Dating : The Tattoo On Her Left Wrist

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she said out loud to no one. Madeline let the phone drop with a soft thud on the mattress, and the impact made her coffee spill a little. “Serves me right,” she thought. “This whole breakfast in bed thing is supposed to be a treat? There’s nowhere to set anything on, and what I’m left with at the end of the ordeal is a new load of laundry.” She shook her head quickly as if to shoo away the bad thoughts. After all, it was her birthday, her first birthday as a mom. It was her most adult birthday yet, and she wasn’t going to let stained sheets or raging peer pressure ruin it.

She found Jake in the kitchen playing peek-a-boo with their 6-month-old daughter, Matilda. “You won’t believe who else got a tattoo.” Jake rolled his eyes. They’d been having this conversation for a good couple of years now, as one by one each of her girlfriends had caught the ink bug. It felt very much like a slow-spreading virus to Madeline, because they were all getting it without fail, no matter how healthy or smart or non-threatening looking, and there were obvious and tangible symptoms (a tattoo, always larger than Madeline anticipated, always somewhere that looked particularly painful) and lasting long-term effects (as in, well, you’re stuck with the thing forever). “I will likely believe it. Who is it?” Madeline looked and him in the eye and brought her right hand to her forehead. “Abby. Abby! Can you deal? She’s the most level-headed. She’s the only one that seemed to stick with me this whole time.” Her husband let out a chuckle. “What did she get?” Madeline let out a long, exasperated exhale. “Some random flower. A poppy, I think? With some smaller flowers around it. Like, she’s not a remarkably flowery person? She’s not one of those people who has fresh flowers all over the house. She’s not a florist. Why in the actual not-making-sense hell would you tattoo permanent flowers on your body? As a reminder to grab a bouquet next time you’re at Whole Foods?”

Jake laughed and shook his head while still fully engaged in peek-a-boo. Matilda was squealing. He covered his face with his hands again. “People get tattoos for different reasons, I guess.” Madeline picked up her phone, which had been buzzing on the counter. There were a couple dozen unread messages in her group chat with the girls, all of them beaming about Abby’s new tattoo. “I just don’t get it. It’s like bumper stickers, but worse. What need do have to announce to the whole world, to strangers who don’t know your name, that you love your mom? Or eagles? Or flowers? Or that you have poor taste, in the case of those poor souls who got tribal tattoos in the 90s?”

Madeline looked over to where Jake had been a few seconds before, but he wasn’t there. She locked eyes with Matilda, who looked very confused. Then Jake jumped from behind the highchair and scared them both with a ‘boo’. She walked over and sat on the floor next to him, beaming up at Matilda. “What would you get?” asked Jake, hugging her close.

“I would at least get something useful.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile and let her head rest on his shoulder. ‘If lost, please call 845–677–4232’. That’s what I’d get, on my left wrist”.