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eight

. . .

Violet

There is one place in the world I know I can go without any chance of running into Mason. The irony was it happened to be the same place we met so many years ago, a place we once both called home. Despite living only an hour train ride away from Castle Harbor, I hadn’t visited in several months. According to Monroe, Mason hadn’t visited in years and every time she tried to broach the subject, he made up some excuse as to why he couldn’t come back. I wanted to pry into why he suddenly stopped visiting home, but those are things friends know, not ex-‘will they won’t they’s.

As soon as my feet step off the train, I am heading toward my first stop— a small park lined with rows of trees, settled on the outskirts of town. The trees, once covered in gorgeous leaves in shades of red, orange, and yellow, are now bare, the leaves piled on the ground. Soon this place will be covered in a beautiful cast of snow, and from afar, the scenery will look like it belongs inside a snow globe. While the temperature was the type of cold that made you want to stay inside burrowed under a cozy blanket, the park is still filled with parents trying their best to keep their kids bundled up while chasing them around the park. I manage to find an open bench toward the edge of the park. Across the street, I can see my old elementary school, a small rectangular building covered in faded blue paint, almost as old as the town itself.

Teachers born and raised in Castle Harbor would tell us stories about the library that many believe is haunted by the ghost of a former U.S. president. At first, I was convinced it was an elaborate story the librarians concocted to scare us into turning in our books on time, until one day in the second grade. I finished my classwork early and asked my teacher if I could go to the library to continue reading a book I had been hooked on. I was nose-deep in a whodunit mystery when, out of nowhere, a stack of books fell from the shelves one by one. I initially thought one of my classmates had snuck in and was trying to scare me. Until I realized the only two people in the library were myself and the librarian who was standing on the opposite side of the room and had a look of pure fear on her face. We locked eyes for a second before we both ran out of the library and never spoke of that day again.

I always feel a mix of emotions when I think back to my early days in Castle Harbor. I had been thrilled that my mom and I were able to start something different, something new and hopefully happier, now that we were away from my father. But I also felt so out of place. All my classmates had lived there their entire lives, along with their parents and grandparents. They seemed to distrust out-of-towners and made no room for me in their friend groups. Luckily, none of that mattered to Monroe.

I was by myself at the end of a long wooden table when she took one look at my Lilo and Stich-themed lunch box, sat down next to me, and declared we were best friends. I was in no position to turn down friendship, and frankly, her forceful approach scared me a little, so I simply nodded my head. The rest was history. We’d spent the rest of lunch talking about our favorite Disney characters, and for the first time, Castle Harbor started to feel like a place I could call home.

A few weeks after that day, Monroe stayed home sick with a stomach bug. Not wanting to be alone again, I sat down next to a group of kids from my class whose names Monroe had mentioned to me when she was giving me a run-down of the playground rules. Things started off okay until I pulled out my Tupperware from my lunch box. My mom had packed me leftovers from dinner, a traditional Iranian beef stew filled with cooked spinach, beans, and rice. It was my absolute favorite food in the world, but as I went to dig in the kids around me squealed in disgust. I felt myself getting smaller and smaller as they made comments about how gross my lunch looked, how bad it smelled, and how my mom must not love me if this was what she fed me. That last comment earned a laugh from everyone sitting around me. I realized that without Monroe I was an outsider in my own hometown.

I did my best to blink away my tears, not wanting to give my classmates another reason to make fun of me. A tall boy from the grade above threw his bag down on the floor and sat down next to me. He had soft-looking brown hair and kind green eyes as he glanced between me and my lunch. That brown hair and those green eyes belonged to Mason Hayes. He looked at my face, then at the food sitting in front of me, before taking the spoon from my hand and taking a large bite.

“Tell your mom I said thanks for making my favorite. Those PB&Js were getting boring.”

He placed his sandwich in front of me, as if trading lunches was our everyday routine. A wave of silence washed over the table as everyone watched Mason finish the stew and all but lick the container clean in a matter of minutes. He angled his eyes toward the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich in front of me, prompting me to eat, and spent the rest of our lunch period talking to me like we were old pals. I mumbled a soft ‘thank you’ to him as I passed him on the bus. He walked me home after and didn’t leave until he saw my mom and told her he loved the food she had made me for lunch. She sent me to school the next day with two Tupperware, which Mason gladly accepted. No one teased me about my food after that.

