Chapter 27
27.
As the party started to wind down, Liz and Violet ended up together on a sofa. Liz was doing what she always did after alcohol loosened her tongue and armor: gushing. “It’s not just that you’re an amazing actress, Vivi.” Liz was pure passion, adoration waterfalling out of her. “It’s that you lead such a big life with such, like, class ! You are literally a television franchise idol, and that means, y’know, navigating all this scrutiny, and doing photo shoots and events and interviews, as well as twelve-hour days on set?” The wonder of it was striking Liz anew. “And you didn’t come from money or the industry or have any family support to help you figure it out. And that’s all just so impressive. This week has been so fun and so productive, and this new season’s going to be fantastic because you’re also great at development! You’re a great producer, too! I really admire you, like, a lot. ”
Violet’s expression straddled sheepish and flattered. “I like Holiday Party Liz.” She squeezed Liz’s bare arm, and the sensation liquified Liz’s spine. “You are equally badass. How many spec scripts did you write before you sold Sweet ?”
“Seven,” Liz admitted. Seven unsold pilots still buried in her laptop.
“Seven! You didn’t let rejection stop you. It fueled you. You, Liz Belvedere, are a force,” Violet declared. She leaned close, not even the length of a candy cane between their lips. “I admire you a lot, too.”
Best. Holiday. Party. Ever.
When Violet excused herself to use the restroom, Babs took her place next to Liz.
“Mom!” Liz could hear the effects of the specialty cocktails in the pitch of her voice. “Did you have fun?”
“Of course.” Babs’s eye makeup had smudged but her gaze was sharp. “You and Violet seem cozy.”
Liz blushed, secretly pleased her mom had noticed. “She’s a great friend.”
Babs looked like she didn’t buy that for a second. “Oh, Lizzie. Can I give you some advice?”
“Of course!”
Babs’s expression was tender as she took Liz’s hand, folding their fingers together. “I don’t think you should get together with Violet.”
Reality teetered. Liz stared at her mother in disbelief. “Wh— Huh?”
“Sweetheart, you have a hit show on your hands. It’s all everyone’s talking about! An affair with your star is such a bad look. I know being top dog is exciting, but you must keep a level head about these things. That’s who you are!”
Liz was flabbergasted. She’d been expecting a pep talk in favor of making a move. “But—I mean—plenty of couples meet at work. Look at you!”
“You want something like what I had with Stanley? Like Nikhil?” Babs let out a tired laugh. “Of course I don’t regret having your brother and sister, but I wish I could’ve given them better fathers. Made better decisions.” She squeezed Liz’s hand hard. “Success is so elusive, so unpredictable, but you have it! Whatever you’re feeling for Violet is temporary. ”
Liz flinched, her hackles rising. “What if it’s not?”
Babs dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Honey, I lived it.”
Liz had always assumed her brilliant, ballsy mother with her decades of experience in the industry knew best. But maybe she didn’t. And she was pretty sure Birdie or Rafi would never be told not to follow their hearts. Was this really about Babs’s concern for Liz? Or her inability to see Liz for who she had become and what she was capable of?
Liz kept her voice level. Respectful. But firm. “I’m not you, Mom.”
—
Liz couldn’t find Violet downstairs amid the last of the party stragglers. Up on the second floor, Birdie’s light was still on, but Liz didn’t hear the typical after-party debauchery. Down the hall, Violet’s light was also on, door closed. She must’ve turned in.
Liz stepped into a hot shower, washing away her carefully layered makeup and perfume. It was a relief to get into thick flannel pajamas. She was just about to peel back her covers when a soft knock sounded at her door. Liz padded in bare feet across the carpet to answer it.
Violet. Her snow angel was in pajama bottoms and her pink hoodie, hair wet and combed, face free of makeup.
She was the most beautiful person Liz had ever seen.
Nothing about this felt temporary.
“Advil.” Violet held up a bottle. “For tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Liz took it and their fingertips brushed, the sensation zipping up Liz’s spine to her head, turning her brain hot and sparkly.
Violet lingered in the hallway.
If the conversation with her mother hadn’t happened, Liz might’ve said good night and gone to bed. That was the responsible thing to do. But now responsibility seemed like behavior that benefited everyone else. Behavior motivated by fear and outdated ideas. What if she let her heart lead? Let her heart open?
Liz widened the door. “Wanna come in? We could watch a movie. Or—”
“Can we talk?” Violet sounded both nervous and determined.
Liz tossed the Advil on the bed. “Okay.”
