Page 4 of Strelitzias in Spring

“Shhh, he’s not worth your tears,” my mom soothes.

Pulling back, I look up at my mother’s beautiful face. Her warm honey complexion is clear, not a trace of makeup marring her skin, and her dark brown eyes are pained, as though she feels my anguish just as deeply as I do. She offers a sad smile, her full lips barely pulling at the corners.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she answers immediately.

“I didn’t feel any spark—any connection—with DylanorDevin. Is it possible I’m defective?” I feel like an idiot for even asking the question. But shouldn’t I have at least feltsomething?

My mom tsks, grabbing me again. “Your body just knew what your mind didn’t: both of those boys were not worthy of you. One day, you’ll meet someone who sees you as their whole world and will make your life, your happiness, their priority.”

Despite my mom’s wisdom and her reassurance, I can’t help but think that she’s wrong.

2

Serena

Three weeks later

Life has been shit lately; there is no counterargument or silver lining. Ava almost died because she fell in love, I lost my best friend and my dad’s respect, and after listening to CeCe’s gut-wrenching sobs, I found out that she had lost her unborn child.

Growing up, my mother always counseled me to “trust in God’s plan.” But God’s plan is utter bullshit, as evidenced by the near-death and heartbreak the three of us have endured. My anger at the universe is how I wound up here, in the parking lot of Ink and Needle, CeCe’s cousin’s tattoo shop a half hour away from campus. When Ava first suggested we get tattoos, I balked and almost said no to coming. Both Ava and CeCe were supportive when I told them about my hesitation, convincing me to come regardless of whether I received a tattoo or not.

Now, staring at the innocuous brick facade, a feeling of rightness comes over me, as though I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

“Come on, Wolf is waiting for us, and if I know anything about my cousin, he’s going to be a fucking grump if we make him wait on us,” CeCe calls from the back seat of my ancient Toyota Corolla.

Okay, ancient may be a hyperbole, but my cherry red four-door sedan is ten years old and has more scratches and patch-ups than I care to admit. Internally, I scowl because Marina has a newer Mercedes, and I’m driving a car held together with prayers and duct tape.

I’m proud of my car—I bought it with money saved from birthdays, holidays, and tutoring jobs—but it still hurts that my dad claims that he’s taken care of my mom and me for the last decade when he’s done nothing more than guilt me into going to his house and relegating me to a guest in my childhood home.

The slamming of a door jolts me from my internal musings, and I look up in time to see CeCe and Ava rounding the hood of my car, waiting for me to turn off my engine and get out.

“You coming, Rena?” Ava calls out. My chest warms at the nickname. Before Ava and CeCe, I was always Serena, the child brainiac with too few friends and too many responsibilities. No one had ever shortened my name or given me a nickname that was born from affection, aside from my mother. Devin always mocked me by calling me “Siren,” and everyone else has always used my full name. But now I’m Rena, a college student with friends.

It’s tragic that it’s taken me this long to feel like I finally belong somewhere.

“Yes, sorry. Coming,” I respond, hurrying out of the car.

“Hey, what did I say about apologizing? Cut that shit out,” Ava comments. “Now, let’s go get some ink. I call going first.”

“Aves, calm your tits; Wolf is going to think you’re high on drugs if you run into the shop screaming like a lunatic.”

Ava lets out a scoff, not breaking her stride. “Wolf has known me since I was prepubescent; he’s used to my personality.” Ava throws the door open on the last word, yelling at CeCe. I follow them into the building, surprised by how open and bright the space is.

Gleaming white walls hold framed artwork, a foil to the masculine black furniture spread throughout the open space. On the far side of the room, private rooms with doorways framed in black trim offer privacy to clients and prevent anyone from seeing the art in process. CeCe stops at the reception desk, a smile on her face.

“Hey, Aubrey. How are you?” CeCe greets. Peering over her shoulder, I’m struck by how stunning the woman behind the desk is. With long blonde dreadlocks and mocha skin, tattoos cover her body in vibrant pops of color, complimenting her beauty. She smiles at us, a small ring dangling above her teeth. “Holy shit, did you get a smiley? Did that hurt?”

She laughs at CeCe’s outburst, rolling her eyes before answering, “It didn’t feel good, but it wasn’t too bad. Wolf did it last week.” Aubrey looks around CeCe. “Hey, Ava, good seeing you again. And you must be Serena.”

“Oh, yes. Hi,” I murmur.

She smiles at me, nothing but warmth and kindness radiating from her badass features, and I feel less nervous than I did a few moments ago. “It’s great to meet you. CeCe told Wolf that you’re on the fence about a tattoo. Do you want to take a look at work samples and stock designs?” She lifts a book, holding it out for me.

I carefully take the offered book, clearing my throat. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”

“Thank fuck you’re finally here. I thought you were going to stand me up,” a voice sounds behind us, and I feel my stomach immediately clench. The deep timber and rasp wash over me, and I’m surprised by my reaction to a voice. I haven’t even seen the owner’s face, yet I feel foreign beads of attraction travel up my spine. Turning slowly, my jaw slackens at the sight of a real-life Jamie Fraser, one that’s covered in tattoos and muscles.

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