Page 46 of Under My Skin

EVERETT

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Are you sure about this? We can leave the Sharpie on for as long as you want.” Lucy sits at my station, and it’s crazy to think how much has changed during the past six months.

It hardly looks like the same shop. The walls are painted a dark blue, the artwork at each station is displayed in copper frames, copper drop-down lights hang above each table, and each station has a set of black drawers with large copper handles.

The back wall we painted black with our shop logo displayed in large copper letters.

The antique floors offer a sense of depth and warmth to the room that was never there before.

It hardly resembles the Copper Ridge Tattoo Co.

I opened. In fact, Troy’s taxidermy owl is one of the few things left unchanged.

He insisted he couldn’t part with it, and how passionate he was about keeping it only made me more hesitant to ask him about it.

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Would you stop? I can handle this.”

“I know you can.” She might look confident, but I know it’s a front.

I can tell by the way her eyes track my every move as I open a new needle.

She wants this, though. This isn’t like her storming in here six months ago and demanding a cat tattoo on impulse.

She’s thought about this for a while now.

She’s tried three different temporary placements, and her forearm is what she liked the best.

She gives me a grateful smile before looking up as Toni approaches us.

“Finally doing it?” she asks with her arms crossed.

“So she says,” I offer with a raise of my brow.

Lucy playfully glares at me before turning her attention back to Toni. “Yes. I’m finally doing it.”

Toni gives an approving nod. “Welcome to the club.” She pauses, eyeing the purple stencil on Lucy’s arm before walking away. “Well, almost.”

The tattoo is simple. There was really nothing to draw up on my part. She found it online when she was looking at minimalist tattoos. I understand why she likes it, though. Even without her weekly debates where she justifies the meaning to me out loud, I’d think the tattoo suits her either way.

The open delta with an arrow isn’t anything new, but it doesn’t have to be.

Lots of people have gotten this tattoo as a symbol of being open to change and willing to move forward in life, but that’s not the point.

It means something to her. The past six months have been pivotal for her, and she’s been open to everything thrown her way.

I dip the tattoo gun into black ink and check in with Lucy, but as soon as our eyes meet, she blurts, “Dad and Greg invited us over for dinner.”

“Cool. I’ll see if Alex can lock up.”

“Mom and Elliot are invited too, but I think she might break up with him.”

“Okay . . .” My eyes drop to the tattoo stencil on her arm again in a feeble attempt to remind her why we’re here.

“I like Elliot.” Her lips fall into a slight frown. “He adores her.”

“That’s probably part of the problem.” Ever since the divorce, Lucy’s dad has only dated Greg. It took a few months for him to introduce him to everyone, but as soon as that happened, Greg has been in the picture. Leslie, on the other hand, has dumped at least four guys in the past six months.

Lucy sighs. “I know. She can’t handle clingy men.”

“Can’t say I blame her.” Gesturing toward the stencil with the tattoo gun, I ask, “Ready?”

“Do you think your mom will want to come?”

Sighing, I lower my hand again. “Do you want me to ask her?” Lucy and I have made a point of going to my mom’s house once a week lately. It was hard at first, but it’s gotten easier. I have Lucy to thank for that—well, Lucy and Bill, my grief counselor.

“Yes.”

I wait for a beat before asking, “Anything else?”

She swallows and shakes her head, but she looks a little like she did before she got on my bike the first time. “Take a breath, Luce.”

She nods, this time her shoulders rising and falling as she breathes. “Okay.”

I lift my brows. “You good?”

Her lips pinch, and I sigh and sit up straight. “We don’t have to do this today. You can still think about it.”

She waves away my concern. “No, not that. I was just thinking about Simon’s apartment.”

I give her a leveling look. “What about Simon’s apartment?”

“His lease is up soon.”

I nod. I know where she’s going with this. She took over Simon’s guest room as soon as my apartment was done and has been living there ever since. “Yeah. He mentioned that.”

“He did?”

Setting down the tattoo gun on my tray, I say, “Yeah. I told him to look for a one bedroom since you’ll probably move in here.”

Her eyes jump to the staircase leading up to the apartment that she mostly decorated herself anyway. “You want me to move in here?”

“Of course I do.” Her eyes widen, and I quickly add, “You can live with Simon another year if you want, but you practically live here already.”

She looks a little dazed, like she hadn’t thought about how much time she spends here until now. “Yeah, I do.”

I watch closely for her reaction. I planned on bringing up the topic of us living together in a couple of weeks when Simon got more serious about looking for a place, but I guess in the middle of the studio on a random Tuesday works, too.

She blinks, her thoughts seeming to clear. “We’re moving in together?”

I laugh. “If you want to.”

She beams, and my heart stutters at the sight. “Yes, I’d love that.”

I smile. “Good.”

These past six months I’ve felt better than I have in a long time. Even before losing my dad, I don’t think I felt this light. I don’t think I realized how much everything was weighing me down until Lucy.

We can’t erase loss. We can’t unload it onto someone else. We can’t cure it. We can only carry it, and over time, hope we learn to carry it well.

I’m still learning. Some days are heavier, but others feel more manageable.

Days like today, I can look forward to the future.

I can think about the ring I have hidden upstairs in a box on the top shelf of my closet.

I can imagine her answering that question the same way she just answered this one.

I can enjoy life and not feel guilty about it.

Lucy holds out her arm. “Okay. You can mark me now.”

I shake my head, and I swear everything she does has my affection for her growing. With a gloved hand, I pick up the tattoo gun one more time. “You’re sure about this? Because I love you, but I can’t sit here all day. My next appointment is in an hour.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sure.” I don’t want to doubt her, but I know she’s reading into the look on my face when she quickly adds, “Really.”

I dip the needle into the ink and lean forward. With the needle hovering over the purple stencil line, I shoot her one more questioning look.

“I trust you.”

The words probably shouldn’t hit me in the chest the way they do, but I falter slightly before regaining my bearings. Lifting her hand, I press a kiss to her open palm before laying it flat on the table again. As I drag the needle over her skin, she winces slightly, but then her face relaxes.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She frowns. “That doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.”

With a chuckle I say, “Don’t look so disappointed.”

Her lips lift, and she says, “I love you.” It’s moments like these that I know I’m doing something right—that I know I’m someone my dad would be proud of.