Never go to a tattoo artist if bad luck is following you

𝟬𝟳 | 𝗧𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳.

"Cookie and coconut."

"I don't like coconut. Choose another flavor," James tells me.

"Who's eating the ice cream?" I reply.

"But I have to taste it."

"I don't like the cream flavor you chose, yet I'm not complaining. It looks like I'll just eat the other flavor. Would you change one of your flavors just because I don't like it?"

"No."

"There you go."

"Why coconut, though?"

"Because it's my favorite flavor."

"Terrible flavors."

"Well, you're terrible."

James and I have been arguing about the flavors for at least five minutes. He wants to taste my ice cream, and I'll taste his. I've always thought that if you steal my food, I'll steal yours. But he doesn't like coconut and is trying to make me change my mind and choose another flavor. But I don't like cream, and yet I'm not complaining because the other flavor he picked is mint, which I like, so I'll just eat that. Apparently, he doesn't agree.

"Do you like amarena?" he asks.

"I'm not replacing coconut with amarena."

He sighs. "If you don't pick coconut, I'll get amarena instead of cream, and then we'll both like each other's flavors."

I get an idea. "Okay, I'm in."

The ice cream vendor looks at us, puzzled. "Have you finally decided what to order?"

"Yes," James replies.

I turn to him and gesture. "Go ahead, you order first, ladies first!" I try to suppress my laughter by biting my lower lip.

James replies with a "thank you," and at that point, the ice cream vendor and I burst out laughing.

Apparently, he didn't realize what I just said.

He looks at us confused. "What did I say?"

I try to compose myself. "I just called you a lady, idiot!"

He looks at me confused, then realizes. He gives me a dirty look. "You're a bitch!"

"I know."

"Do you want to order or not?" the vendor asks, still laughing.

James orders first. "A cone with two flavors. Mint and amarena."

After the man behind the counter hands it to him, it's my turn. I take advantage of the fact that James is getting the money from his wallet and isn't paying any attention to me. "Cookie and coconut."

James pays, and we leave the ice cream shop. "So, what flavors did you end up getting?"

I hide my smile by biting the round cookie they almost always put on top of the ice cream. "Cookie and fior di latte."

"Okay," he pauses to lick his ice cream, preventing it from melting, "since we'll be spending a lot of time together, tell me something about yourself," he says.

"And what should I tell you?"

"How long have you been drawing?"

I think for a moment. "About three years."

"And who's your favorite artist?"

At this point, I laugh, remembering my parents' attempts to take me to an art exhibit when I was a child. "I don't have a favorite artist. I like drawing, but I hate art itself. It's a bit of a contradiction, but I'm a unique contradiction."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"No, I'm an only child. I was supposed to be a boy, too. Like Timmy Turner was supposed to be a girl but was born a boy, I was supposed to be a boy and was born a girl. The only difference between me and Timmy is that I don't have two fairy godparents." I continue eating the ice cream. "Do you have any siblings?"

James smiles. "Besides my sister Skyler? I have a brother who's two years older than me and another sister who's a year younger."

I look at him surprised. "Skyler is your sister?"

"Yes, and Paul is my father."

"So it's a family business. Except for me."

He points to my ice cream. "Do you mind if I lick your ice cream?"

I smirk. "Go ahead." We exchange ice creams, and I start eating his while he eats mine.

As soon as he tastes what's supposed to be fior di latte, he spits on the ground. "This is disgusting! This is coconut!"

I chuckle. "Bingo."

"You're a little evil dwarf, has anyone ever told you that?" he complains.

"Yes, my dad, all the time."

⸻ ❝ ❞ ⸻

"Thanks for the ice cream," I say as James's car stops in front of my house.

"You're welcome."

I get out of the car and open the front door. I hear my parents arguing.

Watching them argue is entertaining because every argument isn't serious, and they can't stay mad at each other for more than an hour.

The last time they argued was because my dad forgot to buy chocolate for my mom when she had her period and even asked for a divorce, like in every argument.

I enter the living room and see my dad sitting in the armchair and my mom standing in front of him.

As soon as my dad notices me, he points at me. "Your daughter knew everything!"

My mom turns slowly towards me. "Is it true, Brianna?"

I look at them confused. "What are you talking about?"

My mom speaks again. "Did you know that the afternoon your father was supposed to take me to the mall for shopping and said he had a friend in the hospital, he was actually at home watching a baseball game?"

Oh crap, how did she find out?

I might still save myself from her menstrual rage.

I raise an eyebrow. "Which father?"

My dad's mouth drops open. "Which father? Are you serious, daughter?"

"I want a divorce," my mom declares.

Dad points a finger at the woman he married. "But you keep your daughter."

"Thanks, Dad, for your endless affection towards me," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Which dad?" he mimics.

Mom continues her previous rant. "I can't keep Brianna. I have to somehow get over the great pain of divorce," she says dramatically, placing a hand on her heart, "and for us women, that means shopping sprees, food, shopping, outings with friends, shopping, and..." she scratches her chin with a finger, "did I mention shopping?"

Dad immediately counters. "I can't keep Brianna either, I'm poor."

I look at them with disdain, but they don't even acknowledge me.

They continue arguing about who can't keep me until at some point, they both turn towards me simultaneously.

They did it so quickly that for a moment, I thought their heads might spin 360 degrees like the girl in "The Exorcist."

They have an unsettling smile on their faces, very much like the movie "Truth or Dare," with Tyler Posey and Lucy Hale.

"You're an adult now, you can live on your own," they say simultaneously.

I put on my best offended face. "I should give you a Nobel Prize for Worst Parents Ever!" I say and go to my room.

They know that I'm not really offended.