Brianna Lester, with her unusually platinum blonde hair and grayish-blue eyes, is impossible to miss wherever she goes. Her bubbly personality, hyperactivity, innate talent for tripping even while standing still, and her knack for always causing trouble ensure that she immediately catches the attention of the coolest tattoo artist around. Unfortunately, it's not her rather unique appearance that gets noticed, but her clumsiness. The moment she closes the door of the tattoo shop, one of the pictures hanging on the wall-the owner's favorite, and quite valuable-unexpectedly falls down. To make up for the damage, she ends up working at the shop until she can pay off the cost of the picture. It would all be pretty easy if a sexy tattoo artist didn't enjoy teasing her about her bad luck. By now, Brianna has resigned herself to the idea that her life is stuck in the "never a joy" zone, and her birthday is proof of that. Who can be considered lucky if they were born on a day that only comes once every four years? No one. Some people are kissed by fortune at birth, while others are kissed by bad luck. Brianna definitely falls into the latter category.
view moreI swing open the wooden door leading to the kitchen, grab one of the chairs around the table, and turn it to sit astride it. I look up to meet my parents' gaze, which was already fixed on me. "I need money," I start.
My father raises an eyebrow. "How much?"
I look at him. This is the moment he's going to kill me. "A little money..." I take a moment while he waits for my answer. "Something like a hundred or two hundred-"
My father interrupts immediately with, "I'm broke." He returns to reading the newspaper he had left on the table during my entrance.
My mother hasn't said a word yet. She continues to stare at me, and I must admit it's becoming unsettling. "Did you get yourself into trouble with some drug dealer and owe them money?" she asks.
I roll my eyes. "No, but-"
Before I can finish, she interrupts me. "Are you in trouble in general?"
"No m-" I'm interrupted again.
"Are you risking your life if we don't give you this money?" she continues.
Oh God, this conversation will never end.
"No, I'm not risking my-" and once again, she doesn't let me finish. Jesus, I can't do this.
"Then you don't need it," she declares.
She goes back to cooking while my father chuckles under his breath.
"Oh come on, I need it for a tattoo," I grumble. Both of them burst into laughter. What did I say that was so funny?
"You want to get a tattoo?" my mother asks, laughing. "You, who are afraid of needles?"
My father calms down slightly and then speaks. "Do I need to remind you what happened the last time we took you for a vaccination?"
Ouch, that's a low blow.
There is a faint but real possibility that I accidentally punched the man who was supposed to give me the vaccination, breaking his nose. In my defense, I can say that I have such a great right hook that the other doctor in the room even complimented me.
I groan, exasperated. "Oh come on! That was two years ago! I'm a mature person now," I say, now thoroughly exasperated.
My mother raises an eyebrow. "Just because you turned eighteen almost a month ago doesn't make you mature." Then she leaves the room to go who knows where.
I turn to my father and stare at him. An idea comes to me. "Dad!" I call out. "Does Mom know that last weekend, when you were supposed to take her shopping, you weren't really in the hospital because a friend got hurt, but you were at his house watching the baseball game?" He flinches. "I could keep quiet in exchange for that money..." I smirk. I'll get that tattoo.
He looks at me threateningly. "You," he points a finger at me, "little evil dwarf, wouldn't dare..." then he stops speaking and pretends to wipe a tear. "No, you would definitely dare. I raised you quite well," he says, proud of himself.
We both check that Mom isn't coming back. He turns to me. "Here, and if there's any change, bring it back to me. And for safety, bring me the receipt too." He opens his wallet and puts some bills in my hand. He puts his wallet back in his pocket and continues speaking. "Your mother must never know anything. Neither about the baseball game nor about the money I gave you." He looks at me one last time. "And I want the change."
"Count on it," I say, waving my hand as if shooing away an insect. I put the money in my pocket and grab the house keys. "It's a pleasure doing business with you," I say.
He mutters a "don't tell me" and then smiles at me. I smile back, say goodbye, and then leave the house for good.
I walk down the paved road leisurely. The sun's rays warm my skin and the light breeze keeps people from sweating like there's no tomorrow.
I usually don't go out in the afternoon in the summer, especially when it's very hot because I'd burn quickly, but today the weather is nice and I needed to get out of the kitchen before my mother arrived.
Even though I took the longer route to the tattoo artist, I arrived too early for my liking.
I start pacing back and forth along the street. Maybe my parents were right. The idea of a needle on my skin doesn't excite me much. After walking the same street for almost twenty minutes, I decide to stop in front of the tattoo shop. At least the old man sitting on the bench stops staring at me as if I've escaped from a mental institution.
I open the shop door and walk in. Inside there's only a man checking some papers, a guy disinfecting the tattooing table, and a girl behind the counter.
I close the door, and I must have used too much force, even though my muscles are weaker than students' desire to get up early in the morning, because a picture that was hanging on the wall falls to the ground. And judging by the frame, it looks like it's made of gold. I mutter an "oh damn, what bad luck!" and then muster the courage to look up.
