I don’t reply to that – I don’t know what I could possibly say that won’t make me sound like more of a loser than he already thinks I am.
“You’re not leaving because of me, are you?” His voice sounds almost broken, not cocky or arrogant like I imagined it would in my head if we came face to face.
I don’t answer again. His hands drop from my arms and he dips his head in what looks like embarrassment.
“I’m really sorry, Violet.”
I don’t want to talk about this – certainly not with him, yet I can’t seem to make my feet or mouth move to do something about it. I’m stuck here frozen like a deer in headlights.
“I should have given you an explanation.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble.
“It’s not okay… I… I’m umm….”
I’m not sure where he’s heading with this, but it seems he has something he wants to get off his chest, so I wait for him to find the words he’s so desperately searching for.
“I’m gay.”
It comes out in a rush and his expression looks wary – like he’s worried I might say something horrible, like maybe I might be the one to hurl an insult.
“I haven’t told many people that.”
“That’s why you turned me down?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t turn me down because I’m a freak or a loser… he turned me down because he likes boys.
“Stop apologising.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles then winces when he realises he’s just done it again.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He looks around and tilts his head in the direction of an empty table and chairs. He takes my arm and leads me over to sit.
The crowds of people around me don’t seem so threatening anymore as we move through them – my overactive imagination can be reasoned with now… no one is laughing at me.
“I know I should have, but I was embarrassed… I didn’t know what people would say or think.”
It’s weird – I don’t want someone else’s dilemma to make me feel better about my own, but whether I like it or not, it does a little bit.
Tim might not have a life-threatening condition like I do, but he’s fighting his own kind of battle, and it’s comforting to know I’m not the only one who’s worried about what other people might think of them. The reminder that I’m not the only person in school with personal stuff going on is gladly received.
“Well just for the record, I don’t think being gay is anything to be ashamed of.”
That gets a smile out of him.
“I really am sorry for turning you down. I like you, Violet, and I should have said yes. I just didn’t know how to explain that we could only be friends without spilling my secret or hurting your feelings… but I think I’ve managed to do both of those things anyway.”
I’m not going to lie to his face and tell him that I wasn’t hurt, because I was – but I also don’t want him to feel worse about what’s happened than he already does, because it’s not really his fault.
I wouldn’t normally confess this, but he’s just opened up to me in a way I wasn’t expecting, so I feel like I owe him the truth.
“I thought you said no because of my condition.”
He frowns at me. “What condition?”
“My heart?”
He stares at me for a few beats, his expression confused.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know… I’m the weird heart kid…”
“I seriously have no idea what that means.”
“You really don’t know?”
He shrugs. “I literally couldn’t know less. You’re just Violet… you’re quiet and nice and really good at art.”
“Well…um… wow…”
He really doesn’t know.
This wasn’t about my heart or my health… this wasn’t about me at all. This was about something else entirely and the reality check that not everything is about me is a welcome one.
I might not be getting a fairy-tale night with the guy of my dreams, but I can’t say I’ll be walking away empty-handed either.
The realisation that my dodgy heart isn’t the only thing everyone sees when they look at me is the most valuable piece of information he could have ever given me, and even though he’s not into girls, I think I might have just made the most real connection I’ve ever had with a guy.
Chapter Twenty
Violet
Present day
“So, there’s this girl…”
I catch Lucy’s gaze and roll my eyes.
There’s always a girl when it comes to my little brother.
For a seventeen-year-old, he sure has had his fair share of girlfriends, but more to the point, girl problems.
The kid is just a magnet for trouble.
It really doesn’t help that he’s a good-looking guy. I know that’s probably a weird thing to say about my own brother, but with his blue eyes and shaggy blond hair, he’s got the whole ‘surfer dude’ look going on.
It’s a look that girls his age are apparently going crazy for.
“Go on…” Lucy prompts him. I can see that she’s trying her hardest not to laugh at his latest predicament.
I’ve been in this hospital for two months straight now, and Charlie’s been in here at least half a dozen times already looking for advice or suggestions on how to fix his latest girl-related drama.
I really don’t know why he comes to me for advice – I’m the sick girl, and my relationship experience is virtually non-existent.
He could ask August, but I think we both know that our big sister would chew him up and spit him out faster than he could say ‘girl problems’.
There’s no way in hell he’s going to talk to Mum about his love life, and the last time Charlie asked Dad for help he sat him down and played him Jay Z’s ’99 problems’, and while it was entertaining it wasn’t exactly useful advice, so I guess he’s picked the best of a bad bunch here with me and Luce.
He opens his mouth to explain, but before he gets the chance, Lucy speaks again.
“Let me just get this straight before we get started, is this the same girl as last week? Kimberly or whatever her name was?”
