Acts of Violet(83)
“You never even told me about it. Even if you don’t remember much, it’s a pretty major thing for a kid to go through.”
The hurt in her voice pierces me, but I can’t resist matching it with my own. “Are you sure this is really about me? Or are you upset I didn’t tell you because it involves Violet?”
“It’s something I would’ve liked to know. You could tell me now.”
“There’s not much to tell. You read the story.” Not only am I lying to my daughter again, I’m doing it badly.
“It’s so fucked-up, how I have to play the investigator because you keep things from me. You think I want to spy on your phone or spend hours in the library researching our family?” The jut of her jaw brings even more angles to her face. “I’m so sick of asking questions and getting the same nonanswers. Like, why did you keep me from seeing Aunt Violet for half my childhood? Go ahead, give me the usual line about how she was too busy touring.”
“She was busy touring. I didn’t see her for almost five years before the night of her last show.” Sweat breaks out on my upper lip.
“And why is that? Could it be because of anything in that takedown you definitely didn’t write that you swear is utter bullshit?”
Why have I gone this long propping up the mythology of such a flawed person at my own expense? Am I such a martyr that I’ll sacrifice my daughter’s respect for me to keep her ideals about Violet intact?
“Listen. Honey. I want to tell you everything, but I can’t explain things I don’t fully understand myself. I’m … working through it, I’m just not there yet.” The problem isn’t that she’s too young. The problem is that I’m too cowardly. No wonder she doesn’t share more with me.
“You forgot to add the part about knowing what’s best for me. I used to believe it, too, but this sounds like it’s more about what’s best for you.”
Ouch. I have no response to that.
“Can I at least come with you when you talk to Antoinette?” she asks.
“Let me think about it.”
“Whatever.” Quinn takes a final sip of coffee and stands. “Just to give you a heads-up, I’m headed to LA this weekend. I’ll be gone a couple of days. Hopefully, that’ll be enough time for you to think about it.”
“Los Angeles?” Damn, she is all about surprises today. “But your birthday is this weekend. I thought we were going to do a Saw movie marathon and get sushi from the fancy place.”
“We can do that when I get back. Or something.”
It’s hard not to feel like she’s punishing me. “A-Are you visiting someone out there?” I stammer, not that she owes me any explanation or needs my permission. She’s an adult, after all.
“Yes, I’m visiting someone. Maybe I’ll tell you about it when I get back. I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that. I’m about to graduate college. Unlike you, I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life in Willow Glen. You might as well start getting used to me not being around. Thanks for the coffee.” She turns to go, but not without throwing a final jab. “You can hold on to that clipping. Maybe it’ll jog your memory.”
I want to call out to her, but after that verbal pummeling, I’m unable to speak. Even if I could, I don’t know what I could say to smooth things over between us right now.
* * *
When I return to the house, Gabriel is out running errands and Quinn is stomping around her room, tossing clothes into an open suitcase on her bed. She doesn’t acknowledge me when I peek into her doorway, so I let her be and make my way to the linen closet at the end of the hall. On the floor is a large storage bin filled with some of my mother’s old hair tools and accessories: hot rollers, Velcro rollers, flexi rods, teaser combs, crimping irons, a myriad of clips and brushes, and various hair gadgets Mom couldn’t resist ordering from TV ads. Tucked inside a box for something called the Air Kurl*Mi, which resembles a plastic medieval mace, is a stack of notes and letters held together with a scrunchie. All of them from Gabriel and me. All addressed to my sister.
Someone in Violet’s entourage—a lawyer or a manager—sent them to me a year after she disappeared, before her California property was about to go into foreclosure, along with her passport and other legal documents. As I read each piece of correspondence, bit by bit, my personal history gained all these new layers, dark ones and light ones. When I showed Gabriel the letters, he thought I’d be upset with him for meddling so actively behind my back. Initially, the reality of his orchestrations and omissions was painful, but gradually, I recognized his kindness for what it was. How absurd and perfect. By the time I had begun shielding Quinn from Violet’s transgressions, Gabriel had spent years doing the same with me. Believing the beautiful lie may be worse than accepting the ugly truth, but I was grateful for those beautiful lies. I just didn’t realize they were also an invisible boulder on my back (Violet’s moments of selflessness never did ring fully true). The ugly truth hurts more but weighs less.
Quinn is ready for this. It’s time to take the boulder of beautiful lies off her back.
Rereading might make me lose my nerve, so I keep the bundle intact and wait for my daughter to finish packing.
When I hear her in the shower, I tiptoe to her room and sneak the letters into her suitcase.