Synonym

There was one last thing I had to do before heading home for Thanksgiving. It was the Friday following my miscarriage, making it a week later.

Seeing as my mornings were now free, I told Emma to come over here at nine because we had somewhere to be at ten. She asked why I wasn't at practice, but I told her that I would fill her in later.

Finn would be home at one, but I wouldn't be done by then. Neither of us had classes or practice today (not that I would be able to go) because Maryland basically treated Thanksgiving like it was the second coming of God or something. Thanksgiving was next thursday but classes ended friday so everyone could get home before the weekend traffic.

I certainly wasn't complaining.

Somehow I managed to get Emma into my Corvette before she bombarded me with questions.

"Why aren't you at practice?" Emma asked suspiciously.

My eyes flickered from the road to Emma, then back to the highway. I bit the inside of my cheek before deciding that I should just spit it out. "I miscarried on Friday. I was at the grocery store when I started hemorrhaging. One D&E and a blood transfusion later, here I am." At this point, saying what happened read like a fact sheet. There were no emotions behind it. The details however, would make me break down.

"That's what I keep telling myself." I sighed while merging onto the exit. Emma seemed to sense that I didn't want to talk about the details or specifics of what happened or my feelings. She let the topic go easily. I was thankful for it. I didn't need to start crying right now.

The car was silent, only the sound of the tires on the exit lane filling the air. I found it relaxing. Emma was wearing a maroon sweater and leggings with a pair of black dock martins. Both the sweater and boots we had bought her a few weeks ago. We went on a shopping trip to find her some winter clothes since she isn't used to it being below 50.

It was fun though. Emma's style was sweet and classy so it was entertaining to watch her get lazy with her outfits. The Northern college scene was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt everywhere. From what Emma tells me, in the south you actually have to try and wear like jeans or a skirt. Sounds like hell to me.

The walking southern bell stereotype that is Emma Sinclair, was wearing winter jackets and pants in October. I'd don't know if the 'lacrosse bro' lifestyle has infected me too, but I don't wear pants until it's at least mid November. Like right now, it was around 30 degrees and I was wearing Adidas tiro pants and a Maryland College T-shirt. Without a bra. As Emma so graciously pointed out when we were leaving my apartment.

"Will you tell me where we are going now?" Emma whined impatiently as we drove down Main Street. I spotted our destination and pulled into a near by empty spot on the side of the road. The keys were pulled from the car, and we both climbed out of the sexy vehicle. Finn didn't know I was here or what I was doing.

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Only Owen did. He had pointed me in the right direction for a good place to get this done. After living here for a year, he knew what places were good and what places to avoid. Not that he was involved in what I was about to do, but he knew people who were.

Emma looked up and down the sidewalk while I payed the meter. The shop was a few buildings down the road so she would never guess it. She wouldn't expect it from me.

"Are we getting breakfast or something? I thought you told me to eat before I came over." Emma asked, clearly confused with the situation.

"Nope. Not food. Now, come on." I gestured for her to follow me down the side walk. The cool air rose goose bumps on my skin but it didn't send a shiver down my spine. Like I said, I was used the the cold and I rather enjoyed it.

We stopped in front of a nice looking building that didn't look anything like your stereo typical tattoo shop. Instead, the window boarders were white and the space was bright and cheery. It was very clean and simple looking, which I took as a good sign. Owen had clearly pointed me in the right direction.

"You're getting a tattoo?" Emma asked, her black eyebrows practically shooting off her pale face.

I smirked and opened the door, holding it for Emma as she stepped in first. "You bet your ass."

The woman at the front desk didn't have any visible tattoos and she was dressed like a professional receptionist. I had been here once before to talk to the artist that was doing my tattoo. "Hi Alyssa." I greeted the blonde woman cheerfully. She smiled back at me and looked at her computer. "Here for Miranda? She's right back in her room." This place had lots of room to it. If you had an appointment, tattoo artists usually had their own the rooms. If you were a walk in, you got your tattoo in the main area in front of the shop.

My sneakers padded against the floor and Emma's boots clunked softly behind me on the wooden floor. I walked the familiar route, past the main area and down the hallway to the right.

Miranda was a platinum blonde Asian woman in her late 20's with full sleeves of traditional tattoos done by another artist at this shop. She was already in the room when Emma and I walked in, fiddling with one of the tattoo machines. She looked up and smiled at me as I walked in with Emma at my back.

"Hey. I'm Miranda. You are?" She asked Emma.

"Emma. Nice to meet you."