by Lauren Rowe
When the funeral concludes, I guide Violet’s sobbing frame to the waiting limo. The moment we settle into the backseat, both of us wet and trembling, I tell the driver to put up the barrier between us, take Violet’s beautiful face in my palms, and kiss her tenderly. And, thank God, she kisses me back.
After our brief kiss, I put my forehead on Violet’s and stroke her wet cheek. “I’m sorry about your stepfather.”
“They don’t want me here, but I felt like I had to come. I needed to say goodbye.”
I kiss her cheek. “Violet, I’m so sorry I made you feel like a mistress. You’re not the mistress, baby. You’re the stone-cold wife.”
She chuckles through her tears.
“I love you, Violet. With all my heart and soul. Those fireflies are a blazing sun inside me now. A thousand blazing suns. They’re an entire sky full of twinkling stars and a bright, full moon.”
She chokes on her tears. “I love you, too. So much. I’ve got a thousand blazing suns and infinite stars and the brightest moon inside me, too. All for you.” She wipes her face. “Reed sent me a recording. I heard you singing song after song about me.” She bites her lip. “I heard you say you love me.”
I touch her face gently. Every cell in my body feels alive and free. I feel euphoric, even as my heart aches for my baby’s tears. “I should have told you I love you in the hotel room when you needed to hear it,” I say. “I just needed time to figure myself out. To gather enough courage to leap off the cliff. But I’m ready to do it now. To leap with you. In fact, I already have. After that conversation with Reed, I went straight to Caleb and told him everything.”
She touches my shiner gently. “He didn’t take it well, huh?”
I shake my head.
“Are you okay?”
“Fuck it, shit happens.” I smile. “Fish always says that. He also said the shiner makes me look like a rebel.”
She smiles through tears. “It does.”
I notice cars around us beginning to depart the gravesite. “Is there a reception or wake you need to go to now?”
Violet shakes her head. “Nobody wants me there. I’ve said what I needed to say to him. I got my closure.”
She’s shivering violently, so I press the button on the intercom to talk to the driver. “Can you please blast the heat back here? Full throttle, man.”
“Yes, sir.”
I smile at Violet. “Can I give you a tour of my hometown?”
“Now?”
“Just a little driving tour.”
She smiles. “I’d love it.”
“You’ve never been to Seattle, right?”
“Never.”
“Cool. I’ll show you the basics and then we’ll head to my parents’ for dinner. Sound good? Everyone’s expecting us.”
“Everyone?”
“The Seattle Branch of the Morgan Clan. My mom is cooking a big pot of spaghetti and meatballs. One of her specialties. Everyone is coming for dinner.”
“Who, exactly?”
“Colby and Lydia, Ryan and Tessa, Josh and Kat, and all their respective kids. They’re all coming, in full force, to welcome you to our city. Our home.” I grin. “Our family.”
Violet’s face contorts with emotion. And, I must admit, I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed with emotion myself.
“Oh, and Colby’s dog, Ralph, too. You like dogs?”
“I love dogs.”
“Good. Or else, we’d be done.”
She laughs.
“Where’s your suitcase? At your hotel?”
“No, in a closet in the mortuary office.” She gestures up the road. “I was going to head to the airport right after the funeral.”
“Change of plans. We’re staying the night at my parents’ tonight.”
She nods, clearly fighting back tears.
“You know how to play Hearts?”
“Is that a card game?”
“Yeah.”
“No idea.”
“Then we’ll teach you. In my family, it’s a must. How about backgammon?”
“I know how to play that one.”
“Good. Play it with my dad, please. Nobody else will.”
She laughs.
“Foosball? Are you any good at that?”
“Is that the one with the little soccer players on poles?”
“Oh, for the love of fuck. You say this to me after I confess my undying love to you?” I sigh like I’m deeply annoyed. “Yes, it’s the one with the little soccer players, trying to kick a ball into a goal.”
“I’ve seen it from afar.”
“It’s okay. I’ll teach you to become a pro, because that’s how much I love you.”
