Page 73 of Dirty Ink

“This was a bad idea,” Mason added. “The mess between the two of us is already bad enough without Aurnia getting all these crazy dreams about ‘saving’ us.”

Conor practically snatched his new glass of whiskey from the waiter. “Yeah, about that. I should warn you that—”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Aurnia said, kissing Conor on the cheek as she retook her seat. “Everything’s ready now— I mean, good now. How’s everyone liking the food?”

The tenting of Mason’s pants distracted me as I smiled at Aurnia. I blocked it from view by unhooking my hair from behind my ear.

“The food is perfect, hun,” I said. “It’s wonderful and delicious and probably the best food Mason has ever had, and he’s probably going to throw it all away before the night’s over.”

I think we were all rather stunned when Mason stood abruptly. Half the wine glasses were knocked over. The plates jerked so violently that half the food went onto the tablecloth. It silenced the restaurant. We were all stunned, but I think no one more than Mason himself.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to wait in the car.”

I should have kept my mouth shut. But I was mad. Embarrassed maybe. Uncomfortable that I’d probably taken it too far.

It was a mistake to mutter, “Told you so.”

It was my fault that Mason backhanded the bottle of wine as he stormed past. That it shattered and fell. That there was no saving this night. I exhaled shakily and returned to my pasta as the restaurant stared.

“Um,” Aurnia whispered, wincing as the chair she scooted back made a horrible noise in the horribly awkward silence. “I think I need to go make a call.”

I forced myself to chew the meatballs. To not look up. To act like everything was fine. Just fucking fine.

I only heard Conor say to the waiter, “We’ll need some ‘takeaway’ boxes.”

Heard him sigh.

Heard him mutter across to me, “She’s young.”

I was once, too. A long time ago, it seemed. A long time ago.

Mason

I should have known something was wrong by the number of cars outside the shop.

Dublin Ink wasn’t exactly in what one would call the trendy part of town. Nor what one would call the desirable, nice, clean, safe part of town. Most the people in our neighbourhood didn’t own cars. They pushed shopping carts, they pushed kegs of beer, they pushed needles into their arms. So the cars lining both sides of the street should definitely have been a warning. I didn’t even think for one minute that they were customers (and the reason was not because it was nearing ten at night).

It was silent as we approached, Conor and Aurnia insisting to come over for a “nightcap”. Silent enough to make me wary as I slipped the key into the lock. Silent enough to check over my shoulder at the line of cars, dark beneath the burnt-out streetlamp. Aurnia was chewing at her fingernails, eyeing warily the inside of the tattoo shop. Conor was staring up at the starless night, muttering what I could only think was a prayer of some kind. Rachel was the only one looking at me. She gave me the middle finger.

Dinner had been a disaster. A shite show. A fecking train wreck.

Rachel and I fucked at The Jar and it seemed something might change, but nothing changed. We pulled apart like we’d done something wrong. Something dirty. Like we’d made a mistake.

So I lost it at the restaurant. I couldn’t stand it any longer. The one step forward, three back. The desire, the need. The shut doors. The questions without answers. The hate when we were maybe, just maybe moving toward love. Another Miss Last Night. Another Miss Not Rachel. Another Miss Not, Never Would Be and It Was Driving Me Insane Rachel.

“Are you going to open the door or not?”

Rachel stared at me. Arms crossed. She’d seen me lose it. Had she known it was her fucking fault? All her fucking fault.

“I’m not used to so much hostility when I return home,” I grumbled.

“You’re not used to the woman you go home with knowing you,” Rachel retorted.

I returned the favour of the middle finger and then went back to the key in the lock.

Slowly I turned the key. I pushed the door open. I stepped inside. Then not slowly at all, actually all at fucking once, the lights went on, balloons descended from the top of the stairs, and two dozen people jumped up from behind the old furniture, shouting, “Surprise!”

“What the fuck?!” I said.

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