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“I’m not completely oblivious.” I laugh. “I’ve seen you get it before, and I ordered a bunch of other stuff as well. Why don’t you serve us, and I’ll grab us some beers.”
It’s not long before the previous awkwardness is forgotten and we’re chatting while devouring our dinner. After a few minutes, I notice she hasn’t taken a sip of her drink. “Did you want something else?” I ask indicating her untouched beer.
“Um, actually, I don’t really care for beer.” There’s another fact about Violet that I get to tuck away.
“You don’t like beer? Why didn’t you say something?” I get up, remove the untouched drink from in front of her, and head to the fridge.
“I didn’t want to offend you, I’m easy. I like going with the flow,” she says shrugging her shoulders and fiddling with her fork.
“That’s crazy, Vi. What were you going to do? Not drink anything for the entire dinner? You like wine, right? I know I’ve seen you drinking that. What would you like?”
“Anything white would be great.” I take a moment to give her a hard stare before she breaks out into a gentle chuckle. “I’m serious this time, I’ll take any kind of white wine you have, I love it.”
I pull a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge, then grab two glasses along with an opener, bringing it all back to the table. “So, do you always just take whatever someone gives you even if you don’t like it?” She gives me another shrug and looks away. Apparently, this is an uncomfortable topic for her but I want to understand her more than I’ve ever wanted to understand anyone I’ve ever met, so I continue to push. “Why?”
She finally turns to face me head on and takes a breath like she’s about to spill state secrets. “You wouldn’t understand. You didn’t grow up with my parents, my mother really. She has very specific ideas of what I should do, what I should wear, how I should act. After a while, it just became easier to do whatever she wanted. Once, I was out of her house and away at school I could sometimes get away with just telling her I was doing what she wanted and then do my own thing but still, most of the time, it’s just easier to let everyone else have their way. That probably sounds pathetic, but I don’t mind putting my wants on the back burner. I’ve been doing it all my life.”
I knew her parents were overbearing and a bit controlling but I honestly didn’t know that this was how she lived her life. My heart hurts for her. I can’t imagine never really getting what I want, always just doing what other people want to do. Even something as simple as what she’s going to drink at dinner. How much of what I thought I knew about Violet was her just going along to get along?
In that moment I resolve to not be a person who just lets Violet go with the flow. I don’t want her to feel like she has to twist herself into knots to please me because I’m her boss and, well, I’d like to think her friend as well at this point.
“I’ll tell you what. You promise to always tell me what you want. What youreallywant, not what you think I want to hear, and I promise you I’ll never get upset about it.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Dante, you don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, I know I don’t. But if we’re going to be spending time together—as boss and employee,” I quickly add, “then I think it’s important that we’re both honest with each other, right?”
She seems to consider what I’m saying for a moment and then nods her head at me and gives me that soft smile that more and more often is making my heart stagger in my chest. It’s not something that I want to examine too closely right now so I quickly change the subject. “And now, since we have this newfound pact of honesty, why don’t you tell me what you want to do with your life. You’ve mentioned several things you’d like to do with your degree but what do you really want. I promise not to tell your parents,” I say with an exaggerated wink that just makes her roll her eyes.
She seems to consider my question for a minute, and I give her the space to decide what she’s going to tell me. Finally, she says, “I have no idea what I’m going to do with my English degree. If I had to choose right now, I would probably teach. I enjoy school and can see myself being happy in the world of Academia. But there’s only one thing I’ve always wanted to do with my life. God, I’ve never told anyone this before. Not even Bianca or Hollie.” She pauses putting her face in her hands like she’s about to admit something really difficult for her. I sit there, still as a statue, like any movement from me might send her skittering away. After a deep breath she continues, rushing the words like she’s trying to get them out before she loses her courage, “I’ve just always wanted to be a mom. I know it’s not a particularly modern thing to want to be, but it’s all I’ve ever really wanted. I’ve always wanted to do things with my child that my parents never did with me. One of the reasons that I love baking is because our cook at home used to let me help sometimes and it was one of the few times I felt close to an adult. My mother just told me all the things we made were going to make me fat.”
I’m honestly a bit taken aback. I thought for sure Violet would have some big plans with her degree. After all, she’s seemed to fight her parents pretty hard to stay in school. She’s looking at me and must see my surprised expression because she covers her face with her hands again. Her voice comes out slightly muffled as she continues, “God, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s so stupid. Who wants to be a parent because their own sucked so much?”
I reach across the table and gently place my hand on her arm, fully concentrating on her and trying to ignore the sensations I get from the contact of her bare skin with mine. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Violet. It’s great you want to be a mom. And wanting to be a better parent than your own is something you’ll find that ninety-nine percent of parents out there strive for. It isn’t selfish. You’ll be an amazing mother.”
“What about you? Do ever want any more kids.”
I can’t help but let out a laugh. “I’m way too old for that.”
“No, you’re not,” she says rather vehemently. “A lot of men your age are just starting families. Just because you started early doesn’t mean you have to be done.”
“I won’t lie and say that I haven’t thought about having another child a few times over the years,” I admit. “Raising Bianca has been the greatest joy of my life, I would have loved the opportunity to actually be there for every moment. Divorcing Amanda and moving here gave me a finite amount of time with her. But if it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to happen for me. I’m just too old and set in my ways to start over.” Violet frowns at me but doesn’t try to argue the point. “Anyway, it’s time for what we’ve all been waiting for, why don’t you grab that clawfoot thing you made.”
“It’s a clafoutis.” She laughs while fetching it from the oven where it’s been warming. “It’s a French dessert that’s traditionally like a flan with black cherries and powdered sugar.” She sets the baking dish in front of me and takes off the towel. I hate to say it, but I’m a little surprised when the desert is revealed. It looks, well, amazing. From everything I’ve heard, this should look nothing less than like it was set on fire. I figured she was going to make some cookies or brownies or something but she walks in here with some kind of French dessert I can barely pronounce let alone make myself.
“It looks great. But I thought you were going to make it with those little hairy things.” I examine the dish closely and see no sign of those spindly golf balls I was worried about choking down in the store.
She rolls her eyes at me once again. “Dante, thesearethe rambutan. You peel them and they look kinda like lychees. See?” She points to the little pieces of fruit that look like peeled grapes and I’m relieved that I won’t have to pick green hairs out of my teeth. She quickly cuts two slices of the desert and plates them, frowning slightly and poking at the pieces. “It’s a little runnier than it’s supposed to be. See? I told you this was going to be a disaster.”
“What are you talking about? This looks awesome.” I grab a plate from her and before she can say anything else, I scoop up a bit of the thin flan and shovel it into my mouth. She’s staring at me, her own plate untouched, nervously awaiting my reaction.
“This is delicious.” I say, taking another bite.
“Shut up.” Comes flying out of her mouth before she can stop it and I let out a laugh while she blushes and covers her mouth.
“Man, I must be rusty if I try to compliment a woman and all she tells me is to shut up.” I thought I was going to have to lie and tell her it was great while slogging through whatever it was she made. Instead, I finish my plate and reach for another slice. “Anytime you bake, you go ahead and bring it over here to me where it will be appreciated.”
Now her smile isn’t the soft, rather shy one I’m used to. No, now it’s beaming at me. “I hope you mean that because there are plenty of things that I make that nobody wants to eat.”
