Chapter 2
two
. . .
Mason
For ten minutes I stood outside the café too stunned to move before I realized what had transpired. Years later I still couldn’t get the image of her tangled in hotel sheets out of my head. Or all the promises that we made, but I knew we couldn’t keep, that night in Chicago. She had responded twice to the dozens of texts that I had sent in the weeks after she left Chicago. The first text let me know she landed back home safely, and the second told me she needed space and time to think.
At the time, I hadn’t realized she was cutting me out of her life. We had our fair share of fights before, the normal kind that are bound to happen when you’ve grown up with someone — fights over who got shotgun, who had the better taste in music, who had to tell our parents we broke their favorite vintage Tina Turner vinyl. Usually, we’d ignore each other for a week, and then one of us (usually me) would realize they were being an ass, apologize, and we’d move on.
Chicago was completely new territory for us. I thought I was saving her, saving us, from future disasters. There was nothing that could keep us truly apart, or permanently sever so many years of friendship. We would survive this and be happier for it. Or at least that’s what I thought when I tried to make amends a few months after Chicago.
I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin as I wait patiently outside Violet’s home in Castle Harbor. This is probably the first time in my entire life I’ve rang the doorbell and waited for someone to let me in, as opposed to using my copy of the key and making myself at home. Something told me that wouldn’t be appreciated now. I had sent Violet several text messages and left endless voicemails after she left me alone in Chicago. I respected her need to take some time for herself, and I also understood why she’d want to put that distance between us. That didn’t stop me from hating the silence. The last thing I ever wanted to do was make Violet unhappy. I couldn’t bear it.
Which is ultimately what led me here. When Violet’s mom had invited me to her ‘Congrats on getting into grad school’ party, the thought of ruining another thing for her made my heart squeeze and I contemplated not coming. But regardless of Violet’s current feelings toward me, I swore to show up for her. To always be there. So here I was, waiting outside for seconds? Minutes? Hours? Maybe no one heard the doorbell ring. At that thought the front door swings open and out comes the one person who has occupied every single inch of my headspace for the past three months.
Violet’s vibrant smile immediately falls from her face as she realizes it’s me. Her new default expression to seeing me was sadness. That was to be expected I supposed, but still hurt nonetheless. I tried to smile and make something intelligible come out of my mouth.
“Hey, you cut your hair.” The curly mane that used to reach down to the middle of her back now fell to just above her shoulders. It’s clear she didn’t expect me to start the conversation with that. “Yeah. I cut it last month. Needed a change.”
“Well, it looks great. You look great.” I’m speaking quickly so she doesn’t have an opening to tell me to fuck off. “So will I be seeing you in New York over the next few years?”
“No. I decided to stay in Boston for grad school.” She steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind her, making no move to invite me in. “What are you doing here Mason?”
“Your mom invited me. And I wanted to give you this.” I move the large light blue gift bag from behind me and hold it out to her.
“Mason, I ? —”
“Please. Just take it.” She makes no move to take the bag from me, so I step closer and extend my hand. “Open it.”
She looks at me warily but relents. Digging through the endless amount of tissue paper I shoved into the bag, she pulls out the large metal tin inside. For a second, I wonder if I should’ve gotten her something more extravagant, but then I see the way her eyes light up while she tries, and fails, to stop the smile from coming over her face. “Is this ? —”
“Honeycomb Black Tea from the Old Barrel Shop. Your favorite.” Violet’s love for tea was no secret, she actually cried when the local tea company discontinued her favorite blend. I was with her in the shop when the cashier told her the news. I went back the next day offering up a generous amount of money in exchange for a four-year supply.
“I thought they stopped making this.”
“They did, but I was able to persuade them into making me some more.” Little did she know I had a whole other batch in my apartment stocked up for her. For each birthday, graduation, and National BFF Day until she forgives me. I watch as the smile on her face falls back into a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“I just realized that every time I drink this, I’ll think of you. And it’s just too much. This is all too much.”
She sets the bag down in front of me and steps toward the door, primed to leave.
“Violet. C’mon. Can’t we just go somewhere and talk? ”
“I don’t really have much to say.” She takes a deep breath before delivering her final blow. “I wanted something more from you, and I thought you wanted the same. I misread the situation, and now I’m trying to move on. And I can’t do that if I’m constantly reminded of you.”
“So that’s it? You promised me we would be okay.”
“And I wanted to keep that promise, Mason. Trust me I did. But I need more time. Can you give that to me?”
Time. ‘I need time’ wasn’t exactly a ‘I never want to see you again’, so I suppose that was a win.“Yeah. I can do that. Just please…come back to me at some point. Don’t shut me out forever.”
“I’m sorry.” She retreats inside immediately after, leaving me dumbfounded and absolutely gutted.
“I’m sorry too, Vi.” I whisper to myself, as I pick up her gift and head back to my parent’s home.
Three years later I was still waiting. I hadn’t heard from Violet since that night. Now here I was, watching her run away from me again. Over time I realized she had meant a lot more to me than I ever did to her. Why else would it be so easy for her to cut me out of her life?
After I crashed Violet’s party, I tried to get my younger sister —who also happened to be Violet's best friend— to help me. And while I know Monroe loves me, she made it very clear that she would never break Violet’s trust. I understood why Monroe wouldn’t tell me about what was going on in Violet’s life, but a heads-up about potentially running into her again would’ve been nice.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dialing Monroe. A few seconds later, her voice rang over the speaker.
“Wow. A call from my older brother, who I haven’t heard from in weeks . To what do I owe this pleasure?”
