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I was still working on convincing him to accept that he deserved happiness as much, if not more, than anyone else.
“Well, if you’re asking for my opinion, I think you already know what it’s going to be. Go big. Dream big. You, my love, are destined for greatness and need a signature to match.”
I wished I could be smug about being proven right. The flashy signature Colt had chosen that night had adorned millions of autographs worldwide by now. Yet, seeing it there, confirming he never wanted to lay eyes on me again, only evoked an intense sense of sadness.
But as a parent, it didn’t feel fair to burden Violet with my own personal shit and make her feel responsible for my pain—something I knew I’d just done and needed to make right. The truth is, without her to anchor me all these years, I would have unraveled long ago.
Perhaps though, I could offer her an explanation of sorts. I reflected on the myriad of parenting podcasts I’d listened to in hopes of gaining some insight into my clueless self. If I was being honest, most of the advice sounded like complete bullshit and completely unrealistic. Except for Gem and Revz from “We Don’t Have Time For This.” Those women were my kind of parents.
I knew what they would have advised. Kids are perceptive. Violet had likely already absorbed much of what I’d attempted to shield her from over the years. It was time to stop treating her like she was still a baby who needed protection from the emotional complexities of the world. I had grappled with those emotions for the entire time she’d been in my life, and maybe it would be healthier for her to witness me begin addressing them instead of continually shoving them back down until I exploded, like she’d just experienced in the kitchen. Because the thought of Violet following the same pattern, or worse, thinking a man who didn’t show any emotions other than anger was the norm, filled me with dread.
But how could I explain to a child who still believed in the inherent goodness of the world why I had become such a fractured, miserable mess? Especially when the reasons were so complicated that I wasn’t even sure I could fully comprehend them myself. Oh well, I guess it was time for Violet to learn the parents aren’t perfect and we’re as flawed as anyone else.
I trudged down the hallway toward Violet’s room with all the enthusiasm of a man marching towards his own execution. Not because I didn’t want to make things right with Violet; it was that I dreaded the possibility of making things even worse. History had shown that when I messed up, I seldom possessed the ability to fix my mistakes. See: the restraining order shoved in the back of my desk drawer.
Softly, I knocked on Violet’s bedroom door, hoping she could hear me over the volume of the angst pop song she’d begun balring after storming out of the kitchen. “Vi?” I called softly when she didn’t respond.
“Go away!”
“Vi, I’m really sorry for what I said. Please, just open the door so I can apologize.”
After a moment, the door creaked open to reveal the impervious scowl of an irate preteen. Despite her tough exterior, the redness lining her eyes betrayed how deeply my words had cut her. “If you’re sorry for what you said, does that mean you’ll let me go tonight?” She arched an eyebrow, daring me to challenge her.
Lord, give me the strength. I didn’t know if I would survive until she turned eighteen.
I sighed. “Can I come in and talk, please?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Christ Violet. I promise to consider it if you’ll just be serious for a moment and agree to have a discussion about what just happened. Deal?”
“Hmmm,” Violet pondered, stroking her chin and pretending to contemplate my offer. Damn kid was toying with me. If I didn’t already owe her an apology, I’d be laying down the law right now. Well, maybe. I conveniently liked to pretend that she didn’t completely have me wrapped around her finger.
“Deal!” She extended her slender hand to shake on it. If Vi didn’t grow up to be some kind of fierce attorney, I’d eat my own socks.
Violet stepped aside, allowing me to enter. For a brief moment, I forgot the reason for my usual aversion to entering her room unless absolutely necessary. Then I glanced up and the sight of those deep, dark chocolate eyes pierced through me, reminding me why I typically avoided it.
In a twist of cruel fate, it seemed only fitting that Violet was, in her own words, a devout Colton Ray “stan.” She proudly proclaimed herself a member of “The Colton Cult” to anyone who would listen, and every inch of her room was adorned with his posters. Nothing creepy about your long-lost husband gazing down at you with “fuck me” eyes from above your child’s bed. Not creepy at all.
I averted my gaze as I made my way over to her desk chair, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, my eyes burning with unshed tears. Fuck. You’d think after all these years I’d have gotten over the heartbreak of losing him, but I still wasn’t emotionally equipped to face Colt after last night’s revelation, even if only in poster form.
Violet hopped onto her unicorn vomit colored bedspread and settled herself, facing me and waiting expectantly. Great, it looked like I was up first. The worst part of being a parent? Always having to take charge, even when you felt like the most clueless person in the room.
“So,” I began, uncertain of where to start. I rubbed the back of my neck, attempting to alleviate some of the tension building there, silently cursing myself for not grabbing a coffee before seeking out Violet. As we’d established, an uncaffeinated Gray was even more of a mess than usual.
“I’m sorry I pushed so much this morning,” Violet said softly. Her apology caught me off guard, flooding me with guilt. I didn’t want her to think my outburst had anything to do with her. “I know you’ve been really stressed and sad lately and I wasn’t thinking. Last night, I came into the kitchen to get some water, and I saw you crying at the breakfast bar. I know I should have tried to make you feel better or something. Instead, I thought I’d ask you again at a weak moment, and I’m really, really sorry Gray.” Her lip trembled as she spoke, and it tugged at my heartstrings.
I hated seeing her feel guilty, but at the same time, I felt a sense of pride that she could also recognize that she’d pushed too far this morning after I’d already told her no multiple times. That level of self-reflection wouldn’t have been within my capabilities at her age. Maybe I hadn’t completely screwed up this whole parenting thing after all.
“I’m sorry too, Vi. What I said was completely out of line. There are a few layers to what I said that I’d like to unpack, but first, I need to make a few things clear. I never want you to feel like a burden or like I regret raising you, and I’m so sorry I implied that. You’re the greatest joy in my life, okay?”
“Gray, of course I know you love me. I’d have to be blind to not see everything you do for me and I really am sorry that I don’t seem more gratef—”
“I didn’t mean for it to sound like I expect you to be grateful to me Violet,” I cut her off, refusing to let her take all the responsibility for our argument. “I mean, sure, gratitude is important, and so is showing appreciation for the people we love. But it’s my responsibility to care for you. It’s a duty I willingly and wholeheartedly accepted because I love you, Vi. I knew it would be challenging and demanding. But I need you to know that I think of myself as your parent. And children shouldn’t feel obligated to thank their parents for raising them. It’s just part of the deal.”
“I get that Gray, but you’re not my dad. I love you too, and I see how hard you work to give me everything I could ever ask for. But I don’t think I really got it before. That you had to give up stuff to take care of me. I mean, if you told me in a few years time I’d be handed a kid and told that I have to take care of it, I’d completely freak out. I’d be asking you questions every minute of the day.”
Where had my bratty sister gone, and who was this wise eighty-year-old inhabiting her body?
