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Monday mornings don’t really suck for me, but today’s the day from hell.
I woke up late...and rushed to work without putting on lipstick. Bekah noticed and stopped mid-sip in her Tim Hortons coffee, pointing at her mouth, then back at me.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s one of those days,” I say, feeling naked without lipstick or gloss, not even a tinted lip balm, not anything.
I had rushed through my morning workout, over-exhausting my legs and abs, and I know I’m going to feel it every single time I get on and off my rolling stool while working, hell even when going to the bathroom.
It’s unfortunately going to be one of those days where squatting is going to kill me, I just know it.
I rush to get ready for my next client, running behind on sanitizing my station, wanting it to be freshly done by me, just in case someone used my bench when they needed to. The open space is usually assigned by artists in the shop at the time, but it’s not like we sign our names to it, making sure we stay there forever.
I do my first tattoo of the day, a pretty watercolor ballerina on the upper back of a girl about my age, and she took the pain like a champ, her boyfriend holding her hand the whole time, talking to her, making her laugh as often as he could, just trying to distract her from the sting.
When I’m done, I get pulled into a hard hug, the kind of squeeze that hurts my lungs, but I suck up all the good energy while I can, waving goodbye to her, wanting to grab a snack, turning towards the back room when I hear my name.
“Sophie, Sophie!”
I know that voice, I know that voice.
I turn, and yup, there he is, Matty with Sera following after him, hiking her purse up on her shoulder, a bucket of coffee in one hand, and both she and the kid are holding paper bags. Sera’s got hers balanced on top of a box of a dozen donuts, the smell of glazed sugar and fried dough wafting into the shop, and since we’re all just a bunch of animals, we all start circling closer, like hyenas eyeing a gazelle—or whatever hyenas eat.
Aren’t hyenas scavengers? I don’t know.
“Oh my God, what are you two doing here?” I ask, glancing down at the box of donuts I’ve been handed. Bekah and even Jake come out of the breakroom, and Remy is in the back with a client yelling at me to save him some.
There’s a ruckus of noise and audible sniffs as I open the box, seeing the dozen donuts, making my mouth water.
“Hey, hey, it’s mine, mine,” I snap, closing up the box and taking a step back, putting me next to Sera and Matty coming up on my other side, like we’re going to get into a fight over it.
Which I’m not above doing. They’re donuts and I haven’t had a donut in a thousand years and now I have twelve of them.
Is this what true power is?
I don’t have another client for a couple of hours, and I know Remy’s finishing up his appointment, so there’s an artist on backup if I decide to mosey on down to the back room and take some time to myself earlier on in the day rather than not. I offer Jake a donut, a toll for the ferryman, or the boss-man, who lets me go on break early, and then hand one to Bekah, making sure she has some, too.
Jake’s thanking Sera for the coffee and the eats, and Sera’s talking to him, pointing out one of his tattoos, an obscure reference to a show or movie I never really understood and always forgot to look up.
“Oh, wow,” Sera keeps saying, looking like she wants to touch, but her hands are still full until Jake sees the vat of coffee she brought over and takes the stack of paper cups and covers, putting them on the reception desk.
“That’s like a reference within a reference,” Sera says, pointing down at Jake’s forearm, and Jake’s got on the kind of grin that would incinerate the panties off any woman, even married ones, probably especially married ones.
“How did you even do that? You got Gallifreyan somehow into the shape of the Sonic Screwdriver even though it’s a circular language. Wow, that’s amazing, truly.”
Jake looks half in love with her already, and I wonder if that’s her charm, the kind of true power that she has, bringing people closer to her, not to manipulate or use, but just by being warm, so incredibly warm that you can’t help but like her, learn to love her, almost straight away.
I don’t have that superpower. I don’t, I don’t.
“Hey there, little man,” Jake says, waving down at Matty, not going for a handshake like some guys might. What does a nine-year-old know about handshakes, seriously.
It doesn’t get past me that Jake’s golden skin flushes underneath Sera’s stare, the way he sort of unconsciously starts turning his left arm so Sera can see without really seeing the other nerdy tattoos he has there.
