Chapter 14
fourteen
. . .
Violet
I have always loved wintertime. If I could start decorating for Christmas in October without being judged, I would. To me, there is nothing more magical than going to bed and waking up the next morning and seeing the entire street covered in a soft layer of snow. When I was a kid, my mom would often scold me for staying out too late making snow angels and haphazardly building snowmen that fell as soon as a mild breeze blew. My love for winter remained even as I got older and was forced to help shovel the driveway every morning before school.
After spending most of my life in Massachusetts, I was almost certain there was nothing that could make me hate winter — until today. I’m woken up in the middle of the night by an awful noise, like violent teeth chattering. My own teeth, apparently. I am a New Englander — raised to have iced coffee even when the high outside is 20 degrees and feels like 10 with the wind chill— and I refuse to set the thermostat higher than 70 in November. Growing up we’d do anything to save a few extra bucks on the monthly utility bill, including sleeping with mittens on. But I can currently see my own breath, so I concede and get out of bed to turn the heat on. Or at least that is my plan until I see the thermostat is broken.
Maintenance can’t help me at this hour, so I pull my winter gear out of my closet and dress for the Arctic. I wake up in a sweat the next morning, curled up in a blanket while wearing my winter coat, an extra pair of sweats, and thermal socks. I call maintenance and they promise it will be fixed before I get home today. Though no one is surprised when I get home from the lab and find the thermostat still broken.
Given how old these university buildings are, I wouldn’t be surprised if several tenants were experiencing the same issues I was, which meant I was likely one of dozens of faculty, staff, and grad students who had filed a complaint. Maintenance left an orange note on my door saying that they would try to swing by again in the next few days, but for now, their “hands were tied.” I would ask to stay with Maya, but she’s attending a conference and visiting some of her family in Korea this week. My situation was less than ideal, but this was not the first time I had to get crafty during the winter.
When my mom told 6-year-old me we would be moving to Castle Harbor, I remember looking out the window and smiling, imagining the kind of home we would have. It would be like a Hallmark Christmas movie, made of dark red brick, the front yard covered in snow, with a fireplace where Mom and I could make indoor smores while we drank hot chocolate. My 6-year-old illusion shattered when we arrived at the small fishermen’s town and began unloading our things into a renovated attic in someone’s family home.
Not too long after moving to the small New England town I realized the sacrifices we would have to make to start our new life. My mom had no job, no friends or family, and no way of paying the bills. When the fall breeze turned into winter chill, my mom would crack the oven door and let it run for a few minutes after she finished cooking to spread heat through the apartment.
As I head over to the kitchen and preheat my oven, I hear a faint noise coming from outside my back window. Perched on the fire escape, I see a small tabby cat shaking.
“How did you even manage to get out here?” I open the window and bring the cat inside, snuggling it in my arms. The fluff ball responds with a deep purr, dragging its head up and down my chest. “Unfortunately, it’s probably not that much warmer in here than it is out there, but don’t worry. I’ve turned the oven on so this place should warm up soon.” The cat stares at me intently as if agreeing to wait patiently for the room to warm. Perhaps this little refugee was fleeing their own freezing apartment. The small collar around its neck includes a name tag that reads, ‘Penny’.
A loud, panicked knock comes from the door, causing me and Penny to jump. We weren’t expecting guests. I settle Penny back in my arms and open the door. Isn’t it funny how you can do so well avoiding someone in public and yet run into them in the most unlikely of places, like your own doorstep? Mason’s face is flushed, and his hair is tossed in a dozen different directions as if he’d been running his hands through it. Underneath his winter coat is a red flannel that looks remarkably similar to the one I bought him for his birthday four years ago. Mason had worn it nearly every day for two weeks straight until his dad told him it was a Christmas gift and not an engagement ring and begged him to throw it in the wash. When I lock eyes with him, he appears dumbfounded, as if I’m the one intruding.
“Violet?”
“Yes.” The word comes out sharp, sharper than I intended as I recognize the irony of my situation. I was starting to have that Christmas Hallmark movie moment, with snow on the ground, my little makeshift heater, and my new snuggle buddy. It felt so quintessential that I guess the powers that be felt obligated to send me a sexy flannel-wearing companion to round out the fantasy. But I was not interested in said companion. Nor the nasty gut feeling I got at the tick in his jaw or the way his green eyes dimmed slightly at my tone. “What are you doing here?”
Mason’s eyebrows crease together as if confused by my question. His eyes widen as he notices Penny curled up in my arms. I look down at Penny, who is looking at him like she has never seen him in her life, jumps down, and saunters down the hall. Damn, that is what I should have done when I saw Mason. Maybe I can just turn away and — Mason slides passed me while muttering ‘stupid demon cat’ and heads in the direction of Penny.
“Hello? I did not invite you in.” I cross my arms and stand right in front of him, momentarily blocking him from advancing toward my room. “This is trespassing.”
Mason is undeterred as he gives me a tight smile, steps around me, and begins walking down the hall. I grab his arm and tug, keeping him from proceeding to my room. He will not be ruining that space for me as well. He stops, turning to face me. Only a few inches apart and my nose is filled with the scent of him — subtle hints of pine and soap that reminded me of a cozy winter day. The smell that was so addicting I once hoped to bottle it up and turn it into a candle. He smirks, and I wonder if he can tell I am smelling him. He takes a few steps forward, inching me backward down the hall.
