Acts of Violet(62)

“She really is the best. In spite of us. At least me.”

“Or because of us.” He’ll take my self-pity bait, but only to a degree. “We made a choice to keep certain things from her, but only in her best interest.”

“What about other choices we made?”

“Which ones?”

“Like when my sister Indecent Proposal-ed you.” I lay down my fork in the center of the plate. “Do you ever wish…?” My hand makes a floundering circle to fill in the rest.

“Do I ever wish I let Violet buy my sperm? Are you really asking that?”

“We wouldn’t be worried about money all the time. We wouldn’t feel guilty that we can barely help Quinn pay for school.” Never mind that my sister put a price tag on Gabriel’s loyalty to me—a value my practical mind knows I’m not expected to live up to, but one that pokes me every so often in my bleaker moments. “Who knows, if Violet had a kid of her own, maybe…” I stop myself from saying more, but Gabriel infers the rest.

“Maybe she wouldn’t have disappeared, and Quinn would have a half-sibling—who’s also her cousin—and we’d all be one happy fucking family?”

“You never know.”

“Oh, I’m sure having sex with your sister—under the guise of procreation, of course—would’ve had absolutely no lasting impact on our marriage. Not to mention my impregnating your sister. Or how she would’ve managed to turn motherhood into a twisted contest between you two. Yeah, those family dinners wouldn’t have been awkward.”

“So, you don’t regret saying no?”

“Are you out of your mind? Never. I swear, it’s a good thing the two of you weren’t twins, ’cause I would’ve been paranoid she’d kidnap and/or kill you and then try to pass herself off as you.”

“Wow. Dark.”

“Well, your sister wasn’t exactly made of sugar and spice and everything nice.”

“More like arsenic and wasps and everything conniving.”

Gabriel scrunches his nose. “Come on, at least make an effort to rhyme. Like … arsenic and lies and Monarch butterflies.”

“Really? She gets to be a butterfly?”

“Monarchs are poisonous.”

“I’m so happy I married a trivia nerd.”

“You just keep me around so you can win pub trivia nights.”

“Marriages have survived on far less.” Even though I’m smiling, my eyes well up. “Hey, I really am sorry about what I said earlier.”

“What did you say earlier?” His confusion is momentary. “Oh right, when you were insensitive about my being adopted and raised in a culture vacuum.”

“I was. I didn’t mean it.” I stroke the back of his neck. “For what it’s worth, culture can be overrated. What did I grow up with? A language that sounds like it’s mad at you, absurd superstitions, and food that’s bland and starchy when it isn’t being drowned in dill.”

“Hey, borscht is delicious.”

“Borscht is disgusting.” I flick a balled-up straw wrapper at him and go still, my attention diverted by a TV screen behind him. It’s showing local news coverage of the vigil.

There’s a shot of the crowded bandshell, followed by a male newscaster standing at the edge of the park with a familiar tall blond man.

“I’m here with Cameron Frank, journalist and host of the breakout hit podcast Strange Exits, which traces the life and disappearance of Violet Volk,” says the reporter. “Cameron, you’ve been following the Volk saga closely for a while now. What do you think it is about her that still resonates with people all these years later?”

I slouch down in the booth, stopping short of sliding under the table. “It’s never going to end, is it? If this podcast gets any more popular, I may finally let you talk me into moving.”

“Are you serious?” Hands up in shock, he leans away from me. “Like, to a different town?”

“A different town, a different state, a different hemisphere. What’s that place where everyone’s supposed to be so damn happy? Bhutan? We could go there. I don’t care.”

“You’ve never left the country but now you’d move to the Himalayas?”

Before I can answer him, his phone buzzes with a text.

“Quinn says not to wait up.” He shows me his screen.

“Are you playing it cool or do you genuinely have no reaction to that?”

“I’ll react when there’s something to react to.”

“Come on. Doesn’t it bother you that we’ve never met anyone she’s dated? Do you think she’s been on dates? Or hooked up or whatever kids today are calling it?”

“I don’t know. She’s twenty-one. There’s time for all that.”

“Yeah, but she’s twenty-one. Shouldn’t there have been someone by now? I hope she knows she can love whoever she wants and be totally herself with us.”

“She knows. Could be she’s still figuring that out for herself.”

“Or figuring it out with Sally’s help.”

“Either way, let her come to us when she’s ready.”

“Fair enough.” I exit the booth and give him a sultry pout. “Wanna go home and do that naked stuff we do when Quinn’s not around?”