Page 46 of Neo
“Go. Away.” Kennedy says to whoever has just entered the room, and she turns her phone face down so I can’t see who it is, not that it matters. I already know that it’s Shane.
Suddenly there’s a physical scuffle, and what sounds like laughter. Then Shane is on camera.
“Hey, book worm,” he smiles, much of his ginger-colored hair sticking straight up in the air.
“Uh, hi, Shane. What are you doing?”
“Just–”
A bed pillow unexpectedly flies into camera view, knocking the phone out of Shane’s hand, and another scuffle ensues.
“You’re going to pay for that, Kee-Kee,” I hear him growl.
“Violet!” Kennedy hollers. “I’ll call you back!”
violet
I’m really tryingto act like Christmas is just another day of the year, but the reality is that it isn’t and probably never will be, at least for me. Between the relentless push of Christmas music, television programming and VCU’s obvious commitment to an obscene amount of holiday lights, it’s pretty hard to escape.
My father called me last night to double check if I wanted to come to his house for Christmas dinner with him and his new “friend” Charlotte. I’d already said no two other times, but lately he’s been persistent about building a relationship with me, as if he could ever make up for the twenty years of my life that he’s missed. Needless to say, I politely passed on the invitation and gave him an excuse about coming down with a cold.
“I don’t really do a huge turkey thing on Christmas, but I make a mean Cornish hen,” he said. “I’d love for you to come home and have a quiet Christmas dinner with me and Charlotte. I think you’ll like her.”
My first inclination is to remind my father that my actual home had always been back on the east coast in a warm tiny townhouse with my mom. Not with him. Never with him. But it’s not really my personality to disrespect my elders, even knowing that this elder is only in my life because he has to be and not because he chose to be. But of course, I don’t say any of that.
“I’m not really feeling too good,” I said, selling my story with a few fake coughs.
“Do you have a temperature? Have you taken a covid test?” He started battering off a million questions and I rolled my eyes to myself. Really? He chose now to be concerned about my health? Where was he when I had the chicken pox in the fourth grade and my mom had to take off three days of work that she couldn’t afford to take care of me?
“I think it’s just a cold. I’m pretty sure I just need some rest.”
“Have you been prepping a little too hard for the upcoming semester?”
“Maybe, but I just want to make sure I don’t blow the full ride you managed to get for me.”
The one I don’t actually deserve.
The poor girl pity scholarship.
“You won’t blow it. I’ve seen your high school transcripts. You’re an excellent student, Violet, and you work hard. Don’t stress yourself so much.”
I became stuck on his second comment, not really hearing anything after that.
“I’m sorry, but how have you seen my transcripts? Don’t you need my permission? I’m over the age of eighteen.”
“It never dawned on me that I’d need permission. I’m your father, so I just asked, and the school gave me online access.”
“Why?” I blurt out, offended that he’s taking liberties that he hasn’t earned. How dare he interject himself in my life like this at the eleventh hour? “Why would you do that?”
“Because I care, Violet.” His response is said softly, as if my question hurt his feelings.
Imagine that.
* * *
Today I’ve been in my pajamas for hours, played with some new skin care in the bathroom mirror, cracked open a brand new wolf shifter romance (which I love) and have read eleven chapters already. Elijah also finally called again, and we had the lamest conversation, practically confirming my decision to end whatever this is we’re doing before the new year begins.
“Hey, Vi.”