Page 3 of Love at First Ink

Marisol

The luxury condo Marisol bought after working up the courage to leave Archie was located just ten minutes from downtown Berkeley. Her condo was on the top floor, which made her feel safe from any robbers and intruders. That and the twenty-four-hour security team also helped ease her worries. There had never been a break-in at her complex, and from everything she extensively researched, her building was ranked one of the safest in the city. However, what really put her on edge was living alone for the first time ever.

Her home had three bedrooms, far bigger than any one person needed. She liked having an extra room for visitors when they came by and wanted to sleep over. So far that had only been her sister and her sister’s husband, Javi, after helping her move into her new place. They didn’t live far, but they had worked well into the night to unload her things. The third bedroom was reserved for her closet, since the small walk-in one in the primary bedroom only held her extensive shoe collection.

Javi was a contractor and all-around handyman. He was able to create shelving units in the room for her, hung a beautiful glass chandelier, and installed lighting in all the storage areas. It was over the top and excessive, but she absolutely loved it. Sometimes she would go in there when she was overwhelmed and just sit on the fluffy pink chaise and admire all of her beautiful clothes.

If that made her vain, then so be it. She couldn’t change entirely, and even if she could, fashion had always been a statement for her. She liked expressing herself through her clothes, even if she was the only one who understood what vibe she was going for.

Using her keycard, Marisol unlocked the door to her home. It had not looked like this when she left for therapy, but the cleaning service her dad paid for stopped by just as she was on the way out. Mrs. Baker had been employed by her family for a long time, so she trusted the woman in her home. She used her signature lemon cleaning supplies, making Marisol’s condo smell of summer.

The stash of unwashed clothes by the laundry room had disappeared. Mrs. Baker knew Marisol’s closet organization and probably put it all away for her, which Marisol appreciated. The kitchen was also in pristine condition. She didn’t know how that room always got so messy when Marisol didn’t cook. She was lousy at it and had tried multiple times to learn basic recipes but stopped attempting after the one time she undercooked chicken. She had never been so sick in her life.

She vowed never to cook again afterwards.

Setting her bag and water bottle on the counter, Marisol’s gaze landed on a neatly wrapped gift box adorned with a large, elegant pink bow. Beside it sat a small envelope with her name scrawled across the front in a cursive script. Her brows knittedtogether as she reached for the card, fingers trembling slightly as she tore it open.

The message inside was brief—just two simple words.Happy birthday.At the bottom, Mrs. Baker had drawn a small heart, and a lump formed in Marisol’s throat as her eyes welled with tears.

Blinking them away, she carefully set the card down and reached for the package, tugging at the silky bow until it unraveled. The moment of hesitation that followed—almost guilt for ruining such a beautifully wrapped gift—vanished as she peeled away the delicate paper. Her breath hitched when she lifted the lid and uncovered a pair of stunning pink earrings, their soft shimmer catching the light.

Her first birthday gift, and it was absolutely perfect. She placed earrings back on the counter, already excited to add them to her jewelry box later, but right now her stomach demanded a snack. She walked to her pantry, which was perfectly stocked, also thanks to Mrs. Baker, and grabbed a bag of vegetable chips to tide her over until she figured out what she would have for her birthday dinner. Would she spring for dessert? She supposed she could spare the calories for her birthday. Probably.

Marisol took her snack and her water bottle to the living room and sank down on her white couch. She was just about to turn on the TV when her phone started to vibrate. Fishing through her skirt pocket, she pulled out her phone to see she was getting a video call from her sister. She bet it was her niece and nephew, and she answered without a second thought.

Two zoomed-in faces greeted her as soon as she answered. Camilia grinned widely, while Fabian drooled on the phone. Camilia made a noise of dissatisfaction and snatched the phoneaway from her brother. “Daddy, Fabian drooled on Mamá Lola’s phone and my hand!”

Fabian’s tiny giggle told Marisol all she needed to know. Her nephew didn’t care in the least. Oh, to be a one-year-old with no responsibilities.

“See, preciosa? He’s Niagara Falls. The amount of drool that comes out of this boy is not natural,” she heard Javi say.

Her sister’s voice then boomed into the phone, “It is natural if he’s teething.”

“Anyway!” Camilia said loudly over her parents. Marisol watched the screen as Camilia moved, showing the ceiling. Once her niece found a new location—her bedroom—she appeared on the screen again. “Hi, Tía! Happy birthday!”

Camilia was the sweetest little girl in the world. The eight-, almost nine-year-old, had taken to Marisol quickly, and not just for what Marisol could provide her. Camilia thought Marisol was pretty, smart, and funny. Her niece looked up to her. No one in her life had ever looked up to her. It was both a beautiful and terrifying feeling. She imagined this was what Lola would have done if Marisol had been a good big sister.

“Thank you, Bug.” She smiled warmly.

“Did you get presents? Oh! Did you get the card I made you? Mamá Lola said it should have gotten to you today.”

That morning, Marisol had checked the mail to find a letter from Camilia. It was a drawing of the two of them with a sweet note that said she loved her and finished with Camilia hoping they could go shopping soon. It was one of the only cards Marisol received, and that made it the most important letter.

“I hung it up on my fridge. I loved it so much. You’re a talented artist.”

“I know,” she said with all the confidence a young girl could have. “Daddysays I’m a natural.”

“You are. You should make him get you more art supplies.”

“Oh, Abuelo already did. He bought me an easel! And paints! But I’m not allowed to paint on the carpet because I could make a mess. So I have to paint in the kitchen, but Fabian tries to take my paints and eat them,” she pouted.

“Well, he’s a?—”

“Baby, I know,” she sighed, like she had heard that line a million times before. “So, now Mamá Lola makes him fake paint that’s actually pudding for him to do art and eat. Isn’t that so funny?”

“It is very funny, Bug. And your Mamá Lola is smart to think of something like that.” Lola wasn’t Camilia’s biological mother. Camilia’s mom died when she was a baby, and Camilia had only known Lola since her father and Lola started to date three years ago. It was amazing how quickly Lola fell into the role of mother. She was a natural, and for some reason, that made Marisol jealous.

Not about the mother part, but how Lola could be so nurturing and loving. Nothing at all like their own mother. She envied Lola’s ability to separate herself from that and not carry on the trauma from their childhood.

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