43. Violet
FORTY-THREE
VIOLET
I stare at the little red candy in my fingertips, sour white specks over the sweetness that lies underneath. I pop it into my mouth and ignore how the roof of my mouth is cut up from the bag of Sour Patch Kids Olive and I consumed yesterday.
I’ve always loved these candies. They take me back to being a kid. Back to when the only thing that mattered was what color we picked from the bag even if we did argue over which one was the best.
The hallway deposits Olive into my room as I rummage through the bag to find another red one, the redberry flavor my absolute favorite.
She balks. “You’re eating SPK’s right now and didn’t even invite me?”
I take in her pajamas, a pair of flannels that cling to her skinny legs and an oversized sweater that drapes off her body. I don’t understand how she can sleep in all of that. I’d overheat the second I got under the covers. I can’t even wear socks to bed without feeling like I’m suffocating, but the craziest thing of all is that I don’t need to wear one article of clothing to feel like I’m submerged in a pool of defeat.
“Sorry,” I mutter, squishing the candy between my teeth. “Didn’t know I was supposed to send out invites.”
A sheepish expression comes over her face, the apples of her cheeks tingeing pink. She feels bad for me. Sad that I’ve kept to myself and my bedroom. It’s the only place where I can let myself feel what I need to. After knowing how it felt to deal with Dad’s infidelity, I don’t want to hide from the emotions of Colson’s and my breakup. As much as it hurts, I need to feel it all if I’m ever going to get to the other side of it.
“I hate seeing you like this,” Olive tells me. She comes in to sit on the edge of my bed where there’s an extra blanket she brought from Florida. She drops her chin but only for a second. “I know what you’re going through. I mean…I may not have gone through a breakup, but I know how much it sucks to be where you’re at. The heartbreak, the sadness, the feeling of not having anything to be hopeful for and everything being out of your control.”
My brow wrinkles, and I instantly feel bad because this is a sensitive topic for her. We don’t talk about what happened to her much but only because I never want to trigger her back into that time of her life. “Olive Garden,” I murmur, patting the spot next to me where my Sour Patch Kids reside. I set them on my nightstand.
A sad smile quirks her lips and pretends like it has been there this entire time. She climbs up and flops down beside me, nuzzling her cheek into my arm. “It gets better,” she vows. “Even if it seems like it won’t. I promise it does.”
“I know,” I mumble. I watched her get through the hardest days of her life. And if she could do it, it’s possible for me, too. I just don’t know when that’s going to happen. When things will shift and this pressure on my chest will be more hope than dread.
The truth is, I’m spiraling after what happened on New Year’s Eve and my choice to get up on that stripper stage. I know Olive meant well taking me out, but what happened at The Landing Strip fills me with a sense of shame and embarrassment. That feeling of waking up in an unfamiliar room has stayed with me the last three mornings also. And then there’s the fact that I would’ve never been there if it weren’t for Colson. If I wasn’t broken over what transpired in that stupid walk-in closet.
“What’s on your agenda for the day?” Olive asks after a few quiet moments. “Should we do something? We can walk around campus or go for a jog. Maybe go over to the strip and get lunch?”
“I was thinking about going out for a smoothie later.” Then I plan to come right back here and laze the day away in my bed. Once classes start back up, the opportunity to take my time with my emotions will speed up, and moments like this will be almost impossible.
“Just a smoothie?” She lifts her head to look at me. “Nothing else? Have you eaten anything besides candy this morning?”
“I’m really not that hungry,” I admit. My constant stream of thoughts has zapped my desire to eat anything with real substance. The only reason I want to get a smoothie is because I know it’ll provide me with the energy I need without feeling like I’m really eating food.
She sighs and tugs me into a side hug. “I think now is a good time to admit that I’d love to kick Colson in the balls a whole lot harder than I wanted to inflict pain on Webber’s.”
I pick up the bag of Sour Patch Kids and offer her a handful. If there’s anyone who knows exactly how she feels, it’s me.
She stays with me until I’m ready to get up, get dressed, and head out. When we get back to the apartment after, I lock myself in the bathroom, fill up the tub and soak in the warm water. I don’t bother wiping away my tears when they streak down to the corners of my mouth. I lie there as if letting them go will mend the cracks in my heart and glue them back together.
It doesn’t.
“This is the best mac and cheese I think I’ve ever eaten,” Olive chirps from her place at the table. She stabs a piece of lobster meat and holds it up for Mom and me to see. “Look at this. Whoever thought of adding seafood to a delicacy such as this cheesy goodness is a freaking genius.”
“I didn’t know you ate lobster,” Mom remarks across from me. Her hair is pulled back, and she dabs her napkin on her lips. She ordered a salad big enough to feed a family of four and is already done.
“I didn’t until a friend had me try some when I moved to Florida. Been hooked ever since.”
I roll my eyes at her even though there’s a smile on my face. It was Olive’s idea for us to get out and have lunch with Mom. She wanted the extra girl time before heading south after break, which is fast approaching.
The strip isn’t overly packed since it’s the middle of winter and most tourists book hotels in the warmer summer months. Before we sat down to eat at one of the more upscale restaurants along the mile-long shopping strip, we walked around for a bit, and it was nice, not bumping into elbows at every turn.