“Thank you. Wow.”
“And don’t worry, if you suck, there’s still no way you’ll be worse than Kat. That’s all that matters.”
Violet is lit up. Absolutely gorgeous. “I’ll do my best.”
I squeeze her hand. “But, first, let me give you a driving tour of my beautiful hometown. Appropriately, in the driving rain.” I push the button for the intercom again and tell the driver to drive us past all the usual tourist spots. “You know the drill,” I say. “The Space Needle, the Fish Market, the wharf.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask Violet.
“A little.”
Back to the intercom. “First off, take us somewhere to get some really good Seattle coffee and a cupcake.”
“I know just the place,” the driver says. He tells me the name of the place he’s thinking and I tell him that’s exactly where I had in mind.
As the limo pulls away from the curb, I pull Violet close to me, kiss the side of her head, and whisper to her. I tell her she’s gonna be okay. That I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. I tell her I love her again and again. And as I talk and cuddle her and kiss her, I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. I know I’ve found my tribe of two. My lucky number two.
Chapter 49
Violet
As we get out of the limo to walk into the coffee place, I’m fully expecting Dax to stuff his signature hair into his black beanie and cover his head with his hood, the same way he did on our way in and out of the children’s hospital in L.A. The same way he did when we were out and about during our house-hunting excursion. The same way he did when we were sitting in the backseat of Ubers, heading to and from Aloha’s house. But he doesn’t do it this time. He leaves his beanie on the backseat and doesn’t flip his hood over his head. Shockingly, he doesn’t even put on sunglasses.
And so, predictably, as we walk into the coffee place, a whole lot of eyes around the room immediately lock onto him and then bug out. Dax was born and raised in Seattle, after all. This is his town. Surely, this city, more than any other, has been watching the meteoric rise of 22 Goats with pride. And, surely, they’re especially aware—and proud—of the band’s most recognizable member.
Cell phones come out. Some people brazenly start snapping photos. Others pretend to be looking casually at their phones while they covertly do the deed. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize they’re secretly capturing Dax, in all his golden glory, all in the name of posting and bragging and memorializing their unexpected brush with greatness for posterity.
“This place has the best cupcakes,” Dax says brightly, ignoring the obvious electricity zinging around the room, all of it directed squarely at him. “I swear, you’ve never had a better cupcake in your life.”
“I can’t wait. But I think I’m going to need a little bite of real food before I indulge in dessert.”
“Well, lucky for you they also have the sickest salads and croissant sandwiches known to man. Will that work?”
“Fabulous.”
Without warning, he pulls me to him and kisses me—in full view of everyone. And it’s not a peck, either. It’s a kiss that’s every bit as sexy and passionate as any of the ones he gave that model in his now-iconic music video. Actually, no. This kiss is far more passion
ate than any of the ones on display in that video. Because this one is undeniably sincere.
When he pulls away from kissing me, Dax nuzzles my nose and whispers how happy he is to be here with me in his hometown.
I’m shook to my core. Elated. Swooning. I’m physically clutching Dax’s arm so I won’t tip over from light-headed glee.
When we reach the counter, arm in arm, Dax looks up at the menu on the wall above the cashier’s head and says, “What looks good to you, Vi?”
The cashier, a young woman who looks to be in her late teens, is visibly freaking out. Like, legit about to pass out. But, somehow, she holds it together enough to take our order.
“Is this for here or to go?” the cashier asks, her face bursting with color.
“For here,” Dax says, at the same time I say, “To go.”
“Oh,” Dax says, turning to me. “I was thinking we’d relax and eat here, if that’s okay with you. We’re not in any rush, are we?”
“Oh, I’d love that,” I say. “I just figured you’d want to take it on the road.”
“Nah. Let’s take our time. I love this place. I love the art on the walls.” He smiles at me. “And I love you.”
Holy shit.
I look at the woman behind the counter and she looks like she’s a hair’s breadth away from emitting a hysterical scream.
