The man’s eyebrows jerk up as his eyes widen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He offers me more tissues, appearing so distressed that I cry harder. Great—now he’s trying to comfort me as I sit here crying about the depressing aspects of his life. The depressing aspects of his life that could potentially be the depressing aspects of my own life in the future.
“You didn’t upset me,” I lie. “I just feel bad. That’s terrible that you don’t get to see your kids. And um, I cry a lot.” This is definitely the truth.
I try to change the subject as I dab at my eyes. “How did your ex-wife end up with sole custody?” As soon as I ask the question, I realize that it’s completely inappropriate. What is wrong with you? He probably doesn’t want to talk about that!
But instead of being insulted, he says, “I wasn’t really in a good position to argue when my wife and I got divorced. I’ve done some things that I’m not proud of.”
“Oh,” I reply, envisioning him sleeping with his secretary or something cliché like that.
“I punched her boyfriend in the face when I caught him sneaking out of our house one night when I was supposed to be away on a business trip, a psych convention.”
Oh boy.
“I hate to admit it, but I had lied to my wife. About the convention, that is. I figured it was a tiny white lie compared to the lying she was doing to me. I had suspected her of having an affair for a few months, but I was too chicken to confront her directly with it. So instead I came up with this brilliant plan to catch her in the act. And boy did I.”
I must look horror-stricken because he quickly corrects himself, “Not the actual act...just very soon afterward. I shouldn’t have done it, though, because I lost my temper and punched him. I was the one who ended up getting in trouble, even though they were the ones destroying our family.” His voice catches at the end and he stares off, looking so lost and vulnerable. I find myself captivated by his grief.
Do something, Vi! I lean forward and awkwardly pat him on the knee to offer him some comfort.
This must shake him out of his storytelling trance because he stares at my hand for a second before speaking.
“I’m sorry. I’ve completely monopolized this conversation with my own sob story. No wonder I’m such a terrible therapist. I will constantly go off on tangents when I’m trying to help other people. I tell them stories that I think will help them and then...oh geez...there I go, doing it again.” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands in defeat. “I cannot be trusted to stay on topic.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” I reassure him. I don’t want to talk about my problem anyway. And besides, his is much more interesting. I’m sitting here, literally on the edge of my seat, wondering what happened when he punched the guy out.
Did his nose bleed? Did he break his nose? Maybe he broke his jaw, or gave him a black eye, or a concussion. Or maybe he didn’t punch his face at all. Did he have to go to jail?
A million questions are tumbling around in my brain, and for the first time today, I’m not obsessing about me and the bartender and what happened between us.
“That night was basically the end of our marriage. Thank goodness the kids were asleep and didn’t have to watch me get hauled off to jail. Or watch their mother push and shove at me for punching her boyfriend. Or watch their mother wrap her arms around this guy like he was her husband instead of me. But now, he is her husband and they see him every day.
“I try to call and Skype, but they’re hardly ever available—my ex makes it really hard for me to keep in touch with them and be involved in their lives. And like I said, one day they’re going to forget I ever lived with them, and my title of Dad is going to fade off into oblivion.”
“I’m sure that’s not—” I start to say, but I realize it’s futile. I remember when my kids were that age. They forgot about the dog whenever I took him to get groomed. A five-year-old wouldn’t have much memory of the man who once lived in his or her house—especially with limited access to him.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “If it makes you feel any better, my kids live with me and I’m pretty sure they’d forget me in a heartbeat. Unless they needed something.”
He nods. “Kids are selfish like that.”
“I always thought I’d do a better job, though. You know, raise totally empathetic kids and whatnot. But I realize my mom skills are lacking.”
“I doubt that,” he says. “I bet that you’re a great mom.”
I shrug. How would he know? I mean, I know I’m not the World’s Worst Mom, but I’m not in running for Mom of the Year either. “I’m sure my husband wouldn’t agree—especially with me abandoning them to go on this cruise. He’s none too pleased that he has to actually take care of his children for a change.”
“Your ex?”
I blush. I had momentarily forgotten the whole divorce cruise scenario.
“Um, yeah. Of course.”
We sit there, awkward silence suddenly descending upon us.
“I’m George,” he says suddenly, extending his hand out toward me. I stare at it for a second. His introduction seems weirdly out of place, but then again, pretty much everything about this conversation is weird.
“Violet,” I reply, taking his hand and pumping it semi-enthusiastically.
“Violet. That’s a beautiful name.”
I wrinkle up my nose. “Ugh.”
“You don’t like it I take it?”
“I’ve never been a fan. It makes me sound like I’m either named after a flower or a hundred-year-old great aunt.”
“So which was it?”
“Huh?”
“Were you named after a flower or a hundred-year-old great aunt?”
I grimace. “Both, actually.”
