His Eternal Flame

by Valentine, Layla

  Usually, I tell Frank everything. He knows about every single girl I’ve screwed or pursued since we met eleven years ago. But something is different with Violet. I want to do the thing I never got a chance to: keep her all to myself.

  Chapter 2

  Violet

  The sound of silverware clinking fills the kitchen. Across the small, circular table, Mom checks her wristwatch.

  “I have to go in ten minutes,” she announces. “We’re voting on our next book tonight.”

  I gulp. This is it. I promised myself I’d share my big news tonight. There’s no going back. I won’t let that happen.

  “Mom, I have something to tell you.”

  Noting my serious tone, she puts her knife and fork down and stares at me.

  “What is it? Is it about Brad?”

  I bite down on my bottom lip.

  “No, but, uh…now that you mention it, Brad and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  Her shoulders sag. “Since when?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “And you’re just now telling me?”

  I feel myself bristle at the response. “It wasn’t serious.”

  Mom sighs. “It never is with you, Violet.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “You don’t think I’m not trying, Mom? I go on dates all the time. I use the internet. I go to bars. I even tried speed-dating…”

  I press my fingertips against my brow, exhausted from just listing all the ways I’ve tried to find a man.

  “Sometimes it just takes a while,” she says briskly. “You’re only twenty-nine.”

  “And not getting any younger.” I drop my hands and look at her. “My twenties have gone by…” I shake my head. “So fast. Don’t tell me my thirties aren’t going to be the same.”

  She lets out a sharp exhale. That must be an agreement.

  “What is your plan then, Violet? Sit around until a man falls into your lap? Become a lesbian?”

  “I’m not looking anymore.”

  “Oh.” She taps her long fingernails against her water glass. “Well, that…that can be good as well. Focusing on your career is always a good thing. You’re healthy and energetic. There’s time yet to find someone and get married.”

  “I don’t know if that’s going to happen for me, Mom.”

  She rolls her head in exasperation. “Violet, don’t start this ‘woe is me’ business.”

  “I’m not!”

  I take in a deep breath, my hands clenching under the table. I promised myself I wouldn’t lose my cool.

  “I’m not,” I repeat, more calmly this time.

  “Why did you bring this up?”

  “I didn’t. You asked me about Brad.”

  “You said you had something to tell me.” She flattens her palms on either side of her dinner plate. “Now, look. I know how disheartening dating can be. Maybe we can go out together—”

  “I’m going to have a baby,” I blurt out.

  Her blue eyes are wide and unblinking.

  “You’re pregnant?” she whispers, no readable reaction there.

  “No,” I carefully answer. “But I hope to be soon.”

  “What…what are you talking about? You just said you’re not seeing anyone. Without a husband or boyfriend…”

  “I’m going to try and find a sperm donor. Have been, I mean. I’ve been trying to find one.”

  A long silence follows.

  “Oh, Violet,” Mom groans. “Breakups are hard. I know you probably miss Brad, but—”

  “This isn’t about him,” I snap. “I ended that. And he wasn’t even my boyfriend. We’d only been dating for a few months.”

  “And yet, because the relationship ended, you’ve decided to go and have some stranger’s baby,” she dryly says, folding her arms tight.

  “Actually, no. I’ve been thinking about this for months. Since before I met him.”

  Her nostrils flare. “Good Lord, Violet. What are you thinking?”

  “That I can’t wait around for a man to give me the life I want,” I quickly answer, voicing the words that have swirled in my brain for months.

  “And what if you do this…this…”

  “Artificial insemination.”

  “Then you meet a man the next month? What then? Do you think he’s going to stick around if you’re already pregnant?”

  “If he doesn’t, he’s not the man for me.”

  The patronizing look on her face makes me want to punch the wall.

  “You’re going to regret this.”

  “Don’t tell me what I want, Mom.”

  “Just wait, Violet. Please. There’s someone out there for you.”

  “Honestly, Mom, I don’t really care whether there is or not.”

  At this point, that’s the truth. I’ve spent so many of my years looking for a dream guy. I’m exhausted, tired of chasing men and just wanting someone in my life.

  Other than a family, I have everything I ever wanted. My own gallery. A house that I bought just last year. I’m one of the most successful people I know my age. It’s time I did something for myself.

  Where’s the crime in wanting someone to love and take care of?

  I’d really wanted my mother to be happy for me, but I’d had no illusions going into this conversation. I knew she wouldn’t support my decision. With her, everything is by the book. Take one step off the path the majority of society follows, and you’re committing an unforgivable sin.

  Mom’s face is white, and she won’t stop shaking her head.

  “You’re giving up too early, Violet. Look at me. I’m still going out there. Do you think it’s easy at my age?”

  I grind my teeth together so I don’t say what’s on the tip of my tongue. Things are different for my mother. She’s no longer looking to start a family. When she was my age, she had a husband and a three-year-old.

  “Try harder,” she goes on. “And you’ll find someone eventually.”

  “You, out of all people, shouldn’t blame me because there aren’t any good men out there.”

  Her mouth goes into a tight line, and I know I’ve gone too far, crossed that boundary that we have a silent agreement to never even touch. But I no longer care.

