51. Violet
FIFTY-ONE
VIOLET
Olive: What’s the likelihood that if I turn around and show up at your doorstep again, you’ll let me in?
Violet: Please tell me you’re not doing that.
Olive: I’m not. Not yet, anyway.
Violet: Not ever.
Olive: Never say ever.
Violet: That’s not how the saying goes, Olive Garden.
Closing the apartment door behind me, I slip my shoes off and lower the strap of my yoga mat off my shoulder. It catches on my wrist until I prop it against the wall and head into the kitchen.
Everleigh sits on the island counter, legs folded into a pretzel, with a piece of paper in her hand. “You’re never going to guess what this says,” she tells me, lifting the paper between her fingers.
I grab a water bottle from the fridge and crack it open. I spent an hour downstairs in the gym, stretching into poses that typically give me relief. They only semi-worked, leaving me with this underlying anxiousness under my skin. I can’t pinpoint what it’s from, but I can make a good guess.
Some days I hate myself for creating boundaries until I remind myself how crucial it was. I’ve replayed the same mantra in my head for days now, telling myself that I deserve better no matter the feelings I have for Colson.
I pluck the piece of paper from Everleigh and scan the top. Both of our names are scrawled in Sylvia’s perfect bubbly letters with hearts as dots over the i’s. “Why did Sylvia write us a letter?” I ask her. “That’s not like her at all.”
“She left,” Everleigh says point blank.
My eyes flick up to her. “What? Why?”
“Read the letter. It’s all there.”
I scan over Sylvia’s short and to the point string of sentences. Shock sinks down in me when I get to the part that says she’s moving back to Ireland to be with her family. However, there’s not really a direct reason behind why she’s going. It just says that by the time we read her letter, she’ll have already boarded her plane back home. She mentions not worrying about the rent for her room for the rest of the semester, the last line confirming she won’t be coming back.
Confusion swirls in my head, mingling with my post-workout endorphin rush. I step back and lean against the counter. “I’m not sure what to say.” I look at Everleigh who’s sporting a downcast expression. We’ve known for a while that something was going on with Sylvia, but I never thought she’d just…up and leave.
“Me either. I had to stay late for that T.A. gig I was telling you about.” She huffs out a sigh. “That’s a whole other story I’ll have to tell you about later, but that was on the counter when I came in. She just left, Violet. Didn’t even say goodbye. Did she text you at all?”
“No, nothing,” I tell her.
“When was the last time you saw her? God, I feel like it’s been weeks since I’ve actually seen her face to face.”
I think back, remembering when I saw her in the kitchen that day she went straight for the alcohol cabinet. And again when she found me and my sister watching TV. “It’s been days at the minimum. She was on a different schedule than me and must have stopped showing up for classes, because I haven’t bumped into her on campus at all.”
“I heard her come in late the other night,” Ev says. “But that’s it. I didn’t think much of it because it seemed to be her new way of living. Sleeping in late, coming home late.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Think her parents forced her back to their homeland?”
“That’s one possibility. She was getting those letters. What do you think they said? She was always so hush-hush about them.”
“I have no clue.”
“Do you think we’ll ever see her again? What if something was really wrong for her to leave under the radar? What if we’ve been so deep in our own lives that we ignored her?”
I look at the letter again then back at my friend. I love how thoughtful Everleigh is and how intensely she cares about the people in her life, but Sylvia was riding through life to her own tune. “We didn’t ignore her, Ev. We did try to be there for her, but she pushed us away. You saw how she got when she was approached about certain topics. What were we supposed to do?”
She worries her lip. “Yeah. You’re right. It just sucks. We were friends , Vi, and now we’re nothing but two people who live in different countries?” Her concern shifts. “What are we going to do about the rent? Her family paid a bigger portion. Fuck, we’re going to be screwed next year.”
Cutting through the space between us, I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. She’s not wrong to worry. Sylvia’s parents did pay a bigger portion because they’re, to put it simply, loaded beyond what our imaginations can conjure. “We’ll find someone to rent out Sylvia’s room, and it’ll be fine. Worse case, we’ll both chip in more if we want to stay in the building. We can always downscale to a smaller apartment, too.”
“Vi, my parents can’t pick up more of my rent,” she admits with a hint of embarrassment. “My stepdad has been out of work since October. He was helping a family friend move and sidestepped on the curb and fell. Apparently, he was walking around with a broken neck for weeks. The doctor’s rushed him in for emergency surgery when they found it.”
