A pair of heavy hands land on my shoulders, and a deep voice says something. What, I don’t know. I can’t hear past the ringing in my ears.
Violet. Breathe.
At once, everything snaps back into sharp focus.
Kathleen Blair, saturated in red.
Rachel, trying to diffuse the situation.
Nathan, working to calm his wife.
Everyone around us, enthralled by my colossal fuck-up.
And then there’s Landon.
He’s standing next to me, saying something I’m unable to process, because all I can process is my sheer, overwhelming humiliation.
Despite what I said during my “interview,” I spilled the occasional drink while waiting tables at the diner in Green Haven. Everyone did. It’s nearly impossible not to. But it was always orange juice on a table or a chair or the hardwood. Never a Bloody Mary dumped over some wealthy woman’s one-of-a-kind couture.
And as soon as the full extent of my mistake sinks in, I realize that I can’t do this right now. I turn on my heel and book it out of the dining hall, trying not to openly sob and failing miserably. I don’t care if it’s unprofessional or inappropriate. I’ve given everyone enough of a show for one day. They don’t need to witness my complete mental breakdown on top of it.
I burst into the stall at the end of the bathroom and completely lose it, because Mel was right. Eli was right. These people are awful. This place is awful. What was I thinking taking this job? What was I thinking coming here at all? What was I doing coming heretoday?It’s all soimpossible.
Sobs wrack my body, and I wish I wishI wishmy mom was here.
A knock sounds on the door.
“One minute,” I sniffle, yanking off a square of toilet paper to wipe my eyes. The tears won’t stop, though. They keep coming, drenching the tissue until it’s soggy and useless. I rip off another square.
“Violet?”
I freeze at the sound of that deep voice. Landon. He’s probably here to ream me out for making a spectacle of myself, or arranging a ploy for attention, or…I don’t even know anymore. Targeting his family? But he’ll find some way to twist my actions, and I’ll find some way to justify his, and the vicious cycle will continue round and round and round like an old, worn-down tire until it bursts and sends me spinning out.
There’s a knock on the stall, and it’s only when the door pushes in that I realize I didn’t lock it.
“Hey,” says Landon, his voice deeper than usual.
Pull yourself together, Violet. Pull yourself together.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I say quietly, refusing to turn around. “So can you just…not?”
There’s a pause. “Not what?”
“Not yell or scream or make accusations?” I face him, then, because really. Who cares if he sees me cry? It’s not like things can get any worse. “Can I have, like, a get out of jail free card this time? A rain check? Something? I just,” I suck in a breath, “can’t handle this right now.”
His eyes roam over my face, his brow creasing in confusion. “Why would I come in here to yell at you?”
Now I’m the one who’s confused. “Because I fucked up. I ruined your mom’s dress.”
“Violet, who gives a shit about the dress?”
“I mean, it’s vintage Chanel,” I mutter, unable to stop a fresh round of tears from streaming down my cheeks. I look down, unable to meet his eyes any longer, considering he’s the absolute last person I need to see me in this broken-down state. I sniffle. “What do you want, Landon?”
“I came to see if you were okay,” he says slowly. I shrug because I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all. “No one should be allowed to treat you like that.”
“Yeah, well…it happens,” I mumble, and my voice sounds small.
“Violet.”
