I was tired. Babbling. In my defense, Renn was on his knees behind me, engaged in an intense examination of my leg. I looked over my shoulder at his coppery hair, pulled back more severely than the first time we’d met. Since I’d known he’d be working on my thigh, the shorts I’d chosen were a skimpy juniors style, but he apparently needed more room to operate.
“I’m going to tape up your hem if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”Did I squeak a bit when I said that? Renn grabbed the bottom of my shorts, rolling the hem twice and taping it to my waistband. I definitely ignored the three—no, three and a half—times his long fingers grazed my thigh. I glanced down and saw his face pulled in concentration as he angled the paper toward me. I couldn’t help but notice his dimple again.Nope. Don’t go there, Sadie. Not thinking about that today.
“This good?” He rolled a tall standing mirror toward us so I could see where he was placing the design.
“It looks amazing.” I often despaired about the general state of my life and its lack of purpose, but being here made me feel different. I had come so far from the woman I was a year ago. The proof was in the mirror.
However, that didn’t mean I was entirely ready to submit to the process. I stood stock still as Renn began rubbing the design onto my thigh. He smoothed the paper in small circles to ensure a successful transfer, working from the outside of my leg inward, fingers pushing against my skin.
Outwardly, it was innocuous. And yet that gentle, intimate touch had the unfortunate effect of stoking my insecurities, my inner critic pleading that no one wanted to touch my imperfect thighs, that all the running and squats in the world couldn’t help them.Darling, are you sure you’ve been keeping up with your runs? You should consider cross-training so you can firm up more.Unaware I was having a minor mental freak out, Renn slowly peeled away the paper. The purplish outline stood out on my pale skin.
“We’ll just wait a few minutes for that to dry,” he said.
I exhaled, mini-crisis averted—for now. I could relax much better when his hands weren’t on my leg. I went back to the mirror and tried to get a better look.
The death metal playing the first time I’d come to the studio had been replaced by a loop of early 2000s indie anthems. As I stood, the speakers on the surround system crackled, and a Jack White guitar solo cut off mid-wail, followed by the beginning notes of Carole King’sTapestryalbum. I looked up at Renn.
“What?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I figured since you put it in my head, we’d better just play it rather than have it swim around in there all day. No one else is here.”
I raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. “So, is this our little secret? Like, I shouldn’t tell all your badass, metal-loving employees that Renn listens to ’70s soft rock?”
“Go ahead, Sadie. I will own my appreciation for all things Carly Simon, Linda Ronstadt, and The Carpenters.” He lifted his eyebrows back at me.
And then he was back to business, gesturing to the portable massage table he’d unfolded in front of him. My nerves came back full force as the reality of the situation hit me once again, just how far outside my usual box I was stepping. But I could do this. It was just like with any hard decision—you had to keep making it over and over again. Second-guessing…and third-guessing…and fourth-guessing…were a natural part of the process.
“Come on, it won’t bite.” He patted the black vinyl, covered with the thin white paper I associated with visiting my gynecologist. Super. “I’ll grab you some little pillows to make you more comfortable.”
Laying down gingerly on the table, stomach down, I winced when the paper tore a bit beneath me.
“I’m excited to get started,” Renn said warmly.
I appreciated that he was trying to relax me, but there was no way I was going to be at ease when I was ass-up on a table with my shorts taped to expose as much of my leg as possible. When I’d decided to get the tattoo, I’d worked hard not to spend too much time thinking about how vulnerable I’d be while the artist was working. I’d spent the better part of the past ten years being with someone who constantly criticized my body. How it looked. The way it moved. How it felt in his hands. I wanted this tattoo to be a reclamation.
And there would be no hiding from Renn. Not when he had a spotlight and a magnifying glass pulled up next to the table.
“How are you?” He asked. “Comfortable?”
“Um…I guess.”
“Seriously. We’re going to be at this for at least an hour before I give you a break. Do you want another little pillow or something?”
“Uh…sure.” He handed me a round bolster, and I put it under my chin. I was already clammy, plastering quickly to the thin paper.
“I’m also going to put a cushion under your knee so I can work in the best position. We agreed it wasmyturn to make it weird, right? Just sort of move your leg over here a bit.” Renn grabbed my calf gently and bent it, then pushed a small pillow underneath, angling my thigh toward him. I tried to breathe through it all but couldn’t totally release the rigidity from my limbs. He noticed. “You still seem tense. Nervous about the pain?”
“No.”Only the million unhelpful thoughts brawling in my head. “It’s just odd lying on this table. It’s not the pain, more about being out of my element. Feeling awkward.”
“Ahh…well, lucky for you, I don’t believe in ‘awkward.’” He used air quotes.
“What do you mean you don’t believe in it?”
“People say that shit all the time, that someone is awkward, when what they really mean is they’re doing something a little different or unexpected. I feel like awkward is just the default people use when someone is especially human.”
Personal experience kept me from agreeing, having worn the label too many times, but it was a nice thought. And it was clear Renn believed the sentiment, his idealism a reminder of his youth. “I guess that’s one way to look at it,” I conceded.
“I’m serious, Sadie. You should be comfortable during this process. It inevitably gets a littleawkward.” Air quotes again. “I mean, you’re lying on a table, and I have to contort your body into odd positions so I can do my work. I promise to do everything in my power so this experience is manageable—hell, even enjoyable—for you. Stretch breaks…conversation…no conversation…’70s slow jams…whatever helps. We’ll be at this over several sessions, so you should tell me anything you need to be okay.”