“Sorry, looks like you’ll have to come back another time”, I bumble out. I run off with Maya in tow before I even register what just transpired.
After finishing up in the lab, I realize I left my laptop charger in my office. I start to browse the internet for used MacBook chargers as I step into the elevator, committed to never returning to my office, when a memory floods my mind.
I was six years old when my mom woke me up in the middle of the night and told me we were going on a road trip together, just the two of us, as she loaded her SUV to the brim with our stuff. I had always wanted to go on a road trip after hearing a few of my classmates talking about the family trips to Disney World they took over the summer. But once we drove straight through Florida without stopping, I realized this trip would be different. We made a stop somewhere in Virginia where I experienced fall for the first time. The motel we stayed at had a row of trees in front of it, the leaves shades of bright red and yellow. Imanaged to shove a few of them in my pocket as we checked out. As we continued to drive up the coast my mom finally clued me on this big adventure. We were officially moving to Castle Harbor — a small beach town just outside of Boston — but my dad would be staying in Florida. She paused for a moment, probably to see whether I would be upset. Instead, I just asked her if this would mean we didn’t need to hide in the bedroom anymore because Dad was angry. She turned around for a moment to look at me and say,‘You never have to hide from anyone again.’
The elevator dings as the doors open to the first floor. My mother’s words are ringing in my head, serving as a reminder of how far I had come and how hard I had fought to be here. Though this situation is entirely different from my childhood road trip, the thought of hiding from a man, and evacuating my home (or broom closet) to avoid him makes my blood boil. Iwill nothide. I shake my head as my finger jabs the ‘3’ to take me back up to my office.
six
. . .
Violet
The high ofreturning to my office space and getting my charger (and confidence) back is overshadowed by the nightmares I have that night. Or memories, really. Most people underestimate how much your childhood fears follow you, even subconsciously. Though the exact memories have gotten a bit fuzzy as I’ve gotten older, they never really go away. No matter how much I want them to. Tonight, my dreams take me back to when I was five. My dad had just gotten home and was already upset about something, which he handled by pouring himself a drink. We sat down at the table to eat dinner, and my dad was immediately displeased with what my mom made. His slurred words turn into hateful screams, and suddenly I’m in my mom’s arms as she slams the bedroom door shut. While we could no longer see the rageful fit he was having, the door was not able toblock out the sounds of plates being shattered and a slew of curses on the other side.
Self-preservation from what came next jolts me awake, my entire body covered in sweat. The time on my alarm clock reads 4:55 a.m. and my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. In a feeble attempt to slow it down I take a series of deep breaths — in for five seconds out for seven, in five out seven. It’s been at least two years since I’ve had a nightmare like this. I had finally built enough confidence to start moving on from my past, but one visit fromhimsent that wall of confidence crumbling like a house of cards.
After two hours of tossing in bed, my alarm goes off. I groan as I drag myself out of the bed and head into the bathroom.Lovely.I look about as good as I feel. I force myself to take a quick shower hoping to jostle myself awake, but the exhaustion is settled deep into my bones. I feel like a zombie as I head out of my apartment and board the campus bus. I realize too far into my journey that I forgot my to-go cup of tea on my kitchen counter which means I will be hauling my dead body to the Beanery.
I make a beeline to the cafe as soon as I get to campus and let out a sigh of relief when I see the line consists of only five people. Soon, so soon, I will have my hands on pure caffeinated bliss — nothing like a warm cup of tea to soothe all my problems. The door behind me chimes as someone walks in and joins me in line. A chill runs down my spine as cool air from outside rushes in, followed by a waft of pine and soap. Fucking Mason.
I hadn’t seen him since last week. I tried to block out my poor attempt at seeming unphased in my office. I hoped he saw ‘twenty-five, flirty, and thriving’ and not a tortured soul looking at the last person who had owned her heart before letting it drop to the floor and shatter into pieces like it was made of glass. Did his body feel as thrown off its axis being in the same room with me as mine did? I suppose I should be thankful he didn’t speak.The remains of my heart would turn to ash at the deep silk of his voice.
“Hello Violet. Are you finally going to talk to me today?”
Shit.His deep voice was as chipper as it was smug. I feel goosebumps rise on my neck as he leans down and whispers into my ear. “Or do you want to keep pretending like we’ve never met before?”
While I may be an ash pile on the floor, the good news is I’m incredibly stubborn. And my sleepless brain has no words.
“Hmm, seems like you’re still feeling quiet today. I am curious how long you think you can keep this up.”
I keep my eyes forward and groan internally as the person at the front of the line requests a large, iced caramel macchiato with almond milk, no whip, light ice, and 2 pumps of toffee nut syrup. While I was sure my stubbornness knew no bounds, Mason had a knack for finding my limits…and pushing them. And if the patron in front of me had any say, Mason would have all day to do it.
I could feel him shift his body back away from my ear. Presumably, he had his arms crossed as he quipped.
“At first, I thought ‘That can’t be my Violet.’ Same height, same curls, same addiction to chai lattes, but you’re up and running at 7:30 a.m., and she would never. Not a morning person at all. But now, I see her. The Violet I knew really hated confrontation. So much so that she decided to cut me out of her life, even though she promised she wouldn’t. Justpoof,excommunicado. Like I was nothing to her.”
The absolutenerve. As if he wasn’t the one who decided he couldn’t handle being in a relationship.
Mason continues to search for my limit. “You seemed to move on fairly quickly if my memory serves me.”
Congrats Mason, you found it. Now I’m pissed. I whip my body around to face him and whisper-yell.
“What are you talking about?!” If he was happy that he had gotten me to crack, he certainly didn’t show it.
This was the first time we had truly looked each other in the eyes in three years. We seemed to both take the opportunity to peruse one another. Mason’s classically clean-shaven face is long gone and is now covered in a short beard that’s a few shades darker than the medium-brown strands of his hair. Speaking of his hair — Mason had grown it out slightly, though it still sat on his head in that classic windblown-but-not-quite-messy kind of way. And though he may be retired from the NHL, it’s very apparent that he keeps up with his workout regimen. His dark gray Henley clings to his arms and chest, accentuating every muscle and leaving little to the imagination. Not that I’d have to imagine what was underneath, I had seen it with my own eyes. Who would’ve known a long-sleeved shirt could look so obscene on a person? From the corner of my eye, I see a hint of ink peeking out from under his sleeve, though I can’t quite make out the shape. Another part of him that’s new to me. A part I have no business being curious about.
I pull myself together to respond only to realize we had made it to the front of the line. Jesus, how long had we been staring at each other?
“She’ll have a medium iced chai latte, half sweet, and I’ll have a small americano.” He says this as if it’s three years ago, and ordering my favorite drink is something I would expect he do. He’s reaching out to hand the barista his credit card when I intercept it.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Buying us drinks. You have to pay for these ya know.”
“Well maybe I want something else.” I do not.
“Do you?”