Mom reaches her hand across the table and clasps mine in hers. “Aren’t you hungry, Violet?”
I glance down at my plate and the way my fork has gotten quite good at pushing my steak and vegetables in circles. I chewed through a few pieces, and while being out and about has helped my mood some, my stomach still boycotts the idea of wanting to process more than a handful of bites.
I sense Olive’s stare from where she sits, hesitating on speaking for me.
A stinging sensation collects at the corner of my eyes. When I don’t answer, Mom tries again. “Violet, honey, what’s the matter?”
My heart, which was content a minute ago, speeds to a pace I can’t calm on my own. For the longest time, I didn’t understand where Mom came from when she preached about love being endless. I thought she was ridiculous, holding onto a silly little phrase that made her look like a doormat, but with her looking at me the way she is and with thoughts of Colson in my head, I wonder if maybe she wasn’t that far off at all.
Maybe love is endless, knowing no bounds, considering the lengths I’d go for the man who has my heart, yet continues to push me away.
It’s the way her eyes fill with concern on my behalf that makes the emotion bubble up the back of my throat. I try to clear it away and tell her nothing is wrong, but then I glance over at Olive. She mirrors Mom’s expression, one filled with limitless love and care. And I know there’s no way I’ll be able to keep the hurt at bay.
“I—”
“Violet, it’s okay, we’re here for you,” Olive reassures in a soft voice, forgetting about her lobster mac and cheese.
I lick my lips and squeeze my eyes shut. The smell of Olive’s food sneaks into my nostrils, making my stomach even more unhappy than it already is.
Mom’s gaze shifts to Olive, and I see the questions in her eyes. What’s going on with your sister?
I bite the bullet, knowing it may just be inevitable to keep the tears away in this cute little restaurant running parallel to the Sycamore River. “I met someone, but it didn’t work out. And I’m just…”
“Oh, honey,” Mom croons sadly, squeezing my hand all over again.
Olive moves to sit in the chair next to me. She tosses her hand over my shoulder and pulls me into a side hug.
“Why didn’t you mention it sooner?” Mom asks.
“Because…I haven’t been the greatest daughter,” I confess. And I found it hard coming to you when I wasn’t sure where we stood after Thanksgiving.
“I hold no grudges over what happened during Thanksgiving break. I just want you to be okay. Dad said you two spoke about things during Christmas. I didn’t bring it up, because I didn’t want to resurrect something that was already laid to rest.”
I nod, understanding where she’s coming from. It’s not like she was the one who had to apologize for her behavior. I was the one who turned into a brat and stormed out that evening.
I manage a thankful smile. If she weren’t so forgiving, I don’t know what I’d do. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Always, sweetie. Now, what’s going on with you and this boy you met?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Surely not too complicated to work it out?” Mom questions, and I love that she does. I love that instead of judging Colson without meeting him, she’s giving him the benefit of the doubt and not assuming the absolute worst of him. She’s giving him a chance beyond what his flaws may be.
“There’s…” I take a minute to think about what I want to say. “He recently lost his mom, and it’s been difficult for him,” is what I decide to tell her, leaving out the bits that would probably make her head spin. It’s not too much, but enough for her to know that things are rocky.
“Oh, no. How awful.”
“Yeah, and so…it’s been kinda hard to deal with. He wants to be left alone. We were solid, and so close.” The best of friends until it happened. “And now it’s like that never happened.”
Her lips flatten into a thin line. “He’ll come around, honey.”
“And if he doesn’t, I’ll give him hell where it’ll hurt the most,” Olive promises, forever in my corner.
Mom gives her a look, and she seals her lips, fake throwing away the key.
“The best you can do is give him time and your patience,” Mom suggests in that logical way of hers.
And I understand what she’s saying but, “I guess I just don’t know how to handle how it’s all making me feel.”
“You handle it day by day. When things were bad with your father,” she starts, making me realize that, at some point, she must’ve told Olive about things. “I held onto the notion that even if I felt like total crap one day, the next could be so much better. I relied on the faith that all would work itself out. There were many uphill battles along the way, but your father and I found a place where we were able to put our feelings on the frontline and respect them, but it takes time. And you’re so young, Violet. Sometimes it takes living through different experiences and gaining that wisdom to understand you don’t like where you are and want to be somewhere better. And, sometimes, that somewhere better is exactly where you were to begin with.”
I already know I don’t like where I am. I hate how quickly the love Colson and I shared fizzled into nothing. I don’t want this for either of us. I wish he could see that. That he deserves so much more than he’s giving himself. And how I deserve that, too.
“But until then, you still have to take care of yourself, honey. That way you’re strong enough when he comes back around and is ready to fix the turmoil the death of his mother caused.”
Strong enough.
She says it as if strength is the easiest thing to obtain.
But it's not. Remaining strong when you’re being cornered with insurmountable heartbreak is like climbing a dirt mountain while it’s raining.
It’s impossible, and I'm tired of trying to hold onto the umbrella when the wind is relentless, and my shoes slip through the mud at every turn.