In the background I can hear a car blaring its horn. During her senior year, Monroe started a year-long internship with one of the best PR firms in New York. After putting out a few fires, she’d secured herself a full-time position with the firm once she graduated.
“Bad time to talk? I can call you back?—”
“Nope, just heading back to the office after a lunch date with Jacque.”
“So, we’re still with the douchey art bro?”
Monroe had met Jacque Loui (whose real name was John Levinston, but apparently that name doesn’t sell you paintings or make you interesting in New York City) about eight months ago at some art gala her firm was promoting. I could practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.
“Yes still with Jacque, and no I don’t have any plans to break up. I still don’t know why you and Mom don’t like him.”
“Yeah, that one’s a real mystery…” It’s not like I didn’t try to like the guy at first. But whenever anyone disagreed with him, he immediately shifted into defensive mode where he had to name-drop the Ivy League school he went to and count off how many of his uncles ran hedge funds in the city. My mom and I both have an ongoing bet on how long Monroe will tolerate his bullshit and for all our sakes (and my $100 on the line), I hope she calls it quits soon (like in the next month).
“The city misses you. I found this hole-in-the-wall deli in midtown that has the best everything bagel. I’m also like ten-ish minutes away from work before I have to go, so what’s up?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Violet was at Westchester?”
“Violet…” Monroe trailed off as if the name was foreign to her. As if she had been the one Violet blocked out of her life.
“Violet. Violet Amin. Practically lived with us growing up. Your best friend. Hasn’t talked to me in like two years.”
“I actually think it’s closer to three, but I suppose math was never your strong suit?—”
“How come no one told me she was a grad student at Westchester?”
“I thought she told you she would be in Boston.”
“Yeah, and there are at least ten different schools in Boston. Last we talked she chose Bolton. Now suddenly I see her at Westchester and am so dumbstruck I can’t even process what is happening before she’s running away.”
“In all fairness, you never asked me which school she decided to go to. Besides, Westchester has a massive campus. How was I supposed to know you would run into her the one time you went back to visit your old coach? Evidently, the universe has jokes.” Her faint laugh comes through the speaker.
“A heads up would’ve still been nice.”
“What does it matter? It’s not like you’ll be seeing her every day.”
“I might.”
“Mason. Stalking is illegal in the state of Massachusetts,” Monroe warns.
“That’s not what I meant.” I bite my lip debating if I should tell her the news. “Coach Jameson offered me an assistant coach position here. I accepted.”
If you had asked me four years ago where I thought I would be today, my answer would’ve been something along the lines of, ‘gearing up for another great season with the Rangers coming off a Stanley Cup win’ or even ‘riding out another year on my multimillion-dollar NHL contract.’ Instead, I spent the morning begging my former coach for a job because I had somehow managed to blow through all the money I earned before I was forced to retire, and these medical bills weren’t paying themselves.
“Mase, that’s amazing. I’m so glad you’re back on your feet again.” Monroe’s voice is laced with relief.
“It’s a provisional position for now. I have until the end of the season to prove I can handle this, or I’ll have to figure out a Plan B. Or I guess Plan C. This is my Plan B.”
Maybe I should’ve cared more about school when I was still a student here, or maybe I should’ve listened to my doctors more when they warned me to take it easy before my last concussion that left me permanently benched, but alas here I was .
“Well, if anyone can get that team into shape, it’s you. I know it.”
“I appreciate it ‘Roe. Now…how do I handle this Violet situation?”
“Not sure.”
“Monroe.” The frustration coated my voice and hopefully clued her into how desperate I was to get an answer. “I went from talking to Violet almost every day for fifteen years, to her not even acknowledging my existence over night.”
“Well, maybe if you had come home a few months ago for the Summer Festival, you could’ve seen her. You know it’s her favorite time of year.”
The last week in June featured Castle Harbor’s annual three-day Summer Festival — created to pay tribute to Castle Harbor’s longstanding history as one of America’s first fishermen’s towns. The spectacle involved everyone in the small town and was also a major tourist attraction. Many of them came in not quite knowing what they walked into and left wanting to come back every year. Crowds flock to the beach early Saturday morning to see which family will get the honor of placing first in the boat races. Violet’s favorite event (to spectate) followed the boat racing, which featured a 50-foot telephone pole covered in grease and suspended 10 feet above the harbor. By Saturday afternoon, every male between the ages of 18 and 25, brave and drunk enough, lined up for a chance to catch the flag at the end of the pole and secure bragging rights for the rest of the year. I’d managed to sneak in when I was 17 and nearly broke my neck falling off that pole. The glee on Violet’s face, mixed with the subtle hint of concern as she and Monroe fished me out of the water, had all been worth it.
“Coming home wasn’t an option. And no, I don't want to talk about it. Just…tell me how I can fix things with her. Or at the very least, not make things worse.”
She paused for a second. “Honestly Mason, Violet never really told me what happened. She just said some things went down between you two that night in Chicago, and she needed some space. She kept insisting that I didn’t need to worry about it, and I didn’t want to push so…”
“Alright well, thanks I guess…I miss you, by the way.”
Monroe snorts at that, her tone turned teasing. “Yeah, yeah, I miss you too. Do me a favor? Don’t back down okay? Keep working until things can at least go back to normal, ya know, before Chicago. I feel like a child of divorce having to decide who I want to spend my holidays with and it’s exhausting.”
“I would if I could, ‘Roe.”
“Just try. It can’t get much worse.”
Apparently, Monroe isn’t privy to hockey superstitions. Now I’m definitely fucked.