But Dax is unfazed. He calmly pays the flush-faced woman, giving her a mammoth tip, and guides my still-shocked body toward a corner table.
“I’m sorry to ask,” the cashier blurts as we walk away. “But would you mind taking a selfie with me? 22 Goats is my favorite band. Every song on your album is amazing.”
“Thank you,” Dax says. “Yeah, sure.” He returns to the counter and leans over it while she does the same thing from her side, but the angle for the selfie is weird. “Hey, maybe we should have my girlfriend take the shot?” Dax offers, making my knees wobble at his easy use of the word “girlfriend.” He calls to me. “Baby, would you mind?”
“Not at all,” I manage to croak out.
“Can I come around and give you a hug, Dax?” the cashier asks. She looks at me. “If your girlfriend doesn’t mind?”
My heart is soaring. “No, I don’t mind at all. Get your shot, girl.”
She squeals, thanks me, apologizes to the people at the front of the line, and sprints around the counter like a bat out of hell. When she reaches Dax, she hugs him like he’s her beloved boyfriend who’s been lost at sea for eighteen months and finally, just now, returned safely to her.
Laughing, I snap the shot and the young woman thanks Dax and me profusely. It’s clear Dax is making a lifelong memory for this adorable girl. And it’s also clear he’s happy to do it. Watching Dax enjoy this interaction, seeing this girl’s excitement, I feel overcome with a sense of joy. Relief, too. Like everything’s truly going to be all right.
The woman says she’ll bring our food to our table, so we make our way to the corner of the room and take a seat next to a large window that’s being assaulted by pounding rain. We huddle together and talk softly. I tell Dax how happy it made me to see that cashier looking so thrilled, and he laughs and says it was actually fun for him.
Our conversation is cut off when a couple comes by and asks for a selfie. They tell Dax he’s made Seattle proud. That 22 Goats has picked up Nirvana’s torch—a compliment that obviously enthralls Dax.
Another group approaches. And then another. Everyone heaping love and genuine affection on Dax, their hometown hero. And I can plainly see he’s deeply appreciative of their kind words—that these interactions are giving him more than pleasure, they’re giving him some sort of healing.
Finally, three young dudes approach. They say they used to go to 22 Goats shows “back in the day” in local clubs, and Dax laughs and says his band used to play at such and such club for nothing but tacos and beer as their payment. The guys tell Dax they caught his show here in Seattle when 22 Goats came through with Red Card Riot, and they couldn’t believe how amazing they were—how much the guys’ showmanship and musicianship had skyrocketed since those early days. They tell Dax that his band, their success, and especially Dax’s artistry, have been the biggest inspirations for their own band.
“Honestly, if I had to pick one person who’s inspired me the most, it would be you,” one of the guys says. “You, followed closely behind by Dean Masterson.”
Oh, Dax. By the look on his face, it’s clear the mention of Dean’s name has pained his heart. But it’s also clear hearing his name, mentioned in the same breath as his idol’s, is deeply meaningful to him—confirmation that, no matter what craziness has attended the selling of Dax’s music, it’s nonetheless still the music itself, Dax’s art, that’s touched people the most. Not his gorgeous face or golden hair or bare ass.
Dax gives the guys his publicist’s number and tells them to contact her for backstage passes to his next show in Seattle and they flip out. When the cashier comes with our food, the guys politely leave us to eat, thanking Dax profusely as they go.
Dax and I scarf down our food and coffee and cupcakes, smiling like goofs at each other the whole time. And when we’re done, Dax takes my face in his hands and kisses me again.
“Man, I love Seattle,” he says against my lips, his forehead on mine. “The city that knew me when...”
“I can see why you love it.”
“I also love you.”
“Good, because I love you.”
“I can’t wait to show you my hometown.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
Dax stands, puts out his hand, and says, “Let’s paint this gray, soggy Seattle day all kinds of violet, baby. Onward.”