Violet came in and waited for Liz to shut the door. “Why do you think I’m here, Liz?”
Liz’s pulse picked up. “So I don’t get a hangover?”
“No, I mean, why do you think I’m staying with you and not at a hotel? Why do you think I haven’t flown back yet?” Her indigo eyes caught the lamplight, a flicker of purple fire. “Why do you think I’m posting poetry on social media? Why do you think I haven’t dated anyone else, all year?”
Liz was rooted to the carpet, unable to move, to think. The air between them seemed to shimmer. “Why?”
“Because,” Violet said, “of you.”
Liz felt like she was spilling out of her own edges, her heart too big for her chest, her blood too hot for her body.
Violet didn’t break eye contact. Her words were soft and impassioned. “I want to be with you, Liz. I want to try this. You and me. I like you, and I trust you, and you make me laugh, and I think you’re the coolest fucking person and I want to fuck your brains out. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay. I just need to be honest with you. On the same page. So there isn’t any confusion.”
Up until this moment, Liz had thought she’d experienced every emotion a human could feel: the highest highs, the lowest lows. But the electric joy gushing into every cell in her body was new. As was the paralyzing fear in its wake.
Liz met Violet’s gaze. “I have feelings for you, too. I think you know I do. I just don’t want to be hurt again.” Liz inhaled deeply, summoning the courage to speak honestly. “Remember how I told you I had a ‘big breakup,’ back when I lived in New York?”
Violet nodded.
“His name was Noah.” Now or never. “Want the long or short version?”
“Director’s cut,” Violet said. “Extended version.”
Liz lit a candle on the bedside table. They sat cross-legged on the bed facing each other, Liz with a pillow in her lap. She hadn’t told anyone the full story since it first happened.
“We met my first week at college.” The memory still felt fresh, as if she were back there, at NYU in early fall.
It was a slow-burn start. Unlike Rafi who was always besotted with someone, or Birdie who was always sleeping with someone, Liz was cautious. But Noah was persistent and uncomplicated. They became a singular identity. Liz-and-Noah.
Birdie called Noah a posh boy. He wore polo shirts; he sailed. He was the eldest of four, his family in finance. Liz assumed the Hegartys’ wealth—their success—was one of the reasons why Babs approved.
“He proposed on Nantucket when we were twenty-five,” Liz recalled. “We got married the next spring, here at the Inn.”
“You were married?” The words seemed to fall out of Vi’s lips before she could stop them.
Liz nodded. “Raf bawled, Birds hooked up with one of my bridesmaids, and Mom gave a surprise performance of ‘Dog Days Are Over.’?”
Violet’s eyes were still wide, reconfiguring her understanding of Liz to include this hidden chapter.
Liz went on. “I wanted kids, someday. Noah wanted four.”
Violet let out a surprised puff. “Four?”
“I figured we’d start with one—eventually. We were both in publishing by then. I was an assistant editor; he was on the agent side. But I go off birth control and instantly, I’m pregnant.”
Vi inhaled, her mouth falling open.
After the initial shock, the idea of motherhood had bloomed inside Liz, surprising her with its power, its heady, tender thrill. “It was like discovering another room in a house I’d lived in all my life,” Liz remembered. She began fantasizing about her child, imagining a sweet, gummy smile and wide, curious eyes. They didn’t know the sex, but secretly, Liz was certain it was female. Her heart was expanding. Her desire for this child was ravenous. “I was twenty-six, pregnant, married to the only person I’d ever loved, living in Brooklyn, working in publishing.” Liz hugged the pillow. “It was the happiest I’d ever been.”
The vision of that perfect life seemed to float before her, even now. Liz let out a harsh breath, blowing it away. “The nausea started one week later.” One minute she was brushing her teeth, the next she was on her knees, throwing up. “Morning sickness, I assumed.”
Liz threw up on the subway. Outside her office building. In the staff toilets. By the end of that first day, she’d thrown up nine times.
“I was sick a dozen times a day for four days straight. Anti-nausea medication didn’t work. I ended up in the ER on a drip. Discharged with stronger anti-nausea meds. But everything kept getting worse.”
She went back to the ER a second time. A third, now with her entire family surrounding her hospital bed.
“They were all there when I was diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum.” The term still felt familiar on her tongue. “Extreme, persistent nausea and vomiting while pregnant, the exact cause of which is still unknown.”
“Oh, Liz.” Violet reached forward to squeeze her knee. “I think I’ve heard of that. Didn’t Kate Middleton have it?”
