She’s wandered over to a pool of water that’s collected in some of the rock crevices, squatting down in front of it.
What are you doing over here?
Looking for any fish or sea anemones, she says, beaming up at me and the full force of her smiling face sends a physical ache throughout my chest. It reminds me of home.
Come on, tiny David Attenborough, come back to the lighthouse with me.
She laughs, wiping her hands on this delightful pink athletic skirt thing she has on today. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a skort, with tricky little shorts underneath.
I try not to think about exactly why I’m thinking so hard about the mechanics of Violet’s bottoms. But the more time I spend with her, the more I accept how truly mad I am about her.
I have tried, over the last week, to work the feelings out—biking the trails with my brother, swimming along the shoreline of the lake for an hour. But I find myself only thinking of Violet: of something funny she said, of some tiny piece of herself she’s shared that I can dissect for clues. It’s a wee bit fucking obsessive if you ask me. And worst of all, the only way to stop it seems to be spending more time with her. As soon as we’re back in the same room, it’s like I can feel my whole body relax.
We line ourselves up for a selfie in front of the looming white and red structure. Violet puts her head on my shoulder and my body acts of its own accord, leaning down to kiss her on the top of her head. I get a photo of that too, pretending it was for the camera, and not because sometimes my body acts entirely of its own accord around her.
Can you send me those?
I nod, texting her the photos.
Okay, Violet says, a look of determination on her face, still staring down at her phone. It’s time.
Time for what?
Time to stir the hornets’ nest.
I lean over her shoulder to look at what she’s doing on her phone, and see her send the photo of us to her family group chat. I’ve noticed, with a pang of something I can’t quite name, that she hasn’t exactly been sharing pictures to her own social media—only occasionally adding photos I tag her in onto her stories. I had wondered if she’d mentioned me to her family yet, but didn’t want to pry.
I better put this thing on silent, she says, laughing, and puts the phone in the pocket-oh yes, there’s a pocket—on the back of her skirt-but-not-a-skirt thing.
I follow her as she makes her way across the rocks again. I look up to see where the others have wandered off to: Florence and Allie are looking at stickers posted up on the back of the lighthouse, while Alba and Rose are standing on the top of one of the larger rocks in the distance.
We stay for over an hour like this, all of us content to amble along the rocky shoreline.
I get yelled at by a security guard for standing on the black rocks, which I guess are the ones that’ve been sprayed by the waves. I’ve half a mind to rip the kid a new one, but Violet tells me it’s because there are huge waves here—and actually tourists have been swept out to sea and killed because they were standing too close to the water.
Well, fuck.
You’ll have to protect me from the ocean, darling Violet, I tell her seriously.
Like I protected you from the moose?
I frown. That thing was enormous. I’m telling you Vi, I don’t think I could have taken that thing—so then what would we have done?
It was never going to attack us, she says this so matter-of-factly.
You don’t know that, I say, then eager to change the subject, add, Check your phone. I’ve got to know what your family said.
We’re near the top of one of the larger rocks here along the shoreline. There’s a perfect little spot carved out of the stone for us to sit on, sheltering us from the wind. I hoist myself up, patting the space beside me.
She sits beside me, pulling up her phone and the messages. I lean over, getting a hint of her perfume, and I have to make a conscious effort not to breathe in more deeply. On her screen, I can see that she’s sent the photo where I’m kissing the top of her head and she’s written nothing more—no acknowledgement of who I am.
My eyes, sort of accidentally, skim the top few messages before she sent the photo.
Ace: Violet, can you answer us! I need help with my post!
Robin: and you promised to look at my resumé, remember? besides i wasn’t even involved in all your drama
Ace: Hey, we were only trying to help!!!
