29. Violet
TWENTY-NINE
VIOLET
Everleigh : Merry Christmas! Love you both!
Violet: Happy Holidays!
Violet: Olive says the same!
Sylvia left the chat.
Christmas morning creeps up like a fox in the night. I’m so distracted by life that I don’t realize it until Olive busts through my door and jumps on my bed like she used to do when we were little. The mattress springs up and down, and she tugs the blankets off me.
I yank them back over my shoulders and nuzzle in. I didn’t sleep well last night. In fact, I spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling thinking about Colson and Finn.
Even though I never got on Colson’s case about being more open with me before, it hurts that he kept something so big from me. Part of me wonders if it’d be best that I close that door and never see him again. It’s why I tossed and turned a lot last night. I was too engrossed in a real-life nightmare by imagining a world where he doesn’t exist.
Even now, my stomach rampages at the thought of it.
“Oh, come oooon,” she croons, pressing her mouth to my ear. “It’s time to get up. We made a deal.”
I groan, “Can I take it back?”
“No. No take backsies.” She pulls my hair lightly, but it’s enough to get me to swat her away. “I said I’d stop nagging to go to a strip club if you promised we’d go to Mom and Dad’s for Christmas.”
I roll over to my back. “I still don’t understand why you want to go to a strip club.”
She sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs. “For the experience.”
That worry that’s always present for her pushes to the front of my mind. My sister has always been the more neurotic one out of the two of us, but it isn’t lost on me how she randomly showed up on my doorstep without mentioning it. I want to ask if something is going on, but I also don’t want to ruin the holiday by being overbearing. I was so worried Dad’s infidelity would destroy her in the same way that stupid boy did when she was in high school, but she stayed upright. She proved there are things she can handle. That she’s not the same broken girl she was back then. So, maybe, it’s better I let her feel like the woman she’s growing into, instead of the little sister I’ll always view her as.
Pushing my concern aside, I look at her, and ask, “You're dressed already?”
“I’ve been up since six,” she admits.
“What time is it now?”
“The clock on the stove said seven-thirty before I came back.”
“No,” I whine and close my eyes again. “It’s too early. And I’m too damn tired.”
“Too bad. Besides, everyone loves waking up early on Christmas.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Parents despise it.”
She picks up a spare pillow and whacks me in the head before bouncing off the bed. “Get up, or I’ll force you to tell me where you really went the other night. Yeah, that’s right. Everleigh might have covered for you, but I’m not stupid, Sister. You claimed to take a walk outside. I know that doesn’t equate to being gone for hours.” She claps her hands. “Chop, chop.” And then she’s out of my room, and I’m left staring up at my ceiling. Again.
I didn’t realize I was gone for hours until I undressed and climbed into bed that night. Roadwork on the 401 interfered with us getting back across the river after we left Harrison Heights, but that’s not the only thing that made time drag. Being at that warehouse did. Standing there and watching two guys go through the motions before Colson claimed their spot ate up precious minutes that I didn’t have an excuse for.
Too in the midst of questioning what Colson and I had, and the truths he kept from me, I linger in bed. I think of Finn and their dad. He admitted to Colson’s accusations, and I know I shouldn’t ignore that. The way they took advantage of Janie’s addiction just so they could win a game no one else was playing. He didn’t apologize—at least not from what I remember—and I guess I can see why. He’s not ashamed of the money he’s made or following the only way of life he’s ever known. But I think he is ashamed over how he’s treated his brother. I like to think that this is his way of making up for it. Had he known Colson was his family all this time, maybe he would’ve done better.
I don’t know him well, but it’s clear he extended an olive branch that night when he warned Colson about his boss, Tommy. He doesn’t want to see him caught up, and I can appreciate that because I don’t want to see it, either.
Once I’m near ready to walk out the door, I grab my phone off my nightstand and check for messages. There are none. I’m not sure what I expect. A message from Colson? Do I even want that?
