Page 14 of Silver Linings
The elevator finally starts to climb, and I see Silver turn to face me in the reflection off the steel doors as I staunchly stare forward.
“So,” Silver starts, “you never answered me last week when I offered to have your shoes cleaned after my clumsiness.”
I turn my head slightly to look at her now. She’s not flirting, but there’s definitely a glimmer in her eye that spells trouble.
“It’s alright. I couldn’t get the smell out of them, so I tossed them out.”
Her face goes slack. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’ll get you another pair. Just send me a link!”
“I’m teasing you. They’re my favorite pair of shoes.” They weren’t before, but they are now. She doesn’t need to know that, though. “I didn’t throw them out.”
A bell dings, and the doors open to her floor.
And then I see it, her shift back into this confident indomitable force as shesauntersout of the elevator.
Just when I think she’s not going to respond, she flicks her gaze over her left shoulder. “Good. Now you can think of me every time you put them on.”
Then, the elevator doors close, and she disappears from my sight. Which is a good thing…so why do I feel a ridiculous tightening in my chest?
“Honey, I’m home!” Jae calls out from our apartment hallway.
“I’m in the kitchen.”
“Exactly where you should be.” He walks in and slaps my ass while I’m standing at the stove.
“How was work?” I ask him.
Jae has been my best friend since freshman year of college when we first became roommates. After we graduated, I moved back to Seattle, and Jae became a tattoo apprentice here in the city. Now, he’s a full-fledged resident artist at Anarchy, one of New York’s most elite studios, booked out for months in advance.
“I got to do this sick photo-realistic landscape of my client’s hometown in South Korea. We made it look like it was inside a stamp. It’s one of my favorite pieces I’ve done this year.”
We used to sit on a ratty couch in our dorm, tv playing in the background while he would ignore his coursework to draw, and I would be doing mine because failure wasn’t an option for me. My dad had only agreed to let me go out of state for college onthe condition that I come home after with a business degree to prep me for running the family business.
Most days, that was okay with me. I had always liked our business of custom furniture, loved the process of sketching and designing and would shirk off studying from time to time to draw with Jae. Sam and Faye, the other two of our group, would inevitably join at some point, and the night would descend into chaos. I loved it. Leaving home gave me the small taste of freedom I craved away from my dad and his expectations, but I went back as agreed and I stayed, training under him and my uncle to take over—that is, until our world shattered two years ago. The very air in Seattle became so stifling that I finally had enough, packed my bag a few weeks ago, and ran back to the only place that ever felt like home: New York.
I pull myself from morose thoughts. “Let me see a picture of it.” I motion to the salmon I’m frying in a pan. “Do you want some of this?”
“Have you ever known me to turn down a meal?” He turns to grab a couple beers from the fridge, depositing one next to me and popping the top off with the silver ring he always wears on his index finger.
“Good point. Thanks.” I reach into the cabinet for dishes to plate up our dinner.
He fishes his tattooed hand in his pocket to grab his phone. “You would be able to see my work without asking if you would just get on social media. Even my halmeoni has Instagram now.”
I grunt in a non-committal response. I deleted social media after the accident, unable to stomach the surface-level messages from too many people who didn’t really understand. I like it better this way, cut off from the bullshit. Anyone who needs to reach me has my phone number, and that’s all I need.
We settle on the couch, and I set our plates on the coffee table before flicking on the Rangers game that started a half hour ago.Jae hands me his phone and the image on the screen is so crisp it’s like looking at a photograph.
“Dude, this is some of your best work.” I zoom in with my thumb and index finger to see the lush green mountain-scape surrounded by a flat open field. It’s hard to wrap my head around how he fits so much detail into a six inch piece.
“When are you going to let me tattoo you? It’s embarrassing my best friend won’t let me draw on him. I swear I won’t put a dick on you.” He holds up three fingers in the universal scouts honor signal.
I only have one large piece—a series of vines that twine from my wrists, up my forearms and biceps, curl under my arm onto my chest, and sweep over my shoulders to connect to a root in the center of my back. One vine for my sister, Laurel, and one for my brother, Maddox. He and I had it planned for months, and we went in on his twenty-fifth birthday—I got my vines, and he got a scape of Mount Rainier.
I haven’t been able to bring myself to get anything new since, feeling like if I do, I’m moving on in some way.
“Maybe one day.” I can feel my best friend scrutinizing me.
He snatches his phone back. “Enough about me. How was your first day?”