The man continues to alternate his gaze from me to the picture and back. The girl has wide eyes, and the guy is trying not to burst out laughing.
I notice that the man has dropped the papers he was holding on the floor. His gaze lingers on me, and I swallow hard. "Miss, could you tell me your name?" he asks politely. Though the vein pulsing on his forehead indicates that he would rather be anything but polite right now.
I laugh nervously. "I'm sorry, but I no capile tu lingua."
The two guys burst into laughter, and I shift my gaze to them.
The guy has dark, slightly long brown hair. He's tall with a toned and slim build. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt, showing off his tattooed arms, and not just his arms. Not bad.
The girl is about my height, slim, with brown hair tied up in a high ponytail.
The man clears his throat, so I shift my gaze back to him, who has an eyebrow raised. "Oh, do you really not understand my language? And your earlier phrase 'oh damn, what bad luck!' wasn't in my language?" he asks with sarcasm. He gives me a mocking smile and continues speaking. "Are you going to tell me your name, or should I call the police?"
At that, my eyes widen. "The police? For a cursed picture that fell on its own? Really?" I exclaim, incredulous.
At his amused and knowing look, I realize the huge mistake I've just made. I place my right hand on my forehead. I sigh and mentally curse myself. "My name is Brianna."
"Good, Brianna, how about you follow me into my office to discuss that, as you put it, cursed picture?"
I've always hated art, and after today, I can say that art hates me too. The first time I went to an art exhibit, I was with my parents and about six years old. I remember that when we stopped to look at a painting with various shades of blue, I burst into tears asking my mother why they had killed a Smurf.
Clearly, I had already banged my head and had irreparable brain damage.
The second attempt by my parents to make me appreciate art went even worse. My aunts and uncles were also there, and we went in one car. My uncle was driving, and honestly, I'm better than the last time I drove when I hit a pole and parked on the sidewalk. My uncle drove too fast, and when we got to the exhibit, I vomited on the shoes of a stranger who, as luck would have it, was the painter the exhibit was dedicated to.
From bad to worse.
I enter the office and sit in the chair in front of him, separated by a light wooden desk.
Maybe he won't strangle me with the desk.
I start talking before he does. "I'm really sorry, sir, but bad luck is attracted to me like a moth to a flame. You know when you walk, step on a gum on the pavement, and when you lift your foot, the gum sticks to both the sole of your shoe and the street? And you know when you try to remove the gum from your shoe, but it won't come off even with a miracle?" I give him a moment to picture the situation. "Well, I'm the person who steps on the gum, only instead of gum, I stepped on bad luck at birth, and despite all my attempts to get it off the sole of my shoe, it's still there. It's so stuck to me that even our menstrual cycles are synced!" I finish my speech.
I could have skipped the last sentence. He's a man; what would he understand?
He takes a deep breath, clearly exasperated.
"Listen, I don't care about the gum you stepped on or your menstru-what's. That picture was my favorite and quite expensive, given that the frame was gold. So, I offer you two options: either you repay the damages immediately, or you start working at the shop temporarily, and each month, part of your salary will be withheld to repay the picture."
I take a deep breath. "You're looking at your new employee, absolutely thrilled about this job. Even though technically I didn't make the picture fall. It was probably possessed."
The man sighs and leads me out of the shop.
I go home, cursing my bad luck.
Well, today I learned one thing. Never go to a tattoo artist if bad luck is chasing you.
And now, how do I explain this to my parents?
Set years later, Liam (the son) is a child, Aisha and Jeremy are teenagers.James and Brianna's HouseWhile James carries out the boxes with the Christmas decorations for the garden, Jeremy and Aisha are in the middle of a snowball fight with little Liam, with Cometa running and barking happily nearby.Brianna stands aside, watching the scene, sitting on the porch with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. Even though Liam is already a few years old, it's still hard for her to believe that she's a mother. The past few years have been a whirlwind of emotions. Many times, the couple has felt panicked and like terrible parents, just like anyone raising a child for the first time. Especially during Liam's first year. Then things started to improve, and James and Brianna began to experience parenthood more peacefully. Even when Liam fell down the stairs. Because yes, from the moment the child started walking, falling
December 25Have you ever regretted a decision? Like, thinking it would have been better to listen to the person who said your idea was terrible? Because right now, that’s exactly how I feel, as an ambulance loads Grandpa Carl to take him to the hospital.From the moment Grandpa Carl and Grandpa Sean arrived, people started drinking. It’s normal for things to get out of hand quickly in our family, but it’s never happened this fast.We didn’t even have time to sit down at the table and start eating the appetizers when the tragedy happened. Grandpa Carl and Grandpa Sean, probably already drunk, challenged each other to see who could do the best handstand. Grandpa Carl went first, but since he’s old, his mind refuses to accept he’s getting older, so he tried it anyway. He ended up falling badly and hurting his leg, so we called an ambulance.The paramedics just loaded my grandpa into the ambulance