I glance at the date on the phone, December 25th staring back at me. Holiday cheer is nowhere in sight this year. I’m not excited to exchange presents or spend time with my loved ones. Well, aside from Olive. I’m still not sure what I’m going to say when I show up to my parents’. I haven’t talked to them since Thanksgiving. There’s a lot that hasn’t been said. A lot of words hovering in the air.
I push that to the back of my mind, though, figuring I’ll deal with it when I get there. I pull up my text thread with Colson. Skimming back to a few of our last conversations when things were good between us. When life wasn’t dragging him under water every chance it got. There was so much love in those exchanges.
It’s absolutely mind-blowing how much I care for him. How quickly I’m tossing the idea of never talking to him again out the window. The truth is, my love for Colson expands to distances I never knew existed. It’s almost toxic how I’d do anything, even get in a car with a complete stranger, to get to him.
I send him a simple Merry Christmas text. I can’t imagine him being alone today. Not when he should be surrounded by at least one person who loves him.
I walk into the foyer of the home where I grew up. Mom decorated it beautifully. As she always does for the holidays. Outside, icicle lights hang from the eaves and wreaths fill every window. It smells like cinnamon and pine trees inside. Just like it used to when we were kids and would race down the stairs to see if Santa left presents for us.
Spoiler, he always did.
Mom and Dad don’t greet us as we close the door behind us and toe our shoes off. It almost sounds like no one is home. Our purses get propped on the hook near the door, along with our coats, and we find the living room. A fake Christmas tree reaches for the ceiling, the star on top only inches from touching it. Lights wind around it and ornaments hang from nearly every branch. It’s full and beautiful and brimming with gift boxes underneath with carefully crafted wrapping paper. It should spark the holiday spirit for me but doesn’t. I’m still thinking about that text and how I haven’t received one back.
“Mom! Dad! We’re here!” Olive makes a beeline for the kitchen, and I follow close behind. It’s there we find Mom behind the stove, working to whip up our Christmas dinner. It reminds me too much of Thanksgiving. The way she prepared that entire meal for it to fall flat.
“Girls!” Mom’s voice is light and airy and full of happiness. The opposite of how she sounded during our last conversation. She brushes a strand of hair out of her face and sets down the oven mitts that are in her hands. She rushes toward the both of us. “I am so glad to see you two.” Both of her arms grab hold of us, and we get crushed to her chest, giggles coming out of Olive and me.
It’s almost like we’re little girls again, and I sigh into her neck. She smells like home. Like summer afternoons with homemade lemonade. Like brownie batter on winter days when we’d bake over playing outside in the cold. More than either of those two, she’s pure comfort and tenderness. Like her hug is powerful enough and so full of love that it might weld the broken pieces of my heart back together. Even the pieces she and Dad broke last month.
As soon as the hug ends, guilt rips at me. Guilt over not staying on Thanksgiving. Over not listening. Over being too caught up in my own selfish emotions to hear where she was truly coming from when it came to Dad. Over not talking to her or Dad since.
What kind of daughter am I?
She looks at us when she pulls away, no signs of disappointment present like I worried about on the drive over. “You two are so beautiful it makes my eyes hurt.” She doesn’t look at me any differently after I walked out on her Thanksgiving night. She acts as if there’s not a rift between us, and while that might normally bother me, I’m beyond grateful for it today.
“Mom,” Olive whines, but she’s smiling.
“What? It’s true. Go look in the mirror; your eyes might hurt, too!” We chuckle at her ridiculousness before she motions us toward the island. “I was just about to take my cookie dough out of the freezer. How about you two roll it out for me? Just like old times.”
We spend the next two hours making cookies.
Olive and I sit side by side. Mom puts on a holiday playlist, and we sing along while rolling chocolate chip cookie dough into small balls. We line three baking sheets with them, and eventually Dad walks in. His gruff voice is laden with sleep. Mom lifts her head in greeting and gives him the brightest smile I’ve seen in a long time. Or maybe she’s always looked at him like this, and I was too caught up in his recent affair for months to see it.