Chapter 50
Violet
It was built for the 1962 World’s Fair,” Dax says. And, of course, he’s pointing to the Space Needle as we drive past in the limo. “There’s a restaurant at the top that rotates around and around that’s pretty dope. My family went there for Kat’s eighteenth birthday. And there’s this sick museum of glass right over there. Sounds like an old-fart thing to do, I know—go to a glass museum. But my mom dragged me there once as a kid, and I’ve been hooked ever since.”
“I’d love to see it some time.”
“And that’s the Museum of Pop Culture right there. So sick. We had passes when I was a kid. They have a Jimi Hendrix exhibit and a Nirvana exhibit I’ve seen at least ten times each. I’m gonna have to bring you back here some time to show you.”
“I’d love it. Any time.”
His face lights up. “How about now? Are you in any rush to head back to L.A. tomorrow?”
“No. I’m self-employed. And just barely, at that.”
“Then let’s stay three or four days in Seattle. My parents will be stoked to have us. Unless you’d rather I book a hotel?”
“I think I’d rather take a break from hotels for a little while,” I say, chuckling.
“Oh, God, same.”
We share a huge smile.
“Do you think it will be okay for me to do some laundry at your parents’ house? I’ve only got one change of clothes.”
“People doing laundry at my house isn’t a unique phenomenon.”
“Yeah, I guess not. Not with five kids.”
“So, are you down to check out the Jimi and Nirvana exhibits now? We’re right here and they’re my all-time favorite things.”
“Awesome.”
He pushes the intercom button and tells the driver the plan, and twenty minutes later, we’re wandering around the museum together. And, yet again, Dax doesn’t cover up in public. And not only that, he packs on the PDA as we wander from exhibit to exhibit.
“Oh, this is new,” he says as we come to a stop in front of an exhibit for Pearl Jam—another legendary Seattle band. “God, Pearl Jam is so fucking dope.” He leans in to closely examine a photo of Eddie Vedder and then whispers reverently, “Eddie. My man.”
After Dax has paid appropriate respects to Eddie, Nirvana,
and Jimi, we check out a few other random things, all of it while holding hands. And, through it all, as we talk and walk and kiss and cuddle, I can’t help noticing people constantly taking covert snapshots of us... but leaving us alone.
An hour later, just as we settle into the back of the limo again, my phone pings with an incoming text.
“Oh my God!” I shriek, looking at my screen. “Aloha Carmichael wants to hire me! I sent her a sketch last night—an idea for this music video she told me about—and she just texted she loves, loves, loves the sketch and wants me to run with it. Oh my God, Dax, this is a dream come true!”
He high-fives me. “What’s the idea?”
“She wants me to make her a superhero costume!”
I swipe into my photos and show Dax the design I sent to Aloha and he gushes about it. With shaking hands, I reply to Aloha’s text and express my elation and gratitude, and she immediately replies to say she and Zander are with “Kaddy” right now—Keane and Maddy—and that everyone says, “Woohoo!”
Of course, I reply to say I’m with Dax in Seattle—no “group date” required this time!—and Aloha sends me a gif of two people jumping on a bed and opening a spritzing bottle of champagne. Two seconds later, I get a text from Maddy, attaching a gif of a baby doing a happy dance.
I’m about to shove my phone into my bag when I get a text from Miranda.
Look at the “Dax in the Wild” Instagram account. OMFG.
Dax points at something through the limo window—some tourist sight he wants me to check out—but I cut him off. “Miranda just told me to look at ‘Dax in the Wild,’” I say. “I’m guessing today’s escapades have made it on there.”
“Yeah, my PR person already texted me. We’re everywhere. Not just there.”
“Everywhere?”
“You’re being called a ‘mystery girl.’”
My heart in my mouth, I swipe into Instagram and check the account. And I’ll be damned. There’s a photo of Dax and me kissing at the coffee place. And another one in the museum. And then I google and find our photos on several gossip sites.
“Well, that was quick,” I say.
“Welcome to the internet,” Dax says. But he’s smiling. Indeed, if I were a betting woman, I’d guess all the PDA he just showered on me in public places was designed to get the word out, far and wide, in exactly this way.