I let out a deep breath as the memory faded away. The hurt always manages to linger, despite my best efforts to move on. Though he wasn’t physically here, the longer I stay in my favorite places in Castle Harbor the more I feel Mason’s presence. I hate how coming back to this place means I can’t ignore how deeply Mason Hayes was embedded in my life. I suppose that’s what happens after nearly twenty years of friendship. Even when they hurt you, they remain a part of you forever.

“Violet Amin, did you think you could sneak into town without seeing me first? Just wait until I tell Elaine.”

My eyes snap up to a familiar set of green eyes— Mason and Monroe's eyes. The older woman heading toward me is Melissa Hayes, my second mom. Her platinum blonde hair had faded slightly over the years, now a more subtle shade mixed with strands of gray.

I stand up from the bench and throw my arms around her squeezing tightly. She lets out a melodic laugh before returning the hug.

“Don’t think you’re not still in trouble missy. It’s been entirely too long since I last saw you.”

“I know. Things have been so chaotic with school and work and just life.” I shrug. “But I’m here now.” My smile feels a bit forced.

“I was just heading over to your mom’s. Care to join me?”

After five years of working odd jobs, late shifts, and scrambling to make ends meet my mom finally saved up enough to buy the rundown bait and tackle shop and turned it into the town’s most popular coffeeshop and bakery, Rise N’ Grind. The cafe was a twenty-minute walk from the park, located in the center of downtown. If you can call a street with a knickknack shop, two bars, an ice cream parlor that was closed for half of the year, an apothecary, and a coffeeshop “downtown”. Still, it always managed to be the one spot where you can expect to run into almost anyone, from your favorite elementary school teacher to your ex-boyfriend’s cousin who you were convinced always had a thing for you. Which is why I had initially planned to avoid it like the plague. But I could never say no to Melissa.

“I was just heading down there myself.”

We spend the first few minutes of our walk catching up about the latest town scandal and I gasp in delight when Melissa tells me the town’s newest headline is about Maria De Luca — the last person I would ever expect. As far as anyone in Castle Harbor was concerned, Maria was a modern-day saint, running every single holiday charity event you could imagine, from the St. Patrick’s Day Shamrock Shake Sale to — my personal favorite — the annual Summer Festival. Despite her status as a town celebrity, most of us knew very little about Maria besides the fact that she had married her high school sweetheart, Gene, with whom she raised two children.

It turns out that twenty-five years ago, two months before the wedding, she and Gene got into a huge fight and temporarily called the whole thing off. During the brief period Maria De Luca was single, she booked a two-week trip to Italy to visit her great-grandparents. It was there that she met the second-greatest love of her life, Marco. The two had spent every second of her trip together. He took her to all his favorite places in Venice, and on the last day of her trip, he professed his love for her on a romantic gondola ride. As the rumor goes, they spent the rest of the night together as well, but when Marco woke up the next morning, Maria was nowhere to be found. She had come back to Castle Harbor to make up with Gene and the rest was history. Only Marco hadn’t moved on and had spent the past twenty-five years trying to track down his American sweetheart. Two weeks ago, he finally did.

Marco showed up with a bouquet of pink lilies — the national flower of Italy and coincidentally Maria’s favorite flower — and an engagement ring. Imagine his surprise when, instead of Maria, it was Gene who answered the door demanding to know what the hell was going on. All hell broke loose when Maria had come downstairs, and Marco proposed to her then and there. Some neighbors claimed they saw Gene De Luca hit Marco over the head with a pot of planted roses. Others say they overheard him demand a paternity test for their eldest son. Though no one has seen Maria around town since the confrontation, Marco refuses to leave until he gets to speak with her. He is currently shacked up at Jolly’s Bed and Breakfast.

Melissa wipes tears from her eyes as she tries to stop laughing. “And to think this only happened a few weeks ago. Imagine how much you’ve missed in the months you haven’t dropped by.”

“We’d need to start a whole podcast to keep up with all the town gossip. ‘Keeping Up with Castle Harbor: The Tales and Tribulations of your Favorite Fishermen’s Town.’”

