Acts of Violet(55)
“Nice try comparing baggage,” I say, “but I know mine still outweighs yours.”
“Sweetheart.” He gives me a tender look, leans in, and touches the side of my face. “There’s no question you have more baggage. It’s not even a contest. I was just trying to make you feel better ’cause I’m a fucking nice guy.”
When I roll my eyes and make to get up, he pulls me back to him, all irony gone from his face. “I don’t really know what to do here, Sasha. I always feel like I’m either getting too involved or not involved enough when it comes to the sister drama. I’ve been hanging back lately, but only because I overstepped my boundaries before.”
“You were just trying to keep us happy. Both of us, but especially me. Things would’ve been way worse without your interventions. At least I have some good memories of her, thanks to you.” Though some of the best ones are tainted, knowing how much Gabriel had to strong-arm my sister behind the scenes.
“What about all the money I had us sink into looking for her?” A wince puckers his mouth. “That last private investigator almost tapped us out completely.”
He’s not wrong. Printing flyers, renting billboards, and especially hiring investigators—it all adds up. We’re still paying off the second mortgage and extra line of credit we took out. “You know what?” I say. “Despite all that, I can rest easy knowing we did everything to try to find her.” Even if she didn’t want to be found.
“What can I do to help you? There has to be something.”
Don’t question my sanity. Don’t lock me up. Don’t give up on me.
“This. You’re already doing it. The rest is up to me to sort out. Whatever this insanity is, I’m sure it’s temporary.” My voice is so assured and emphatic. If only I could believe it myself.
May 8, 2001
Dear Violet,
I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon. Even though you only planned to be here a week, part of me hoped you’d stay in Willow Glen longer while you figured things out. With everything you’re going through—the divorce, the Vegas bullshit—you should be closer to the people who’ll support you the most, and if Gabriel and I aren’t at the top of that list, I don’t know who is. Plus, can’t you write a book pretty much anywhere? But I won’t be pushy. If LA is where you need to be right now, do your thing on the west coast, and we’ll keep cheering you on back east.
By the way, Quinn cannot stop talking about you. She’s obsessed with the philodendron you got her (I’ve never seen a kid prefer plants over toys—how weird-but-cool is that?) and you have no idea how much you dazzled her with your sleight-of-hand. The other night, we were watching Sabrina, the Teenage Witch (she’s a little young for it, but it’s her favorite show), and she asked, “Is Aunt Violet a witch, too?” I told her you weren’t a witch but a magician. Her first-grade teacher said she’s been bragging “my aunt Violet is magic” to the class ever since. Quinn keeps asking when you’ll come over again, and I tell her I don’t know, but I hope it’ll be soon, and that you’re always welcome here.
I mean it, sis. You always have a home here. And if you need me to come to you, I’ll be on the first flight over.
222,
Sasha
May 10, 2001
Violet,
I appreciate you keeping your word and not mentioning anything about that night at the bar to Sasha. You have no idea how happy she was to spend time with you and watch you bonding with Quinn. They’re dying to visit you in LA this summer.
I won’t be coming with them. It’s better if you and I have some distance for a while.
I don’t want to kick you when you’re down, but what happened last week was unacceptable. I can see how you might be in a place where you’re reassessing your life. If you actually decide to have children and apply the same tenacity to motherhood that you have to magic, I’m sure you’ll be a great parent.
That said, I never want to hear a proposition like that from you again. Please don’t insult me by continuing to insist it was a joke, you were drunk, etc., and let’s not pretend this was about getting a sperm donor. I saw how you looked at me when you asked. I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me all these years. And I saw what the guy you married looked like.
I’m not gonna apologize for feeling a certain way about Sasha instead of you, but I am sorry for any pain it’s caused you. Maybe trying to maintain a friendship between us wasn’t the best idea. I tried to be sympathetic, and I let a lot of things go, but I’m gonna need some time for this one.
You’ve seen how we live: our house is comfortable, but there’s always something in need of repair. Same with our cars—one of them is always in the shop. You helped with your mother’s funeral costs, but you have no clue how much we spent on her hospital bills. And sure, you can be very generous with gifts, but it’s hard to enjoy something like a five-hundred-dollar pair of sunglasses knowing that money could’ve been put toward a new set of tires or replacing our broken hood dryer at the salon. We’d never come out and ask you for anything, but you can’t be so oblivious to our situation.
Aside from the obvious, that’s why your little “joke” bothered me so much. You offered two million dollars for my sperm like you were offering to buy me a beer. Like it was nothing for you to part with that much money.