Acts of Violet(4)
I grab the flyers without looking at them and follow the sound of lighthearted bickering coming from the kitchen.
“Do you know how many sudoku apps there are out there? You can do, like, millions of puzzles for free, without killing trees.” Quinn’s earnest voice trails down the hall. I reach the doorway and find her at the stove with Gabriel, both facing away from me.
“But I get so much more pleasure from sudoku when tree murder is involved,” Gabriel says, stirring a pot of chili, which infuses the room with an aromatic combo of garlic and cumin. “And you won’t bring the trees back to life by taking that away from me.”
Quinn holds up a paperback with 222 Sudoku printed across the glossy cover in blue letters. “It’s just such a waste. I hope you’ll at least recycle it.” With a scoff, she tosses it onto the dining table.
“Careful, kiddo, you’re starting to sound like that preachy vegan you brought to Thanksgiving last year.” He spots me before Quinn does and winks, tilting his head at our daughter as if to say, Can you believe this one?
“I’m nowhere near as annoying as Nancy Travino. How dare you?” Her head whips over to see what Gabriel is looking at. “Tell him, Mom.”
“I don’t know, I think you’re one earnest lecture away from Travino territory. You need to cut us old people some slack when it comes to printed media. Besides, I have something better for the recycling bin.” A satisfying thud as I drop the stack of flyers on the counter. “Why do we have these? And since when do I not get a proper hello?”
“Hi, Mom.” Quinn shuffles over to me. “Should we hug now or after we argue?” She uses her palms as imaginary scales, weighing the decision.
Opening my arms, I say, “I’ll take a hug now. And we don’t need to argue at all.”
Embracing my daughter feels like hugging a rack of clothing with all the layers she’s wearing, a nesting doll of baggy T-shirts, sweaters, and hoodies. “I see you decided it would be easier to wear all your clothes instead of packing a bag.” Over Quinn’s shoulder, Gabriel looks up from stirring and breaks into a grin. Good one, he mouths at me. I air-kiss him and then real-kiss Quinn’s cheek, catching a whiff of the cinnamon gum she’s always chomping on. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Baltimore for some job fair?” It’ll be months before Quinn graduates from college and moves out, though I’m already bracing myself for a wicked and prolonged bout of empty-nest syndrome.
“It’s a renewable energy conference and career fair. I decided to have dinner with my parents and drive down early tomorrow instead. Because I’m a good daughter like that.”
“You’re okay, I suppose.” I ruffle her short mop of dark wavy hair, which she inherited from Gabriel, and she squirms away, casting a nervous look at the sheaf of pink flyers. “All right, enough with the niceties. What’s the deal with those?”
Uncertainty flutters across her face and settles into the tight corners of her mouth. “Funny story. Maybe not funny, but … So I was at Lowe’s the other week—the smoke tree needs to be repotted, and if I don’t do it no one will—and I ran into Mrs. Toback. We checked out the gardening area, and she did her nosy thing, asking how my last year at SJU was going and did I know what I was gonna do after graduating. I told her I dropped out months ago to fulfill my beekeeping dreams and start my own line of artisanal honey.”
“Quinn…”
“Okay, so maybe I told her I could go different ways with an environmental science degree, and I was still figuring that out, and maybe the topic of bees didn’t come up. But we got to talking about Aunt Violet because Mrs. T always finds some way to mention her—and of course the vigil came up, and her being one of the organizers. She asked was I sure I didn’t want to say a few words or read a poem or something because it would mean so much for a family member to speak, and we all know it’s not gonna be you.”
My nostrils flare. “She did not say that last part.”
“Stop trying to freak out your mother, kiddo.” Gabriel gives me a don’t-mind-her shake of his head.
“Of course she didn’t say that … but it was kinda implied.” Her shoulder twitches up in a partial shrug.
“I swear, that woman is such a pest. She gets judgy because I don’t feel comfortable addressing a horde of thousands, and now she’s hounding you to do it.” I open the fridge and rummage around for salad ingredients, feeling a sudden urge to chop things up with a big knife. “So how’d you get out of being roped into her vigil shenanigans?” I ask her.
A pause and her dark doe eyes glint. “I told her to fuck off.”
My gasp is involuntary. “You did not.”
“Mom, can you stop acting like we’ve never met before? I was super polite to Mrs. Toback. Like always. I even insisted on carrying a twenty-pound bag of fertilizer to her car for her, which is when I told her I’m not so great with the public speaking…” She grabs my wrist before I can reach for the knife block. “Actually, could we have the rest of this conversation away from the sharp objects?”
I back away from the counter slowly until my hip grazes the kitchen table. “What’s going on? What did you do that I’m gonna hate?” A downward glance at the stack of flyers, and I see now these are different from the ones wallpapering Willow Glen. There’s a new name in the list of featured speakers. “Quinn, what the fuck?”