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Stevie glances in the rearview mirror. “Yuppers. My ex took a video of me and Bishop kissing—”
“Mouth fucking. Kissing sounds sweet, and you two were fucking each other’s mouths with your tongues and pretty much dry humping each other. In public.”
“Would you like to tell the story?”
“Sure. My version is always more exciting anyway.” Violet props her fist on her chin and launches into the story of how Stevie and Bishop met and ended up together. Including how the mouth-fucking video came to be.
“The point is, all of us have had to deal with at least one social media shitstorm. I mean, Alex told the entire hockey-watching nation that we were just friends, when that clearly wasn’t the case. We mouth fucked all over the damn place. And we were dating. And he’d asked me to move in with him—while playing naked Scrabble, but that’s another story. What I’m saying is that we get that it sucks, but you’re not alone, and you don’t have to hide from the world and wait for the dust to settle.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Have you met me?” Violet points to herself. “I’m a walking embarrassment. I can’t go anywhere without saying something regrettable. Alex has to script everything I say when we do interviews—which I hate, by the way—and I sound like a robot. And even then there’s a good chance I’ll accidentally say something I shouldn’t. You got married when you were eighteen, and that douche nozzle screwed up the divorce papers. Everyone in the hockey-watching nation knows that Corey is an asshole and that his fiancée is a loon. Unfortunately, that combination makes for great headlines.”
What Violet is saying makes sense, and I know all of this will eventually blow over, but it’s more than that. It’s all the other pieces that are the problem. It’s the fact that I got married on a whim in the first place, that I’ve been relying on my dad for a job, that I’m still living in his house, that I’m too afraid of failing to even bother trying to do what I really want. Because one of the people who was supposed to encourage me liked to tear me down instead. And now Kingston’s family has a horrible impression of me.
The mani-pedis are a nice distraction from the shitshow that is my life. Stevie and Violet tell me all kinds of embarrassing stories, which definitely makes me feel better about everything. I’m still stressed about the meet-the-parents situation, but at least I have a sounding board that isn’t my dad and my boyfriend.
When we get to Violet’s, plans change a little. Her brood and Lainey’s son, Kody, are in the theater room, already watching the game with Lainey, who couldn’t make the mani-pedi session.
Violet’s oldest, Robbie, is reading a book in the back row with his feet propped up on the back of the seat in front of him. Maverick is watching the game at the front of the theater, and so is Kody. Well, Kody is sort of watching, but he keeps looking over his shoulder at River and Lavender, who are sitting at a round table covered in art supplies. River hands Lavender crayons, his attention half on her, half on the game.
When Lavender realizes her mom is home, she pushes back her chair and rushes over, wrapping herself around Violet’s leg.
“I hope you still love me this much when you’re a teenager.” She tugs on her ponytail.
When Lavender spots me, she abandons her leg and rushes over to me, giving me the same hug treatment. Then she takes me by the hand and tugs me toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“My room! I show you my wall!”
“Do you have new art?”
She nods and pulls me along, practically skipping. When we get there, I can see she’s been busy with paints, and of course she insists that we make something together. Violet comes up and tries to persuade her that I’ll come back another time, but Lavender won’t hear it, and I’m more than happy to lose myself in finger painting for a while. I miss all of the first period of the game, but it’s 100 percent worth it. Lavender is extremely chatty when she feels safe in her element, and her art room definitely provides that.
She tells me all about the things she loves: that she wants a pet cat but her dad is allergic and that she likes dogs but they lick their bums and then your face, and that’s gross. She also tells me that her friend in her art class has a dog, and it ate his favorite stuffie, and he cried.
When we’ve finished our masterpiece, it’s already eight o’clock, and I have to remind her not to rub her tired eyes with her paint-covered hands.
We wash up, and she gets ready for bed on her own, although it looks like her pajamas might be on backward. Violet puts her and River to bed. Kody’s already passed out on one of the mats on the floor, and Maverick is sprawled across the front seats, eyes popping open every once in a while, but it’s clear he’s ready for bed. Robbie seems to have disappeared, likely to his room.
