applied some ointment, put on some hiking shorts and a long-sleeved shirt to keep my arm covered, grabbed a bottle of water, and drove to Powell Butte. I was nearly ready to make the call to my brother, but I felt like I needed a little more time. I needed to do this for me, not because Finn or my parents or Evan or Beatrix or even Maren wanted me to.
While I hiked, I thought a lot about my childhood—my parents, my relationship with my brother, my behavior. The way I purposefully defied my parents to make a point. The way I refused to try my best at school so that no one could tell me my best wasn’t good enough. The way I sought solace in art but never felt like I was taken seriously. The kind of parent I would be if I ever had the chance.
Finn was a good dad, I’d give him that, but I’d work way less than he did. I wanted to be there swimming in the pool with my family and putting the hot dogs on the grill, not coming home after dinner was already on the table. Our dad, a corporate attorney, had worked a lot too.
At one point I stepped off the trail for a water break, and stood for a moment looking at Mount Hood in the distance. Its snowy peak never failed to take my breath away. I’d climbed it once and had always wanted to do it again—the view from the summit at sunrise was stunning, the kind of view that made you glad to be alive.
A few hours later I drove back home, sweaty and famished and tired, but certain of what I should do. When I pulled into my driveway, I was shocked to see Finn sitting on my front porch.
Not once had Finn ever come to see me anywhere I’d lived.
I got out of the car and walked toward him slowly.
“Hey,” Finn said, rising to his feet.
“Hey.” I thought about offering my hand, but while I was doing that, he came forward and hugged me.
It was a little awkward—he and I weren’t huggers—but kind of nice too. “Sorry for showing up like this,” he said as he released me.
“It’s okay.” I scratched my head. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you.”
I probably should have told him right then I’d decided to have the surgery, but I didn’t. Some part of me wanted to hear what he was going to say first. “Want to come in?”
“Sure.”
We walked to the front porch, where I noticed he had a small carry-on bag. “This is quite a surprise.”
“I know.” He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Bree said I should call, but I wasn’t sure you’d have let me come. And I wanted to say some things in person.”
“Okay.” I unlocked the front door and we went in. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” He set his bag down while I turned on the living room lamps, then took a seat on a chair adjacent to the couch. “I’m here to apologize.”
I sat on the couch. Folded my arms over my chest. “For what?”
“For not being a better older brother. If I had been, you’d still be at my house, and you’d have an easier time taking my advice.”
“What is she then? You don’t have a sister, and I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t tattoo your mother’s name on your body. So what gives?”
“She’s someone from my past.”
Beatriz arched one brow. “I’m listening.”
I went through the story, grateful it was early enough that only the two of us were in the shop. I’d called her and asked her to come in before we opened. She heard me out without interrupting, keeping her face impassive and her arms folded over her chest, even when I admitted the truth about the tumor in my brain. “Yesterday, I flew back here. That’s it.”
She was wide-eyed. “Wow. You really fucked that up.”
“Thanks for your sympathy,” I snarled.
“Oh, I have sympathy about the brain tumor. That is a shitty fucking piece of rotten luck, and I hate that you’re going through it. My brother had a tumor removed from his pituitary. The doctor got it all, and it turned out to be benign, but it was really hard on the entire family.” Her eyes misted over—something I’d never seen before. “I am sorry, Dallas.”
“I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Thanks. He’s fine now, by the way. Married with a kid and another on the way.”
“Good.”
“You’re going to be fine too, you know.”
“Bea. Can you just put her name on my arm please?”
“Not until you agree to have the surgery.”
I banged my fist on her table. “Fucking hell! Is it too much to ask that I be allowed to make my own decision?”
She thought for a second. “Yes. Because you’re not thinking clearly. You’ve got all this”—she moved her hands around in front of my face—“baggage that’s weighing you down, influencing your decision. Your aura is totally clogged with it. You need to let it go.”
I clenched my jaw and took a breath for patience. “I’m working on it.”
She tilted her head. “Are you? Or are you using this whole refusal to have the surgery thing to get back at your family? Maybe even to punish yourself for hurting Maren?”
“Jesus, Bea. All I wanted was some ink. Not a therapy session.”
She smiled. “Lucky you, it comes free with a tattoo today.”
“Does that mean you’re going to do it?”
“I’m deciding.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “What is getting this tattoo going to do? If she won’t see it, it won’t help you get her back.”