December 24We called Jase, Skyler, and Connor to help us prepare tomorrow's lunch. We spent the afternoon cooking, and while everything is ready, we also made a lot of disasters.Skyler burned two oven mitts; James mixed up the salt with sugar in the cake batter, which we had to redo; I, to avoid letting the egg roll off the table, dropped the pack of 6 eggs I was holding, and I couldn't even save the one that was rolling away; Jase put the turkey in the oven but forgot to turn it on, realizing after an hour; and Connor decided to taste everything instead of cooking, which is why we discovered James's mistake before it was too late.Before the guys arrived, I took off my ring with James's agreement. We want to tell our families at tomorrow's lunch, when we are all together. As for the baby, we won’t say anything until the first trimester is over. We're willing to pay a criminal to kidnap our moms for three months to avoid the pre
December 23I touch the ring on my left ring finger, happy. Last night was one of the best moments of my life. I can't believe that James loves me so much that he wants to spend his entire life with me and my bad luck.We're starting our family, and today I plan to tell him I'm pregnant. This morning I went to buy a sombrero, just in case he wants to run away to Mexico. I've been feeling nauseous ever since I thought my period was coming, but I haven’t started running to the bathroom every morning yet. I just had to hide the nausea and dizziness and pretend everything was fine so I wouldn’t worry James or make him suspicious.I’ve hidden the test in the bathroom, among the pads. There’s no reason for him to open that drawer.Now, in my hands, I have a little box with the proof that I’m pregnant. I walk out of the bathroom and go to find James, who’s in our room. He’s lying on the bed, loo
22 DecemberJamesWhile Skyler is responsible for keeping Brianna away from home until evening without making her suspect anything, I prepare the surprise for my girl: a romantic dinner to give her my Christmas gift in advance.I’ve set up the small table in the living room and scattered candles and rose petals all over the room. I’ve already lit the candles, tempting fate. I hope the house doesn’t catch fire while I’m not looking.Comet has already eaten, so she’ll be in a food coma all evening and won’t try to steal our dinner.I go upstairs to grab the gift, but before reaching my nightstand, I stop in front of the mirror. I examine my figure carefully, making sure everything is in order. I want this night to be perfect. Once I’m satisfied that everything is good, I open the third drawer of my nightstand and retrieve the little box hidden under my underwear, sli
December 21"I saw a video where this guy was hiding gifts inside household items, wrapping them up and making it look like the gift was something else. Do you think we could do that too?" I glance away from my phone to look at James, who’s lying next to me on the couch."And what exactly would you want to do?""I don’t know, like, we could put the wine-tasting tickets on a ladder and wrap the ladder up."James looks at me, confused. "But we don’t even have a ladder.""Well, this is the perfect chance to buy one.""You should think of something else." He adjusts himself on the couch, folding his arms behind his head. His shirt lifts slightly, revealing a part of his stomach. I get distracted from my idea and stare at him, hoping his shirt will lift more."Brianna?""Yes?" I look up and meet his eyes."When I told you to think of something else, I meant the gifts." He smirks.
December 20I’m three weeks pregnant. This is the result of the blood tests I picked up this morning. There are no longer any doubts that a life is forming inside me.Since I found out, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my future as a mother. I already see myself tumbling down the stairs with the baby in my arms. Or forgetting to pick him up from school, like a couple of times happened with my brother. Or forgetting that I’m a mother and freaking out when I find a child in my house.The last one, though, happened to my mom.One thing is certain: James will want to dress him up as a consequence.Even though his last name will be Reid, he still has the blood of the Lester family. This means that from the moment he steps into the outside world, his life will be a series of bad luck, crazy events, falling paintings, people seeing ghosts, restaurants banning him, alcoholic relatives or ones with onlin
December 19thWhen the alarm goes off, I feel nausea sweeping over me. And it’s not morning sickness, but anxiety from the blood test.Damn needles.“What time is it?” James mumbles from under the covers.“Seven twenty in the morning.”He slowly turns toward me. “Why are you waking up so early?”Oh nothing, just going to check if you got me pregnant.“Because I have a tyrannical mother who decided to go shopping early and will pick me up in twenty minutes.” I rub my face with my hands, trying to wake up. The only thing I want to do right now is go back to sleep.“And since when does your mom want to leave the house this early?”I look at James with one eyebrow raised. Why the hell does he need to ask so many questions so early in the morning? I’ll run out of answers soon. “The real question is: has she ever acted norma
December 18Once, as teenagers, Carly and I had a delay, so we took pregnancy tests. Actually, the delay was one day for her and two for me, and at the time, our cycles weren’t regular. But once you start having an active sex life, anxiety is always lurking around the corner. Those minutes of waiting were endless, and seeing the negative result was a relief. We were teenagers, too young for a pregnancy, and not independent.But now I’m an adult—although my parents would have something to say about that—I live with my partner, and I have a job. Yet, as I sit on the bathroom floor with a positive pregnancy test in my hands, I feel like a teenager: terribly scared. Why did I take the test this time? Because the delay was a week, and ironically, many of the symptoms of a period are the same as those of pregnancy.James is out with his brother and my cousin, and the only sound in the house is Cometa barking, looking f
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