Violet’s vibrant smile immediately falls from her face as she realizes it’s me. Her new default expression to seeing me was sadness. That was to be expected I supposed, but still hurt nonetheless. I tried to smile and make something intelligible come out of my mouth.
“Hey, you cut your hair.” The curly mane that used to reach down to the middle of her back now fell to just above her shoulders. It’s clearshe didn’t expect me to start the conversation with that. “Yeah. I cut it last month. Needed a change.”
“Well, it looks great. You look great.” I’m speaking quickly so she doesn’t have an opening to tell me to fuck off. “So will I be seeing you in New York over the next few years?”
“No. I decided to stay in Boston for grad school.” She steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind her, making no move to invite me in. “What are you doing here Mason?”
“Your mom invited me. And I wanted to give you this.” I move the large light blue gift bag from behind me and hold it out to her.
“Mason, I?—”
“Please. Just take it.” She makes no move to take the bag from me, so I step closer and extend my hand. “Open it.”
She looks at me warily but relents. Digging through the endless amount of tissue paper I shoved into the bag, she pulls out the large metal tin inside. For a second, I wonder if I should’ve gotten her something more extravagant, but then I see the way her eyes light up while she tries, and fails, to stop the smile from coming over her face. “Is this?—”
“Honeycomb Black Tea from the Old Barrel Shop. Your favorite.” Violet’s love for tea was no secret, she actually cried when the local tea company discontinued her favorite blend. I was with her in the shop when the cashier told her the news. I went back the next day offering up a generous amount of money in exchange for a four-year supply.
“I thought they stopped making this.”
“They did, but I was able to persuade them into making me some more.” Little did she know I had a whole other batch in my apartment stocked up for her. For each birthday, graduation, and National BFF Day until she forgives me. I watch as the smile on her face falls back into a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“I just realized that every time I drink this, I’ll think of you. And it’s just too much. This is all too much.”
She sets the bag down in front of me and steps toward the door, primed to leave.
“Violet. C’mon. Can’t we just go somewhere and talk?”
“I don’t really have much to say.” She takes a deep breath before delivering her final blow. “I wanted something more from you, and I thought you wanted the same. I misread the situation, and now I’m trying to move on. And I can’t do that if I’m constantly reminded of you.”
“So that’s it? You promised me we would be okay.”
“And I wanted to keep that promise, Mason. Trust me I did. But I need more time. Can you give that to me?”
Time. ‘I need time’ wasn’t exactly a ‘I never want to see you again’, so I suppose that was a win.“Yeah. I can do that. Just please…come back to me at some point. Don’t shut me out forever.”
“I’m sorry.” She retreats inside immediately after, leaving me dumbfounded and absolutely gutted.
“I’m sorry too, Vi.” I whisper to myself, as I pick up her gift and head back to my parent’s home.
Three years later I was still waiting. I hadn’t heard from Violet since that night. Now here I was, watching her run away from me again. Over time I realized she had meant a lot more to me than I ever did to her. Why else would it be so easy for her to cut me out of her life?
After I crashed Violet’s party, I tried to get my younger sister —who also happened to be Violet's best friend— to help me. And while I know Monroe loves me, she made it very clear that she would never break Violet’s trust. I understood why Monroe wouldn’t tell me about what was going on in Violet’s life, but a heads-up about potentially running into her again would’ve been nice.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dialing Monroe. A few seconds later, her voice rang over the speaker.
“Wow. A call from my older brother, who I haven’t heard from inweeks. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
In the background I can hear a car blaring its horn. During her senior year, Monroe started a year-long internship with one of the best PR firms in New York. After putting out a few fires,she’d secured herself a full-time position with the firm once she graduated.
“Bad time to talk? I can call you back?—”
“Nope, just heading back to the office after a lunch date with Jacque.”
“So, we’re still with the douchey art bro?”
Monroe had met Jacque Loui (whose real name was John Levinston, but apparently that name doesn’t sell you paintings or make you interesting in New York City) about eight months ago at some art gala her firm was promoting. I could practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.
“Yes still with Jacque, and no I don’t have any plans to break up. I still don’t know why you and Mom don’t like him.”
