2. now
now
After the ceremony, and once Phoebe and her new husband return to the reception, we’re corralled into the dining area.
There’s a place for me at the elongated wedding party table, but he’s there, and so I’m not.
Instead, I’m at Mom’s table in a chair I pulled from the bar.
I can tell she’s annoyed, but she’s not going to say anything in front of other people.
“How are the boys?” She’s asking the woman to her right.
Jennifer Voss. The overzealous mother of identical twins, Isaac and Mitch.
They were the smartest kids in my grade, and back before everything went to shit, we shared most of our advanced classes.
Jennifer used to lament the fact I didn’t want to date either of her sons.
“Oh they’re great. Both at the University of Montana, which is nice. Not too far. Isaac has a girlfriend, and he’s already talking about moving in with her. Who knows if that’ll happen. Mitch is single, but it’s only a matter of time before we’re having a couple weddings ourselves.”
“Hear that, Violet?” Mom gives me a teasing look that makes me want to crawl under the table. “You and Mitch always got along. Maybe you should reach out—”
“I’m going to get a drink,” I interrupt. I slide out of my chair before Mom can protest, but not before Jennifer replies, oh I think he enjoys being single. I don’t think he’s looking right now.
I swallow as I cross the room. I wonder if Mitch actually enjoys being single, or if Jennifer is worried I’ll corrupt her son. That we’ll date for a few months and then I’ll go off the deep end, just like Nat. Drag him down right alongside me.
I sift through the bottles of wine, all laid out in buckets of ice. I’m not fancy enough to know the difference between the names and labels, so I snatch an open bottle of white and pour a hefty glass.
“Thanks for coming, Violet.”
I startle, turning to face the blushing bride.
She does look beautiful. When we were younger, she looked similar to Atlas.
They both share the same dark hair and flawless smiles.
Only their eyes are different. Hers a lovely shade of brown, his a vibrant green.
Now that they’re older, their differences are more obvious.
Where she has softened into lovely curves, he has hardened into sharp muscles.
Not that I noticed.
“Oh, um, yeah. Congratulations on getting married.” And then, because I feel like I should, I add, “Sorry my hair is blue.”
“Don’t be.” She grins at me and leans in conspiratorially. “It reminds me of Nat. I like it.”
For the first time since I arrived, my smile is genuine. When most people discuss my older sister, it’s almost always in a negative light. A cautionary tale. A be careful or this could happen to you too.
Phoebe and Nat drifted apart in the year before my sister disappeared.
One found her place amongst the drama kids.
The other amongst the partiers. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if Nat had gotten a part in their freshmen theater production.
If she’d landed a role like Phoebe, would she still be here? Would it have made a difference?
“Sorry about Atlas, by the way. I thought it’d be cute to see you guys walk together. For old times’ sake.”
“It’s okay,” I say, even though it isn’t. Not really.
“Anyway, I better go mingle and what-not.” She gives me a quick hug, pulling away before I can decide whether to hug her back. “I’m really glad you were part of this.”
And then she’s gone, weaving between the tables, stopping to chat with my mother. I’m not sure if Phoebe notices, but there’s blatant pain in my mom’s eyes. Nat should be here. She would be, if it weren’t for—
“Having fun?”
My shoulders tighten. I turn back to the bar and add more wine to my already full glass. I don’t stop pouring until it starts to overflow. It’s honestly kind of funny. If Hayden was here, she’d bust up laughing. She’s not here though, and I won’t even see her for two more weeks.
I turn back to face the tables, spilling another splash of wine on the bar. I take a long sip and do my best to ignore the man beside me. And he is a man now, not the gangling teenager I left behind. His voice is deep, warm and rumbling, so lovely it hurts my chest.
I’m not surprised he exceeded even the greatest of my teenage fantasies. Dark hair styled in a way that suits him. Green eyes so bright they look fake. High cheekbones. Sharp jaw. A tiny scar through his right eyebrow.
I gave it to him. Not on purpose, obviously, but I hate that a piece of our history is forever ingrained in his skin. Right on his face, for everyone to see. At least it’s not on mine, I guess.
Even though I haven’t acknowledged him, Atlas remains beside me. One elbow against the bar, his body shifted toward me. Mom hasn’t noticed us together, but Mrs. Blake has. She keeps glancing over here, wearing a concerned expression.
