“You can play after. Come on.”
He looked up, eyes bright, cheeks pink from running around. “Aunt Ellie has Dad.”
“Aunt Ellie has… what?” I paused. “What do you mean, baby?”
“I saw it when I was playing.”
I frowned as I wrapped a kitchen towel around his hands to dry them. “Saw what?”
He pulled his hands free. “Come. I show you.”
Young kids sometimes say things that feel ominous, but later turn out to be nothing.
That wasn’t one of those times.
“Aunt Ellie has Dad.”
I let him tug me back outside. Will lifted his arm and pointed at Ellie.
“Mom,” he said loudly, “Dad’s there.”
Ellie looked up at us and laughed.
I laughed, too. “Silly.”
But Will didn’t laugh. He kept pointing, serious now, his little face intent with the frustration of not being understood. I followed the line of his finger.
“Dad’s there.”
He wasn’t pointing at her face. He was pointing lower, toward her belly.
Ellie leaned forward to grab her drink. Her top shifted slightly, just enough for me to glimpse dark, fine lines on her skin. A tattoo.
All I could make out was the edge of an eye, the bridge of a nose, part of a mouth. A portrait… of who?
My smile stayed on my face, but inside, I felt like I was trying to weather a typhoon in a dinghy.
“Okay,” I said to Will. “Go sit at the table and wait for cake now. You can play again afterward.”
He nodded and ran off. Then I walked toward Ellie.
He was pointing lower, toward her belly.
“Ellie,” I said lightly, “can you come inside for a second? I need help with something.”
“Sure!”
She set down her drink and followed me into the house. The second the sliding door shut behind us, I panicked a little. I needed to see the full tattoo, but Will’s words, “Dad’s there,” echoed through my thoughts.
I couldn’t just ask her to show it to me. I needed a plan.
“What’s up, Marla?” Ellie asked. “You need help with the cake?”
I needed to see the full tattoo.
“Uh…” I scanned the kitchen. I pointed toward the shelf over the refrigerator. “Can you grab that box for me? I… hurt my back a little. I can’t reach it.”
“Ouch! When did you hurt yourself?” She glanced at me over her shoulder as she moved toward the fridge.
“Preparing for the party. It’s not bad, I just don’t want to make it worse.”
She stepped up on her toes, stretching her arms overhead.
Her shirt lifted. It was enough to show me all I needed to see.
“Can you grab that box for me?”
A fine-line black ink portrait of a man with a dimpled smile, almond-shaped eyes, a strong jawline, and an aquiline nose. It was Brad. My husband’s face was tattooed on my best friend’s body like a private shrine.
I couldn’t stop staring at it.
Behind me, from outside, people cheered.
“We’re ready for cake!” someone shouted.
Ellie got the box down and turned around.
Brad’s voice called from outside, warm and easy. “Babe? You okay in there?”
My husband’s face was tattooed on my best friend’s body.
I closed my eyes.
That was the moment when women like me usually swallowed disaster to protect the reputation of their families. I thought of all the years I had done exactly that.
When Brad forgot birthdays and anniversaries, or when he disappeared into work or golf. When Ellie canceled on me at the last minute.
When I convinced myself that little odd moments meant nothing because the alternative was uglier.
That was the moment when women like me usually swallowed disaster.
Then I thought of Will. Aunt Ellie has Dad.
He had said it like he was telling me something fun.
I opened my eyes. I knew what I needed to do now.
Ellie was only too happy to carry Brad’s birthday cake out for me. I stayed a step behind her as she placed it on the center table. She and Brad exchanged smiles. I tried not to throw up.
Everyone gathered around and brought out their phones.
I knew what I needed to do now.
“All right, all right,” Brad said. “No speeches, please.”
“Just one,” I said.
People quieted.
Brad smiled at me, unsuspecting. “Okay then,” he grinned. “Who am I to tell my wife that she can’t shower me with praise on my birthday?”
The guests laughed. I looked at him, then Ellie, then back at him.
