“True that!” Zane said.
Brock paused in the act of piling the uprights from an old storage rack. “He’s right, you know. Confucius say, the only pussy is he who rejects love from beautiful woman.”
Ram frowned. “Confucius didn’t say that, you tool.”
Brock just laughed. “No, but it’s still true.”
“And anyway, I’m not rejecting anything. There’s nothing to reject.” Ram turned away, and went back to scraping at the tiles. “It was just fun, one time, and that’s it. I don’t even like her”
“Ah-ha!” I shouted. “There is something with you and Izzy.”
He didn’t look at me. “I thought you had to go.”
I glanced at my phone again. “Fuck—yeah, I do.” I waved. “Got to go. Thanks for the help, guys. See you around.”
I made it back to our nearby apartment in record time, rinsed my face and scrubbed my pits, put on deodorant, changed into clean underwear, jeans, and a fitted polo, and then hauled ass to pick Juneau up from her office at one—making one quick stop on the way.
I had a plan, and I wasn’t sure if she’d appreciate it right away, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I just hoped she’d end up seeing it that way.
14
Juneau
He picked me up precisely at one, and his hair was still damp, droplets of water beading in his stubble, and he was wearing a clean, fitted blue polo shirt instead of his usual T-shirt. He’d even put on different boots, newer ones with clean, polished black leather and crimson laces. The effect was to make him even sexier than normal, which meant my libido—in overdrive from all the sex we’d had last night and this morning—revved up to an almost unbearable degree.
As soon as I slid into his truck, he leaned across and kissed me, and just like that, it was a conflagration, a moan escaping my throat as his tongue found mine and my hand tangled in his damp hair.
I pushed him away abruptly. “Stop, stop, stop.” I let out a slow, calming breath. “You keep kissing me like that and something inappropriate is going to happen in this truck.”
He grinned at me, and then turned to look around. “There a private parking lot around here somewhere?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, and we’re not spending my lunch hour having sex, Rem. I never had breakfast and I’m hungry.”
He sighed, pretending to be saddened—or…mostly pretending. “Fine, fine. I guess I’ll feed you.”
“I need to restore my energy,” I said, smirking at him. “Someone kept me up most of the night.”
He just grinned even wider as he pulled away from my office building. He drove us toward the docks, parking at the marina.
I eyed him. “Where are we going?”
He hopped out of the truck, retrieved something from the bed, and opened my door. “You’ll see.”
I frowned at him. “You’re being mysterious.”
He just winked at me. “Yeah, well, I’m a mysterious kinda guy.”
I laughed. “Right. Subtle and mysterious. That’s you.”
He hefted the seafoam-green Yeti cooler on a shoulder. “Picnic at the dock,” he said. “It turned out to be a nice day, and I thought you’d appreciate some time outside.”
I followed him as he wove his way unerringly in the one direction I didn’t want to go—a certain section of the marina I was all too familiar with. “Rem…where are we going?”
He didn’t answer right away, just braced the cooler on his shoulder with one arm and held my hand with the other. “You trust me, Juneau?” He paused, his eyes fixed on mine.
I met his stare, frowning. “That feels like a trap, considering where we are.” A few feet away, my mother sat under her awning, polishing a piece of turquoise, watching us. I glanced back at Remington. “Why are we here, Rem?”
He shrugged his shoulder, indicating the cooler. “Picnic with your mother.”
“I know what you’re trying to get me to do.”
“Yeah—have a nice friendly picnic lunch, in which you introduce your new boyfriend to your mother.” He gazed at me innocently, but I could tell that a certain phrase in that sentence had taken some balls for him to say so casually.
“My new boyfriend.” I squeezed his hand. “Is that what this is?”
He smiled. “It’s as good a thing to call it as any.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t want to be my girlfriend.”
I pretended to think. “Hmmmm. I don’t know…” I leaned against him, laughing. “Yes, you big dork. I want to be your girlfriend.”
“Even if I’ve tricked you into introducing me to your mother?”
