5. Violet
Violet
“Life happens, coffee helps.”
“Hot,” she says, blowing on her fingers.
Mom doesn’t turn around. “That was for the table.”
Dad is carving like he’s being graded on symmetry.
“You’re cutting it too thick,” Daphne says, teasing from the doorway, book in hand.
“It’s meat,” Dad replies.
Lily slides into her chair and tucks a foot under her leg. “If we’re critiquing, the potatoes look especially emotionally supportive tonight.”
Mom blinks. “What does that mean?”
“It means they feel safe,” Lily says, smirking.
Rose leans toward me as I grab a roll. “She’s watched another romance movie.”
“I always watch romance movies,” Lily adds.
“Lil, you cried at a car commercial yesterday,” Daphne says.
“It was about a single mom finding a safe car,” Lily explains.
“It was about tires,” Daphne corrects.
Dad looks at me, just briefly. “You’re smiling,” he says.
“I’m eating.”
“With your whole face,” Rose adds.
“I always eat with my face.”
“Not like that,” Lily says.
I shoot her a look, and she smiles back.
Mom sets down the plates on the table. “What happened today?”
“Nothing.”
“That was quick,” Daphne interjects.
Rose looks at me and tilts her head. “Hardware store guy?”
I look at her confused. “What?”
“You always come home annoyed from the hardware store.”
“That’s because no one knows where anything is.”
Lily looks at me, like she knows I am hiding something. Thankfully, she leaves it, and we go on to talk about everyone else’s week and what is going on in their lives.
After dinner, we all help clean up, and somehow my sisters and I migrate to the basement. We are all sitting on the big L-shaped couch that faces the fireplace with a big screen above it.
It’s where we’ve always had our movie nights. We have never strayed away from a rom-com, and we always land on a movie that will make us both laugh and cry.
It was quiet, just for a second.
“Okay,” Rose says.
“Okay, what?”
“You’re weird.”
“I’m not weird.”
“You seem preoccupied,” Daphne says.
“I’m not,” I say.
“Is it Everett?” Lily asks.
I feel my cheeks getting warm.
I look at the floor in hopes of hiding that I am blushing.
“Okay, please explain,” Rose says.
“He came in for a coffee,” I confess.
“How was it seeing him after all these years?” Rose asks.
I think about it for a moment.
“It was fine. Easy,” I explain.
Lily smiles at me. “You don’t smile like that for everyone.”
“Smile like what?”
“Like your smile is going to reach your ears and jump off your face,” Rose describes.
“Listen, sure, I liked him in high school. Everyone has crushes. But that was over twenty years ago, heck, he lived in LA for years. I am sure that he has a wife, or even a girlfriend. It shocked me to see him, but that’s all,” I say, trying to sound convincing.
My sisters are looking at me. Rose and Daphne seem to believe me, at least enough not to carry it on. But Lily, she looks at me like she can tell I am lying, she knows how I still feel.
Thankfully, that conversation is dropped, and we move on to talk about work and school. Once we catch up, we decide to curl up under a couple of blankets and watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.
A classic.
The stairs up to my apartment creak the same way they always have; the second I unlock the door, the scent of dried lavender and my vanilla candle that was burning this morning wraps around me like a warm hug.
My place is small, but it’s mine.
Earthy tones everywhere, soft browns, muted greens, blush throws folded over the back of the couch. The kind of space that feels like it belongs to someone’s grandmother who bakes bread and grows her own herbs.
I look at my sourdough loaf sitting on my counter, fresh from the oven this morning.
My sourdough starter called “Taylor Dough-See” is sitting beside it.
Gilmore Girls is one of my comfort shows, and it’s almost always on in the background.
I look around my apartment at the vintage frames, pressed flowers, and a chipped teapot I found when I was thrifting that I refuse to throw away.
Grandma cottage core is what I call it.
It’s cozy, warm, and peaceful.
I slip off my shoes and set my bag on the little wooden table by the door, the one I refinished myself during my second year of interior design school. Before everything got complicated.