Liz nodded. “And obviously she had babies: some women can carry a pregnancy to term. But my doctor said I was the worst case he’d ever seen. A ten out of ten— his exact words.”
As long as she was pregnant, every time she was pregnant, the illness would force her to reject all food and fluids.
“I was so weak, so out of it. Vomiting blood, my weight plummeting. I tried to hold on, as long as I could. A week later, I started to miscarry.”
Tears shone in Violet’s eyes. “Oh, Lizzie. I’m so sorry.” She crawled forward across the bed to put her arms around Liz, wrapping her in a hug.
Liz let herself soften into the embrace, smelling Violet’s shampoo, feeling the softness of her skin, before pulling back.
Now for the even harder bit.
“Noah was devastated, of course. He kept suggesting we try again—”
“Try again?” Violet frowned. “Wouldn’t that have…”
“…basically killed me. Yes. I kept delaying it until it all came to a head and I told him I couldn’t. I physically couldn’t. But he couldn’t accept that.”
“But you guys had options. Surrogacy?”
“Exactly, that’s what I suggested. I donate an egg; he, his sperm; someone else gives birth. But he just scoffed and said, Can you imagine what my parents would say about that? ”
Violet made a disgusted face. “Are you serious?”
“He couldn’t get on board with anything other than his wife birthing his children. I kept thinking he’d come around. But he didn’t. Six months later, he asked me for a divorce.”
“Oh, Liz. My god.”
“I lost everything. I needed a change. That’s why I moved to L.A. Started over in TV. Never really talked about it with anyone except my family.” Liz met Violet’s gaze. “Until now.”
Liz had anticipated a painful conversation that would slice open old wounds, draw blood. But while they weren’t easy memories, retelling them didn’t hurt like she’d assumed. Instead, it felt like Violet had taken something heavy and hard from a bag Liz had forgotten she’d been carrying, lightening her load.
Liz tucked the pillow in her lap behind her back, relaxing into it. “That’s why I’ve been resisting this, I think. All of that blew up my life and was just so hard and so painful. I didn’t think I could go through it all again.”
Violet nodded. For a long moment, they both sat there, letting everything settle. The candle on the bedside table burned even and steady.
“Have you heard of abandonment trauma?” Violet’s question was gentle.
Liz was in therapy—she’d heard the term but couldn’t place it. “Remind me?”
“When people who’ve been hurt self-sabotage to prevent a repeat of past pain.”
The words were a key turning in a lock buried deep in her chest. Liz sucked in a breath. Her entire body rushed with the sensation of something loosening and breaking down. People who’ve been hurt self-sabotage to prevent a repeat of past pain.
Maybe it wasn’t just Violet who could hurt her. Maybe, in pushing Violet away, Liz was only hurting them both.
“I guess I’m not very experienced,” Liz admitted, “in matters of the heart.”
Violet’s smile could melt an iceberg. “Well, you’re in good company. I’m not very experienced in matters of the heart, either.” She touched Liz’s knee, her palm warm and reassuring. “Thank you. For sharing all of that with me.”
“You’re welcome. If you want to have your own lesbian confessional moment, feel free.”
Violet chuckled, but her eyes were thinking. “Okay. Sure.” Then, without further preamble: “I have depression.”
Liz had been kidding. “Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter.
“I’ve had it for years,” Violet said. “I’m on medication, which works most of the time. But my brain chemistry is different from other people’s.”
Liz connected the dots. “The other day, in our first session. When you left.”
Violet’s expression was heartfelt and a little sad. “Yeah.”
Liz remembered the way Violet seemed to shut down, close up. “What does it feel like? If you want to tell me.”
“Like the world is a terrible place and there’s no joy in anything. That deep down I’m a terrible person and I’ll never be happy.”
How badly Liz wanted to relieve Vi of this burden, even if she knew that she couldn’t. “That sounds awful.”
Violet nodded. “Hard days are hard. Sounds like we both know that.”
The turtle had its shell, the shark had its teeth, the cat, its claws. But humans were so defenseless, just soft bodies and fragile hearts easily bruised. What a privilege it was to be invited into someone’s painful places. To be trusted enough to be let in.
“When were you first diagnosed?” Liz asked.
Violet smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “How much do you want to know?”
“Director’s cut,” Liz said. “Extended version.”
Outside it had started to snow. The night was a whirling, indistinct blur, but inside Liz’s bedroom, things were finally becoming clear.