Chapter 11
VIOLET
I AM TOUCHING FINN… FINN what? What the hell is his last name?
I assume it’s the same as his brother’s, so that would be Campbell.
Okay, I am touching Finn Campbell’s arm.
And it’s one hell of an arm. It’s somehow better than I remember it from last night at the bar, which is a freakishly obsessive thing to think. I need to cool it.
He only smiles at me, exuding some sort of satisfied male smugness. I laugh again. It’s a fake laugh, but I’m hoping Florence doesn’t notice—she’s the only one in this group who would notice.
I’ve got to get myself together before Alba gets here.
What’s so funny over there? Florence calls over to us from the barbecue, her eyes flicking down once to where my hand is, then back to my face.
Violet, I think, you are a fool to believe you can pull this off.
Nothing! I say at the same time Finn replies, I’m very funny, Florence.
I stare at him, almost bewildered. He adds with a wink, And very charming too.
I can’t have him see me react to his so-called charm, so instead I shove him away from me. Asshole, I mutter, but he only laughs a delighted laugh.
I try not to acknowledge the thrill that goes through me.
I make my way over to the barbecue, helping carry plates of grilled meats back to the table.
No sense waiting for Alba and Rose, we’ll be here all day if we wait for those two, Albie says. May as well eat! More than enough to go around. Eat, eat!
I fill up my plate with a hot dog, some chips, and an ear of grilled corn on the barbecue.
I load up with the essentials: ketchup, mustard, relish. I crush up some of the chips and sprinkle them on top. I use a knife to scrape off some of the corn onto my hot dog as well.
I feel someone watching me and glance up to find Finn’s eyes on my plate.
I feel a twinge of embarrassment. I have a flashback to getting strange looks during lunchtime at school, as I pulled out my and Dad’s latest sandwich experiment: peanut butter and cheese, tuna and ramen, and my favourite—cream cheese with bacon and sundried tomatoes.
What? I ask him, defensively. It’s good.
Everyone’s eyes turn to my hot dog monstrosity now. Great.
Finn shakes his head, putting his own plate with two burgers aside.
I want what Violet is having, he says, standing up to reach over for another plate and a hot dog. And, I’m sorry to say, but absolutely nothing else will do.
Florence laughs, Copycat.
Look at that thing! He says, almost in awe. How could I possibly eat anything else now that I’ve seen that? He winks at me again. I try not to have a physical reaction, but I can feel my cheeks heat.
Finn follows every step exactly as I did it. How long had he been watching me? I would have to guess the entire time, based on how he replicates what I did perfectly. He takes a bite and moans, and I refuse to acknowledge to even myself the thrill that it gives me.
So he likes your hot dog? I take a firm tone with my own inner dialogue. So what?
Alistair reaches across the table and grabs Finn’s plate.
Hey!
Just a wee bite, c’mon.
I snap out of my blatant staring and look down at my own hot dog, smiling to myself, feeling something warm and happy in my belly.
It’s not long before someone asks me, So where are you from, Violet?
It’s Finn’s mom, Eileen. I try to chew and swallow my giant bite of food as quickly as I can. I put my hand over my mouth, swallowing, before I answer. Victoria. It’s on the other side of the country.
British Columbia, right? Finn asks. I nod.
And is your family still there? Eileen asks again.
Yep, I say, not wanting to think about how annoyed I am with them. My complicated, messy, but wonderful, family.
And anyone else there for you back home? A boyfriend? I almost choke on my next bite. I can’t catch a break.
Mum, Finn says in a tone that sounds irritated. You can’t ask people that. He looks exasperated, like they’ve had this conversation before.
She only shrugs. I’m jist askin’. Her accent is a lot thicker than either of her sons.
Nope, I say, trying to sound chipper and smooth things over. No boyfriend.
A bonnie lass like you—
Mum, Finn says, and the one word is a warning. I hate the tense feeling that sweeps over the table.
Violet had no problem finding boys when we were in New York, Florence pipes up, grinning. Just never a boyfriend, I think.
