Last Gift (3 page)

My heart aches with love for this man, and I bite my lip.

It’s not right for a tattoo, though, and when I skim a few more pages, I find just the right picture. Clutching the book to my breast, I race back out of the apartment, time not on my side. I must make a photocopy of this and get back to school before Nick realizes I am gone.

~~ * ~~

D
AYS
PASS
AND
N
ICK
SUSPECTS
nothing of what I plan. We have a small tree in the corner of our apartment, but there are no boxes under the tree yet. It’s like neither of us wishes to be the first one to put something there and declare the holiday, so we hold off. Instead, Nick helps me decorate the apartment with garlands, and we play Christmas music, and kiss under the mistletoe, so much mistletoe. Nick has practically filled the apartment with it.

On the twenty-fourth of the month, I tell Nick that I am going Christmas shopping for my father. It’s a tiny white lie; my father is a firm Amazon shopper and ordered all of our Christmas presents weeks ago. He even got them off the porch himself, which is a big step for my father. I’m proud of him. I’m not visiting him today, though. I take the bus downtown and head to the tattoo parlor I have picked out, where I have an early appointment.

The place is empty when I walk in, a counter full of body jewelry and bottles of disinfectant in the front of the store. The walls are covered with colorful tattoo designs. Behind the counter, one sleepy-eyed man is sitting at one of the chairs. He turns at the sight of me. “You Daisy?”

I smile nervously. “That’s me.” I pull out the drawing I have kept in my purse for the last week. “I need this drawing tattooed over my heart.”

I lay the artwork flat on the counter in front of me and smooth it out nervously.

It is a picture of a red heart, surrounded by darkness and delicately cupped between sketchy suggestions of fingers. There’s a banner across the center, and where Nikolai had written my name, I have modified the drawing and put his name in the banner across the heart. It is in Cyrillic: Николай.

I love it. It is darkness and hope. It is Nick’s heart in my hands, and I will put it over my heart as a double meaning - that the one that beats in my chest belongs solely to him.

The man looks at the drawing. “Nice work. Kinda dark for a pretty little thing like yourself, though. You sure you want that?”

“I do,” I tell him. “Right here.” And I tap my chest, right where my breastbone is. “Can you do that?”

“I can. Go ahead and take your shirt off.” He heads to the back with my paper.

I’m a little shy about taking my top off in front of a stranger, but the man could care less about my naked breasts. He doesn’t even look in my direction as I step inside the tattoo parlor and begin to disrobe. Before I am totally topless, he offers me a towel and tells me to use that to cover up my breasts but to leave my chest bare. Thank goodness.

The man is kind as I sit in the chair and he begins to disinfect the spot. He talks of the weather, and Christmas, and his girlfriend’s children. I smile and talk with him. They are looking for an apartment downtown; I suggest to him our building, which will be ready in another month, and I will make sure Nick gives this man a discount. He seems nice.

He warns me the tattoo will hurt, but the feel of the needle on my skin is more irritating than anything else. The black lines he draws sting and drag on my skin like a pencil is jabbing me at high speed, but I don’t mind; I think of Nick’s face when he sees how I have stamped him on my body forever.

“So, can I ask what this writing is?”

I smile dreamily. “It’s a name: Nikolai.”

“Husband?”

“Boyfriend,” I admit, and again, that word tastes wrong on my lips. Nick has never asked me to marry him. I know he won’t, either, because I told him that I would ask him when I was ready. I like to be in control of things, and Nick gives me control.

Maybe I’m ready now. I consider this as the man swipes at my stinging skin, then bends over the tattoo some more. “How long do you think this will take?” I ask him. “I have one more place to go today.”

~~ * ~~

H
OURS
LATER
,
MY
CHEST
IS
throbbing, I carry a bottle of disinfectant in my purse, and my new tattoo is bandaged under my sweater. My skin feels scraped raw, but the picture is vivid and dark and gorgeous and I can’t stop staring at it. Even now, I want to rip off the bandages and touch Nick’s name branded over my heart. I love it.

But I head to a jewelry store instead. I pick out a man’s ring and a matching, dainty one for a woman. It feels weird to be the one picking out the rings, but these are simply bands. I will let Nick pick me out an engagement ring to go with the band later, if he likes.

It’s simply important that I claim him for myself, for good.

~~ * ~~

I
GO
TO
THE
GROCERY
store and pick up a few things on the way home, then begin to make Christmas dinner. We have a ham already cooked, and I am making mashed potatoes and a pie. We will be going to my father’s and bringing food for Christmas dinner, but I can’t wait for Nick to come home. I’m practically brimming with excitement. I can’t wait to give him my gifts.

I already have the rings wrapped in a tiny box in my pocket. Under the tree, I have small things, like a set of art pencils and a new leather sketchbook that he will love.

And as I wait for Nick to come home, I touch my chest over and over. I took off the bandage, but the skin underneath is red and blotchy, and I’m a little dismayed that it’s not perfect for its unveiling. The man at the tattoo parlor told me it would take time, but I have waited until the last minute to get my tattoo. There is no way I could have kept a tattoo secret from my Nick; he likes to kiss every inch of my skin on a daily basis.

