38. Stop Wishing

thirty-eight

Violet

You know that saying, "you never know how good you have it until it's gone"? 31

I experienced it a little bit differently.

I didn't realize what a beautiful thing it was to feel, until I felt. I thought feeling was a fatal flaw. I thought showing it was the thing that would ruin me. But it's necessary, I realize now. Even the pain. It's a privilege to feel pain, because it means you've felt something beautiful to compare it to.

My hand grips the steering wheel as I make the four-hour journey to Clarkston. Reese sleeps in the back seat, his fur still patchy but his wounds healed. I look at him through the mirror and smile as a tear trickles down my cheek.

I wipe it against my shoulder, my eyes catching a glimpse of that greyscale hammerhead shark. I swallow, looking back through the windshield as I curve through an icy road through the mountains. The brown rock peeks through in some areas, and I can't pretend I wish it didn't.

Hayden was wrong about Cam, and her feelings for me. Maybe he's wrong in the fact that she doesn't have feelings for him too. Or maybe, all along, this was just a winding road, leading her back to Cody. But none of that, not even for a second, could make me hate her.

I think what scares me so much about this isn't the end of the contract. It isn't knowing I'll never feel Cam's body against mine again. That I could forget what her lips taste like.

What scares me, more than anything, is that I will never get to know who she becomes. She's changed so much from when I met her. She's still Cam, of course, and I hope that stays the same. But she's growing, and I'm scared I'm going to miss out on it.

Everything happens for a reason. I've always said that, and I've always believed it too. I just wish there had been another way for the universe to make me feel something, because this fucking sucks.*

Idon't realize I've missed my mother's voice until I hear it again. 32

"You never visit us anymore," she says.

I changed my mind.

Her voice is weak, and raspy like fragile gravel that would crumble under your feet with just one step. I inhale deeply, letting each organ in my body lock so that everything stays where it should be. My heart still drops to my feet when my father speaks up.

"What, you don't love us anymore?"

"No guys, it's not that. I've just been really busy and—"

My mother interrupts. "I was in the hospital."

"I know Mom."

"I could've died."

I want to scream. I want to release every word, and every emotion I have ever held back, and throw them all out at this small, frail woman who's supposed to be my mother until my throat is raw and my lungs collapse. I want to ask her whose fault it is and bring up all the times I've sat in the hospital waiting for her self-inflicted demise. I want to remind her of every single graduation, birthday, and promotion she's missed because she was in some random person's basement shooting so many chemicals into her body she thought it was three years earlier than it actually was. But I don't. I just close my eyes and muster up the only words I can put in its place.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"Yeah, well…"

And that's all she says. Ruthie brings two cups of warm tea from the kitchen, and places it on the table in front of our parents.

"Aunt Vi! Aunt Vi!" a little high-pitched voice squeals, and I turn my head to see Tyler running at me, full speed ahead.

"Hey bug!" I say, flashing her a smile. My arms open wide, scooping her into a hug.

"Are you excited to open presents?"

Tyler nods, pointing to the gifts stacked high under the tree.

"Mom said you probably weren't coming, but Dad made her wait."

I shoot Ruthie a look, and she shrugs sheepishly.

"What? It was a fair assumption."

I turn to Jeramiah and give him a nod.

"Thanks for waiting," I say. Jeremiah nods back silently, a babbling Willow attached to his hip.

"What time does the caretaker usually come?" I ask, in an attempt to make casual conversation. If I ask about their lives, my parents won't pretend to care about mine.

"Ugh, that bitch."

"Mom!" Ruthie yells. Then she lowers her voice to a whisper, pointing at Tyler. Jeremiah takes Willow and Tyler into the next room.

"What? I'll tell you what, she can't cook for shit, and she doesn't know her head from her ass even if you labeled them. I want to fire her."

"You can't fire her, Mom," Ruthie says, placing her hand on her shoulder. I stay silent. "That's part of the conditions. You guys can only stay here if you and dad are sticking with the program. NA three times a week, a caretaker visit a couple of hours each day, and—"

"Yeah, yeah we know sweetie. It's like jail but with a private bathroom," my dad interrupts.

Every day's a treat.

Every day's a treat.

Every day's a fucking treat.

My jaw clenches so hard I feel my teeth scrape against one another.

"Should we get started with the presents?" I ask through gritted teeth. My mom frowns.

"Why are you in such a rush?"

I suck in a breath, holding it for as long as I can. I look at Ruthie, and she gives me an understanding nod.

"I think it's a good idea. I know Tyler is on the edge of her seat and it'll keep her busy for the rest of the day while I cook."

She looks up at me, and I would mouth the words "thank you" if my parent's eyes weren't glued to me. From the other room, we hear Tyler cheer.

