She’s looking at me now like I’ve got six heads. Women are supposed to want to hear this kind of thing, right? I’m not quite certain what I’m doing wrong here.
Are you not… she pauses, biting her bottom lip. Seeing other people?
I shrug. Not really, not since we met, anyway. We’ve not talked about it, but—
She jumps out of bed and starts rapidly getting dressed.
Fuck me, what the hell is going on here? I thought this was going somewhere, finally. I feel like there could be something real here, if we gave it a proper go. So why doesn’t she see it?
I rub the back of my neck, as if I can soothe away the feeling of whiplash. The rejection stings more than I care to admit.
I mean, I’m seeing other people. I did not think this was anything serious, Finn. Her words come out in a rush. She pauses, half-dressed now, with a wild look in her eyes. I’m not surprised she’s seeing other people, since this is the first time we’ve broached the subject, but it still feels like shite to hear it confirmed.
She sits down on the edge of the bed, putting her hand on my arm.
Finn, you’re great. Proper lovely and, you know, you’re a great shag, don’t get me wrong but… she pauses, before adding gently, I don’t see this being something serious.
I want to push her on it. Why? Why not? What is it about me that you can’t see a future with?
But asking those questions would leave me a little too exposed—too raw. She must see it written all over my face, however, because she goes on. It’s… it’s not right Finn. We’re not a good fit, you and me. There’s sexual chemistry, aye, but I reckon that’s it.
I nod, like I understand what she’s saying.
But I have no idea what she’s talking about.
I’m starting to wonder if there’s something seriously wrong with me.
I continue nodding, unable to bring myself to open my mouth, worried something else will come out instead—something biting and not exactly kind. But she doesn’t deserve me lashing out at her because I had this all wrong.
And I don’t want to let the hurt show.
I almost tell her I was only messing with her, that this was only a joke. But I’m worried that will let something more vulnerable slip. Instead, I put on what my mother refers to as my rakish smile. No bother, Gemma. Just thought it would be fun, that’s all.
There are plenty of fish in the sea, isn’t that how the saying goes? And I can catch them, no problem.
It’s keeping them around that seems to be the issue.
Chapter 1
VIOLET
I DRAG MY SUITCASE THROUGH the tiny, rinky-dink airport in Sydney.
Not that Sydney, although I’d love to go to Australia—but Sydney, Nova Scotia. I have long wondered about Cape Breton, about where my best friends grew up, but this isn’t exactly how I’d imagined it.
I’m pretty sure this airport hasn’t been touched since the eighties. There’s a lot of beige and the small space, along with the bagpipes playing from somewhere, are making me feel claustrophobic. It’s hot and sticky, which isn’t surprising for early August, and it doesn’t help that I’ve had the flight path from hell: Victoria to Vancouver, Vancouver to Calgary, Calgary to Halifax, Halifax to Sydney. I was supposed to fly directly to Calgary, but my flights were changed at the last minute.
Now I’m a sweaty mess, hungry but also feeling a little nauseous. I can’t help the nervousness that shoots through me. I haven’t seen Alba and Florence in a few years, despite them being two of my closest friends. Maybe my only real friends. But Canada is a big place, and the distance, along with the rapid pace at which all our lives are moving, has kept us apart.
But now I’ve agreed to come spend roughly a month in their hometown, desperate to escape my own family drama—among other things—on the other side of the country.
Florence’s wedding invitation was a relief and an excuse to flee to Nova Scotia. And I gladly took it.
I met Florence and her cousin, Alba, when we were all in our early twenties, studying together in New York. When Alba got married over Christmas, more than a year and a half ago now, I had recently moved back to Victoria. I couldn’t bear to leave my Nan, who was still struggling with her health at the time. I also couldn’t stand the thought of explaining to my friends exactly why I’d moved, when it was still so fresh.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen either of them, but these bonds run deep. They are, thankfully, the kind of friends you don’t need to see for months, years even, but when you’re back together, everything just slides into place. So I was genuinely delighted when Florence asked me to be a bridesmaid—honoured even. It was the first time anyone had ever asked me to stand in their wedding, although I’ve been roped into helping plan my fair share of them, along with other events. I’m the kind of person who can get things done, and people seem to pick up on the fact that I can handle it.
And it’s true—that’s exactly who I am. But over the last year or so I’ve started to resent that responsibility. Why do I always have to be the one to figure things out?