Sneaky, but not so sneaky.
“Sera, let’s go in the back. Come on, Matty,” I say, stopping for a second to hand the kid a giant binder that might be half his body weight, but he assures me that he can carry it. “Follow me.”
We head down the stairs at the back of the shop, towards the back room where we seat ourselves at the only table where most of us eat lunch, shoot the shit, nap on the table, whatever. It’s empty now, and I place everything down. Sera puts the bags down, too, only to reveal muffins in each of them.
“Sorry to barge in like this. Katie gave me your address, and it’s a Ped. Day for Matty, so it seemed like a good idea to pass by. You’re not incredibly busy are you? I could totally just drop all of these off and meet you some other time,” Sera says, waving at everything she brough.
I shake my head. I’m not busy for donuts, no way.
“It’s like you want us to pledge our souls,” I blurt, glancing up at her to make sure she knows that I’m joking. Honestly, though, there’s not much we won’t do for some sweet food. None of us here at The Red Seal really eat regularly (re: optimally) when we’re working.
“I’m buying if you’re offering,” she says, making me laugh.
Matty sits down next to me, and it makes feel me incredible for no real reason at all.
“How are you guys doing? God, thank you for all the treats, it was so unexpected. Wow, so much food.”
“Mom always does that,” Matty says, nodding at me like he’s telling me a world-renowned fact of life. “She always brings too much of any food, especially dessert, and it makes everybody happy. She says it’s important to try to make other people happy with little things like that.”
“I’m happy, super happy that I have donuts and muffins. I haven’t eaten much today, do you mind?” I ask, flipping the box open and grabbing a donut that’s vanilla frosted with all the sprinkles on top, because I am a child at heart, and sprinkles really do make me happy, along with glittery eyeshadow and long-lasting lipstick.
“Mom, can I have one?”
Sera freezes for a second, then glances down, her cheeks blooming under a harsh blush that has nothing to do with makeup, but more like shame or embarrassment. She breathes hard for a second, then glances up, smile in place, pinned there, like one of my drawings on a peg board.
“How about we share, like your doctor suggested, hmmm? We haven’t even had lunch yet.”
“Ugh, finee,” the kid says. “I get to pick though.”
Sera shoots him a glance and the kid’s shoulders hike up to his ears.
“Can I please pick which one?” Matty asks, leaning close to the table now, glancing down at the nine leftover donuts, making his analysis, his very own pros and cons list.
“Better. Yeah, go ahead and choose for us.” Sera looks into her purse again, pulling out that pouch thing I saw last Saturday—was it only Saturday and not a whole year and a half ago? —putting it down on the table. “Let’s just check your sugar first, here.”
“Mom—” Matty turns his head to me, nervous now, when I’ve already seen this. Maybe the kid forgot that I was there the last time, too.
“Oh, do you want some privacy?” I ask, already done with half the donut, grabbing a paper napkin to deal with my sticky fingers. “I’ll just go and wash my hands.”
Sera looks at me, the smile in her eyes and just a little bit across her mouth.
I head to the bathroom, forcing myself to do my business, then wash my hands thoroughly, hoping to have given them enough time. When I step back out, Matty’s almost in tears and I somehow feel like it’s my fault.
“I’m not saying no forever, Matty, you know how this works. You can’t have the half-donut right now. Let’s just wait until your sugar comes down a little. Is your pump at the end of its batteries?” she asks him, and Matty checks something at his waist. He shakes his head.
“But I do want it now. It’s going to suck later.”
Sera looks at him, blinks. “Kid, when has a donut ever sucked later in the history of the universe? When has that happened, huh? Tell me. I’d love to know.”
“Mom—” he huffs, putting his head in his hands, like the world’s crashing down around him and he’s making the smallest target possible in hopes of not getting hit. We all know it doesn’t work that way, it just doesn’t.
“I hate being a diabetic. I wish I wasn’t.” It hurts to hear him say those words, to hold his head in his hands like he’s not sure he can hold himself up without the support of his hands.
