”So, what tattoo should we get?” Edith asked, tapping her lip ring with a chipped black nail. “Something that screams ‘us,’ but also won’t make us cringe in ten years.” She grinned, leaning back against the tattoo parlor’s cracked leather couch, the scent of antiseptic and old ink thick in the air. “Like a moth drawn to a flame, or a bat eating a fruit.”