She doesn’t appear amused by my quip but gives me the names of a few places she thinks might be hiring. My phone’s upstairs, so I jot them down on the notepad next to the fridge before silence descends once more. Glancing around the kitchen, a framed photo of Mel and Landon catches my eye, and I give in to another one of my weaknesses before I can stop myself.
“So, is Landon your boyfriend, or what? Cause he’s definitely not the pool boy.”
Mel doesn’t crack a smile at my joke. Instead, she takes another long sip of her Cabernet. At this rate she’ll finish the bottle before I’ve finished a glass. “Yup. Boyfriend.”
“Does he loosen up with a drink, at least?” I joke.
Still no smile, and I want to ask her why she didn’t tell him about me. “How long have you been together?” is what I ask instead.
“Six years,” she says, her voice terse.
“Six years?” I cry, my eyes nearly popping out of my head. My longest relationship was two months, and it ended in disaster. I can’t imagine dating someone for that length of time.
“Yup.”
“Is he,” I lean forward conspiratorially, “the one?”
Mel’s jaw tightens.
“I don’t want to talk about this, Violet.” She sets down her now empty wine glass and grabs her phone off the counter. “Do you eat Thai food?”
“I eat anything,” I say, not bothering to tell her I’ve never had Thai food before.
“You used to be picky,” she says as she dials the number of the restaurant. My heart jumps in excitement, and I want to ask her what else she remembers about me. About Mom. About all that time we spent together before she passed.
But mostly, I want to ask her why I never heard from her after she left.
If I did something.
Maybe there’s something I can’t remember.
Maybe there’s a way to make it right.
But judging by her mood, I need to ease into that conversation. I need to find the right time, and it becomes quickly apparent that window’s not opening tonight. Mere minutes after Mel orders the take-out, her phone buzzes. She glances at the screen, her face going blank, and shoots me analmostapologetic look.
“I have to take this,” she says. “It might take a while, so feel free to eat without me.” And then she walks out, answering her phone with a curt, “Hey. Yeah, I can talk.”
Her voice drifts back down the hall, but as soon as she disappears upstairs, silence settles in.
“It’s cool,” I mutter to myself, taking another small sip of wine and letting it sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing. The taste is growing on me, though that could be the baby buzz I’m beginning to feel, made stronger, I’m sure, by the empty cavern my stomach’s become. “I wasn’t looking forward to a celebratory reunion meal either.”
I roam the downstairs, searching for clues into Mel and Landon’s secret life, but by the time the doorbell rings, I’ve discovered nothing new. I grab the food—already paid for on Mel’s credit card, thank God—from some teenage kid who looks stoned out of his mind and head back into the kitchen. Removing my noodle dish from the bag, I wait a few minutes for the sound of Mel’s footsteps on the stairs. She had to have heard the bell, right?
After ten minutes, I give up and head outside to the screened-in patio, seating myself at the long outdoor table overlooking the glistening pool and the canal beyond—the perfect vantage to watch the sunset.
And what a sunset it is. I’m in awe of the orange, pink, and purple watercolor painting in the sky, the vibrant colors bleeding together. The actual setting of the sun takes about five minutes, but the effervescent glow lingers long after. I wish I could capture the beauty in a photo, but my phone would never do the sight before me justice.
So instead, I observe it in real time and finish off my meal. I wonder if Mel and Landon ever come out here to watch the sunsets, but something tells me they don’t have the time. I wonder if they even use this incredible pool.
Once the sky’s dark, I gather my empty container and head back into the kitchen. Mel’s box of food sits untouched on the counter, no doubt cold by now. Shaking my head, I put it in the industrial-sized fridge, then linger, my eyes catching on some fancy-looking cucumber water. I hesitate before grabbing a bottle—I’m sure she won’t even notice it’s gone—and closing the fridge. The unexpected figure standing on the other side takes ten years off my life.
“Holy shit,” I squeak, slapping my hand over my heart. I stare at the man before me and wait for my pulse to return to its normal, steady rhythm. “You scared the crap out of me.”
Landon doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t even blink.
“You should seriously consider becoming a spy,” I tell him, heart still racing. “Or, like, a ninja. I didn’t even hear your footsteps, and you must weigh, what? Two hundred?” His eyes narrow a smidge. I clear my throat, wondering if I’ve accidentally stuck my foot in my mouth again. “I just mean I expected you to have noisier footsteps since you’re quite, uh, tall.”
I wince, but he ignores my rambling, dark eyes moving over the bottle in my hand.
