“I’m not doing this, Susanna. Please, respect what Violet has asked and let it go.”
“Are you gonna fix it?”
“I hope so,” I said.
Her eyes went alarmed.
“God. You’re broken too. What the fuck happened?”
“Gotta go. If she needs anything, if anything goes wrong or she needs me, call me, okay?”
“She does need you. She’s a mess. You clearly need her, too. Why aren’t you two figuring this out? You’ve been married for a few weeks. What happened, Killian? She told me to cancel the lingerie shower, too, and Dreamboat… you do want her to get showered with beautiful lingerie, don’t you? I spent six hundred bucks on pretty things for her, pretty burgundy things, and have about a dozen of our friends on a list to-”
“Sorry, I have to go.” I closed the door.
That was two days ago.
Now, I’m getting ready to go to bed, it’s only nine thirty but I’ve barely slept, so am about to try despite that it’s another night without Violet.
After I quickly check on Fuckface, I look in on Violet’s location, so I can see that she’s safe and sound at her grandfather’s place. As I’m exiting the app, my phone rings while in my hand.
Kevin Gates Calling
It’s my fucking father-in-law.
Wonderful.
Violet’s parents are nice people. I’ve only been around them a handful of times, but they’ve treated me well. They’re good to their daughter; I like them. It was weird going over there for dinner, being around a functional family, but I liked it. Why the fuck is he calling me right now?
I’m tempted to let it go to voicemail so I can see if his message tells me what it’s about, but panic hits me that something might be wrong with my wife, so I answer.
“Hello?”
“Killian, it’s Kev Gates. Meet me for a beer in say… half an hour.”
“Kev, I’m in the middle of something.”
“Killian, respect son, but when your wife’s father asks you to do something, you do it if you can.”
I’m taken aback.
He chuckles. “I’m razzin’ ya. But listen… you didn’t have to go through the whole courtship thing where you got to know the family over time, but the little we know about you, I get the sense you’re a no-nonsense guy. We have that in common. Now, we need to meet for a beer. I’ll be at Callaghan’s Pub in your neighborhood in half an hour. If you can’t do half an hour, do an hour. You know it?”
I rub my forehead. “I do.”
“Be there when? An hour?”
“All right, Kev.”
We say goodbye and I put the phone down.
Fuck.
How the fuck is this supposed to go? What has she told them?
I tap out a message to Violet.
I promised to give you space, but your father demanded I meet him at Callaghan’s Pub tonight. I don’t know how you want to play this. If you have input, reply or call. If not, I’ll play things as carefully as I can.
It takes seconds for me to see the message has been read. It makes my gut drop.
I stare for a long minute, waiting for her reply.
Two minutes go by and nothing, so I take my phone into the bathroom, shed my clothes, and climb into the shower. I wash up in record time, almost the entire time with my eyes aimed out the glass doors toward the counter by the sink so I can see if the phone screen lights up.
Finally, it does while I’m lathering shampoo, so I rinse quickly, and practically sprint from the shower like a fucking chump.
I miss the call. It wasn’t Violet. It was her father. There’s a voicemail alert. I play it on speaker.
“Killian, Violet asked me to cancel. At least you two are talking. That’s something. I’m pretending I haven’t seen her message. She thinks I can’t figure out this phone anyway. I’d like you to still meet me at Callaghan’s. Call or send me a text and let me know if you’re comin’.”
I tap out a text to him.
I got your voicemail. I’ll see you at the pub soon.
As I’m getting dressed, my phone makes noise. It’s Violet’s text alert. She changed it while we were in Vegas to what she told me was the popcorn sound, so I’d know it was her without even looking. She changed mine on her phone to a heartbeat sound, which I really fucking liked.
Dimples: I asked my dad to cancel and told him to mind his own business. Hopefully, he does. Feel free to ignore his message.
This is worse than not hearing from her. Because it’s cold. It doesn’t even feel like Violet.
Me: Come home.
I’ve hit send before I even let myself think about what I’ve just written. It’s what I want. I want her here. I want to talk to her. Fix this.
She hasn’t replied ten minutes later, so I text again.