He looks at her blankly for a minute, and I seriously think he can’t remember the name of the girl he was pining over only a few days ago.
He really needs a good shake sometimes.
I can almost see the light-bulb flicker to life over his head as he makes the connection.
“Ohhhh, no. Heck no, she’s old news.”
I roll my eyes again as Lucy and I catch each other’s eye. I’m not sure how something that happened less than seven days ago can be classed as ‘old news’, but then again, I’m not a seventeen-year-old boy, so what would I know?
“How about you just tell us what the problem is.” I raise my brows at him.
“Who said there was a problem?” He frowns.
“Really, Charlie George? If there wasn’t a problem, why on earth would you be here?”
He smirks at me – his cocky-little-shit smirk. “Mum said I had to visit.”
“Liar.” I grin back at him.
Mum would never need to tell Charlie he had to visit me; he’s here nearly every day.
The little teenage punk might like to pretend he doesn’t care or that he’s only here to talk about girls, but I know better, he’s worried about me almost as much as I am.
We’ve been through a lot, my family and I, and we don’t take anything for granted, least of all each other.
Okay, maybe August does a little bit, but every family has to have a diva, and she’s ours.
“Just spill it, Justin Bieber, I’ve got places to be.” Lucy glances dramatically at her watch, and even though I know she’s joking, and that she’s not going anywhere until one of the nurses throws her out, I’m still unbelievably jealous that she can leave this place whenever she wants to.
&
nbsp; I don’t have that luxury anymore. I’m officially a prisoner and this room is my jail cell.
“So, her name is Jess and I really like her, but I dated her sister Rose a while back and honestly, it’s making things awkward for me.”
“Making things awkward for you?” I stare at him in disbelief.
Charlie clearly has more of August’s self-involved nature in him than I realised.
“Yeah, you know… I want to respect them both as women, and you know what, people are always saying that twins hate it when people can’t see that they have their own identities…”
“Now they’re twins?” I rub my temples with the balls of my fingers.
He looks at me like I’ve grown an extra head. “Not just now, they’ve always been twins, Violet. They were born like that.”
I can see Lucy laughing behind her hand and I don’t blame her. I’ve seriously got to wonder sometimes if Mum or Dad dropped him on his head when he was a baby.
I don’t even know what to tell him. I’m at a complete loss for words with this one. Thankfully, that’s where Luce comes in.
“Hey…” she nudges his arm, “Casanova, ditch the twins, you got it?”
“But it’s just one twin,” he protests.
Lucy shakes her head at him. “One plus one makes two, you big dummy. And seriously, any girl willing to date her twin sister’s ex is not the kind of girl you want to be shaking your little fella at, understood?”
I can’t contain my laughter anymore. The look on Charlie’s face is one of pure horror.
Lucy is like a sister to him too, and the idea of her talking about what goes on in his pants is clearly grossing him out.
That’s what I love about Lucy. She tells it like it is – even if you don’t want to hear it.
“But…” He opens his mouth to protest again.
“But nothing, Charlie boy, this has got bad news written all over it.”
He pouts, and I laugh.
“Just think, you’ll be back in here next week and it’ll be all ‘Jess who?’” I reach out and ruffle his hair as I tease him – much to his disgust.
He’s grumbling something incomprehensible to himself as Mum walks into the room, carrying the stack of books I asked her to get me from the library.
I don’t have a love life of my own, so I settle for the next best thing – trying to stop my brother from destroying his, and reading romance novels.
She sets down the books and comes over to kiss me on the top of my head.
She follows suit with Charlie next, and finally Lucy.
Mum has always treated Lucy as part of our family – she’s certainly been around long enough.
She glances between the three of us and then looks pointedly back at Charlie. “You’re not making your sister regret begging so hard for a baby brother now, are you?”
“Regret me?” he replies cheekily, shooting her his best butter-wouldn’t-melt grin. “Never.”
I shake my head in amusement.
He might be a pain in the butt, little womaniser, but I love him more than he’ll ever know. Mum isn’t kidding when she says I begged her for another sibling – other than the heart I now need, I’ve never wanted anything as much in my whole life.
***
Leanne
1997 (Four years old)
I know there’s nothing I need to fear about this… nothing more than the idea of giving birth anyway.
My midwife has assured me that my unborn baby’s heart is perfectly healthy this time. Everything is working exactly as it should be – the ridiculous amount of ultrasounds I’ve had should have put my mind at ease, but I can’t seem to stop myself from still fretting about it.
I never planned on having another baby after Violet, if I’m being entirely honest.
That experience wasn’t something I wanted to risk repeating.
I love Violet, and I wouldn’t change her for the world. At just four and a half years old, she’s already taught me so much about life and love, about taking things for granted and valuing what’s important… but her life is so much harder than what it should be – and I’d never wish that upon another child. Certainly not the one waiting to make its way into the world right now.
