Once I stood a girl up who I’d been seeing for a month because Delilah called and asked me to meet her, and in the feverish rush I forgot to cancel my date.
I learned to be better. I learned to be honest, upfront, to find women who wanted the same thing I did: a sexual companion who could hold a conversation and who didn’t want one whit more, who didn’t care if I was doing the same thing with someone else. I learned to avoid women who wanted something I didn’t have to give. Like Bernadette, the biologist who studies forest shrimp. Our relationship was pleasant, enjoyable, and when it was over, it was fine.
In short, I learned to be a waystation, a stopover for people looking for something better. A roadside attraction. An amusement park: a fun place to be for a while, but not a place anyone calls home.
That’s all over now.
“Is that the whole grid?” I ask, glancing at a clock. We’re an hour late to my mom’s house, but it’s not a big deal.
“Assuming that you didn’t let women stash their underwear behind your pots and pans in the kitchen, yes,” he says.
I lift the bag with the items in it, tie the handle in a knot, and swing it over my shoulder. Already I feel lighter, more buoyant, like my ballast has been lifted. It’s done. They’re erased, like they never existed.
The past is gone and the slate is clean again.Chapter Thirty-SevenDelilahI lean over Mindy’s butt, pulling my million-watt lamp to and fro, making sure I’ve been as thorough as possible spotting tattoo problems.
The only thing looking back at me is a tangle of wildflowers, purple and spiky. Even I can’t find Seth’s name anymore, and I’m the one who traced over it a few weeks ago.
I know it doesn’t matter, but I feel lighter somehow, knowing it’s gone.
“I think that’s it, honestly,” I say. “You did an amazing job of letting this heal.”
“I really love lying around,” Mindy jokes, and then laughs at her own joke. “Just kidding, I told my boss I had a back condition and had to stand for most of the day and he believed me. Didn’t even ask for a doctor’s note.”
Unsurprisingly, sitting down is the biggest enemy of the butt tattoo.
“Well, it worked,” I tell her, and stand. “I didn’t even have to do much touching up. Let me wrap you up and you’re officially on your way.”
I have to fight the urge to smack her ass as I turn away. I always have to fight the urge to ass-smack when I see an unclothed one in my vicinity, which I know is weird, but asses are just so… smackable. It’s not even a sex thing. It’s just very satisfying.
Did Seth ever smack the tattoo? Seems like the kind of thing he’d be into. I bet he came on it.
NOPE. That is a rabbit hole that I, Delilah Radcliffe, am not going down right now because rabbit holes are stupid, pointless, and filled with rabbits. It doesn’t matter where Seth came six years ago, it only matters that now, it’s on me.
Then I take a deep breath and exhale, because this train of thought got a little weird and kind of sexual and I’m still at work.
“You okay?” Mindy asks from the table.
“Just got a little dizzy when I stood up,” I tell her. “You remember the instructions, right?”
“Right,” she says.
“You’re gonna want loose-fitting clothes and no underwear for a few days,” I remind her. “Long, flowing skirts can be your friend, if it’s not too cold.”
“Too bad I can’t just be naked,” she muses as I bandage her butt. “I bet my boss would require a doctor’s note for that, though.”
“Worth a shot,” I say, and she laughs.
After she leaves, while I’m cleaning the back room before going home, Seth texts me.
Seth: Do I need to bring my tuxedo?
Me: Do you own a tuxedo?
Seth: Technically, no.
Me: I can’t imagine you’ll need anything better than business casual. A jacket, maybe.I click my phone off, feeling guilty. I never told Mindy that I even know Seth, let alone that we’re dating and I think it’s serious. We weren’t when she first came in, and even then it seemed pretty awkward to see someone’s name tattooed on a butt and say, hey, I also banged that guy!
I mean, what’s the etiquette there? Did I do it right? What would Emily Post say? If Vera and I had a very different relationship, I’d have asked her, but… no.* * *Seth: Still coming over?
Me: Of course.
Seth: Good, I need help deciding which cufflinks to bring.
Me: Just wear something besides t-shirts you got for free in high school and you’ll be fine, I promise.
Seth: Don’t insult my wardrobe like that.
Me: See you in thirty?