“A dirty trick, to be sure.” I sighed. “Why, Rem?”
“Because you’ll never talk to her on your own. I figured you could use me to break the ice a little.” He eyed me sideways. “Tell her about the tattoo you’re going to do on me.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “The what?”
He tapped his hip pocket. “I have a design, and I want you to do it.” He grinned. “Plus, I also kind of told my brothers I plan on working with Ink. You know…an apprenticeship.”
She blinked. “You…did?” She eyed me. “Did you talk to Ink about this?”
He just grinned a cocky grin. “Nah, not yet. But he’ll be down—he likes me.”
I just laughed. “So sure of yourself.” I pulled him into motion, deciding I had to just bite the bullet. “What if he can only take one apprentice at a time?”
He smiled slowly. “Well…you’re his cousin. I think there’s probably some kind of preferential treatment for family.”
“I’d hope so,” I said. We were reaching my mother’s booth, then, and I spoke to him quickly, in low tones. “Let me do this my way, okay?”
He just laughed. “We’re just here to have lunch with Mama Isaac. Anything else you want to do while we’re here is all you, sweetheart.”
I glared at him. “You are so manipulative.”
“I prefer the term subtle.”
I laughed. “Yeah, subtle as a sledgehammer.”
Mom continued to polish the turquoise as we approached, but she did allow me a long, openly curious look. “Juneau—hi, honey.”
I let go of Rem’s hand and circled behind the table to hug her. “Hi, Mama.”
She eyed Remington. “Who’s this?”
I let out a sharp breath, steadying myself. “This is Remington.” I swallowed hard. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Mom blinked at me in blank surprise. “Really.” She frowned. “I never heard anything about him until now.”
I just shrugged with a small smile. “It’s…new.”
Remington reached out to shake my mother’s hand. “Hi, Mrs. Isaac. I’m Remington Badd.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You raised a hell of a woman, ma’am.”
Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m glad you think so.” Her eyes went to the tattoo on his arm, which the short, tight sleeves of his polo left mostly exposed.
I had my sweater on, buttoned up against the cool breeze on the marina. It was actually fairly warm, now, though, and I was genuinely getting a little hot.
So…
I unbuttoned the sweater, letting it hang open. Letting my tattoos show.
Mom’s eyes fixed on them, and her expression darkened. “Juneau Isaac. What are those?”
I slipped the sweater off entirely. “Tattoos.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I know that.” She glared at me. “You know what I’m asking.” Her eyes went to Remington. “He do those?”
I smirked. “No. We’ve only known each other a short time. I’ve had these for years, actually.” I lifted the hem of my shirt to show her the ones on my diaphragm and belly. “As are these.” I turned, and Rem helped me lift the shirt in back. “And these.”
Mom was having trouble formulating words. “Who…who did them?”
I lifted my chin; I traced the band running from shoulder to breasts to shoulder, and then the matching one inverted on my belly and hips. “I di
d these myself. The rest…Ink did.”
She sighed. “I knew it would have something to do with that boy.” She shook her head. “Can’t even see his skin for all the tattoos making him look like…like some illustrated man.”
“Have you ever read that book by Ray Bradbury?” I asked. “It’s amazing.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “Got no time for that nonsense.” She sighed again. “Why are you showing me this now?”
“Because…because most of those tattoos illustrating Ink’s skin were done by me, Mom.”
This caused her to put down the turquoise she was furiously polishing. “Nuh-uh. No.” She fixed me with a hard look. “We talked about that years ago. You were giving that up.”
I sighed. “Mom, I can’t just—just give it up. It’s part of me. I could never give it up. I never have.” I teared up. “Mom, you’re an artist. You don’t do this just to pay the bills—you love creating this stuff.” I lifted a carving of a horse which she was in the process of finishing, putting in stones for eyes and tiny strands of real horse hair for the mane. “You’ve done this your whole life. Could you just give it up?”
