And then she got to the delegate sent from a comedy network. Vivian prepared herself for a crass joke. What she hadn't expected was a photoshopped picture of her face on a porn star's body. The joke, apparently, was casting couches.
“I’m not catastrophizing,” Vivian said with shame’s residue still slimy on her skin. “I just don’t see the point in parading myself in front of industry blowhards to thank them for their recognition.”
Iris tipped her head to the side to consider Vivian’s refusal. “I was picturing more of a boss-like stroll on behalf of gay ladies everywhere, but if you don’t care thatMagpiesis the first sapphic romance ever to be a finalist?—”
“You can’t guilt me.” Vivian forced her voice to stay even, but she sounded so close to a shriek.
“Why not? It’s so effective.” Iris grinned. “Listen, do what you want. You always do, but it’s a big deal and you cared a lot about that book, and I can’t imagine Bryn has ever navigated a space like that. But if you want to leave her alone?—”
“That’s still guilting.”
“I know.” Iris shrugged. “It just also happens to be true.”
Vivian held Iris’s stare for exactly as long as it took to make it clear that she’d heard her.
Then she stood, because standing meant the conversation had ended, and Vivian had built a career out of deciding when things ended.
“I have to get back to work,” Vivian said, already gone.
Iris’s mouth twitched like she was holding something back. “Okay,” she said with a shrug.
Instead of taking the what-does-that-mean bait, Vivian took her tea and walked out the back door to the patio. The spring morning was cool but too windy. She hurried into the guesthouse.
At the table with her tablet in hand, she went back to prepping her next manuscript. She couldn’t get through a damn paragraph without thinking about the awards. About Bryn and her perfectly friendly text and her being fed to the lions. It wasn’t Vivian’s concern or responsibility. Bryn was her own person and could handle herself just fine.
Vivian’s stomach roiled, distracting her from her reading before she’d reached the first period. She stood as if she might shake off her lack of focus. Her attention caught on the small potted plant on the side table near the door.
The violets.
Bryn’s violets.
“They’re low-maintenance,” Bryn had said, as if Vivian didn’t know what those words meant. “And they bloom when they’re happy.”
Vivian crossed the room and leaned over the miserable plant. The leaves were a little droopy, which was absurd because Vivian had been watering them with religious consistency. The flowers, what few there had been, were gone. The plant was either throwing a tantrum or punishing Vivian, she couldn’t be sure which, but its refusal to thrive felt pointed.
Vivian narrowed her eyes at it.
“You’re ungrateful,” she decided before filling a glass with water to see if it would appease the damn thing.
The water darkened the dirt. The leaves didn’t perk up in gratitude. The plant remained stubbornly, offensively unimpressed.
Vivian had moved it ten times. On the windowsill. Too much sun. On the table. Too little. Near the sink. Drafty. On the bookshelf. Dry. Back to the table. Back to the window. Every new location came with a quiet plea: Please. Just cooperate. Just bloom. Stop trying to die.
It was unwilling or unable to just be happy.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Stay miserable.”
The words landed in the room with a weight she didn’t like. But Vivian couldn’t move away. She stood there with her clammy hands braced on the table, looking down at the plant like it might finally speak up and tell her what the hell it wanted.
It was, Vivian realized, very Bryn to give her something living and expect her to keep it alive. To assume she could. To burden her with it.
Vivian’s throat tightened again, and she made herself breathe through it.
She missed Bryn.
There. Done. The admission sat in her chest, ugly and honest. It didn’t make the world end. It didn’t make a spotlight flick on. Nothing dramatic happened, which was almost irritating. Vivian had always suspected that telling the truth should come with more obvious consequences.
Instead, it just made everything sharper.