Sera shakes her head, smiling sadly at him, where he can’t see her. “But you are, Matty mou, and I love you with all my heart. Your dad loves you with all his heart, too. Come on, have some water. Didn’t you want to look at the binder of artwork anyway?”
“Well, Dad’s bigger so he’s gotta love me more.” Matty lifts his head and grins, and the world seems all the better for it, lighter, happier.
Sera gasps, affronted, and I know the danger’s passed us by now, the tightening in my throat is going to ease at any given second, just to let me breathe a little. “Excuse you, your dad doesn’t love you more. I would win that contest. If there were Olympics in loving Matty MacLaine, I would win gold, and your dad would win silver.”
“But he’s bigger than you,” Matty keeps insisting, smile bigger than the room, but I watch him close the donut box, moving himself away from temptation.
I don’t know a lot about diabetes, but I know you have to watch your portion control and keep limiting how many carbohydrates you eat, adjust insulin levels after every single meal, which also depends on the amount of activity you did for the day, how much emotional energy you expend at any given moment.
And needles.
So many needles, punctures to fingers even though there’s sensors now, like little plastic caps embedded into your skin for you to scan your blood glucose levels. Punctures in the lower belly, upper arms, thighs.
Punctures every single day, multiple times a day if you don’t have a pump because those can be pricey.
While I couldn’t sleep last night, I learned a little bit about diabetes, specifically juvenile diabetes. I had to stop reading at a certain point, angry and sad until all the emotion was too much, and I ended up conking out more exhausted than ever.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sera says, adamant, waving away the fact that her husband is, in fact, physically larger than her. But based on presence alone? Sera’s got him beat, for sure. A hundred percent.
“Mom—oh, hi, Sophie!” Matty waves and there goes my heart, tumbling into love with the kid, wanting to protect him at all costs, fight against anyone or anything that’ll make him sad.
“Do you mind if I take the donuts upstairs? They’re going rabid up there,” I say, winking at Sera, hoping she understands what I’m trying to do.
“Rabbit? Are they turning into rabbits?” Matty asks, glancing between the two of us, head swivelling from side to side at a speed that’s bound to hurt. “No way that’s happening.”
I snicker, because yeah, English is weird. “I’ll be right back,” I say, nabbing the closed box and bags of muffins and bringing them back to the reception desk in front, leaving them with Bekah where everyone can see them, sniffing around like dogs that have caught the right kind of scent.
Jake comes out of his office on a mid-jog, and I grin at him, jabbing the air with my pointer finger. “She’s married, man. Lay off.”
“Happily?” he asks, tilting his head, his face a big, fat mood.
“Yeah. That’s her kid. Don’t be an ass.”
Jake nods. “Right. All the great ones have been snatched up, I swear to Christ.” Jake sighs, shutting himself in his office, almost kicking the door shut when it sticks, needing privacy to mope.
When I head back. Sera is sitting back in her seat and Matty’s walking around the room, fascinated by the drawings pinned there, some handwritten letters that we’ve accumulated over the years—ten times more personal than emails, even though getting any kind of thank you after the initial reveal is something awesome.
“Mom, I want this one. Oh, yeah, and this one, too! Shit.”
“Matty,” Sera groans, looking up at the ceiling, but she’s grinning just like I am.
I don’t know why it’s so funny when little kids swear. It’s like they don’t know what’s coming for them the rest of their lies (re: adulthood) and swearing from now just makes it that much funnier, I guess.
Whatever it is, Matty comes traipsing back to the table where both his mom and I are sitting now, and he fishes into his jeans pocket, pulls out a quarter and hands it over to Sera.
“Bad word,” he mutters to himself. “They’re all so fraking cool, though. I’m gonna get a hundred when I turn eighteen, just watch!” He glances down at his arms, covered by his long-sleeved shirt, but still probably envisioning what all that ink will look like about nine years from now.
“Technically, frak is also a bad word, but I’ll let it slide for now,” Sera says, crossing her arms over her chest, letting Matty explore the room (which is not that big, granted). “Sorry to bother you, but is there anywhere I can refill my water bottle?”