“Oh, my God. Why didn’t you say anything?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to bother you when you’re already going through so much with Colson. And, anyway, he’s going to be okay, but their income took a hit from it, and they don’t know when he’ll be back to work full time. I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on them when the most important thing is him healing and getting back on his feet.”
She wraps her arms around me and sinks into my embrace. “I’m so sorry for not being here for you,” I whisper. “If there’s anything I can do, you’ll let me know?”
“Ugh, stop,” she groans. “You are here for me. It’s on me for keeping it on the down low. Between that, Tristan, and dealing with the professor I T.A. for, my patience is dwindling quickly. I legit could fill up a bucket full of tears right now,” she huffs out in a sad laugh.
I pull back, my brows furrowed in concern. “What’s going on with your professor?”
“It’s nothing.” She sighs, but I can hear that it’s definitely something.
“I don’t believe that for one second.”
“Let’s just say he's a total ass. A broody, miserable, growly know-it-all.”
“Aren’t those the kind of guys you read about in your books?” I ponder aloud to help shift the mood. Last week she was swooning over the male main character in the romance book she was reading because he did this huge public display of affection and at the end of it growled the words, “you’re mine,” into the female character’s ear.
“They’re sexy when they’re fictional. Not so much when they’re six feet tall and every other word out of their mouth can be taken as an insult.”
I wince, sort of glad I’m not the one having to deal with it but feeling every sympathetic bone in my body reach out to her. “Can you switch over and T.A. for a different professor?”
She shakes her head. “It was supposed to happen that way but the original professor had something come up and Chatham U had to bring in a fill-in. He’s who I got, so sadly, I’m stuck with him.”
“Brutal,” I murmur.
“Mmm, you don’t even know.”
I look at Sylvia’s letter again, feeling the strain in my muscles. Yoga always helps, but having this dropped on me while simultaneously worrying for Ev has the knots in my muscles tightening all over again. I need a bath pronto, the warm water dulling the ache in my body if only for a little while.
Ev hops off the counter and makes a quick coffee before retreating to her bedroom for the remainder of the night. She promises she’s okay, and that if anything changes, she’ll come find me. We decide to sort out the rent issue when we’re both more clearheaded.
I find myself in the bathroom later that night, my body covered by warmth with my eyes closed and my head relaxed back. After the water starts to turn the slightest bit cooler, my phone pings from the floor. I’m half inclined to ignore it and continue soaking but it’s late, and if it’s Olive, I want to make sure her trip back to Florida went okay. That she’s all unpacked and ready for the start of the new semester.
I grab a washcloth from beside me and dry my hands then reach down for it. I don’t realize how long I’ve been in the tub until I find it’s after midnight when I unlock the screen and swipe to access my unread message. Familiarity swoops in my belly when I see Colson’s name at the top of my unread texts.
What could he possibly want? We ended what was between us. For real, this time. So why is he messaging me this late?
Nerves skitter through my bloodstream as I weigh out my decision to open it and read it versus just letting it go. I’m trying to be a new version of myself, one where I don’t cave. I caved with Webber until I didn’t. I don’t want to keep doing it with Colson, not when it comes with this insurmountable affliction that clutches my heart every time after.
Against my better judgment, I open the message. A masochist, I am. At least for the moment.
Colson: Need to see you. Can we meet up?
I blink, rereading it numerous times before I drop the phone to the floor, screen still lit, and rest back against the tub. A million different scenarios run free in my mind.
Now he wants to see me? After I spent weeks trying to be there for him? How many times do we have to play this game of cat and mouse with each other until it’s enough?
I scrub my hands over my face and push the few flyaways back with the rest of my hair. I sink my hands into the now room temperature water, cup a handful, and splash it over my face. I let a little bit of water drain and top off the tub with more scalding water before sinking down until my ears are covered.
Am I supposed to respond?
Am I supposed to agree to meet up with him after we both know what happened the last time we saw one another? He doesn’t want to change. He wants to be a broken, hurtful version of the man he is.
My heart clenches with the idea of being in the same room as him again. Between his mom dying and everything he found out afterward, I know he’s reeling from the pressure and weight of it. But what about me? Am I supposed to constantly allow my feelings to be dragged through the mud?
No , my inner voice tells me. You’re not.
If I put my foot down with Webber, it’s only right that I put it down with Colson, too, isn’t it? God. I wish there was a guide with answers telling me what to do. Nothing feels like it’s the right response. Agreeing to see him makes my heart stumble over itself. Telling him no makes my stomach cramp with guilt.
Rather than doing either, I let the water lull me into a near meditative state and ignore his message altogether.
Colson and I are over, and it's time I move on.