  Though she no longer wears her wedding ring, she’s kept my father’s last name. A name I’ve thought a dozen times about discarding myself.

  “I need to go. You’ve made me late.”

  She goes to stand, but I beat her to it.

  “Don’t worry. I’m leaving.”

  “Violet…”

  She doesn’t need to bother. We’ve both already said what’s important. She doesn’t support my decision, and it’s no surprise. I’m alone in this. Just like with everything.

  I’m out the door and in my car in a heartbeat, speeding down the residential street as dusk swallows the little houses up. My hands shake against the steering wheel, and a sob pushes tightly against my chest. Hot tears stream down my face.

  Seeing a mostly-empty drugstore parking lot, I pull into it and park all the way in the back. There, I drop my head forward and let the sobs come.

  For each sad tear, there’s an angry one.

  I knew that people would judge me for this decision—unfortunately, my mother included. What I don’t get is why. Everyone deserves to pursue their own form of happiness, right?

  I’ll be a good mom. Maybe not the best in the world, but I’ll try my hardest each and every day for the rest of my life. And there won’t be a moment that goes by where I won’t thank the heavens above for giving me someone to take care of.

  Though I’d been expecting my mom’s reaction, it hit me harder than I thought it would, her angry face yet another reminder that I really am in this all by myself. There’s no husband to go to doctor’s appointments with or to assemble the crib for me. In the middle of the night, I’ll be the only one waking up and trudging down the hall to rock a crying baby.

  But that’s just the way it is. That’s my life�
�partly because I’ve picked this path. I didn’t want to be single and approaching thirty, but here I am. My whole life, I’ve done things my way. I went to art school when my mom begged me not to. Started a gallery when everyone said the market in Hawaii wasn’t good enough.

  And look at me now. I’ve persevered, made a name for myself. It’s time I complete my life by adding someone else to it. Anyone who doesn’t like that idea can shove it.

  Wiping my tears and raising my head, I put the car back into drive and head home. Alone. But, though there are sad tears and angry tears, there are no lonely tears. In a lot of ways, I’ve spent my life alone. I know how to inhabit that space. It’s made me stronger, unapologetic.

  Despite everything else, I have that to be proud of.

  Chapter 3

  Sean

  My bedroom door flies open just as I’m doing up the last button on my shirt.

  “Damn,” I grumble. “Knock, much?”

  Frank just starts rooting through my stuff. “Have you seen my jump rope?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  I turn back to the mirror, giving myself a quick once-over. Hair slicked back. Sleeves rolled up just enough so my tattoos peek out. A five o’clock shadow that I decided not to shave last minute. Hopefully, I’m doing a good job of walking the line between casual and classy.

  Frank appears in the mirror behind me, wearing a frown.

  “I thought you said you weren’t doing anything tonight.”

  “Something popped up.”

  After thinking about it some more, I realize there’s no harm in telling Frank where I’m going. We can both be pretty competitive when it comes to women, but he already said he’ll be busy with his own date tonight.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “An exhibit at an art gallery.”

  He makes a disgusted face. “Have fun.”

  “I will.”

  Suddenly, his eyes light up. “I know where I put it!”

  “What?”

  He darts out of my room and into the bathroom between the bedrooms. Sticking his head out of the doorway, he holds the jump rope up.

  “It was in here.”

  I put my hand up. “I don’t even want to know why.”

  “See, I was—”

  “Nope. Just said I don’t need to know.”

  He shrugs.

  “Gotta get some reps in before I shower and then…” He pumps his fists and humps the air. “Baby girl, get ready for Big Daddy Frank.”

  “What happened to Frank the Tank?” I ask, referring to his army nickname.

  “They’re interchangeable.”

  I laugh, partly because ‘interchangeable’ is such a weird word to hear coming from Frank’s mouth.

  “Don’t hurt yourself tonight, big guy.”

  “Same to you.”

  He winks before disappearing into his bedroom. I wonder for a minute if he knows that I have plans to see a woman tonight. Loose plans, that is.

  One-sided plans.

  I still don’t know how Violet is going to take me, popping up out of nowhere. Surely she knows I’m back on the island. Our moms are best friends, despite the fact that they are two of the most dissimilar women I’ve seen.

  Maybe she hates me for not getting in touch.

  I wouldn’t blame her for it. That’s one phone call that’s about eleven years overdue.

  Stowing my nerves, I finish getting ready and head to the apartment complex’s parking garage. My baby is right where I left her, cherry-red paint shining even in the dim light.

  Before climbing on my bike, I pause and run my palm over her curves, relishing the smooth feel of the metal against my hand.

  My dream bike. Custom-made, every detail hand-selected by me. I saved years for it. One day soon, I’ll be riding it to work every day at my repair shop, then riding it home to my sweet little casa. When that’s happening, I’ll have finally arrived in paradise.

  Violet’s gallery is also downtown, a walkable distance from my place. It’s a gorgeous evening, though, and I’m not passing up an opportunity for a ride.

