Until December (Until Her 5)

As soon as it’s open, April eyes me from head to toe. “You’re wearing that?”

I look from her outfit of a form-fitting black tank, leather blazer, dark jeans, and black booted heels then down at myself. “Yes.” I shrug one shoulder, and she rolls her eyes toward the ceiling before looking back at me.

“Just grab your purse.”

I leave her without a word and go back to the kitchen, where I grab my cell along with my Kindle. After I convince April that I’m not getting a tattoo, I’ll at least have something to do to kill time. I pick up my bag at the door then follow her out, locking up.

“I can drive,” I tell her when we reach the parking lot.

“As if I’d ever let my ass ride bitch in your hooptie.” She presses the button on her keys and her car across the lot beeps as the lights turn on.

I don’t say a word until after I’ve slid into the passenger seat of her too small and too fast, silver Corvette and buckled in. “You do know I’m not getting a tattoo tonight, right?” I ask as “Highway to Hell” plays a decibel above normal through the car stereo.

“You are.”

“I’m not. I’ll watch you, but no way am I willingly going to have a needle plunged into my body over and over.”

“Then I’ll hold you down while it’s done.”

“I’m not getting a tattoo.”

“You won’t regret it or even remember the small amount of pain once it’s done,” she says before turning up the music, ending our conversation and placing her foot more firmly on the gas.

She drives us through town and pulls in to park in a small strip mall that’s mostly dark except for a Chinese restaurant at one end and a tattoo parlor on the other. The Chinese place looks like every other one in town, but the tattoo parlor stands out, even with it being connected to the business beside it. The glass windows are lit up with bright pink and white lights, and there’s a hand-drawn painting on the window of cherry blossoms and unique writing announcing the name of the place, Blossom’s Tattoos.

“Have you been here before?” I question April as she parks in the mostly empty lot.

“Blossom has done most of my ink,” she states before shutting down the engine and opening her door.

I follow her out of the car then into the parlor. The space inside is open and actually really beautiful. Light gray tile flooring that looks like hardwood. Bright lighting, and two glass-enclosed stations are in use with two tattoo-covered men working on their clients. Framed photos cover the walls, and most of the tattoos look like artwork in heavy wooden frames. I stand by the door, taking everything in. In my head, I expected this place to be dark, with books to flip through and hidden rooms down a long, dim hall. This place is nothing like I imagined. I move away from the door and meet April at the curved glass counter on the other side of the room.

The moment I stop next to my sister, a stick-thin woman comes around the corner. She’s wearing a ripped up, short-sleeved tee, showing off the colorful tattoos covering both her arms. Her blonde, pink, and lavender hair is braided back on one side of her head, making it look like that side is shaved. She’s uniquely beautiful. When she sees April, her face alights with a smile, and she shouts, “Girl! Where the fuck did you get that blazer? I need it.”

“Like I’d tell you,” April snaps sassily, and I jerk my head back, surprised by her tone.

The woman laughs, obviously not offended. “You’re not still mad about us showing up at the same place in the same dress, are you?”

“Mad that you looked better than me and stole the guy I was after right from under my nose? Why would I be mad about that?”

“He was a waste of time. You should be thanking me.” She shrugs with a coy smile.

“Like that’s ever gonna happen.” April rolls her eyes then asks, “Is Blossom set up?”

“She’s waiting for you.” Her eyes then come to me, and her head tips to the side as she studies me. “You’re the sister?”

“This is December. December, this is Lexi,” April introduces, waving her hand out.

Lexi’s eyes sweep over me again, making me feel awkward. I ignore that feeling and smile, saying, “Nice to meet you.”

Ignoring me she looks at April. “This adorable, obviously sweet girl is your sister? She’s wearing a cardigan,” Lexi states like it’s a crime to wear a cardigan. Then she places both her hands on the glass counter, looking over the top and down at my feet. “I knew it. She’s also wearing flats. They are leopard print, but they’re still flats.”