The bathroom light flicks on, bright against the softness of the apartment. I step in front of the mirror and start removing my jewelry, earrings, and then my rings.
I look at myself through the glass. I have never looked like my sisters.
I’ve always been curvier. Hips that are round instead of narrow. A waist that doesn’t disappear. A body that takes up space.
It never bothered me growing up.
Not once.
Until Ryan.
We met in interior design school paired with real estate for a semester project. I had to decorate a model room in a house he was “selling”. He showed up in pressed button-downs and had a confidence that made me melt.
He told me I made the room feel like someone could actually live in it.
He started bringing me coffee before class. Flowers “just because”. Lunch when I was busy studying. He would take me to dinners and look at me like I was something rare.
For a year, I believed him.
The shift was small.
He stopped bringing coffee. If I asked, he would sigh like I had ruined his entire day.
He started adjusting things.
“You would look better if that wasn’t so tight.”
“That isn’t really flattering.”
“Maybe try something looser.”
Tiny comments, Easy for him to say. Easy for him to forget.
Not easy for me to unhear.
I started to notice myself differently.
The way fabric pulls. The way I stand. The way I cross my arms without realizing.
I peel off my leggings and oversized graphic t-shirt, hanging them over the hook instead of dropping them on the floor. Steam fills the bathroom as the shower runs, blurring my reflection from the fog.
Under the hot water, I let the day rinse off me. The café, my sisters. The way Lily looked at me was like she knew.
And the way that he didn’t look at me like something needed fixing.
When I step out, the towel wrapped tight. I catch my reflection one more time. Bare skin, hair in a high messy bun, no makeup.
Just me.
It took a while, but I am not immediately looking for what needs to be adjusted.
I head to my dresser, pull out a clean pair of pajamas, and slip them on before getting into bed. Reaching to my bedside table, I grab my vanilla lavender lotion and rub it into my hands.
Lying in bed, I go back to the night I decided to leave Ryan for good.
There were always a lot of “breakups” along the way that only lasted a day or two.
But this one broke me, this one made me walk away and never look back.
It was like the fog was lifted, I could see clearly, see what my friends and family saw for years, and I had always brushed off.
Lily came over as soon as I called her. She sat with me all night and stayed with me as I cried. She told me I was worth so much more and deserved more than he could offer.
He made me so dependent on him over those past four years.
I’d learned from my therapist that is what controlling people do.
They shower you with gifts and kindness, they make you believe that you are their world and they would never treat you wrong.
And then once you are comfortable, once they know you feel safe, they slowly start changing.
They start showing you their true colors.
You don’t leave, though, because you think they might just be having a bad day, or maybe you did something to make them mad, so it’s not who they truly are.
After I left, he kept calling multiple times a day, trying to get me back. He would tell me he would change and never call me names again. Then he would turn things around in the next message and tell me I was making things up, that he never said or did what I was claiming.
Eventually, I blocked him. My sisters and therapist encouraged me too. They made good points that his calls and messages were stalling me moving on and healing from that relationship.
Sometimes his words slip back into my thoughts: Maybe this shirt is too tight, maybe I should wear a sweater over my clothes to hide my arms.
I quickly snap out of my thoughts. I haven’t seen or talked to him in over two years; he shouldn’t still be haunting me.
I settle under the covers, the faint hum of the café below drifting up through the floorboards.
My little corner of Lavender Creek, my flowers, my coffee, my carefully curated space, it’s all mine.
Every detail I’ve poured myself into, it reflects who I am.
Thoughtful and not afraid to claim what I know I deserve.
I’ve loved, I have made mistakes, and let people shape me when I shouldn’t have. That is done, no more bending, I know my worth. I know the kind of man that I want in my life. The kind that will see me, all of me, and always choose me, every day. The kind who will love me strong and hard.
Someday, I hope that I will find love and we can stand by each other and build a life together.
For now, I have my home and my café. My sanctuary. My future is slowly unfolding. And when I wake up tomorrow, I will reach for my cup of coffee and be thankful for everything I have gone through because it brought me to where I am.
I will never settle for anything less than the life I deserve.