But he couldn’t.
He wouldn’t
“It’s a horrible picture of me Tasha,” I groan, moving to try to take the frame from her, but like her dad, she stands more than a foot taller than most girls and I can’t reach.
“Hey, careful with my gift,” Slade cautions us, sounding serious.
“How would you feel if I had a picture of you and Tasha?” I protest. “Wouldn’t that be weird?” I venture.
But we’re all interrupted by what's going on in Slade’s living room.
The sound of a crack and then tinkling glass has him groaning for a different reason, rolling his eyes when he hears a chorus of “Oops,” followed by loud but nervous laughter from the next room.
“I’ll go see, Dad,” Tasha says diplomatically, reminding Slade it is his birthday after all.
But if I know Tasha she’s being extra nice for a different reason too.
She has on her “Let me help because I want something” voice.
Slade is wise to it as much as I am, and we share a knowing look as Tasha darts into the living room.
Shouts and cries of “Where’s the birthday boy?” and “Speech! Speech!” have already started.
I’m guessing some breakage at a biker party is nothing, but Slade seems torn when I suggest he join the party.
“I’d rather just sit here with you, to be honest,” he says in a low voice, swallowing hard before letting his eyes do that thing. Roaming over my body like they’re an extension of his hands and fingers.
Reaching places a quick dunk on his huge lap could never reach.
“I think Tasha is about to bail on us,” Slade says calmly.
He slides his chair back loudly and runs his hands down the tops of his legs.
Not looking too bothered by the idea.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, pretending I wasn’t thinking the exact same thing.
The call from Brad, her sudden change in mood. It’s classic Tasha predictability.
I wonder what I do that’s so predictable.
Maybe staring at Slade’s junk.
Getting defensive whenever someone tries to compliment you.
Tasha and I can be a little predictable, everybody is I guess.
Except for Slade.
He strikes me as a man who isn’t tied down by social convention or what others expect from him.
He doesn’t even care to be the center of attention at his own birthday party.
“I’m getting a tattoo!” I blurt out suddenly. Loudly.
As if it’s something that I know should bring us closer instantly.
But Slade’s face shifts, twists as he looks…disappointed.
Annoyed even.
I feel my heart sink like I’ve been knifed in the gut.
A single heated look from Slade is enough to make me wetter than a lake in June but a disappointed look...
“And I thought you being the best tattoo artist around…” I add, trying to keep my momentum, even though it feels like I’ve lost three wheels from my idea already.
He holds his look. Like he’s debating a hundred things, wanting to choose the right words before he says anything, but Tasha beats him to it.
Reappearing with the shards of a vase cradled in both hands.
“It’s okay, Dad,” she says, keeping her eyes on her hands as she walks to the trash.
“Just that vase thingy you hated anyway. I think it was Moms,” she says absently. Freezing up when she registers her words.
We both feel the shift in Slade when she mentions her mom.
There’s a new kind of silence in the kitchen, and even the rowdy bikers in the living room go quiet.
It’s like Slade’s mood is somehow hardwired into the whole house.
“I told your dad about my tattoo idea,” I say out of sheer nerves, desperate to get back at least some of the good vibe everyone had going on only moments ago.
But Tasha ignores me, and what she said, focusing on what she wants.
The thing we all knew was coming.
“Uh, I’m going over to see Brad. I’ll drop you home on the way, Abs,” she says matter of fact, letting the broken vase fall loudly into the trash, giving her statement more effect.
The shift in her dad’s mood for a second time is just as quick.
Just as potent.
“Abby’s staying here, I can drop her home when it's time,” Slade almost snaps but then softens his speech with a crooked half-smile.
“I was gonna go over my tattoo idea with your dad,” I bluff, relieved when Slade doesn’t object.
Tasha frowns for a moment then shrugs.
The thought of Brad cancels out everything, she even can make better time if she doesn’t have to drop me off.
And me?
I get to spend at least a few more hours with her dad, I’m hoping.
Shame about the house full of bikers though.
“Whatever,” Tasha chirps. Sounding cheerful but equally dismissive of both me and her dad.
One thing I hate about her and Brad is it’s made Tasha treat me like something disposable which I don’t like.
Needing me when she wants to gush about Brad, but dropping me like hot toast once he calls or they have a date.