The Loose Ends List(54)

Enzo, come back to the ship with me. I am an evil person.

“Now, then. On with our wedding shopping.” We weave through the crowded streets. “I won’t be around to choose the husband, so please, dear, use your brain, not your body. The content of a man’s semen is very important.”

“Gross, Gram.”

“Hear me out. First, the little buggers need to be able to swim. You can’t know that ahead of time. Personally, I think it was Karl’s plumbing that didn’t work, not Rose’s. We North women are very fertile.” She hesitates. “I even got pregnant the first time with Bobby,” she blurts out.

“What? Are you serious? You had an abortion?”

“No. Abortion was illegal. I could have paid big bucks for an under-the-table one, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do that. I lost the pregnancy early on. That’s when I started believing in God.” She reaches over and pinches my arm really hard.

“Ow.”

“You need to use protection. I don’t ever want you to be in that position. It’s hell.”

“Got it.”

“Anyway, we’re missing the point,” Gram says. “Sexy is good for dating. But it’s best if you marry somebody kind and honest, somebody who can give you smart, well-adjusted children. Someone like Martin or Bob.”

“Okay, Gram. I’ll be sure to do careful semen sifting.”

We walk slowly because the heat and exertion are already getting to Gram.

“Oooh. That gelateria is open. Sit, Gram. I’ll go get us gelato.”

“If you’re not porky now, you will be after this trip,” Gram calls after me.



We lick the tiny flat spoons.

“Do you have any regrets, Gram?”

“I’ve made mistakes. Who hasn’t? But I do not have one regret.”

“Not even the ass tattoo?”

“I love my ass tattoo. My ass, however, has a mind of its own. Trust me. I don’t know what it’s trying to do back there, all flat and flabby. Maddie, I’ve got it!”

“What?”

“Your something borrowed and blue will be an ass tattoo.”

“Hilarious, Gram.”

“No, this is it. You’ll borrow the idea from me, and do a blue sea star tattoo on your ass. Let’s go find a clean tattoo parlor.”

“Wait, you’re serious. Gram. I would totally do it, but I don’t like pain—tattoo pain or Dad pain. Because you know my dad will literally kill me. He’ll string me up by my ass tattoo in that piazza.”

“Maddie, how often does your father see your behind?” She squeezes my butt cheek. “If I listened to my parents, I’d be sitting in a country club in Greenwich about to play bridge with some red-nosed old fart.” She laughs. “My life has been fabulous because I never listened to my parents.”

My grandmother is peer-pressuring me.

“Yeah, but what about the pain? I can’t even wax my eyebrows without nearly passing out.”

“Stop being a drama queen. Yes, it hurts a little. But no pain, no gain. If I hadn’t pushed your giant mother out of my vagina, you wouldn’t be here. You can get a tiny tattoo. Come on, live a little.”

“Fine. I’ll do it. I will suffer for you, you sadistic old nut.”

“There it is.” Gram points at me.

“What?”

“The scrunch face.”



Gram sends me up the Spanish Steps to whisper our request to the concierge. “This is the one the rock stars use,” he says with a wink.

Between the death-defying cab ride and the anticipation of the searing pain I’m about to feel on my tender ass skin, I’m violently nauseated. Gram is busy sketching out my tattoo on a napkin.

“Here. How’s this?” She holds up a perfect sea star. I’ve forgotten how gifted Gram is.

A woman, tattooed in watercolor from neck to ankle, greets us in front of a charming storefront brimming with potted flowers. Ink Woman loves Gram’s sketch. She makes Gram sign a minor release. Gram makes her show us her hygiene routine, so I don’t get AIDS or hepatitis. Great, more diseases to worry about.

“Holy f*cking shit,” I scream. Gram holds my hand.

“I know, honey. It hurts. But it’s looking fabulous. Just keep thinking about your wedding day.”

“I’m a teenager. I don’t care about my wedding day. This is abuse.”

“Almost done. Shh. She’s just doing the shading now.”

“Ow. It’s worse. How did you do this to your whole body? This is insane.”

Ink Lady finally stops.

“Just wait until childbirth.” I hate it when Gram says that.

I hold a hand mirror to my butt. The area around the tattoo is red, but there it is, my delicate starfish in shades of blue. It’s barely the size of a quarter, but it looks like it’s floating on my skin, brought to life by Gram’s creative genius and a stranger’s steady hand.

“Oh, honey. It’s fabulous. It’s so you.”

“It’s a companion for your saggy seahorse. I love it.”

Ink Lady takes a picture and emails it to my friends for me. I’m sure the lake club could use some good gossip by this point in the summer.