“She conquered her demons and wore her scars like wings,” he says as I complete my rotation. “Piper’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

“I’m pretty lucky, too.”

Before we leave, Gabriel writes a number on a business card.

“I added my cell. Call me if you have any inflammation or questions or if there are any local high school drama productions I shouldn’t miss.” He winks at me when he hands me the card. “I promise not to break into song.”

Outside, I stop to admire his handiwork one more time in the dusky light.

“Piper’s gonna love it,” Asad says definitively. “The perfect way for you to welcome her back.”

“Okay, so what about you?”

Asad laughs as he opens the car door for me. “Yeah, right. My dad just barely started acknowledging me again after the convo about doing curtain calls rather than being on call. A tattoo will not help.”

“No, I mean about Piper. Are you planning to declare your undying love when she gets back?”

Asad closes the door before he answers, walks around the front of the car, and when he gets in, he stares at the steering wheel a minute.

“Someday, maybe. I think you were right—what Piper needs right now is a friend.”

I raise my hand over the center console between us.

“Friend zone for life! Welcome to the club.”

Asad doesn’t hit my palm. He points to the tattoo parlor, where Gabriel waves to us through the glass.

“Hello? Were you not in there just now? That hippy-dippy tattoo guy was totally flirting with you.” He bats his eyelashes at me. “Let me twirl you across the strip mall, my lady.”

I reach across the center console to punch him in the shoulder.

“He was just being nice.”

Asad starts the car, reaching his arm behind my seat as he backs up.

“If you didn’t know that was flirting, then you’re as wacky as he is. I’m not saying it has to be that dude because hello—man bun—but someday, some guy is going to rip you out of the friend zone, kicking and screaming.”

“Like a blind guy?”

“Maybe.” Asad laughs. “Or maybe just someone who loves your scars because they’re part of who you are.” He smirks as he turns back to the wheel. “You’re a walking piece of art, remember?”

I wave to Gabriel through the window as we pull away. I tuck the card with his number in my purse where I won’t lose it. As we drive home, I turn my calf to admire his artwork.

The phoenix tail stretches out below the powerful bird in curly tendrils the same flaming colors as the wings rocketing up toward my scars.

I’m not jumping on the scars-are-awesome bandwagon, but this time last year, I would never have believed any part of me could be so beautiful.

May 22

A story.