The Tremendous Turmoil of Indigo

Chapter 1

"Baby, what do you think about me getting a tattoo?"

The words slipped in one of Indigo's ears and out the other as she stood in front of the floor-length mirror. The gray spiral strand of hair sticking up by the part in her moisturized tresses erased all the sound from the room. She knew time was fleeting, but when did she become old? Did the discovery of gray hair make her old? Was that the maker of age? Did she have to stop rapping along with Flo Milli blasting in her car with the windows down or trade in her pumps for therapeutic sole shoes?

"What about a catchy phrase on my arm?" Tate snapped his fingers loudly as she dropped on the bench behind the bed with polished dress shoes in his hand. "Or the word writer on my wrist?"

Eight years. The time faded away like sand sliding through her fingers. Indigo pulled the strand straight to study it some more. She had an eighteen-month-old downstairs gumming cereal; she couldn't be old. The three-letter word left a bitter bile taste upon her tongue. She smoothed the strand back down. The alternative to aging is death. She chanted the words to herself as she eased her eyes over the taut skin around her neck and smooth face. No crow's feet framed her eyes. She looked as if she learned Dorian Gray's secret.

"Whatever," she uttered as she picked at the short sleeve of her glittery gold shirt and ran her hands down her tight red pencil skirt. "Aging gracefully."

Aging's alternative spent a lot of time in the far corridors of her mind those past years. There was the passing of Tate's mom and her near-fatal car accident. Her femur still ached when a thunderstorm was approaching. Then there was Saxon's cancer diagnosis.

Death's presence loomed over her like a dark cloud blocking some of the sunshine of life's greatness, but remission had become her favorite word.

"What about a compass on my forearm?" Tate rambled on as he tied his shoelaces.

"What.." Indigo inquired, sitting her thick, sleek braid over her shoulder. Time was good for one thing; her hair was longer than it was when she cut it, even though she did miss her sleek bob. "...are you talking about?"

"A tattoo." Tate rose to his feet, fixing the waistband of his black dress slacks. "About me getting a tattoo." He fixed the tuck of his stark white button-down.

Indigo spun away from the mirror in her heels, "You getting a tattoo." She threw her head back as laughter rushed up her throat. "You have the pain tolerance of a gnat."

Tate's hands stopped on his tie, and his eyebrows curled at her humor. "Stop playing; you know I got stitches without lidocaine."

"Yeah, I know because I was there." She wagged her finger at him, "And you didn't need lidocaine because you were drunk off your ass, and it was just two stitches." She strutted over to the dresser in their newly renovated bedroom. She liked the old room, but the receding flood waters gave her an excuse to put a new shade of paint on the plain walls.

"Any number is too much when someone drags a needle and thread through your flesh," Tate added, smoothing his hands over the beard he had shaped early that day.

Indigo smirked at him in the mirror as she slipped the post on the back of her dangling gold earrings, "And you want a tattoo. Please, man."

Tate tsked as he stood behind her, "I'mma get one." He planted his hands firmly on her waist as he watched her put on the other earring, "Are you ready now." He glanced down at his silver-linked watch. "We should be leaving if we don't want to be stuck in traffic."

"Yeah, but..." Indigo sighed as she relaxed back against his chest. I mean, it's almost seven now." She stole a peek out the opened blinds; darkness clung to the winter night sky. "It's Friday. Maybe we should stay in. Chill with the kids."

"No." Tate softly rubbed his hands up and down her waist smoothly, "We've been with the kids all day, every day. Friday is our day, and we're stealing four hours for ourselves." He held up her arm and twirled her until she faced him. "You look too damn good to be hiding in the house." He dipped down to kiss her supple nude lips, "Let me show you off while we parade at this art gallery like newlyweds."

"Oh, Mr. Larsen." Indigo gasped with a hand placed on her heart, "Don't make me get naked right now."

"Save that for afterward." He smirked as he released her from his hold to fetch his chirping phone on the bed. "But we should most definitely take the SUV."

"Are we going to get freaky in a parking garage?"

"I mean..." he shrugged, picking the phone off the bed. "It's getting hard to do anything here. We have too many kids in the house."

"We'll figure it out." She affirmed as his phone buzzed with a message.

"Damn." Tate said, reading the text shining on his phone, "It's Cooper." He tilted the phone towards her.

"I'm being arrested." Indigo read the text aloud. "The cops let her send a text?" She

"I don't know, but I'm going to call her dad right quick to see what's up," he said, scrolling through his contacts.

"Well, while you're doing that, I'm going to check on the kids and the babysitter," Indigo informed, rubbing lotion in her hands as she strutted to the door. "Tell Uncle Killian I say 'hi.'" 

Should Tate get a tattoo?

What is Cousin Cooper getting arrested for?

Should Indigo worry about the gray strand of hair?