Mom took the carving from me and examined it critically. “It’s all I’ve ever known. I wanted more for you. We all—”
“I know, I know,” I interrupted. “That’s why I’ve done this in secret for so long. Everyone sacrificed so much to send me to college, and I’m grateful. But…” I tapped my chest piece. “This is what I want.”
She gazed sideways at Rem, who was watching the conversation with open interest, sitting on the cooler. “You have anything to do with this?”
He shrugged. “Not directly.”
I frowned at him. “Yes, directly.”
“How do you figure?” he asked.
“You saw me doing a tattoo on Ink, and you saw my tattoos. That was the start of things coming out into the open.”
“So you blame me?” he asked, his eyes cautious.
“Blame…and credit,” I said, smiling at him. “Both are equally true.”
Mom glared hard at Rem. “How much of her tattoos have you seen?”
Rem shifted, unsure how to answer.
I was more certain. “Mom!” I snapped. “I’m an adult. That’s none of your business.”
Rem met Mom’s eyes steadily. “One thing I’m sure of, ma’am—Juneau is incredibly talented. And she’s unhappy in her job at the law firm. She does it to make you happy and proud of her. But it’s taking a toll on her, and I, selfishly, just want her to be happy, and not just doing something out of a sense of familial obligation.”
Mom was quiet a moment. “Familial obligation.”
“I don’t hate it,” I said, “I just…it’s not what I want.”
“What do you want, then?” Mom snapped, gesturing at the awning. “This? Sitting on a dock selling trinkets to tourists?”
“Yes!” I cried. “It’s what I grew up doing. I have a whole collection of little figurines like this I’ve made with you over the years, and I treasure each of them.” I tapped my tattoo again. “And I want to do tattoos. I want to do art—whatever it looks like, whether it makes me a lot of money or not.”
“It’s never been about money, Juneau,” Mom said. “It’s about—”
“A lot of things,” I cut in. “None of which matter in the long run. I went to school and got the law degree, and I’ve been working with Daniel long enough to know without a doubt that I have no interest in being a lawyer. Ever.”
Mom nodded, staring at the table. “You been putting off going back for the bar so long I was starting to wonder.”
“I don’t want to let you down, or have you or anyone else think I’m not grateful for the opportunity to go college.” I grabbed her hand. “I just…I want something else. I’ve wanted this since I was eleven years old.”
“Eleven?” Mom asked.
I laughed and showed her the tattoo Ink had done on me with a pen and heated needle. “Ink did this one, and I did one on him when were eleven.”
Mom snorted. “Lucky you didn’t go septic and die, doing that crap.”
I nodded. “I know. We did get sick, actually.”
Mom laughed. “I thought that flu was awful sudden.” She shook her head. “Ink getting sick at the same time was also kinda coincidental.”
“We were lucky it wasn’t worse,” I said. “But we’d been drawing on each other with Sharpies and pens for years, and we wanted something permanent. We were just a pair of dumb kids with dreams bigger than our sense.”
“You were always covered in scribbles, and so was he. We always knew he’d end up doing what he does. I just thought you could do something more than…” She shrugged, gesturing at the table. “This.”
I shook my head, sighing. “Mom, I’m proud of this. You are an artist. I’ve seen photos on Facebook of people around the world proudly displaying your art on their desks and mantels. I’m proud to be part of something that goes back beyond you and Grandma. It’s more than that.” I tapped my tattoo. “This is part of that. I want to be part of this—bringing our heritage back.”
Mom knew what I was referring to, and I didn’t have to say anything else—her grandmother, whom I’d known as a young girl, had the ritual tattoos on her face and hands, and the tattoos on my chest were, in part, a dedication to her, modeled after what I remember seeing on her skin, and thinking were so beautiful.
After a while, Mom glanced at Rem and the cooler. “You got any food in that thing, or you just bring it to sit on?”
He laughed. “I have food. I just didn’t want to interrupt.” He got off the cooler and opened it, pulling out a spread of food—a cold rotisserie chicken, cheese, pickles, olives, nuts, and crackers.
