To my surprise, they continued inviting me, and Villain Violet kept coming out in full force while we were drinking. Insane karaoke choices (I Could Have Danced All Night from My Fair Lady), trying (and failing) to start a Conga line in the bar, ending the night begging the bartender for a glass of maraschino cherries in a to-go bag (truly, why?). While I was the weirdo, Alba was definitely the shit disturber, and Florence the wild child. My antics often took theirs over the top and to the next level.
Alba would scoff at people: You just don’t get Violet. She said this as if they were the losers, and they were the ones missing out. Florence would bite the heads off anyone who even looked at me the wrong way.
It was nice, for the first time in my life, to feel like I had real, true friends.
Now, I want so badly to tell them about everything with my family. I need to vent. But they’re both so happy—Alba with her arm always draped around her wife, Florence running back and forth across the bar to tell Alistair every single thought that pops into her head—I don’t want to spoil the mood.
To forget about all of that, I have a drink. Then another. And another.
Alba wraps her arm around my shoulders, This feels like New York.
I scoff. This is hardly at that level. I can hear my speech getting a little slurred already. Uh oh.
The night is still young, she teases before she and Rose head back to the bar.
It occurs to me that I haven’t been this drunk since—
My phone buzzes on the table. It registers dimly through the liquor haze that it’s one of my family members, wanting something from me. I turn my phone aggressively on silent and resist the urge to hurl it out the window.
Not in the mood to chat? I jump at the deep voice. Finn, who had walked over without me realizing, glances pointedly at my phone.
I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. You wouldn’t get it.
He braces both elbows on the table, leaning closer to me. Try me. His eyes are so dark and he’s so wildly handsome I feel like I’m going to throw up. Maybe that’s the alcohol? I need some water, I think distantly, but the thought is fleeting.
And then I tell him everything.
Chapter 7
FINN
I’VE NEVER HAD A BOYFRIEND, Violet’s words come out in a jumbled rush. She’s had a lot to drink—we all have—in the last few hours here at the pub. I try to wipe the shock off my face, but I’m not fast enough.
What? She demands, seeing my surprised expression, her tone accusing.
This beautiful, lovely creature has never had a boyfriend? Ever? I’m not sure how that’s possible. I’m trying to come up with a response, when she grabs my forearm.
I mean I’m thirty-three, so it’s insane, she whispers. I know, I know, Finn. This is the first time she’s ever said my name and I wish it wasn’t at this moment. But… She trails off, her mind clearly elsewhere. Surely it’s because there’s no one good enough for her; that’s the only logical explanation. That makes sense. She’s obviously overqualified to be some random fuckhead’s boyfriend.
But, it doesn’t bother me, she shrugs, some wall going up behind her eyes. It bothers everyone else.
What do you mean? I ask, noticing her finger is now tracing lazy circles along my arm and trying not to get distracted by it.
My family, she groans, pulling her hand away to cover her face. I hate the absence of her touch. My big, dumb, nosy family. They don’t get it. They don’t understand. And now, she flails herself dramatically on the table and I can’t help but laugh. Fuck me, she is delightful. Now, they’re plotting against me.
Plotting how? I ask, trying to keep the amusement from my voice. Violet, I think, is really fucking funny.
She shrugs, not looking at me. They want to set me up with some rando, because hey, that must be better than being alone, right? Her words get faster and faster, and it’s taking all of my concentration to absorb everything she’s saying. So they set up a dating profile on my behalf and people who knew me from school saw it and I can never go back to the island and it basically ruined my life, so that’s why I had to come here. She pauses, looking at me very intensely. To get away. She hiccups. It’s adorable.
Your family set up a dating profile for you? I can hear my arsehole tone coming out, but I don’t like that they did that without asking her. I can relate to pestering family members, but my mother would never do something like this. Partly because she wouldn’t know the first thing about downloading a dating app.
Yes, and they sent out likes and messages and everything. Talk about mortifying. I can never go back to Vancouver Island, I’m pretty sure. She sighs dramatically, then adds, They mean well. But they don’t get it.
Don’t get what? I ask, but Violet is immediately distracted by Florence, who is screaming about their song playing. After a chorus of shrieking that I can’t follow, the two of them run off somewhere. I stay seated at the table, mulling over all this information.
Violet has never had a boyfriend. I guess I’ve never really had a girlfriend in my adult life either, if you want to get technical about it. I’ve dated though. Has she dated? Has she wanted to? Does it matter? I guess it only matters because I’m nosy and I like Violet and I simply want to know.
I scan my eyes across the pub again, looking for her. Noticing instead the license plates all along the back wall, the pieces of beach driftwood here and there, the general cozy atmosphere. It’s not too shabby, as far as coastal pubs go. Am I resisting liking it here? Maybe.