The door opens and I rush into the living room to greet Nick, all smiles. He’s unwrapping his scarf and grinning at me, looking pleased with himself.

“You’re home,” I exclaim, and head forward to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.

“You miss your Nick?” he teases, and his cool eyes light up with genuine warmth, just for me.

“Always,” I murmur, and drag his face down to mine for a passionate kiss. His tongue sweeps over my mouth possessively, and for a moment, I’m entirely distracted by him. Then, I bat at his jacket and pull away. “I have your presents.”

“You do?” For a moment, he looks so boyishly pleased that I’m giddy, and I can’t help the excited giggle that escapes me.

“You get them early if you’re nice to me,” I tease, and saunter back into the kitchen, making sure to sway my hips.

He gives a soft groan and in the next moment, he grabs me from behind and drags my body against his. “Do you tease me, Daisy?” he murmurs in my ear, and I shiver with delight as he nips at my earlobe.

“I do,” I murmur. “Can I show you your gift?”

“Will I like?”

“I think so,” I tell him, and turn around in his arms. I am wearing a red cardigan, the neck buttoned up to my throat, and as I smile at him, I slowly undo the buttons. His eyes light up, anticipating a strip show, but I don’t correct him.

Instead, I bare the tattoo I have had painted over my heart, and wait for his reaction.

~~ * ~~

Nikolai

I
STARE
AT
D
AISY
AND
the red angry welts on her skin that rise around the dark outline of a heart and the letters of my name etched into her body. My bones have liquefied and I stagger to the wall and press my arm against it so that I do not fall on my face.

“Painting is a blind man’s profession. He paints not what he sees, but what he feels, what he tells himself about what he has seen.” I quote Picasso at her because I have no thoughts of my own.

Her smile wavers.

I rush to explain, my words tumbling out like a torrential rain—hard and scattered. “I dream of being owned by you. In my fantasies, you wear my mark to tell everyone not that you belong to me but that I belong to you. But it is only in my mind. Never would I dare to give voice to this…” I cast about for the right word. “This
want
.”

“You once told me that your tattoos tell your story and I want mine to do the same.” Her lips tremble with emotion.

I lunge at her, unable to stand here this full of love and not hold her in my arms. We sink to the ground, our arms wrapped around each other. I hold her loosely to my chest so I do not rub against her tender skin. There is
a wetness on my face and at first I look up to see if there is a leak in one of the exposed pipes but I realize it is me. That I am the one leaking moisture.

Daisy brushes away the tears. “I’m hoping these are tears of joy?” Her voice holds a gentle teasing.

I try to speak but the fullness in my throat prevents any words from escaping. The gift I’ve purchased for Daisy seems callow compared to hers. I swallow and try again. “When I am born, it is to a woman who has no name. She is a prostitute for the
Bratva
. They take me from her and maybe she bears more sons or daughters. The
Bratva
is my family. The gun is the teat from which I draw my sustenance. I grow strong feeding off the suffering of others until one day it sickens me and I turn away, abandoning the strict principles I have been taught as a
Bratva
soldier. But in turning away from the
Bratva
, I leave the only family I know. It is fine, I tell myself, because I need no one.
Until you, Daisy. When I see you and your smile, I suddenly realized my whole soul’s purpose was to find you and become yours. I am clay in your hands. My life, my heart, it is all yours. That you would claim me as your own is the greatest gift you could have ever given.”

Now Daisy is crying and our tears are mixing together. Our embrace is not sexual but spiritual. We are touching each other more deeply in this one moment than in all the moments we have been naked and together. “You’re my heart Nick. I claim you.”

I shudder at her words and she repeats them, this time more loudly and with more force. “I claim you.”

She pushes me away slightly and digs into her pocket. Unfurling her hand, she presents to me a ring box. She hastily unwraps it and pulls out a pair of rings.

I am dumbfounded as she slides one onto my left hand. “I claim you,” she whispers, kissing me softly, her lips dragging along mine. I try to capture them but she is too quick for me. A metal object is pressed into my palm. It is the other ring. Trembling, I lift her left hand and slide the ring onto her finger.

“I am yours then, and you are mine,” I say.

Her smile lights up on the room and it is as bright as day inside our apartment. I see her beautiful soul, white and glowing, and next to it is my soul, smaller, but within her circle of light. Satisfaction burns straight through me and transforms into desire. Later, after we have confirmed our union with a physical coupling, I will give her the car keys. I know she won’t protest because it is nothing compared to the gift she has given me.

I manage to stagger to my feet, still overwhelmed. Sweeping Daisy into my arms I walk purposefully toward the bedroom. Gifts, I realize, are not measured by their monetary value. I could spend and spend and spend on Daisy and never match the spirit of what she has handed me. Human life is short, a mere blue dot in the universe that appears and then disappears in the blink of an eye.

But the love of two people? It is the very essence of being.