For all the hugging she offered in the dressing room, for all the hopes she once had for me and Atlas, she doesn’t look pleased that we’re talking. Social politeness is one thing, after all. Closeness is another.
Don’t give me the stink-eye, I want to shout at her. Your son’s the one who came over here!
“Violet.” His voice lowers to a murmur. I don’t recognize this tone from him.
It’s husky and deep, almost sexual—okay, fine, definitely sexual.
It’s too manly to belong to the boy I once knew.
He leans closer, and I realize he’s removed his suit coat.
I don’t blame him. We stood in that direct sunlight for nearly an hour, and by the time vows were exchanged, I was sweating through my dress.
The sleeve of his white button-up shirt brushes against me. “Look at me.”
I grind my teeth. I can’t decide whether I want to look at him. Is it cowardly to ignore him? Pathetic to follow his command?
Taking a long sip of wine, I slouch against the bar. I’m not going to look, but I won’t run off either.
Atlas sighs. I wait for him to leave. To say something. To apologize or give some lame-ass excuse. He doesn’t. He only stands here, breathing steadily beside me. It’s irritating. He thinks I won’t run, not now that I’ve made a stance.
I hate that he’s right.
Whatever. If he wants to stand here in silence, then fine. I might be too proud to run, but I’m not about to start a conversation. If there’s something he wants to say, he’ll have to—
“How do you like Aberlena?”
It’s not what I expect him to ask, though I’m not surprised he knows where I attend college. Our moms are friends, and even if Mrs. Blake doesn’t want me anywhere near her son, I know she asks about me.
“Aberlena is fine. Rainy.” I take another drink of wine, a bit more than I probably should. I rarely drink, too afraid of the potential risks, but it feels necessary right now. Crucial, even.
“You like your classes?” he asks. “Education, right?”
“What are you doing?” I twist to face him, tilting my head up and up and up. I’m tall for a girl, but he’s taller. The last time I saw him, he was just starting to fill out. He’d spent most of our childhood scrawnier than I was. He simply grew too fast, but now, he’s finally grown into his height.
I wonder if he still races.
You know he does, a voice taunts. You checked his socials on the way here.
I grind my teeth, glaring up at him. He’s not matching my ferocity, and that, more than anything, is pissing me off.
We’re mortal enemies, whether he likes it or not, but he’s not playing his part.
Instead, he’s staring down at me like I’m a long-lost friend.
Like he’s missed me. Like he’s memorizing my features.
“Stop that,” I snap.
“Stop what?” To his credit, his gaze sharpens. He’s back to the present, not in the innocent days of our youth, before he fucking ruined my life.
“What are you doing?” I repeat, rather than answering him. “Why are you over here at all? We’re not friends, Atlas. We haven’t been friends for years.”
He blows out a heavy breath.
“That wasn’t my choice, Vi.”
My jaw drops. The fucking audacity of this man. Wasn’t his choice? As if our friendship ended because I was bored of him or I’d found someone more interesting. As if I somehow wronged him by cutting him out of my life like the malignant tumor he is.
How fucking dare he.
I slam my glass on the bar, and a heaping splash of wine spills over the edge. The clink is loud enough a few heads turn at the nearby table. I don’t check to see if Mom or Mrs. Blake notice. I’m already moving.
Mom asked me to come to this stupid wedding, and I did. She never specified how long I had to stay.
Abandoning my wine—and more importantly, Atlas—at the bar, I head for the nearest exit. I keep my steps slow and my chin tilted high. I’m not going to cry until I’m well out of everyone’s sight.
Pausing at the table of wedding gifts, I shoot Mom a quick text.
Too much. Heading home.
I’m returning my phone to my purse when Atlas catches up to me, calling my name. I whip around so fast I almost fall, my heel sliding across the floor. Only his hand on my elbow keeps me from landing on my ass.
“Don’t.” I rip my arm from his and take a few unsteady steps backward. He raises both hands in surrender, but when he starts to speak, I cut him off. “Save it, Atlas.”
“Really?” His handsome face twists, the crease of his brows hiding his scar. I’m close enough to see those damned freckles. “You’re not even going to let me talk?”
