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She snickered and accepted my gesture. "Okay, tacos."

"You got it." I grinned when her soft fingers fell comfortably against my palm. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good until I was assaulted by that wicked sign." She shrugged, but I noted she didn't take any steps toward heading inside.

"It's pretty foul, I agree. I know it's pretty crowded in there, but if you want to just go and say hi, I can take you to the back room and show you the mural I finished…"

"I remember you mentioning that." She nodded right away. "I can handle the noise for that payoff."

"Okay." I chuckled and led her inside.

With Clem there, everything felt complete. Our celebration was no rager, particularly with a kid and a grandma there, but it was great, and what Tati deserved. She embraced Clementine and accepted the wrapped trinket she handed her while I looked on. Mrs. Silva met my gaze for a moment, offering me a firm nod, as if she somehow understood and shared my sentiment. I stood there with my friends and family, for once, not feeling like an outsider as much as usual. Perhaps it was just the comfort level, or perhaps it was a result of making stronger decisions about my life and its course, particularly the next one.

Clem accompanied me into the back room, which Frankie had begun turning into an artist's studio. She wanted her tattoo artists to have a quieter place for designing and working on their preparations for bigger pieces. The mural, depicting the psychedelic landscape with goth and punkish butterflies, made Frankie's eyes light up when she saw the finished project. I rarely made her happy, or maybe she was rarely happy, but this seemed to do the trick.

"Each butterfly is one of us from our original friend group. We used to call ourselves The Lost Kids." Echoes of memories played over in my mind. Foster homes, street skating, running from the cops, foraging for food. Hiding from…everything. "But we're better for it now."

"It's beautiful, Jags." She smiled while gazing up at it, as if seeing her first ever shooting star. "You're this one." She pointed to the butterfly, a pace behind Tati's with wings painted in the abstract geometry of her style.

"How can you tell?"

"The wing." She lifted to her toes to point out the curve of the edge. "It's torn, like your jeans, and not smooth like the others around the edges."

"A little jagged…"

"Yes," she agreed, nodding as she inspected the others. "This one is Wyatt, because of the thorax. It's a skate deck, with a little pink, blue, and white. He likes those colors. They're important to him."

I chuckled, nodding. "Accurate indeed."

"This is Nikita, because of the bright wings. She always wears the richest burgundy colors."

"Yup."

"By process of elimination, this is your friend Thiago, who I don't know but I know he does the black and white tattoos, so his butterfly reflects that."

"Only one more big one."

"And Frankie is the black and red checkered one, because it's Frankie."

"Yeah. I gave her a black eye and tiny combat boots on two of the legs, too."

"Why the black eye?" She leaned in closed to check it out.

"My butterfly punched her because she was being an asshole."

Clem laughed hard, her twinkling eyes darting in my direction. "Violent butterflies."

"That's kind of a band name."

"I can see it."

"Reagan is a tiny chrysalis tucked under Tati's wing. Can you see?"

She paused to lean in then nodded. "I would've missed that important detail."

"Clem?" I burst forth before pushing myself up to sit on the edge of the empty in-progress desk that we were building.

"Hmm?" She continued wandering around the room, her attention solely on the mural. I truly adored how she looked at my work. Without the disdain of passersby on the street or scrutiny in style by actual artists. She just…appreciated it.