George laughs and I catch another glimpse of his of perfect teeth. I am a little obsessed with teeth. Not only did I spent four years with a hunk of metal taking up residence in most of my mouth, all of my children have needed braces as well—it’s very expensive. I envy anyone who doesn’t need them. And Matthew has so many cavities that I think we’ve single-handedly put the dentist’s kids through college with our dental bills.
“More tea, miss?” The waiter has returned with the teapot in his hand.
“Um, sure,” I reply, wanting George to keep talking. I think this is the first time on the cruise that I’ve been enjoying the company of someone other than Leah...Oh my God! Leah!
I realize with a sinking feeling that I’ve completely forgotten about her. I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of what happened last night. And as much as I really don’t want to, I need to know why she let me sleep with that bartender. Despite my desire to sit here and just listen to George’s life story, I can’t avoid her any longer.
“Never mind!” I tell the waiter as he starts to pour. “I’m sorry.” I apologize to George, leaping to my feet. “I’ve got to go. I just remembered something I need to do.”
It doesn’t sound very convincing, I’m sure, but after being mad at Leah yesterday, and now again today, I know I have to talk her...before the situation gets worse. Like I sleep with a fleet of bartenders.
“Okay,” George says mournfully. “Well, it was very nice meeting you, Violet.”
“Vi,” I tell him. “My friends call me Vi.” I smile at him. “I’m really sorry for rushing off like this.”
“No problem. Well, I hope to see you soon.”
I nod and I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m crazier than his patients as I dash away from the atrium, with no idea of what I’m going to say to Leah.
LEAH
I push open cabin door with my foot, simultaneously balancing the overflowing tray with both hands. Talent abound, I tell you.
“Rise and shine! I’ve got eggs and waffles and toast. And cereal—Captain Crunchies and Crunchie O’s and everything crunchie! Did I mention eggs? I got the drippy kind! The kind you like—super, sloppy runny eggies!”
I’m being sarcastic. Vi hates drippy eggs.
Instead of being greeted by a nauseated Violet, I’m met with stony silence. “Hello?” I step into the room and set the tray down on the dresser, looking around with trepidation, as if Vi will pounce out from beneath the comforter. “Hello?” I call again, poking my head into the bathroom. There’s no one there, but it’s steamy and smells like body wash. Someone has recently showered.
I drop to my knees next to the bed and lift the dust ruffle, ridiculously thinking that she might be hiding underneath the bed. Even as I look I know she won’t be there. The beds in hotels and on cruises don’t even have space underneath them anymore—I think it’s because someone must have hid a body under a bed at some point in time.
For a second, my heart nervously bounces around in my chest as I wonder if maybe all of Vi’s “suicide” letters weren’t just her blowing off steam—what if they had been something more, and she jumped? What if she went to the back of the ship, like I did yesterday, became completely mesmerized, and jumped off?
Panicking, I glance around the room, searching—my heart completely stops, coming to a screeching halt when I spy a letter sitting on top of the bed. Nearly hyperventilating, I reach for it.
“Please don’t be a suicide note, please don’t be a suicide note…” I pray. I sigh with relief as I open the note—it isn’t even in Vi’s handwriting. “Thank God.”
I quickly read the note and deduce that right after I left to get breakfast, Vi woke up, saw him coming out of the bathroom after a shower, freaked out and took off. I could hardly blame her. When she saw him, she probably remembered everything that had happened last night and got embarrassed.
“Arghhhh!” I crumble up the note and fling it across the room. I knew I should have stayed in the room until she woke up, but I didn’t know how long she was going to sleep for. It was almost time for them to shut down breakfast, so I figured I would dash to the cafeteria and grab something for when she woke up. Leaving her with him might have not been the best choice, but I didn’t want to leave her alone—I didn’t know if she would end up puking and choking on her own vomit. I mean, I had turned her over several times in the night, but damn it, Vi was stubborn and she kept flipping over onto her back. It was an exhausting night...and not in a good way at all.
My date last night was the reason Vi and I got into an argument yesterday. So after she left the cabin yesterday morning, I figured I would just give her some space. After all, we didn’t have to spend every waking minute together on this vacation, although for some reason Vi was under the impression that we did—that is, until she took off on me in a huff.
But anyway, the later it got, the more nervous I got. I didn’t want to just go on the date and leave without talking to her at all. I had tried to text her a few times, until I realized the chirping noise I heard after each text was coming from our room. Vi had left her phone in the room.
Around six o’clock, my concern for my best friend turned to panic, especially after I had wandered up and down most of the boat deck in search of her. I hit the pool and every one of the restaurants looking for her, to no avail. I checked the nightclub (even though it didn’t open till nine and I really, really doubted she would go there voluntarily), the art gallery, the clothing boutique, and the jewelry store. I check the duty free liquor store. I checked the sauna and the library, her two favorite places. I even swung by the arcade and the gym, even though I didn’t expect to find her there.
