“A surprise.” I grunted.
The tension between Mitch and Violet couldn’t be ignored. It was almost violent, and I put my fork down, wiping my mouth with a napkin.
After the move to New York, Violet had attempted to put more distance between her and Mitch. In return, Mitch found comfort in a girl who had moved to New York from Chicago and was trying to make it as a fashion model. Chelsea Withers.
This didn’t go over well with Violet. Especially when Chelsea had announced that she was pregnant with Mitch’s child. He had announced that due to this news, he was marrying her.
None of the women liked her. She was loud, overstepped her bounds, and had a bunch of friends who ran along similar lines. They hardly ate but drank nonstop, and they were known to make advances on married men.
Including me.
I had asked Scarlett once what she thought of Chelsea’s announcement. She shrugged and said, “He has to learn from his own mistakes. He doesn’t want to hear it. So I’m keeping my mouth shut.”
I took that as he was making a mistake. But Mitch was taking the hard road on this one, refusing to listen to anyone. His pride had taken a beating, and he was out to make a point.
Violet took the point and shot it back like an arrow.
Eunice delivered his plate and he dug in, shoving the entire fried egg in his mouth, moaning when the yellow busted. “You are a goddess, Ms. Eunice!” Mitch said. “You were sent from the gods.”
Violet had pulled out her computer, and she snorted at this, head down, fingers clapping against the keys. “That’s arealwoman. She doesn’t have to drink her weight in vodka because it’s low in calories. Oh, and you might want to remind the bitch that drinking is bad for thebaby. Since she’s too young to understand.”
I doubted that anyone in the room missed the tremble on the wordbaby. Mitch didn’t seem to care, though. He shot up out of his seat, the chair almost falling backward with his momentum.
He pointed his fork at her, egg dangling. “You will not disrespect my wife!” he roared.
The entire kitchen went quiet, and then Eunice picked up the pace of her hum. A professional to the end, she pretended the situation did not exist in her world.
Violet seemed to halt with the blow, and then she came back even more pissed than before. “Yourwife! Yourwifeis probably loaded, and it’s only eight o'clock in the morning. Does she even know who you are right now? She’s probably got her hand down some big papa’s pants, fondling him for a chance at a headshot.”
“Oooh!” Mitch scrambled, stabbing his fork at her, trying to get more words out.
“Another thing, Mitchell Lewis,” she hissed, taking slow steps toward him. “If you think you’re man enough to stop me from slandering yourwife—” she opened her arms “—make me. But you better bring your army,Peter.”
Fuck me. I pushed my plate away.
Eunice had somehow materialized and pushed the plate closer to me. “Eat your eggs, dear,” she said in a sweet voice. “They’re going to get cold.”
She refilled my coffee, humming to herself as she made her way back toward the kitchen.If I do not hear, it cannot be happening, her attitude screamed. She had worked for the Poésy family for as long back as I could remember. They, unlike us, kept their dirt locked behind bedroom doors.
Whenever Violet called Mitch “Peter,” mass hysteria ensued. I didn’t even have time to brace myself.
“At least she doesn’t screw around on her husband,” he shot back. Then he stuffed the egg in his mouth, chewing in an obnoxious manner, proud of himself for the hurtful comeback.
Eunice froze for the briefest second and then continued on, mumbling something about laundry. Then she disappeared.
Violet’s cheeks visibly turned red. Her nostrils flared, her thick eyebrows scrunched down, causing her blue eyes to narrow and then turn cold. “Notyet, because you aren’t even married!”
Then she went for him. I heard the pent-up rage fly from her mouth before Mitch’s fork and plate went clattering to the floor.
“How dare you!”
“How dareyou!”
The fight was punctuated by those sorts of comments and a lot of fucking name calling—Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater was about to get a wife but he’d never keep her—followed by grunts and cries. The cry came from Mitch when Violet tried to scalp him by pulling his hair out from the roots.
Why fucking me?I thought, coming between them. Violet went to slap him but got me instead. Both of them went still as Guido, Rocco, Dario, and Romeo flew through the doors, too late to do anything but stop and stare.
“Get out!” Violet screeched, pointing to the door.
