Chapter 29
VIOLET
FINN DRIVES US ALL THE way into Sydney, taking us to a restaurant on the waterfront. We sit out on a patio, the air cool tonight, and I wrap his hoodie tighter around me.
I am disturbingly aware that this is the first time, ever, that I’ve worn a man’s sweater. It smells like him: that fresh citrus mixed with something darker that I can’t quite put my finger on.
What kind of cologne do you wear? The question is out before I register that it sounds like I want to bottle him up and take him everywhere, which is exactly the case.
He smirks at me, naming a brand I’ve never heard of, and I sear it to memory so I can look up the fragrance notes later.
When I don’t say anything, he nudges my foot under the table. Smells good, aye?
If I didn’t know any better, I would think he’s feeling slightly vulnerable by this question, so I don’t lie to him. Yes, I say in a shaky exhale, and determined not to look like a simpering puppy dog, I add in what I hope is a playful tone, But I can’t say it’s the best cologne I’ve ever smelled.
That smirk again. It makes my stomach drop, like I’ve fallen through the ceiling.
Do tell, darling Violet. Who smells better than me?
We were at an event once, it was a dinner party at this guy’s penthouse.
And thank god we had a ton of staff with us that night, because I would have thought I was being dramatic.
But every single woman working made a point of telling me how incredible this guy wearing a blue suit smelled.
I’d noticed the first time I walked by him and thought I was losing my mind. It was like catnip.
Finn takes a sip of his beer, eyes not leaving mine. It sounds like you really loved your job.
My stomach plummets again, for a worse reason this time. Yeah, I guess I did. God, it’s coming up on almost two years since I even had a job. The disappointment in myself threatens to eat me alive with each passing day.
Finn puts his arms on the table, shifting himself a little closer to me. What happened, Violet?
What happened?
I haven’t told anyone this story. My family had pestered, but it was Nan who had gotten the most out of me—that it wasn’t working out and we had to part ways. There’s so much shame and regret there I’m not even sure I can get the words out.
I feel Finn’s hand on mine, stopping me from what I’m doing. I realize I’ve ripped my entire napkin into tiny pieces, some of them blowing off in the wind.
As if reading my mind, Finn asks, Have you ever told anyone what happened?
I shake my head. He sighs, his hand still on mine, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. You don’t have to tell me Violet, but I think you should tell someone. Alba or Florence. I just, he pauses, searching for the words. I’ve a feeling it might not be as bad as you think it is.
Oh it’s bad, I tell him. He only shrugs.
Maybe. But you hold yourself to such a high standard.
And I think you believe everyone will think differently of you, but I can promise that’s not the case, he leans back in his chair, chuckling to himself.
You’re not the first person to be let go from a job.
Hell, I’ve been fired from at least three jobs.
He winks at me before adding, All because of my winning personality, of course.
I laugh, but it’s a little forced. He’s too close to the truth for my liking. Some part of me worries that if I tell my friends, they’ll finally see whatever part of me it is that sends others running.
I could tell Finn, though. Because really, after next week, I’ll never see this guy again. So even if he does think less of me, it doesn’t really matter, does it?
A long-time client wanted to have a big birthday dinner, very swanky, at her residence. Gabe decided he wanted to be the chef for this one, which was fine. Part of being the boss is that you get to have first pick of these things, I barely let myself take a breath, worried I’ll lose my nerve.
I wasn’t even going to go, they didn’t need me there, but the client, Sherry, requested I come, too.
So we had a handful of servers, and I was there to oversee and help out where needed.
All night, the client was deferring to me, asking me questions, and I could tell Gabe was getting more and more annoyed.
He takes a lot of pride in his cooking, and in the business.
So I think he felt like I was getting the credit, or something.
You don’t say, Finn mutters, rage flashing through his eyes.
At one point he pulled me aside, after he heard Sherry praising me to some of her friends.
She’d said some really nice things, the big one being that I was the reason the business was such a success.
Gabe lost it. He accused me of trying to steal the limelight from him, or something along those lines.
I’m fiddling with the tablecloth now, having ripped up my entire napkin.