“What could you possibly have to say?” I demand. “Are you going to apologize? Say that you won’t do it again? Because you can’t, obviously. Nat’s already gone, and she’s never coming back. Because of you.”
“I’m not sorry.” Despite the slight shake in his voice, his face is the picture of calm. He’s staring at me, so sincerely, as if I should be impressed by his endless arrogance. “That doesn’t mean—”
“I hate you,” I snarl. Atlas stiffens, reeling backward like I’ve struck him.
I don’t care. There’s no way he doesn’t already know.
We haven’t talked in years. I blocked his phone number.
Sent his emails to spam. “Since you apparently can’t take a hint, let me be clear.
I have no interest in anything you have to say. Not now. Not ever.”
He swallows, looking thoroughly devastated. Good. Maybe he feels an ounce of the heartache he’s put my family through.
I move for the door, but I stop when he calls my name again.
“You don’t have to go,” he says. Soft, gentle, like he’s trying not to break me. As if there’s anything left to break. “Stay for the reception. It’s Phoebe’s wedding. I’ll leave you alone.”
I kick out of my heels, grabbing them with my free hand.
“I know how much you love tattling to my mom about her misbehaving kids, so let her know I left early, would you?”
“Violet—”
I start running. He won’t follow me. Not on Phoebe’s wedding day. Not even Atlas is that selfish.
I, however, totally am. I am twenty-one and somehow more irresponsible than I was at sixteen. Maybe, without Dad and Nat around, I had no choice but to become the agent of chaos. Someone had to fill the void, and luckily, I’m pretty damn good at it.
“I’m sorry.” I’m not sure I entirely mean it, but I know it needs to be said. Mom arches an eyebrow at me, clearly waiting for a better explanation. “I’m sorry. You know how mad he makes me.”
“You can’t just run off, Violet. Do you realize—You have to know—”
“Yeah, I know.” I pucker my lips and settle deeper into the couch. It’s less than an hour since I left the wedding, which means Mom left early too. Probably to come here, to lay eyes on me and confirm I haven’t disappeared for good.
She stands across from me, dressed in her pretty green dress, one hand resting on her hip. Her eyes brim with tears, and she looks away, struggling to control her breathing. When I was a kid, her solution to unpleasant emotions was to hole up in her bedroom.
Now, she’s standing here looking like she’d love to do just that, but she doesn’t. She hasn’t in a long while. I guess it was one of the first things she worked through with her therapist. If I went to therapy, maybe I’d be better at communicating too.
“When Nat left, my whole world fell apart.” She’s choking up now, restlessly fidgeting with her necklace. “I couldn’t…If you were to leave, I couldn’t—”
“I’m not going anywhere.” It’s the truth, but I know that doesn’t really matter. For all Mom knows, I’ve got a bag stashed somewhere, and I’m just waiting for the perfect moment to take off.
Mom lets out a little sob. Her makeup is already smeared, so she must have cried on the way home. My throat tightens. I know I’m in the wrong. I know that, and still, I can’t escape this wild anger within me. This knowledge that I was wronged.
I didn’t want to go to the stupid wedding. She shouldn’t have made me.
Mom turns for the stairs, and my stomach dips with guilt. There’s something broken in my brain that doesn’t know how to properly apologize, how to admit when I’ve hurt someone. How to say sorry and actually mean it.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” I ask pathetically. I’ve got a blanket over my lap, and I fold it out of the way. “There’s a new rom-com I’ve been wanting to watch.”
Mom faces me slowly. She’s crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“We need to talk about him.” She dabs at her eyes. “About Atlas.”
“I can’t, Mom.” My voice is hoarse, cracked. If I say another word, I’ll be crying right alongside her, and what good will that do? “Just…just come watch the movie. Please.”
Mom sighs and kicks out of her shoes. She sits on the couch beside me, and I throw the other half of the blanket over her legs. There’s a strained pause of silence, when only our breathing and her quiet little sobs surround us.
“You can’t hate him forever, Violet.” She sounds so tired, so much older than she once seemed.
“Sure I can,” I whisper. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ll never see him again.”
“Don’t say that.”
So I don’t say anything. I put on the movie and we watch in silence until we both fall asleep.