I don’t know how I feel about it anymore. All I know is I’m happy I’m not hanging onto the secret of it. That it isn’t weighing me down. Still, it feels slightly uncomfortable to be in the same space as him, which only makes me think back on the conversation I had with Mom.
How she kept saying that love is endless. That it didn’t seem to bother her about what he did if it was her and his kids he was coming home to. I realize just how open of a mind and heart she must have had all these years to be okay with that instead of seeing her as the doormat I thought of her as. To still be with him through those transgressions rather than run.
For a second, I consider she might not be weak at all. That she really is the strong woman who raised me, who I still look up to, who might know what she’s talking about.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m more like her than I thought. Because if I had my way, I’d be with Colson right now even if I am mad at him. Wherever he is, I’d be by his side, helping him slay his demons instead of standing by.
Just like she’s done with Dad.
I don’t know what to make of that.
Dad rounds the counter, kisses her cheek with his hand resting on her hip then grants us one of his easy smiles. Somehow, he looks different than he did a month ago.
He flattens his hands on the granite countertops and leans in, sweeping his finger into the bowl of cookie dough while Mom slides the trays into the oven.
Olive leans over and does the same when he offers us the bowl. “Nothing like cookie dough on Christmas morning.”
Mom swats both of them with a hand towel and laughs. “Get out of here. You’re both old enough to know that you shouldn’t be eating raw cookie dough.”
“But it’s cookie dough,” they both argue cheekily.
Mom’s brows raise, and I can’t help but chuckle. “With raw eggs.” Then she turns on Dad. “You. It’s your fault, teaching her that raw cookie dough is okay.”
He backs away from the counter, hands raised in surrender but grinning all the same. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mom smiles just as hard in return. “Mmhmm. Sure.”
He heads for the living room. “Who’s ready to open presents?”
Olive hops off her stool and runs after him, both hands raised in the air. “Oh! Me! Me, me, me!”
It’s crazy how much I’ve missed my family when just a few months ago I didn’t want to be around.
I follow after them, curling up on the sofa with my feet under me as Dad hands each of us gifts and tells us to have at it. Just like he did when we were kids. We’d rip through the wrapping paper as fast as our little hands could, and then we’d lift our presents in the air with brilliant smiles while Mom snapped photos of us.
Olive and I carry our gift boxes in from where we set them by the door, most of which I ordered online and had shipped to the apartment. We spend the morning exchanging presents and eating the chocolate chip cookies while they’re still warm.
I gaze out into the backyard where Olive and I have spent hundreds of afternoons. The trees around the property line are more grown in, and the rose bushes lining the back fence are bigger and more beautiful than ever. They’re currently dormant, but it doesn’t take away from the expansive area or all the memories that were created back here.
I bring my hot cocoa up to my lips, basking in the warmth that rises from it while blowing on it for a minute before the chocolatey goodness smooths over my tongue. I sigh into the richness of the flavor at the same time the sliding door opens and closes.
“Little cold to be sitting out here, don’t you think?” Dad slowly approaches the swing. It’s big enough for four and was a custom piece he had built almost ten years ago. Before last summer, you could see the worn spots in the splintering wood. That was until Mom put a fresh coat of paint on it, and now, in a way, it almost feels brand new again.
I wrap the thick cozy blanket around me that I stole from the basket in the corner of the living room. It’s been doing wonders keeping me warm along with my hot chocolate. “I don’t mind.”
He points at the spot next to me. We exchanged pleasant words during our gift exchange and a hug afterward, but I can see he’s hesitating. He’s still in his Christmas get-up. A matching set of thermals that have little Christmas trees printed all over them. He started wearing them for Olive and me when we were younger to make the holidays more exciting. I guess old habits die hard. I find myself missing the connection we had before everything turned to shit this past summer.
“Mind if I sit?”
“No. Go ahead.”
The hanging seat sways back when he plops his weight down. Like me, he casts his attention over the backyard. “Lots of great memories out here.”
“I was just thinking about that.”