“It’s not for her,” I said quietly. “It’s for me. I want her with me, Bea. I’ll always want her with me.”
She sighed, her eyes tearing up again. “You’re starting to get to me, Dallas.”
“Good.”
Pulling on her disposable gloves, she shook her head. “I’m only doing this because I believe in my heart that you do love her, and that someday you’re going to take your head out of your ass so you can be with her.”
I didn’t say anything while she worked, and I welcomed the sting of the needle. It was a fraction of the pain I would have endured for her, and it made me feel like I was doing something about my feelings. As I watched Beatriz’s hands, I thought about Dr. Acharya’s, how capable they’d looked. I thought about how Finn had said the surgery could be done in ten days. I thought about the abrupt way I’d left my brother’s house, angry and resentful, when I knew he was only trying to help.
And I thought about what it would be like if the tables were turned, and it was Finn with the tumor—or God forbid, one of the kids. Or Maren. I’d want them to have the surgery, too. I’d fight them if they argued. I’d tell them it was worth the risks.
When it was done, Beatriz covered it with a bandage and tried to send me home. “You look like shit. Have you even slept since you left here?”
“Very little in the last few days,” I admitted.
“Go home and sleep. And don’t come back here until you’ve scheduled that surgery. I mean it. I will fire your ass if you don’t.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile.
She gave me a hug and sighed. “Maybe you should come back later so I can cleanse your aura. It’s all kinds of fucked up.”
That reminded me of something. “Maren cleared my chakras while I was in Detroit.”
“She did?” Beatriz looked surprised. “How was it?”
“It was … mind-blowing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Something tells me it devolved into another activity entirely.”
I paused. “Yeah. It did.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “It happens. I wish I could meet this girl. She sounds amazing.”
Closing my eyes, I swallowed the tightness in my throat. “She is.”
I went home and tried to take a nap, but failed. After an hour or so, I gave up, took the bandage off my tattoo and washed it off. The skin was pink and tender, and the sight of her name on my body made me both happy and sad. I applied some ointment, put on some hiking shorts and a long-sleeved shirt to keep my arm covered, grabbed a bottle of water, and drove to Powell Butte. I was nearly ready to make the call to my brother, but I felt like I needed a little more time. I needed to do this for me, not because Finn or my parents or Evan or Beatrix or even Maren wanted me to.
While I hiked, I thought a lot about my childhood—my parents, my relationship with my brother, my behavior. The way I purposefully defied my parents to make a point. The way I refused to try my best at school so that no one could tell me my best wasn’t good enough. The way I sought solace in art but never felt like I was taken seriously. The kind of parent I would be if I ever had the chance.
Finn was a good dad, I’d give him that, but I’d work way less than he did. I wanted to be there swimming in the pool with my family and putting the hot dogs on the grill, not coming home after dinner was already on the table. Our dad, a corporate attorney, had worked a lot too.
At one point I stepped off the trail for a water break, and stood for a moment looking at Mount Hood in the distance. Its snowy peak never failed to take my breath away. I’d climbed it once and had always wanted to do it again—the view from the summit at sunrise was stunning, the kind of view that made you glad to be alive.
A few hours later I drove back home, sweaty and famished and tired, but certain of what I should do. When I pulled into my driveway, I was shocked to see Finn sitting on my front porch.
Not once had Finn ever come to see me anywhere I’d lived.
I got out of the car and walked toward him slowly.
“Hey,” Finn said, rising to his feet.
“Hey.” I thought about offering my hand, but while I was doing that, he came forward and hugged me.
It was a little awkward—he and I weren’t huggers—but kind of nice too. “Sorry for showing up like this,” he said as he released me.
“It’s okay.” I scratched my head. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you.”
I probably should have told him right then I’d decided to have the surgery, but I didn’t. Some part of me wanted to hear what he was going to say first. “Want to come in?”
“Sure.”
We walked to the front porch, where I noticed he had a small carry-on bag. “This is quite a surprise.”
“I know.” He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Bree said I should call, but I wasn’t sure you’d have let me come. And I wanted to say some things in person.”
“Okay.” I unlocked the front door and we went in. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” He set his bag down while I turned on the living room lamps, then took a seat on a chair adjacent to the couch. “I’m here to apologize.”
I sat on the couch. Folded my arms over my chest. “For what?”
“For not being a better older brother. If I had been, you’d still be at my house, and you’d have an easier time taking my advice.”