“Hmm that title needs work, but I think you’re on to something.” Melissa pauses for a moment to open the door to Rise ‘N Grind, when I’m hit with the incredible scent of ground coffee beans, spices, and baked goods. A few of the cafe’s regulars spot me immediately and give me a wave. I scan the room for my mom when she pops up from behind the counter, her apron covered in flour.

“Hey Elaine! Guess who I found on my walk through the park.”

My mom’s eyes widen as she realizes I’m here, and she practically shoves her employees out of the way as she comes from behind the display case and squeezes the oxygen out of me with a hug .

“Violet? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Oh, it’s been so long.”

It didn’t matter if I was gone for a day or a year, my mother would always act like I had returned from war whenever I came back home. “Mom, it’s only been a few months and we talk all the time.”

“We text. Like that’s the same thing as getting to see you.” My mom looks over my head to her best friend. ”It’s truly a shame, Mel. We put all our best years into raising these kids and they can’t even give us their time of day anymore.” She waves us over to the stools closest to the cashier, so we can continue to chat while she preps the chocolate croissants behind the counter.

For a moment, we sit in silence, my mom and Melissa staring at each other and doing that incredibly annoying thing where they hold an entire conversation without even speaking. Just stares, blinks, and subtle eye movements. Their own Morse code. Melissa is the one to break the ice, pausing for a moment and giving me a look that tells me I’m not going to like whatever comes out of her mouth next.

“So, I heard you ran into Mason at Westchester.”

How would they even know that?! I’m fairly certain Mason has limited almost all his contact with his parents which meant. ”I’m really going to need to have a conversation with Monroe about girl code. It’s a sacred and honored tradition in which things said to your best friend don’t also get shared with said best friend’s family tree.”

“Meddling is an honored tradition among the Hayes’ women. Practically runs in our DNA. You can’t fault her, or me, too much.” A flash of mischief sparks in her eyes. “I just figured with the two of you working in the same place now, maybe it could be time to make up?”

“Unlikely,” I snap. I immediately regret it as a flicker of hurt comes over both of their faces. “I mean just because we’re both in Westchester doesn’t mean we’ll be seeing each other all that much…” Except for when he inevitably comes back begging for mo re As for the other hockey players taking my class for their gen-ed requirement. “...or that he even wants to be friends again.”

Melissa takes a sip of the coffee my mom sets in front of her.

“Oh honey, that boy would sell his autographed game-worn Patrice Bergeron jersey from their last cup win if it meant fixing things with you.”

“Doubtful. He’s seems pretty unphased by the fact we don’t talk anymore.” Me on the other hand…

This time my mom decides to interject. “He’s not okay. The first six months after your fight he didn’t talk to anyone.”

“Yeah, and after that he seemed to move on just fine—” I was suddenly hit with the reminder that I did not, in fact, need to be having this conversation. Hence why I didn’t come home more often, nosey women.

“—wait whatever happened to privacy? And boundaries. I am twenty-six, ya know.”

My mom clicks her tongue in response. “I’m a Middle Eastern mother. I don’t know what either of those words mean.”

I press my forehead to the cold marble bar in front of me and wish that I could magically teleport out of this conversation. I cave in to their silent stares that I can feel burning a hole in the top of my head. I turn my head slightly to look at Melissa who is biting at her lip the way Mason does when he’s nervous.

“Is what he did really so unforgivable?” The question comes out as a whisper.

The broken look on her face makes me want to keel over. I hate seeing her this upset, and how this fallout between Mason and I has caused a rift between our two families. We’d all spent the last few years clinging to a facade and pretending like nothing had changed. Still, I don’t think I had the courage, or the strength to confront Mason. Removing him from my life broke me, and I spent all my energy healing myself after the turmoil and disaster that was my first year of graduate school. I had no reinforcements left for my Mason-related wounds. Melissa and my mom didn’t need to know that though. Nor did they need to know why things fell apart and shattered so quickly. They just needed to believe we would try.

“No. You’re both right. We probably just need to sit down and talk things through.” Which is never going to happen.

“So, you’ll talk to him then?” The hope in Melissa’s voice following my lie makes my stomach turn.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t let myself go back to how things were when we were just friends . It would hurt too much. “Sure. I’ll talk to him.”