“You literally held the door open for me.”
“No, I opened the door because some asshole kept knocking on it like he was seconds away from being murdered.” I attempt to keep my abrasive tone, but my voice shakes. Since Mason came back into my life he has felt like a stranger. But at this moment, he feels familiar, and it’s freaking me out. Flashbacks of our night in Chicago run through my head. Now that’s a dangerous thought .
“‘Asshole ’ huh? If I had been someone about to be murdered, you would think my knocking was asshole behavior? I must say, if I am ever about to be slaughtered I don’t think I will be coming here first.”
I scrunch my nose in annoyance and rack my brain for a cunning response, but all I can come up with is, “Don’t be a smart ass.”
“Wow, more mean names. Is this always how you treat your house guests?” Mason deadpans while making another attempt to walk around me.
I slam my hand on the doorway, physically blocking him from entering my room. The slap of my palm on the doorframe gets his attention. He looks as though he is just now realizing I might not want him here. Sure, it was a little dramatic, and my hand was stinging, but I needed to make a point. He was not welcome in this apartment, and I was not just going to let him push me around. I narrowed my eyes at him and gave him my best “fuck around and find out” face. I could’ve sworn a flash of pride came over Mason’s eyes as I continued to stand my ground. Pride mixed with something else, something that I refused to acknowledge despite that look causing a small shiver to trail down my spine.
He holds his hands up in surrender and puts some distance between us. “Alright Vi, I won’t move any further. But that orange demon in there is Coach Jameson’s cat. And because my life has become a series of cosmic jokes, I’m in charge of watching it over the weekend.”
“ You’re cat sitting? Coach Jameson asked you to cat sit? I’m taking it he doesn’t know about the time you killed Marge Preesley’s cat?”
His cheeks flush red. “I did not kill Mr. Noodles. He was perfectly fine when I watched him that week. It makes perfect sense that a cat that old would have a heart attack the day his owner returns. His poor heart couldn’t take the excitement. It happens.” Marge Preesley had spent the rest of the month sobbing outside her porch every day, holding onto a small sweater she had knit for Mr. Noodles as a Christmas present. Mason has never been able to walk down her street since, and I never let him forget it.
“Seriously Violet, please just let me get the demon cat back to Coach’s apartment and then you can get back to...”
He looks me up and down, seemingly just now noticing my parka, mittens, and beanie. Before he can comment on my ensemble, I step out of the doorway and gesture for him to proceed into my room.
He walks up to my bed and crouches on all fours. “Heeere demon kitty.” He sticks his arm under the bed, and quickly yanks it back, spewing out a string of loud curses. Claw marks cover the top of Mason’s hand and down his forearm. I kneel beside him and gently extend my hand. Within a matter of minutes, I coax the orange tabby out from under the bed.
I move to hand the little menace to Mason and find his attention now fixed on my mouth. I immediately have a fever.
“Jesus Violet. Why’s it so cold in here?” Shit he must be able to see my breath.
“My heat is broken. I put in a maintenance request but apparently a lot of people are having issues, so it could be a while before they get to mine.”
“A while? It’s literally supposed to hit record lows tonight, there might even be a snowstorm.” He walks back into the hall, toying with the thermostat as if pushing the buttons over and over again will magically fix it. Men.
“It’s fine. As you can see, I am dressed for a snowstorm inside this very apartment, and if I get really cold I will just sleep in my oven,” I joke, trying to make light of this damsel-in-distress scene he is trying to depict.
“Why don’t you come stay with me? Or um, us.” Knight In Shining Armor, right on cue.
“Us?”
He points toward himself and the cat that is very clearly digging its claws into his arms in a feeble attempt to get him to release her. “Us. Me and the demon cat. It’s blistering hot in Coach’s apartment, so you’d defrost in no time.”
Defrosting sounds incredibly tempting. Still, a weekend with him alone was out of the question. “Thanks but?—”
“C’mon Violet, I can’t go back knowing you’re at risk of freezing to death here.”
“I’ll be fine. My oven’s already heating up the place.”
“Oh yea your lips are only slightly blue now, as opposed to when I first got here.” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge. I make no move to collect my things. “Well, if that’s how you are going to be then I guess we’re staying.” He walks into the living room and sinks down onto my couch.
“Hey, no. What do you think you are doing?”
“I told you; Coach’s apartment is super hot. I had to open a window to let a breeze in and that’s when the demon cat got out. If I go back, I’ll have to crack open a window, and we wouldn’t want Penny to get loose again now, would we?” He shakes his head. “I guess you’re stuck with us here.”
“So my options are freezing my ass off with you here, or sweating it off in Coach’s apartment?”
“Precisely.”
Maybe it’s time to reconsider Violet. One of those options ends in hypothermia, which I hear is hard to come back from. I rack my brain for any excuse to stay in my apartment alone but came up with nothing. “Fine. Just give me a few minutes to get ready.”