  I take my girl out onto the avenue, cruising with the breeze lifting my unzipped leather jacket. Just being on the road, even if it’s in the middle of the city, brings me peace. Within a few minutes, the mood has changed, though. I’m in front of Flower Power Gallery, and the sick feeling is back.

  Finding a parking spot about a block away, I take my time fixing my helmet head, hoping the nausea will subside. Will I recognize Violet the instant I see her? Will she recognize me?

  Though time and circumstance pulled us apart, I never stopped thinking about her. Often, I wondered what would have happened if I’d just kissed her on prom night—or before then. I liked to think a bit of fun wouldn’t have ruined our relationship. I’d had a shit-ton of girlfriends in high school, having gotten started early.

  Yet none of them had ever kept my attention. Violet was the only chick I ever found interesting. I always told myself I’d done the right thing, but now I wonder if a fling might have been doable.

  Not that it matters anymore. Right now, I’m interested in saying hi and catching up a bit. It would be dumb to expect anything else.

  On the walk to the gallery, I pass by a flower shop with sunflowers in the window. After thinking about it for a few more steps, I turn around and head into the store. Sunflowers were always Violet’s favorite.

  Ten minutes later, the bouquet of flowers clutched in hand, I enter the gallery. It’s so packed I can barely open the door without it hitting someone. I edge my way through the ground of mostly gray-hairs. There are some younger people too, but they’re all hanging out in clumps or on their phones.

  The crowd makes it hard to move through the gallery at a fast pace, but that’s just fine. While everyone else surveys the art on the walls, I check the heads for one person in particular. Violet is nowhere to be seen. Maybe she couldn’t make it to the show. I have no clue what owning a gallery entails. Could be she’s stuck somewhere doing paperwork or encouraging a moody artist.

  It’s almost a relief. So what if I leave here without running into her? I’ll be able to tell myself I tried. That’s something.

  Since I don’t like the idea of just leaving, I take some time to look at the art. The section in the front is mostly devoted to sculptures of the human figure. Pretty cool, if you’re into that kind of thing.

  What really grab my attention are the canvasses toward the back. I move in their direction, unable to take my eyes off the bright washes of color. There’s red on top of green and purple on one. Shades of yellow and orange bleeding into each other on another, reminding me of a sunset in the middle of the ocean.

  I’ve never understood what the big deal about abstract art is, but looking at these paintings, I think I finally get it. I feel like I could fall into these colors, lose myself in a sea of calm blues and invigorating greens. Looking at these giant paintings, it’s like my mind has finally slowed down. The endless thoughts have all been pushed to the side.

  I step close to the yellow and orange one, the only thing stopping me from touching it the other people around.

  “You like it?” a female voice asks.

  “A lot.”

  I glance over—and freeze. Violet is standing right next to me, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the painting. Feeling my eyes on her, she turns to me. For a moment, she looks confused, like I remind her of someone, but she’s not sure who. Then, her mouth drops and her eyes go wide.

  “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Sean?”

  “Violet,” I croak.

  “What… You…”

  “I got home a few weeks ago. For good. I’m out of the service.”

  “I know. My mom told me.”

  The realization that she knew I was in town but still didn’t get in touch hurts a little, but I did the same to her. It wasn’t until I saw the flier that I thought about finding her.

  “You look good,” I breathe.

  And, Christ, does s
he. Her hair is still long and thick, falling over her shoulders in every shade of blond in existence. Her face has changed, but ‘aged’ isn’t the right word for it. She’s matured. There’s experience there. But she’s still the same drop-dead gorgeous girl I left on a porch eleven years ago.

  “I brought you these.”

  She takes the bouquet, her lips turning up. “Sunflowers are my favorite.”

  “I know.”

  Pink colors her cheeks. “Did your mom tell you about the opening?”

  “No, I saw a flier. I mean, I knew you had a gallery…I, uh…” I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable.

  Judging by the way Violet tucks her hair behind her ears and looks away, the unease is shared.

  “Is this your favorite painting in here, too?” I ask, eager to get the attention on anything but us.

  Violet’s laughter is musical. “It would be pretty biased for me to claim it is.”

  “Why is that?”

  She points to the little card beneath the painting. Shades of Light, it reads. Violet Powers.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” She smiles, looking me up and down. “It’s been so long.”

  “I’m sorry,” tumbles right on out.

  “I should have written more,” she says.

  “I should have too.”

  “And called,” she sighs.

  “I should have visited.”

  We catch eyes, and the new smile on her face is relaxed. In a moment, everything is forgiven.

  “We’re both pretty shitty people, huh?” I ask.

  It gets the laugh I wanted. “You haven’t changed much.”

  “Knock on wood.”

  Her smile flickers and her eyes search me.

  “What are you looking for?” I ask, holding my breath, wondering if I want the answer.

  Violet quickly looks down at the sunflowers. “Nothing. It’s good to see you.”

  “You too,” I whisper.

  Without meaning to, I clock her left hand. No wedding band.

  “So, what do you get up to now?” I ask. “You have this big, fancy gallery, so I know you’re a successful artist and entrepreneur.”

  Her blush is back. “You basically just summed it up. This gallery is my life.”