He sighs, and I know he wants to say something. We haven’t spoken since everything went up in flames a month ago. I’ve ignored texts. Forwarded calls to voicemail. I wasn’t ready to discuss the elephant in the room, but if I’ve learned anything these past few weeks it’s that things aren’t always as they seem, and truths shouldn’t be held for the sake of someone else.
“I know we haven’t discussed things, and our relationship has been pulled taut.”
I snicker. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“I don’t want the strain, Violet. I love you and your sister. Your mom, too. Despite what you may think. What happened…well, it never should have. I feel terrible for doing that to you. It was your birthday, and I don’t want to get into all the specifics, but I’ve known for a long time that I’m a borderline addict when it comes to…” He lets that last word hang in the air. I’m glad for it because ew. “I know that’s uncomfortable to hear, so I’ll leave it at that, but everyone has struggles they face. Including me and your mom. What makes our relationship strong is knowing that we don’t have to face them alone.”
“It’s none of my business.” I’m not sure how much more I can listen to without throwing up. I’m ready to move on. “You were right to tell me to stay out of it. Whatever challenges you face are for you and her to get through.”
I take a deep breath, and for the first time in months, it feels like it finally reaches the deepest part of my lungs. To move on from his infidelity and openly talk about it without tension coiling in my body. It’s progress I’m proud of.
“Thank you for saying that. Your mom and I haven’t had a perfect marriage, but we love the hell out of each other. She has accepted who I am in all areas of my life, and I’ve done the same for her. Anyone else would have bailed. Not her. Her love has gotten us over mountains and rescued us out of valleys. You remind me of her in that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he clears his throat, “I just mean that your love is worth its weight in gold. Anyone would be lucky to have that from you. I know that’s why you felt so horrible over that day and why you didn’t want to talk to me for the longest time.” He sighs deeply. “It doesn’t take me being a rocket scientist to know I broke my little girl’s heart.”
“You did,” I tell him, my voice quiet as I take another sip of my warm drink. My heart tugs a little in my chest, wanting a big hug in return for all the heartache. “I do love you so much, which is exactly why I took it so hard.”
He nods. “I’m so sorry I took advantage of that. I’m sorry that it happened on your birthday, and I promise it’ll never happen again. I fired Nina, and I’m…getting help. At the end of the day, you three are what’s most important to me. It has always been that way.”
I nibble on my lip and say three words I couldn’t say months ago. “I forgive you.”
He looks over at me, his hair swept back in a mess and a faint stubble growing over his cheeks that he’ll wake up and shave tomorrow. “Yeah?”
“You’re you. Can’t be mad at you forever.”
He huffs out a tiny chuckle. “Honestly, I thought you were going to be.”
“Yeah, I was a bit bratty there for a minute.”
“No, not bratty. You were hurt. And it was justified.” He lifts his palm between us. “New slate, sweetheart?”
I smile and place my hand in his, glad to finally have a resting place for what happened. “New slate, old man.”
We shake on it, and I scoot closer to him, offering him half of my blanket. He situates it over his lap. I rest my head on his shoulder.
“I’m not that old,” he balks.
“Eh, you’re more gray now than anything.” He sweeps his hand through his hair and kicks off the porch for us to swing back. “Just wait until Olive starts getting on your case about going bald.”
“She better not,” he says around a chuckle.
“Oh, she’s going to. The second she notices your hair is receding,” I click my tongue. “Done for.”
He pats my leg and doesn’t bother getting on my case about joking with him. That’s the best thing about dads. You can beat up on them all day every day. Physically, emotionally, mentally. And they just continue to take it as if there’s a shield covering their body and the teasing pings right off them.
When I glance up, he has a relieved expression on his face. So unlike how it was the last time we were out here. “You have no idea how happy this makes me. Us being okay again.”
“I wasn’t sure we’d get here, but I met someone, and his experiences have helped me learn that maybe I’ve been a little unfair.”
“Met someone, huh?”
“It’s complicated.”
He pats my leg again. “All the best loves are.”