It was a lazy April Saturday, the kind of soft, sunny afternoon that made even the Dunphy household feel peaceful. Alex was curled up on the living room couch with a book when the front door swung open without a knock.
"Buenas tardes, Dunphys! I come bearing gifts!" Marco announced, strolling in with the energy of a conquering hero.
Alex looked up from her book, skeptical. "Gifts? You mean you didn't leave a half-eaten bag of chips in my room this time?"
"Nah, this is better. It's fresh." He wiggled his eyebrows, a gesture that always spelled trouble. He plopped down on the couch next to her, so close their legs were pressed together. He was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Okay, what is it?" she asked, closing her book. "Did you teach Carlos to juggle?"
"Better." His grin was impossibly wide. "It's a permanent declaration of love."
Alex's blood ran cold. "Marco, what did you do?"
In response, he pushed up the sleeve of his hoodie, revealing the inside of his right forearm. The skin there was inflamed, an angry red surrounding a brand new tattoo. The design was… unmistakable.
It featured a detailed, almost photorealistic rendering of Carlos the raccoon, standing on his hind legs, looking as shifty and opportunistic as ever. And perched delicately on his head, eight legs splayed elegantly, was Ava the tarantula.
Alex stared. Her brain tried to process the image, to reconcile the permanent ink on her boyfriend's skin with any semblance of rational thought. It failed.
"Oh my god," she whispered, her voice hollow with horror.
Marco beamed, completely misreading her tone. "I know, right? The artist nailed it! Look at Carlos's little hands! And Ava's fuzz! It's like they're a superhero duo. Trash Panda and the Eight-Legged Assassin."
Just then, Phil and Claire entered the room, mid-argument.
"—but if the instructions say 'some assembly required,' Claire, that should imply a level of basic competency!" Phil was saying, holding what looked like a piece of a shelving unit.
"It also implies the assembler has all the parts, Phil! You used a nail where a screw was supposed to go!"
They both stopped dead when they saw their daughter's face. She was pale, her eyes wide, staring at Marco's arm as if it were a open wound.
"Alex? Honey, what's wrong?" Claire asked, her voice instantly shifting from annoyed to concerned.
"Did he get a tattoo of another woman's name?" Phil asked, half-joking, half-serious.
Wordlessly, Alex just pointed a trembling finger at Marco's forearm.
Phil and Claire leaned in, their bickering forgotten. There was a beat of stunned silence as they took in the bizarre, inflamed tableau of raccoon and tarantula.
Claire's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Marco." It was all she could manage, a sigh of pure, unadulterated maternal despair.
Phil, however, squinted. He leaned closer. "Is that… the raccoon? And the… spider?" He looked from the tattoo to Marco's proud face and back again. A slow, bewildered smile spread across his lips. "You know… that's commitment."
"PHIL!" Claire snapped.
"What? It is! It's not some trendy symbol he'll regret. That's… that's a story! 'How I got a raccoon and a tarantula tattooed on my arm.' You don't hear that every day."
Marco nodded enthusiastically, finally pulling his sleeve down. "See? Phil gets it. It's art. It's my family."
Alex finally found her voice. "Your family is a raccoon and a tarantula? Permanently etched into your skin?"
"The most important members, yeah," Marco said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He leaned over and kissed her stunned cheek. "Don't worry, mami, You're in here," he tapped his chest, right over his heart. "But they… they needed their own spot."
He stood up, stretching, completely oblivious to the emotional wreckage he'd left in his wake. "Alright, I'm starving. Anyone want pizza?"
As he headed for the kitchen, Alex slumped back against the couch cushions. Claire just shook her head, rubbing her temples. Phil was still staring at the spot on Marco's arm, a look of profound respect on his face.
Alex looked down at her own un-inked, sensible skin, then towards the kitchen where she could hear Marco cheerfully rummaging through drawers for a takeout menu.
***
The pizza boxes were open on the coffee table, filling the Dunphy living room with the greasy, comforting smell of pepperoni and cheese. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a tense, bizarre family summit.
Luke couldn't take his eyes off Marco's arm, which was now proudly on full display. "That is so sick," he breathed, between bites of pizza. "You really got a tattoo of Carlos? Does he know?"
"He sensed it," Marco said solemnly, taking a huge bite. "He was extra shifty today. He knows his face is immortalized."
Haley, perched on the arm of an armchair, wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I just don't get it. Why would you permanently put a giant rat and a bug on your body? It's so... trashy." She said the last word with a sneer, looking pointedly at his clothes.
The room went quiet. Phil and Claire exchanged a 'here we go' look. Alex tensed, ready to jump to his defense.
But Marco just chewed his pizza slowly, swallowed, and fixed Haley with a calm, dead-eyed stare. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Trashy?" he repeated, his voice deceptively light. "Says the girl whose idea of art is a filtered selfie with a dog-ear filter."
Haley's jaw dropped. "That's different! That's cute!"
"Oh, it's cute," Marco agreed, nodding. "Real cute. Like, 'I-still-have-a-poster-of-Justin-Bieber-in-my-room' cute."
Luke snorted, spraying crumbs.
"Shut up, Marco! At least my tattoos would be, like, meaningful. A feather turning into birds or something."
"Wow. Deep," Marco said, his voice flat. "So meaningful. Just like your five-point plan to become an Instagram influencer. How's that working out, by the way? Got your blue checkmark yet, princesa?"
Haley flushed a deep red. "You take that back!"
"Or what? You'll write a strongly worded tweet? Use a really passive-aggressive emoji?" He took another bite of pizza, completely unfazed. "You know, for someone who talks so much about aesthetics, your eyeliner is a little... crooked. The left wing is flying away to find a better face."
Alex clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. Claire, despite herself, had to look away to hide a smile.
Haley was sputtering, utterly outgunned. Marco's bullying wasn't mean-spirited; it was surgical. He identified the exact source of her vanity and poked it with a stick.
"Mom! Are you just going to let him talk to me like that?" Haley whined.
Claire took a long sip of her water. "Haley, you started it."
"See?" Marco said, his grin returning to its usual, cheerful chaos. "Even Mrs. D knows the rules. You come for the king," he gestured to his tattoo with his pizza crust, "you best not miss."
He then turned his attention back to Luke, effortlessly changing the subject. "Anyway, like I was saying, the key is finding an artist who isn't scared of detail. You should see the shading on Ava's chelicerae. It's pristine."