Page 88 of Last Letters to Ara
Fishing my phone out of my bag, I show him the few pins I added to my Pinterest board this morning before coming over. It hadn’t taken long for me to decide what I wanted. He takes note of everything I show him and disappears into the back to make a few designs for me to choose from.
Finally, feeling brave enough to take in my surroundings, I look around. My attention is instantly snagged by a group of girls a few stations down. There’s five of them and they all look so different, not the typical group of girls you’d see, but you can tell they’ll be together forever just by the way they interact. The way they seem to speak in their own language, and how everything outside of their moment doesn’t seem to exist. I’d bet money that they would bury bodies for each other.
The one lying on the table looks like she’s doing everything in her power to hold back a laugh and remain still, as the other four girls howl with laughter and squat like they’re trying not to pee. Even their artist is laughing.
They’ve got a little bar of milkshakes and a spread from Chick-fil-A courtesy of Uber, which tells me that they must have been here for a while already. I turn my gaze away before they notice me encroaching on their moment. My mind wanders to Lou, Theo, and even Connor, wondering if we could have our own found family one day, too. I spare the girls one last glance and their wave of laughter fills me with hope.
A black-and-white drawing on the wall captures my attention as I look away, clearly an original design by one of the artists that I imagine is waiting for the perfect person to etch it onto their skin forever. The design is done in a silhouette style, showing a couple in a passionate embrace.
Looking away before I get a blush from a drawing, my thoughts immediately go to Theo. The way they’ve instantly done for the last month, any time something gets me thinking about sex, kissing, friendship, nachos, or literally fuckinganythingif it has sometiny,microscopic thread that connects me to him.
The tell-tale warning that someone is entering the shop (not a bell, but a ringtone of an aggressive “Fuck You” in a Brooklyn accent) rings out and Theo walks in. It would be nice if I could remain breathing for once. Theo still has no clue what is going on, but his green eyes brighten when they land on me, melting me straight down the middle.
My mission to remain calm, the face of unaffected and cool as a cucumber flies out the window when he smiles. I blame it on his eyes. I blame it on his stupid smirk. I blame it on the way one curl has escaped the others and droops over his forehead. I blame it on how his clothes always fit him disgustingly well. I instantly become a very uncool cucumber and run to him.
Theo steps forward to catch me as I launch (okay, more like small bunny hop) into his open arms. I hook my arms around his neck as he clutches me around my waist. His cheek presses on top of my head and we both take a deep inhale at the same time, which is nice, so it’s not just me and I don’t feel like a serial killer.
“You going to tell me what we’re doing here?” he whispers into my ear.
“I’m doing something I’ve always wanted to do but haven’t.”
“You’re getting a tattoo?” He doesn’t say it like it’s gross, just confirming the reason for being here.
I nod.
Right on time, I see the tattoo artist coming back with the design.
The artist, who I find out is named Everest, shows me what he’s designed, and it stalls the breath from my lungs. Theo reaches over and clasps my hand as my eyes pool with tears. If I didn’t know any better, the artist himself seems choked up. If Everest starts crying, I’m going to start crying and leave this place buried in tissues and banned for life.
I sniffle. “We better get started.”
My inked teddy bear chuckles. “I’ll get set up.”
I look over to Theo, the feeling of cardiac arrest which has become the telltale sign of his presence is strong. I’ve got shallow breathing, constricting in my heart, pressure in my chest. Google would tell me that I’m dying.
He looks over, reading my thoughts. “Same.”
Refusing to acknowledge his uncanny ability to always know what I’m thinking, I try to throw him off. “You’re also planning on knitting a sweater with seven cats?”
He winks, not fooled. “All the time.”
• • •
I did cry. Not from the pain, and not until the end, when I found myself looking at the curve and flow of the script, the words brushing my soul. Admittedly, I don’t have much of an idea about the afterlife, or if there even is one, but I can only hope these words now forever marked on my forearm, follow me wherever I go and lead me to the person I miss the most.
May we meet again
“Do you have more time?” Theo surprises me with his question.
“Yeah, man. I do.”
Theo lets out a breath. “I have this design in mind. It was inspired by someone I cared about.” He looks at me for a moment before looking back to Everest. “I want an antique timepiece with new life growing from it, almost like it’s a seed sprouting new blooms of petunias.”
Botox becomes a guaranteed future as my brows shoot up, while I fight the endless questions barraging the walls of my mind. Is it a coincidence that he’s picked the same spot as mine? I settle with just one question.
“Why petunias?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I read somewhere that they symbolize hope.”
