I make my way over to flip through the binder full of songs, but I know what I’m looking for. To my delight, they have it, although I’m willing to bet very few people have ever actually chosen this song.
I’ve had this particular piece of music stuck in my head for days. It reminds me of my grandparents, of singing in the kitchen with Nan and Opa making sunny-side-up eggs in the mornings after I’d gone out to their chicken coops. Life before I’d gone to school, before anyone had explained to me, however unkindly, that I was different. Weird.
Before those words had carried any weight.
I make my way back to the table, but it’s not long before Florence and Alistair are called up to the mic. They’ve chosen to sing You Feel the Same Way Too by the Rankin Family, which Alba promises is always a hit in the Maritimes. It’s hilarious and delightful and the rest of us cheer and holler wildly when they’re finished.
When I ask Alba what she’s singing, she kindly tells me to fuck right off.
I’d be way too nervous to get up there! Rose says, looking around at the packed bar.
It’s a thousand degrees up there with all the lights, Florence says as she reaches us, grabbing her drink from the table and downing the rest of what’s left in her glass. She turns to me and grins, almost impish, before reaching over and pinching my cheek. I see you Villain Violet, oh how I’ve missed you! Florence squeals at me as I bat her hand away from my face, laughing.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, get ready for the show, I joke.
Speaking of shows, Alba says, butting in. Apart from your brief canoodling at Peggys Cove, you and Finn sure aren’t doing anything to write home about this weekend.
What does that mean? Finn, who walked over at that exact moment, asks. He drapes his arm around my waist, like he knows exactly what Alba means. She snorts.
For two people supposedly head over heels for each other, she gestures between us, shrugging, I don’t see it.
You don’t see it? Finn asks, aghast. I can’t tell whether he sees through Alba’s goading or if he’s just playing along. Sorry that we’re not snogging all the time like the rest of you pervs. Violet’s a lady, after all.
Well, she sure wasn’t a lady in New York, Florence pipes in and I groan.
Finn looks at me with a mixture of surprise and delight. Really? It’s all he says before his foot reaches under the chair I’m sitting on, dragging it towards him in a fluid movement that almost makes me gasp. In an instant, his mouth is on mine.
He kisses me in a hurried, cocky sort of way, his hand possessively on the back of my neck, and it makes me grateful I’m already sitting.
Not real, not real, not real.
But the smile on my face when Finn pulls away from me is definitely real.
D’you see it now, Alba? Finn teases, his eyes never leaving mine. To add insult to injury, he winks at me before pecking me on the lips again and disappearing off to the bar for another drink.
I feel a little dizzy.
Alistair goes to join his brother at the bar, which prompts Florence to lean over and whisper to me, I have to say something Violet, she pauses for emphasis. That guy might be an asshole, but he is hot, like a smoldering kind of hot.
Stop, I say, laughing. That’s almost your brother-in-law.
I know. What I don’t know is how you’re coping with that level of heat, she says. Seriously, when Al and I first met, if I wasn’t lashing out at him, I was barely able to string a single sentence together. It’s the accent or something, I think. It turns my brain off—and other parts on.
We all burst into cackles at this, but manage to compose ourselves by the time Finn and his brother come back to the table.
THE NIGHT GOES ON AND the drinks flow easily as we continue cheering on the line of karaoke singers.
After what feels like an eternity, my own name gets called up to sing, and I feel such a disturbing sense of excitement I have to wonder a little what’s wrong with me. I love karaoke. I love a chance to be silly, goofy, ham it up for the crowd, and get the spotlight all to myself, for once.
The first few notes of Frank Sinatra’s That’s Life start to play. Some of the old timers in this bar are whooping now, clearly delighted with my song choice. This one’s always a hit with the older crowd.
I smile to myself, scanning the room to find Finn as I wait for the words to start on the screen—not that I need them, I know this song by heart.
His eyes meet mine across the bar. It’s easy to spot him, that perfect swoop of hair framing his face, his eyes dark but dancing with something when his gaze locks with mine. He looks so handsome, wearing a black shirt and black jeans tonight, leaning against the wall, beer in hand.
He shakes his head with a laugh, registering the song I’ve chosen, and his mouth forms the words I can’t hear, slow and deliberate: So. Weird.
I feel a thrill run though me.