We ate, and Rem charmed my mother into telling as many embarrassing stories about me as possible. Unsurprisingly, Mom ended up being as easily won by his gorgeous grin and beautiful eyes and easy good humor as I had been. Which meant he learned a good many of the most embarrassing things that have ever happened to me. Knowing Rem, he’d get Ink to tell him the rest.
After a while, I glanced at him. “Hey, Rem…”
He just grinned, standing up. “I saw a public bathroom somewhere around here—I’ll be back in a minute.” He winked at me, somehow knowing I wanted a few minutes alone with Mom.
She watched him go, as I did. When he was gone, she glanced at me. “Well, Juneau, you know how to pick ’em.” She smirked. “You’ve never brought a guy around me before, so he must be pretty special.”
I shrugged. “Like I said, it’s…new.”
Mom snorted. “He’s good for you, girl. Keep him around. I like him.”
I laughed. “Okay, if you insist.” I sobered, looking at her inquisitively. “This wasn’t quite how I saw myself revealing all this to you, you know.”
Mom grinned. “Bringing a good-lookin’ fella to break the news for you was pretty smart. I couldn’t yell at you with him around.”
I sighed. “I’ve struggled with this for so long, Mom.”
She leaned into me, wrapping an arm around me. “Juneau, if it’s what you want—if you’re passionate about it? I want you happy. I just didn’t want you getting stuck in it because it’s all you know, just because it’s some family tradition. I wanted you to have options. I’m proud of you for what you’ve accomplished—you’re the first person in our entire family to ever go to college, and I’m proud of that.” She traced my tattoo. “This is really beautiful. Makes me think of my grandmother.”
“It’s part of why I did it—for her. Because of her. I remember sitting in her lap as a little girl, tracing the pretty marks on her leathery skin, wishing I could have them too.”
“You gonna do some on your face, too?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” I laughed. “Not right away. I’d have to work up to that. Get some on my hands first, or my forearms.”
She traced lines on her fingers, between the first and second knuckles. “Right here. Like Gran
dma.”
A hopeful grin blossomed on my face. “I could do them for you, like Great-Grandma’s. Ink has the supplies so I could do them with, like, FDA-approved tattoo ink.”
Mom eyed me, touching my knuckles. “Get ’em to match?”
I clutched at her hand. “Mom—don’t play with me. Really?”
“Slow day today. I could close the booth early.” She smiled at me. “Think Ink will mind us dropping by?”
I couldn’t help a shriek of excitement. “MOM!”
She just smiled at me, taking my hands in hers and pressing kisses to my knuckles. “I can’t believe you kept this from me for so long, Juneau.”
“I was afraid you’d…” I shrugged, blinking back tears.
Mom frowned. “Afraid I’d what? You’re my daughter, my baby girl.” She shook her head at me. “Yes, I’ll admit I’m a little disappointed that I’ll never get to say my daughter is a lawyer, but if that’s not what you want, if you’re not really passionate about it and you’re just doing it because you feel obligated to me and everyone else…?” Mom sighed. “Then it’s not right for you.”
I hugged her. “You don’t even know how relieved I am.”
Mom whacked me on the shoulder. “I’m honestly a little pissed off that you’d keep secrets like having tattoos and not wanting to be a lawyer just because you were afraid I wouldn’t understand.” She shook her head again. “I thought you knew me better than that.”
I toyed with my braid as Mom began packing up. “I do, but sometimes you build up these fears in your head, you know? Like, part of you knows it’s irrational, but you’ve been weighed down by it for so long that it’s nearly impossible to convince yourself otherwise, because you have this imaginary worst-case scenario all built up in your head.”
Mom nodded. “Oh, I know. I know that feeling all too well.”
I helped Mom finish packing up, and then Rem showed up and helped us carry Mom’s stuff to her truck—a pickup older than me, falling apart with rust. I had as many memories of sitting in this truck with Mom as I did of sitting under that folding awning.