Present Over Perfect

yes, yes. Always yes.
And so, those two: the red heart and the word yes, the
heart on my writing hand, the invitation yes on the other.
My friend Sarah and I drove to the city on a rainy Tuesday,
having set aside the afternoon for more than a month,
having talked about this day, literally, for years. In the
middle of the night, sometimes, on vacation, we’d say,
“Let’s do it right now!” But we never did, and we always
meant to, and then I had a moment, a need to mark this new
passage through to a new way of living, and I told her, “I’m
going this month. You in?”
She was, and we were nervous right when we arrived,
jittery, giggly. We talked to each other to take our minds off
the needle, chatting about anything we could think of to cut
through its noise. We planned a dinner party, talked through
the menu and the table settings. We talked about kids and
school and capsule wardrobes, and I’m sure all the men, all
the tattoo artists, were rolling their eyes at these two moms,
chatting the day away, giggly and euphoric.
Our old friend Ryan owns the shop, so I’d met most of
the artists at Ryan and Emily’s wedding last year. I had
officiated, and my brother was the best man, and the
ceremony was on the rooftop of a glassblowing factory on a
gorgeous windy spring night.
And then exactly a year later, Sarah and I took turns
talking each other through the nagging pain. After it was
done, we walked around the corner to Eleven City Diner,
too excited to go straight home. She had a mimosa and