What about you, Eileen? Albie asks. Any gentlemen suitors? Her two sons guffaw. Florence looks delightedly at her uncle.
At my age? Eileen says, looking almost scandalized. Nae chance.
Age is only a number, Albie replies. I would be embarrassed at the cackle that comes out of me, but someone else—Finn, I realize—has barked out a laugh of his own, drowning me out entirely.
AFTER LUNCH, WE’RE OFFERED A plethora of beverages from Albie’s scuffed blue cooler. No matter how much we drink, though, we don’t seem to put a dent in the number of cans in there.
Alba and Rose eventually join us, Alba wolfing down a burger and a hot dog before Rose has even finished loading up her plate.
What? I’m starving!
I find myself heading inside with Eileen, helping bring in some of the garbage and condiments.
I feel a little awkward about our interaction earlier, and don’t want her to feel like she did anything wrong.
I know it’s a generational thing to ask those kinds of questions, and she wouldn’t have known what a hornet’s nest she was stirring up.
We chat about Scotland while we’re cleaning, the conversation never reaching a natural flow. But I’m used to that with my family, so I forge ahead, trying to find something we can chat about.
What kinds of things do you do back home? When you don’t have your hands full with Finn, I joke. She doesn’t laugh.
I dinnae ken what’s wrong with my wee Finn.
He’s a handsome lad, but he needs to start thinking about settling down.
He acts like a bloody eejit, but he’s a sensitive bairn, always was.
I was bletherin’ about it with my sisters and we’re going to set him up with a nice lassie, someone from our church.
She says this with a touch of pride, like the matter is settled, and I feel my stomach sink.
I know I should keep my mouth shut, since I hardly know this woman, but my own family meddling is still so fresh that I can’t help it.
I don’t think that’s a good idea, I say, as gently as I can.
He’ll figure it out. Besides, Finn doesn’t seem like the type who needs help in that department. I mean, look at him.
My cheeks flush, realizing I’ve said this to his mother of all people.
She clears her throat. Do ye go to church?
Oh, no, I say a little too quickly. Our family wasn’t religious at all growing up, more spiritual, I guess.
My Nan is one of those people who believes God is synonymous with the universe.
So, I guess we were taught to worship the earth and the trees more than— I trail off when I notice the horrified look she’s giving me.
Great, I can add heathen to my never-ending list of faults.
So ye’ve never been to church?
I am saved, thankfully, from replying to this—my answer of course being no.
Mum, away you go now. Albie’s asking for you outside. Finn’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes roaming over my face. If I knew him better, I would think he was trying to see if I was okay.
I try not to notice his perfectly-lengthed pair of shorts, or his tan—that I’m sure deepened in the sun this morning and looks even better against his light-coloured shirt.
We were only talking about church, Finnie, Eileen says to her son, tight-lipped and a little defensive. Some part of me is relieved I’m not the only one with some family tension at the moment.
I can tell Finn wants to say something, but instead he ushers his mother back outside, offering to help me finish up the dishes instead. When she’s gone, he lets out a long sigh.
Finn turns to me and gives me a look. I don’t know what it means.
Why, Violet, was my mother asking you about church?
I shiver, though I try not to, at his low voice.
I don’t know how we even got on the subject, I say honestly. I’m sorry to say, but I don’t think she likes me very much. I try not to wince, instead laughing it off as I list on my fingers, First of all, I have no marriage prospects, and secondly, I’m a heathen. My third strike is looming.
He shrugs, like none of this surprises him, and is at the sink washing before he finally replies. I don’t care if she likes you or not Violet, because I like you.
Again, that thrill runs up my spine. Cool it, Violet. He only likes you as a friend—and as a fake girlfriend. The key word being fake.
We finish up in the kitchen, but before we head back outside Finn stops me by the door.
Are you sure you want to do this, Violet?
I’m still not sure if it’s his mother or brother or someone else entirely, a woman back home maybe, that Finn is trying to prove something to—but either way, I want to help. And selfishly, I want to get close enough to him to find out.
Before I can second-guess myself, I put my hand on his arm, here in this quiet house with no one to prove anything to, and tell him, I’m sure.