"Sorry!" Jeremiah calls out. "I should've covered her ears."

I chuckle, shaking my head and we all shuffle to the living room reluctantly.

It only takes minutes for wrapping paper to litter Ruthie's living room floor. Tyler has already solved half of a miniature Rubik's cube that was in her stocking. Willow seems much more interested in the colorful paper than the actual presents she received from her parents. Reese barks as she shoves a giant ball of it into her mouth.

"Let's save room in your stomach for something more nutritious, huh?" I sweep my finger inside the baby's mouth, causing her to cry.

"Ruthie! Your kid is trying to eat garbage!" I call out, scooping Willow into my lap as I bounce my leg to comfort her.

"I'm sure she's eaten worse," Jeremiah says, taking her from my arms. "Whose presents are left?"

"Just the ones I brought."

I begin placing the corresponding gifts in front of everyone. The kids and my parents each get a box, and between Jeremiah and Ruthie sits a single white envelope, their names scrawled across the front in what was intended to be fancy calligraphy. It looks like something Tyler could have given them.

"Alright, open!"

Tyler begins aggressively ripping the decorative paper off her box, while Ruthie gently slides her fingernail underneath the seal of the envelope, Jeremiah watching. I help Willow open her gift, talking in a high-pitched tone as I open the box with faux surprise.

"Wow! Isn't that such a cool stuffy?!" Jeremiah says, poking Willow's baby rolls. A small, white, smushy-faced plush emerges from the box. "Who does that look like?"

Willow babbles, with the cutest smile someone with only half their teeth could have. If I ever wanted kids, Willow would give me baby fever.

Every time we've visited since Willow was born, her and Reese have been inseparable. Everywhere Willow crawls to, Reese follows behind. And when it's time for him to leave, the baby scoots herself to the door where he waits. It's so cute that I tried to convince Ruthie to get the girls a dog, but she said she doesn't want to until Willow starts walking.

Two skinny arms suddenly fling themselves around me, squeezing me tightly.

"Thank you, Aunt Vi!" Tyler squeals, rocking us back and forth. When she lets go, her gap-toothed smile takes over half her face. "This is the coolest thing ever!"

Since Ruthie made it clear they were not going to get the girls a dog anytime soon, I took it upon myself to prepare them for the day their mother was ready. I found this toy at Target, a fluffy white electronic dog that walks, and barks, and yes—shits. Tyler is very much a hands-on learner, and this is the perfect thing for getting her prepared.

"Just make sure you clean up after it, okay?" I smile.

"Okay," Tyler giggles.

With Willow preoccupied, chewing on the miniature Reese, and Tyler off to pick up a fake dog's fake poop, I look at my sister and brother-in-law. This is where things get complicated.

Jeremiah is, frankly, just a pretty average guy. He's nice, but if he were a color, he'd be Modern Farmhouse Beige. I mean, the dude works as an accountant.

No offense to accountants.

There is nothing that signals what to give him, other than anything listed under "Dad Gifts" on Amazon. Ruthie, on the other hand, is ridiculously easy. She likes things. I could have easily found her a pair of color-block earrings or a sweatshirt that says, "Super Mom" and she'd be happy. But I didn't want that. I didn't want to just give them generic objects that they'd use for a year then donate. I wanted to give them something more, something irreplaceable.

"I know it might be difficult, with work and stuff but…"

"It's perfect," Jeremiah cuts in before I can finish. He holds up four tickets for the New Year's train to Leavenworth. Leavenworth is pretty much The North Pole in real life, and it's a quick thirty-minute drive to Greenrock, so I'll be able to meet up with them. Ruthie throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly.

"I love you," she says. And for some strange reason, I start to cry. "Woah, woah," she says, pulling back. I wipe the tears off my face and look up at her, embarrassed. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head.

"Nothing," I sniffle. "I just love you too."

After my parents open their gifts, matching pajamas, because what else do you get your estranged parents, I help Ruthie cook breakfast while Jeremiah watches the girls.

"So, how are things going with that employee of yours?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. She drops a scoop of pancake batter onto the iron skillet. My stomach tightens, but I ignore it.

"It isn't," I sigh. Ruthie looks up at me solemnly.

"Awh, Vi."

I shake my head.

"It's okay," I say. "It's fine."

And it is. It's fine. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I feel like I lost everything in one singular night. But it's fine. Ruthie shoves her shoulder into mine.

"Well," she says. "At least now you don't have to worry about Angela finding out."

"Honestly, I forgot about that part."

I hadn't really thought about Angela finding out recently. Partially because how could she, and partially because I didn't care. I mean, I did, for Cam's sake. But when it came to me, I couldn't give a fuck if Angela lets me go or not. Ruthie shakes her head.