But ironically enough, it was Violet herself that changed my mind about having another baby.
Ever since she could speak, she’s been begging me for a baby. ‘Baby’ was literally the first word she ever spoke, and she carries an old baby doll around with her everywhere she goes.
It’s a brother she wants – and while I can’t guarantee that part of the deal, we did eventually give in and try for the baby she so desperately desired.
That brings me to this point, eight and a half months later, on my way to the delivery ward of the hospital – the same ward both August and Violet were born in, because despite my insistence that I have this baby in a ward with specialised heart facilities, there’s no medical or logical reason for us to go anywhere else. That, and I’m actually quite positive that it isn’t even allowed.
I groan with another contraction. I don’t care what other women say – this doesn’t seem to get any easier the more times you do it.
“Nearly there, Lee Lee,” Shaun promises me.
I know we’re not far away, but it seems like an impossible distance.
This labour is progressing so much faster than the other two did, and I’m becoming more and more concerned by the minute that I’m going to give birth in the front seat of this car.
“This is the last time, I swear to God, Shaun.” I ground out the words through the pain.
“Three sounds good to me, Lee, trust me.”
I can see the lit-up sign for the hospital looming ahead and I breathe a sigh of relief, this baby still has to get out one way or another, but now I’m more confident that I’ll make it inside the building at least.
Everything passes in a blur of contractions and pain and before I know it I hear Rebecca, my midwife telling me it’s time. “Just one more push, Leanne, just one more.”
I push with everything I have, and I know the second it’s all over.
I collapse back onto the bed, totally and utterly spent.
“You did it, sweetheart.” Shaun is totally overcome with emotion, I can hear the tears in his voice. “It’s a boy, Lee, we have a son.”
I open my tired eyelids and for the first time lay sight on the precious little baby that is my son.
He’s absolutely perfect. Violet will be thrilled.
“Hey, little guy.” I sniff, trying to reign in my tears. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
And I really am. I don’t feel the sense of fear I expected to.
I thought I’d be encompassed with worry for his heart – that he might have the same condition his sister does, but instead I just feel at peace, knowing that my family is finally complete.
***
Leanne
Present day
I glance into Violet’s studio in surprise.
This door is never open and when Violet’s in here, she’s always alone.
That’s why I’m so shocked to see Charlie in here, rummaging around in the huge collection of paint and brushes that Violet has accumulated over the years.
He’s got a big pad of paper tucked under his arm and he’s tossing a seemingly random collection of things into a box.
I’ve been in this room only a handful of times, and always, always supervised by Violet.
She’s a very private person, especially where her art is concerned, and as hard as that has been for me to accept, I know I have to.
Painting is her outlet… it’s her therapy, and it’s the only type that’s ever worked for her.
I’ve taken her to see countless professionals, some of them costing us hundreds and hundreds of dollars per hour, but none of them have been able to give Violet the same sense of peace that she seems to find when she creates a work of art.
I’ve seen her pictures before. She paints me something
every year for my birthday, but I’ve seen none of her real stuff. Nothing that she’s painted to represent the way she feels.
I already know that they’ll be phenomenal; she’s an incredibly talented artist – I know that without even needing to see anything she’s created in the privacy of this room for the past six or more years – I can just feel it.
“What are you doing in here?”
Charlie jumps in the air at the sound of my voice behind him.
I don’t know what he’s up to, but it’s obvious he’s not meant to be in here any more than I am.
“Christ, Mum, you scared me.”
I’m so tempted to go into the room after him, but given that Violet wasn’t expecting to wind up with an extended hospital stay, I doubt that she left her work in a state she’d consider acceptable for me to view, so I stay strong – and wait at the door where I know I should.
“I don’t think your sister would be too happy about you being in here.”
Truthfully, I’m more interested to know how he got in here.
Violet never leaves the door unlocked, and as far as I was aware, she only has the one key.
Charlie tosses a couple more things in the box and tucks it under his other arm.
“I know,” he replies sheepishly. “She’s gonna be pissed, but I’m hoping she’ll forgive me if it means to she gets to paint.”
“You’re taking all that in to her?”
I’m not sure what I was expecting his excuse for being in here to be, but it certainly wasn’t this.
“Yeah…” He shuffles out the door and I step out of his way.
I hold my arms out to take the box from him and he gratefully hands it over before locking the door behind himself.
“I know she’s missing it. She gets all moody when she can’t paint.”
I can almost feel my heart swelling with pride in my chest.
I might not have been a perfect parent, but I must have done something right along the way if my seventeen-year-old son is this considerate.
A typical Saturday in the life of Charlie consists of surfing or skating, hanging out with his mates, chasing girls and trying to get his underage mitts on half a dozen beers.
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