Chapter 22 #2
He pulls out his phone—useless up here with the poor cell service in Nova Scotia—and snaps a photo of me.
He looks down at his handiwork. Perfect, he says, in this soft voice almost to himself.
That feeling swoops again in the pit of my stomach and I have to recite my new mantra: This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
I force myself to play into the game, saddling up beside him and coming in close to him.
Despite the fact both of us are sweating, he smells so good that I have to stop myself from breathing him in.
He drapes his arm around my shoulder without my asking, almost instinctively, as I say, Now one of the two of us.
He looks good today in his black track shorts and dark teal shirt clearly made for exercising, the material soft as he pulls in closer to me.
Finn stretches out his arm to hold the phone above us. In the background, you can see the sparkling water of the Atlantic Ocean and the brush of green trees.
In the foreground, we both stare red-faced and beaming at the camera. My smile, this time, feels a little forced.
I look back out across the trees, the water, off into the distance.
I wonder, for what feels like the hundredth time, why he’s doing this with me.
It has to be a woman, surely. I’m sure his brother and his mother—and maybe Florence, given her reaction to him—are part of it.
But I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something.
Wordlessly, I reach into my bag and pull out two granola bars. I hand one to Finn.
Thanks Violet, he says, before shaking his head and adding, again, Absolutely perfect.
The question slips out, What is?
You—the perfect fake girlfriend.
I’m not sure how to react to that, a mixture of both disappointment and elation filling me at the same time.
Not real, not real, not real.
I have to move the conversation along, unable to sit in this burst of feeling any longer.
You okay? You’ve been a little quiet this morning.
He looks at me, seeming disturbed that I’d noticed the change in him.
Yeah, just reflecting on a lot I suppose.
Like what?
Like, my entire life really, he lets out a mirthless laugh. How I got here, what I’ve still got to do, a lot of self-flagellation, mostly.
How you got where? I don’t ask the question out loud.
Finn goes on. Has Florence told you anything about our dad? I shake my head. Although I’d noticed his absence with their mom here by herself, it didn’t feel right to ask about it. He could be dead, for all I know. It’s not exactly the kind of thing you pry about.
He’s a piece of shit, that’s the short of it. Nasty with his words and his fists. When Allie turned eighteen, he told Mum that our father had to go, or he would leave and take me with him.
He takes a breath, running his hand through his hair.
And when it was all done, I felt suffocated by the emotions in the aftermath—guilt mostly, that I had not stepped up or done something sooner.
I’d buried my head in the sand. It came out as anger, mostly, but I managed to work through a lot of that with sport.
The routine of training, it’s a kind of meditation, I suppose.
Finn takes a swig of his water, looking out at the landscape. I don’t dare take my eyes off him.
But, the guilt. That’s a wee bit trickier.
I can’t work it off in the same way. And with Mum, there’s a lot of guilt there and all.
Feeling like I’m trapped, since Alistair moved so far away.
And here, I’m so bloody relieved she’s my brother’s problem, at least for the time being.
Normally I’m on my own in Scotland, feeling like I’ve got to take care of her.
He darts his eyes towards me, still not fully looking at me when he asks, Does that make me a complete arsehole, being so glad to have a break?
He sounds so tired when he asks this, and honestly, it reminds me so much of my own feelings around my family.
No, I tell him. It doesn’t. Family can be a lot.
I get it—feeling like you should have done more and the need for space.
I’m not sure I’ve ever said these words out loud to anyone.
I love my family, more than anything. But sometimes, I secretly think they ask too much of me.
And I could use help sometimes too, you know?
But I’m always the helper, not the helpee.
I kick my feet lightly on the stone where I’m sitting, the tapping rhythm soothing.
When I went to New York, it was the first time I’d been away from my family.
And I hated how utterly relieved I felt not having to take care of them.
I only had to worry about myself—what I wanted, what I needed.
I had time for friends, maybe for the first time ever.
This last part isn’t exactly true, since I never really had friends growing up, but Finn doesn’t need to know that.
And then when I went home, I felt like I was drowning.
It was like I’d never left, we fell right back into the same routine—me as an extra parent, looking after the others, looking after my parents, who can never seem to stick to anything.
And I knew I couldn’t stay there. I shrug, like this is nothing.
The reality is, it’s unbearable to give so much of yourself away and get so little in return.
To feel like a burden if you ask for anything.
But when I’m away, they have no choice but to figure it out on their own.
So you’re telling me you’ve run away from your family, Violet?
Finn gives me this soft, understanding smile. I laugh to try and brush away the deep longing that surges through me.
This, I think, is what it’s supposed to feel like. To be seen.
Desperate to escape this train of thought, I stand up abruptly, wiping my now-sweating palms on my shorts, and nod towards the path we came from.
Should we head back down? I’m ready for a swim.
When we get to the bottom of the mountain, Finn checks his phone again for any cell service. I notice he’s changed his lock screen to the picture of me, looking sunkissed and windswept and almost glowing, the trees and ocean behind me.
I ignore the fluttering in my stomach, the ache in my chest, and repeat my mantra again.
This isn’t real.