I hold my hand out for the water bottle, and she hands it over. I come back two seconds later, and then Sera’s calling to Matty to drink some more water, and the kid grudgingly obliges, even over protests that he’s going to have to pee in three fraking minutes, which earns him another loss of another quarter.
I don’t know what game they’re playing, but I want in.
Matty’s looking over the binder now with everyone’s artwork in there, his eyes as big as pizzas, his fingers tracing along some of the outlines, asking questions about colors and shading while Sera and I talk small talk, the worst kind of talk, until it starts to get interesting.
“So I was wondering if I can book an appointment with you to get my nipples done,” she says out of the crook of her mouth, Matty absorbed by whatever’s in the binder, a whole table and a half away.
I nearly choke on the very air I’m breathing. “Uh, what?”
“Is it weird for you? I don’t want it to be weird for you. I’ll book something with anyone you recommend.”
I think about Jake piercing Sera’s nipples and want to die.
“I mean, it’s weird now because I know you. Does that make sense?” I shrug, not wanting it to be awkward between us; I like her too much.
Sera nods, pushing her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears. “Maybe I should start smaller. Maybe I should do my helix first, or conch.” She points the areas out, pinching the areas between her fingers as if testing out her pain tolerance. “I heard nipple piercings can take up to a year to heal. Does that sound about right?”
“Yeah, and you’ll never be more aware of your boobs ever since they sprouted. Mine took a year, but I also like, banged into them all the time. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve hit them with dumbbells doing upright rows.” I demonstrate the movement, holding pretend dumbbells in both hands, palms facing my body, knuckles out, and pulling them up towards my neck.
“Oh, shit, that must have killed,” she says, sliding back that quarter that was on the table back towards Matty, who fist pumps in the air, trotting over from where he’d been standing to grab it with a “score!”
“Yeah, and your husband can’t touch them for that long, too.”
Sera sighs, like that would be bad. I mean, fair. “I really wanted them, too. Yeah, maybe we could try piercing my ears. I really like what you’ve done, but I’ll look up some ideas and what I think will suit me.”
I nod. “I can do your ears no problem. We’ve got some really pretty jewelry back in the shop, if you want to take a look, and lots of different budget options.”
Sera snorts. “Does Russia know? About...?”
Oh, oh. “Nope. It’s literally for me to know and him to find out.”
Sera laughs, a peal of laughter that invites me to join in, and Matty comes rushing over, demanding to know what happened.
How to explain nipple piercings to a kid who gets quarters when bad words are said?
I’m not gonna do it, definitely not gonna do it.
“I’ve gotta say that’s not the only reason I came by. Matty had a ped day, and it was nice going around town with him, getting groceries and stuff, and we decided to pass by, just to say hi. I know we’ve taken up a lot of your time, but I’m hoping the donuts and the muffins made up for it.”
“No, I’m so happy you guys showed up. I’m going to be living off those donuts and muffins for a thousand years. Like, my boss will give me a raise for having a friend like you bring me treats, you really have no idea.” I halt after letting my mouth run off, after saying friend after I’ve met her like only twice.
We should be rivals; she has a piece of Russia that I don’t think I will ever get—but how can I hate her? Why would I hate her?
That’s not right.
“Good, I’m glad. I’ll call the shop and make an appointment so you can fit it around your tattoos, okay?”
I nod dumbly as she stands up, ushering Matty over to her, the kid closing the binder carefully as if there’s something precious inside and hefting it to bring it over to me.
“Let’s go, kiddo. We’re headed home,” Sera says, ruffling the kid’s hair, which he painstakingly puts back in place, and I’ve got half a mind that the kid is half in love with me, tattoos and piercings and all, even without my favorite lipstick.
Looks like we’ve got a contender.
“Thanks for having us, and enjoy the treats,” Sera says again, letting Matty lead the way back up the stairs and into the shop where all the magic really happens.
“Yeah, enjoy them, Sophie,” Matty says, bringing my attention back down to him. Holy shit, he’s cute. “And tell Uncle Russia that we say hi, too!” Matty waves, his entire arm moving along with his entire body, and that’s super cute too.
How can I compete with Sera Delos? How?
And honestly, why would I want to?
