My mom wears a black-green, wide-leg jumpsuit, accented with a gold belt. She’s 70, but you’d never know it. Her hazel eyes smile in my direction. It’s a look I’ve seen through many softball games, high school drama productions and even at the birth of my oldest. She’s always cheered me on, and today is no different as I prepare to take the podium to introduce our two authors at our O.Henry Magazine Author Series.

As soon as I see her, I comment on her outfit. “Mom,” I say, “You look fabulous! I almost wore a sleeveless jumpsuit, too, but was afraid the tattoo on my arm would be too aggressive.” Instead, I’d opted for a black dress with sheer long sleeves, the whole thing glimmering with gold stars and my tattoo tucked away.

“Well, it’s one of those you can just wash off, right?” my mom asks.

“Uh, no,” I say. “It’s real. Emmy and I did it together this summer.”

“Oh,” Mom replies, her voice suddenly many octaves higher. I can tell she’s horrified that my 18-year-old daughter and I got inked together.

Mom and I have always bonded over books, passing them back and forth between us. Body art, not so much.

And this isn’t her first rodeo, nor mine. When I decided to get myself a tattoo for my 19th birthday, my mom retorted, “It’s your body, do what you want.”

That, followed by, “But remember, it’s going to be there forever.”

Forever, got it. To the tattoo parlor I went, returning home with a small daisy on my inner right ankle.

A few years later, I added another small-ish tattoo on my lower back — a graphic sun to pay homage to my zodiac sign, Leo. Yes, I fell victim to what was soon dubbed the “tramp stamp,” but, according to TikTok, they’re making a comeback. And, to be honest, I always forget it’s there until someone sees it and mentions it.

Almost 25 years later, when Emmy says to me that she’d like to get a tattoo, I jump on board.

“I want a new one, too! Can I come?” I ask. “What are you thinking?”

We spend the next couple of months deciding on designs. Emmy selects a small paper airplane followed by a trail of sparkling stars to put on her wrist. I find a design I like, but personalize it a bit to fit me. It’s an open book, a trail of stars, the moon and Saturn escaping its pages. At the very top, I add a four-leaf clover to honor my late business partner and friend who owned Sweet Clover, a vintage home store, with me. And below the book, it reads, “long live all the magic.”

While that quote is a line from my favorite Taylor Swift song, it’s also about writing my stories. May the memories and moments I capture live long after I am gone for my own kids to treasure. Or laugh at. Whichever, as long as it brings them joy.

We schedule an appointment with Taylor (yes, that’s her name!) at Dogwood Ink Tattoo. Emmy’s best friend, Kiah, joins us and in less than 90 minutes, we’re out of there, all with fresh body art on our forearms.

A few weeks later, it dawns on me that I don’t quite know why Emmy went with the paper airplane so I ask her about it.

“Remember when we went to the Eras concert, Mom?”

“Of course,” I say. How could I forget taking my only daughter to Taylor Swift’s epic show.

“Our bonus song was ‘Out of the Woods,’” she says, then quotes the song. “You know, ‘Two paper airplanes flying.’”

Wow, her tattoo is to commemorate a special moment with me? I feel myself choking up, grateful that Emmy and I, like my mom and I have books, have music. And now tattoos that, yes, Mom, will be there forever.

Suddenly, I wish I’d gotten a paper airplane, too.

I look down at my own right wrist, free of designs. Maybe one day.