Paul steps into my path as I run toward the door. “Kit,” he says, blocking me from leaving with his body in front of me.
I put up my hands to ward him off. I can’t take a deep breath, much less stop to talk to him. Before I can get to the front door, Logan runs from the back of the shop to the front, chasing after me. I can hear his feet on the laminate floor.
Logan reaches for me, taking my elbow in a tight but gentle grip.
Tears are stinging the backs of my lashes. I don’t know why they are. But they are. And I don’t want him to see. He holds up a finger telling me to wait. I can’t wait. If I wait, he’ll see me break down.
He takes my hand in a firm grip and starts to tow me toward the back of the store. He pushes the curtain to the side, and I see that the woman is still sitting exactly like he left her. Only now she’s holding a thin piece of paper over her breasts. “Hi,” she says. He points toward a chair and indicates that he wants me to sit.
I shake my head. “No.”
He points toward the chair again. I drop into it because I feel like my legs won’t hold me up anymore and that’s the only reason.
He turns back to the woman and urges the paper down. He’s tattooing her nipple. I look away. “It’s all right,” the woman says. “He did beautiful work. I don’t mind if you see it.”
He’s doing a tattoo. Of course he is. All the breath rushes from my body in a huge exhale. He’s doing a tattoo. I look over his shoulder as he’s finishing up. He’s not just tattooing her nipple. The tattoo is her nipple. What the hell?
“Double mastectomy,” she explains. “Logan does free tattoos for mastectomy patients.” She arches her back, pressing her breasts out. “What do you think?”
They look like real nipples. The shading around the edges is perfect, and he’s drawn a simple nipple with a large areola. But there’s nothing simple about it. It’s a work of art. The color is the same shade as her lips, and I can’t believe how real they look. “Wow,” I say. What do you say? Nice nipples? Beautiful boobs? “That’s amazing.”
Logan holds up a mirror for her, and she looks from one to the other. “They’re perfect!” she squeals. She throws her arms around his neck, and he hugs her tightly, smiling over her shoulder at me. He steps back from her, and bends down, softly placing a kiss on the top of her breast. Her eyes fill up with tears, and so do mine. “I’m going to show everybody,” she says. She holds the paper over her breasts as she walks out into the shop. The girl that runs the front of the shop comes over to admire them, and Paul pretends to look everywhere but at her boobs. There’s no one in the shop, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t care if there was.
“She wanted to feel sexy again,” he says quietly, yanking the curtain so that we’re behind it.
“You did beautiful work.” I bat my guitar case against my shins, not sure what else to say. It really was remarkable how lifelike they looked. The shading and the colors and the way they fit the size of her new breasts – it was all perfect.
“She needed them.” He shrugs. He’s so humble.
She bounces back behind the curtain, looking so pleased. She tugs her shirt over her head and takes money out of her purse. “I don’t have much,” she starts.
He presses it back into her purse, shaking his head.
“He won’t take it,” I say.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Who are you?”
“No one.”
She nods. She kisses Logan on the cheek, waves at me and leaves.
He starts to clean up his supplies. He looks over at me out of the corner of his eye and says, “Why are you here?”
I open my mouth, but can’t think of the right thing to say. I close it again. He stops and leans his hip against the table, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Can I buy you dinner?” I blurt out. I have no idea where that came from. But there it is.
He smiles. “Yes.”
Logan
“What do you want to eat?” I ask as we leave the shop. Kit asked Paul to join us, but I think he saw the pleading in my eyes when I looked in his direction. I need some time alone with her. I need to take her on a date. Technically, she asked me out, but I’d never let her buy dinner for me. Ever.
“I don’t care,” she says with a shrug.
I realize I have no idea what she likes. “Italian?” I point to an Italian restaurant on the corner by my apartment.
She nods, smiling at me.
“I didn’t think you were going to come back.” I hold the door open for her, and she walks into the dark restaurant ahead of me. The waitress leads us to a corner booth and she slides in across from me.
“I shouldn’t have.” She puts her guitar under the table, banging me in the shin with it in the process. “I’m sorry,” she says, wincing. She’s suddenly uncomfortable with me.
Is she sorry for knocking me in the shin or for leaving me this morning? “What did you do today?” I ask.
She makes a face and points toward her outfit. “Playing in the subway.”