I was really upset, and Sherry noticed. She asked me to come have a drink with her, I think realizing what had happened, and tried to keep me away from the kitchen for the rest of the night.
But because I was so upset, and kind of nervous to be around all these people I was technically working for, I got pretty drunk.
It was… messy. I’m sure you’ve heard Alba and Florence teasing me about Villain Violet, but this was extreme.
A memory of dancing with one of Sherry’s friends on a table near the end of the night flashes through me, along with a red-hot lightning bolt of embarrassment.
I don’t go into detail about what exactly went on that night—the full-blown argument over arugula, the failed attempt to get everyone to play sardines in the dark, the list goes on and on—and I have to save some of my dignity here.
The next day, Gabe summoned me to his place, which was never a good sign.
He basically ripped me a new one for getting drunk and making a scene, which was fair.
He said I’d embarrassed myself and the brand as a whole and then said, ‘I think it’s best if we part ways.
’ And that was it. I went home, laid down on my bed in shock for about twenty minutes. And then my phone started ringing.
Finn gives me a quizzical look. It was my mom calling to say Nan had fallen and broken a hip and was going to need surgery and around-the-clock care for a while. And the next thing I knew, I was packing up my life and getting on a plane to Victoria and that was that.
In hindsight, I never got a chance to process what happened with Gabe or to figure out what I wanted. Suddenly, I was back in the same routine, looking after my family, getting sucked into their chaotic vortex, and before I knew it, I’d lost more than a year–almost two years now.
Up until that point, I’d basically worked eight years straight without a real break, and was staying with Nan, so I didn’t need to worry about money. But every time I tried to think about what to do next, someone else came over needing something—and I would push it away again.
I wanted to get back to work. I missed it; missed having a purpose. But everyone else was so loud, I never had the space to think.
And then my mom and siblings had made the dating profile and something in me snapped.
My family expects so much from me, and yet, they didn’t think I could do this one single thing on my own.
Of course I couldn’t—I spent all my time dealing with their bullshit.
And they never even asked if that was something I wanted.
I didn’t want to date when I felt so lost and so adrift; it wasn’t like me, the compulsive workaholic, to have spent over a year doing virtually nothing. I didn’t feel like myself and definitely didn’t want to put that out there.
But they didn’t seem to care what I wanted.
Did you ever call her? Finn’s voice drags me back to the moment.
Confused, I ask him, Call who?
The client, Sherry.
I stare at him blankly, feeling my palms start to sweat at the thought alone. Why would I call her?
He shrugs. To clear the air, apologize if you wanted, but get her side of things. It sounds like she was very much Team Violet. I suspect she’d have felt differently about this situation.
I mull this over as the waitress brings over our food. Finn opted for a haddock burger, while I’d gone with the Clubhouse—a classic.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Finn says, Well, I’ve got to say, as much as I love my job, I have not missed working the past few weeks. He smiles at me as he says this.
Did you have any issue getting so much time off?
Finn looks at me a little quizzically. Why would I?
Well, some jobs are more intense than others, I guess. But when I was working, it was never easy to get more than a few days off here and there. The only reason I could come here for so long is because I don’t exactly have a job right now.
He shakes his head at me. No, darling Violet, it was not a problem. There’s a team of us at the clinic, so the burden will not fall to one person alone. If someone gets sick, or injured, or has to take holiday, we’re covered.
He pauses for a moment, trying to meet my eye. So that’s what it was like? Everything falling solely to you?
Yes, I think, but don’t want to admit that out loud.
I think, Finn continues, swallowing his last bite of burger, When you start your own business, Violet, you can hire more than one of you.
It feels like such a far-off dream, so the only reply I can manage is a simple, Maybe.
What are your plans? After next week, I mean?
I look at him, unsure what he’s asking me. He clarifies, “There’s only one week left before the wedding. Are you staying here after the festivities are over, or are you headed home?
I feel my stomach bottom out. He doesn’t seem to notice my sudden, debilitating panic. I wipe my already-sweaty palms on the sides of his hoodie that I’m still wearing.
I’m not sure yet, I say, hoping he backs off.
But it plays on my head in a loop for the rest of the meal: One week left.