"So it was that bad huh?"

I look up.

"What?"

"Well, you must have liked her if you forgot about the whole Angela thing."

I look up at her and swallow.

"Yeah. I guess I did."

At breakfast, we sit mostly in silence. That's normal, any time my parents and I are in the same room together. I think everyone else feels like if they step in the wrong place, say the wrong thing, an explosion will occur.

They might be right, though usually, the explosion comes from my parents, not me. I have to wonder why Jeremiah agreed to spend Christmas like this, instead of with his family. I can't imagine Jeremiah Smith's Christmas would be half as uncomfortable or cold. My dad shovels a spoon full of scrambled eggs into his mouth, looking up at me.

"So, whatever happened to that chick Mallory?"

I don't know what infuriates me more. The fact that he's referring to a woman as "that chick" or the fact that he's using it in a context that makes it seem like Mallory and I hadn't spent twelve years of our lives together.

I might be angry with Mallory for what she did, but I can't hold onto that forever. While I know it's not my fault she made the decision to cheat, I can't pretend I played no part in what led up to it. And I can't pretend I'm okay with someone disrespecting her like that. We might not have been perfect. We may not have even really known one another. But Mallory isn't a bad person. And I'm not going to let someone paint her like she is.

"You mean my wife of twelve years?" I ask. Ruthie's eyes widen, and my dad's lips turn up, tauntingly.

"Yeah, that one. What's she up to these days? She didn't come out here to see us?"

My dad knows very well that Mallory and I got a divorce. Or, he was told at least. If he could remember it after getting high all those times? I can't attest to that.

My problem with my parents isn't that they're addicts. Addiction is a disease, I know that well. My problem is this. The purposeful jabs, the things they say just to see if they can get a reaction out of me. The fact that they were never there, essentially abandoned us, yet act like Ruthie and I should be grateful that they put us on this planet.

"Come on," Jeremiah whispers, scooping Willow out of the highchair and motioning for Tyler to follow.

"But I'm not done eating my—"

He shoots her a look, and she looks at my parents, Ruthie and I before grabbing a syrup-soaked pancake and running after him.

"Dad, I told you. Violet and Mallory got a divorce," Ruthie says gently. My mom's gaze flicks up to me, and she scoffs.

"I didn't raise you to be a quitter," she mumbles.

My hand tightens in my pocket, and that's when I feel something. Something cold and hard. Something smooth and heart shaped.

The rose quartz.

I stop thinking about it. About Sunny and how my parents might feel and what's respectful. I think about Cam, how she wouldn't take this for a minute. How she'd tell them all how she really feels, and I think about how badly I wish I could be like her.

And then I stop wishing.

"Actually, you didn't raise me at all."

My mom's expression drops for a moment, then quickly shifts. Her nostrils flare, her eye twitches, and her shaky hands curl into a fist.

"Violet Wolfe!" my father yells. His face is just as angry, if not angrier than my mother's. But I don't care.

"No. You guys always have something to say, something to critique about my life when you're barely a part of it!" I shake my head, but don't pause for a second, because I know they'll take the opportunity to interrupt me. "And don't you dare say that's my fault, because it isn't. You chose drugs and alcohol over me. You chose partying over me. The only reason Ruthie is so head over heels for you guys is because I protected her from seeing everything I had to see. You didn't raise me to be a quitter because you didn't raise me at all. And you didn't raise Ruthie either. You're lucky we turned out the way we did. You don't like my life choices? Fine. I'm not a big fan of yours either."

I expect to feel guilty, a giant wave crashing over me, suffocating me until I apologize. Instead, I feel the opposite. I just want to keep going. I want to say every tiny thing that has ever popped into my brain, everything I've held back. Ruthie's jaw drops, and she looks at me stunned.

My mom laughs rudely.

"Ruthie might have turned out great, but you sure didn't! You wonder why your father and I never came around? It's because we couldn't stand you!" She huffs. I swallow hard. But just as I open my mouth to respond, Ruthie's chair scoots back, her face beet red as she points at the door.

"Get out," she demands, not a hint of hesitation in her voice. My parents look up at her, stunned.

"Ruthie, dear. You know what I—"

She shakes her head.

"You do not talk about my sister that way. Not when I'm alive because of her. This," she gestures to the house around her, "is all because of her. Those precious grandchildren you pretend you love so much?" She points to the other room where Jeremiah is no doubt, cupping his hands over Tyler's ears. "Exist because of her. So I don't care if you're sober. I don't care that it's Christmas. If you are going to speak to her that way, get the hell out of my house."

My parents stare at her in disbelief, but Ruthie's gaze doesn't waver.

"Ruthie we—"

She shakes her head.

"Frankly," she says, her eyes locking onto them. "I don't give a fuck."*