Acts of Violet(49)
As much as I want to stop there, this tirade is shaking loose something long dormant in me, something that wants out.
“Here’s what happened when I told my sister I was pregnant. Bear in mind, I was scared shitless. Nineteen, working as a hairdresser, living with Gabriel and my parents, trying to take care of my sick mom. Part of me wondered if having a kid so young wouldn’t only wreck my life, but also Gabriel’s—by foisting parenthood on him—and my future daughter’s, by me being a woefully unprepared mother. Sure, Gabriel and I were madly in love—still are—but I worried he’d be staying out of a sense of duty more than anything else and eventually, he’d resent me for derailing his life. At the same time, I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which I didn’t keep this child. So that’s what was going on in my head when I called Violet to tell her the news. You know what was the first thing she said? ‘You sure you ready for a kid after what happened with Dolly?’ If I could’ve reached through the phone to strangle her, I would have.”
“Was Dolly a … childhood pet?”
“A salamander we caught in Brigantine, at the very end of the summer. I think we were nine and ten? We put her in a shoebox—deciding it was a girl, even though we didn’t know for sure—and spent the entire ride home arguing over whether to name her Dolly, like she wanted, or Yentl, like I wanted. Mom suggested Fanny Brice, since Funny Girl was our favorite movie back then, which was the perfect solution, but we dismissed it and kept arguing until Dad had enough and threatened to toss our new pet out the window if we didn’t stop. We never did agree on the name, so Violet called her Dolly and I called her Yentl, and it seemed like every day one of us was measuring the wall between our rooms to make sure the table with her tank was exactly thirty-one-and-a-half inches away from each of our bedrooms.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t compromise—we both would’ve been happy calling the salamander Fanny Brice, and we would’ve enjoyed taking care of our first pet so much more. And after Yentl died, we could’ve mourned her with dignity and a single grave marker, instead giving her two over-the-top headstones made of glitter and Popsicles. Oh, and it was my fault she died. I used to take her out of her tank at night after Violet went to bed and put her in my retainer case, so she could sleep near me, sneaking her back early in the morning. I did that for a few days until I woke up to find Dolly/Yentl dead. I don’t know if I didn’t punch enough holes in my retainer case or if it got too cold at night or what. Dad told us she died in her sleep, but I think Violet knew I was the one who killed her. That’s why she took that dig at me when I told her I was pregnant. I couldn’t even keep a salamander alive, how did I expect to raise a child? So much for trying to get any reassurance from my sister. She never knew how much that wrecked me.”
Renatta steeples her fingers under her chin and goes for the million-dollar question. “Why didn’t you tell Violet how you felt?”
“Because one of us had to be the nice one.” I rub the back of my neck; how heavy this crown of self-righteousness.
“That reminds me of something you said about your sister in our first session. About how Violet turned your relationship into a competition.”
“I never said that.”
“You did.” Checking her notes, she quotes from them. “You said you viewed sisterhood as the chance to have a built-in best friend, whereas Violet treated you more as a built-it competitor.”
“Yeah, like it was a race to see who can have the bigger, more fabulous life. I didn’t want to compete because I’m fine with my smaller, less fabulous life. She can have that win.”
“Is it possible you set up your own competition for the two of you, one you got to win by taking the moral high ground?”
I recoil from her analogy. “You’re making it sound like I’m a sociopath for being nice. Like I have an ulterior motive for being a good person.”
“I wonder why you equate restraining your true feelings with being good.”
“It’s not about restraint, it’s about putting other people first. That’s what I equate with being good. Violet led a selfish life and was praised for being bold and raw and speaking her mind. But if I speak my mind, I get slandered, my family gets threatened, and my business is vandalized.” How much longer do I need to sit here? I pull out my new phone to check the time. “Oh, surprise, surprise. It’s two twenty-two. We went two minutes over.”
A hint of puzzled awe as she smiles in slow motion. “I must’ve lost track of the time. Any thoughts on—”
“The terrible twos? Nope.” I get to my feet. The clock’s run out on introspection and I have no desire for any overtime.
September 12, 1995
VV,
I hope you’ll see this letter in the mountains of fan mail you must be getting.
Seriously, though, you rocked Jackson Cleo’s show, and you’re gonna rock this world tour. It must be awesome to finally get recognition for being the magic genius we always knew you were. All us little people in Willow Glen are super proud, and you’re already becoming a local hero around here. Sasha and Regina put a huge framed photo of you in the salon window, the Finchley Free Press is doing weekly write-ups on you, and Benny’s Deli just named a new hot hoagie after you, the “Violet V.I.P.” (Unfortunately, the V stands for veal, and none of us have the heart to tell Benny you don’t eat meat.) For all the “overnight success” stories being written about you, I know how long you’ve hustled to get where you are. Congrats.