No Violet anywhere. I figured that I might have missed her, and I looped back around three times. At seven o’clock I was sitting in the room, finishing getting ready and waiting for her to reappear when I realized the only place I didn’t look for her was in the main lobby.
I quickly checked my makeup and fluffed my hair in the mirror. I grabbed my purse, not sure how long I would be out of the room. I didn’t want to miss my date at eight o’clock. It was kind of difficult to go down the stairs in my heels, but the line for the elevator was too long. I hit the bottom of the staircase and there she was—leaning back on the barstool, swinging her martini glass in the air.
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” I thought to myself as I dashed across the parquet floor, my heels clicking rapidly. If she was waving her glass around, Vi was much drunker than she should be. Which totally made sense because she had probably been sitting there since eleven o’clock in the morning. And probably hadn’t moved to eat anything. Oh no, wait...I was wrong. She had a plate of nachos in front of her. As I ran, I watched in horror while she grabbed a shot glass the bartender gave her and tossed it back.
I remember thinking, Damn it! What kind of bartender lets a woman that drunk have a shot? Obviously a bartender who doesn’t care about anyone. I had looked up at that very moment and locked eyes with said bartender. And momentarily stopped breathing.
It was him—Nick from the gym. The guy I had a date with in less than an hour. I don’t know why that I thought he was the ship doctor when he told me he worked on the ship. In retrospect, that sounded completely ridiculous—a waiter or bartender or chef seemed so much more likely, but that idea never crossed my mind. As I watched him pour a drink for the woman sitting next to Vi, I suddenly felt deflated.
I was going to go on a date with a guy who tended a bar on a cruise ship? Had I sunk to a new low? I stared at Nick’s rippling biceps as he shook the martini shaker. But he’s so hot...doesn’t that count for something?
I saw that Nick was about to pour another martini—and Vi was waving her glass in front of him like she wanted some more.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered and stormed over to the bar, snatching Vi’s glass away without as much as a hello.
“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!” she had yelled at me, trying to take the glass back. But her reflexes were already shot to hell, so she just ended up grabbing at the air. It would have been comical if it wasn’t so damn annoying. She pouted…and then slumped forward onto the bar. I could have sworn I heard little snores coming from her.
“You are definitely done with that,” I told her. I leaned over the bar as I pushed the glass toward Nick.
“I can’t believe you would give her another drink. Can’t you see how wasted she is?”
He scowled at me before pouring the concoction into another glass and shoving it toward the woman on the other side of Vi. “I’m not giving her anything. She hasn’t had anything to drink in over three hours,” he told me between clenched teeth.
“That’s not true. I just saw her take a shot.” I pointed to the empty shot glass sitting next to Vi’s arm.
Nick leans closer. “Not anything alcoholic. I’ve been filling that with water. She hasn’t even noticed.”
“Oh,” I said, shocked by his cleverness. “She must have had a lot to drink before that to not notice she was downing water.”
He shrugged. “Not really. She’s been sitting here for my entire shift and I think she’s only had four glasses containing actual alcohol.”
“Someone else could have served her,” I told him. “You don’t know that that chick over there,” I waved my hand at the bartender on the other end of the bar, “didn’t serve her.”
“I do,” he told me. “The front of the bar is hers and this my end is the rear.”
I ignored the obvious joke that I could make and replied, “She might have poured her a drink when you took your lunch.”
“Didn’t take a lunch.”
“Your break then.”
“Didn’t take a break.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “You didn’t pee at all today?”
“I’m like a camel.”
“What about before you came on to the shift? She could have sat there from the time she left the room to the time you got there and drank.”
He shook his head. “Impossible. I was the first one here.” Then a funny look crossed his face. “She was trying to get Luisa the cleaning lady to pour her a drink when I got here, though.”
“See?” I yelled, slamming my hand down on the bar. That caused Violet to ju
mp, lift her head, and stare at me.
“Hi, Leah,” she said. “When did you get here?”
“She really doesn’t hold her liquor well, does she?” Nick had observed at that point.
“No shit,” I muttered between clenched teeth.
“We’re supposed to have a date in less than an hour.” Nick told me. He looked at the imaginary watch on his left wrist as if to illustrate the point.
“I know.”
“What do you want to do with her?” Nick asked.
“I can’t go on a date with my best friend in this condition! I can’t leave her like this!”
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” he said, screwing up his face in a scowl. He almost appeared...offended. “What I meant was how were we going to get her back to the room? Maybe it’s best that we forget about the date.” He almost looked disgusted when he said that, as if he was sorry he had decided to make a date with me to begin with.
“Um, okay,” I had said. “That’s fine.” My face was burning with embarrassment. This was a bit unusual for me.
“No!” Vi lifted her head again, this time slamming her own fist down on the bar, causing the rest of the patrons to turn and stare at her. “Don’t cancel the date!”
I glowered at her for a second. This was the woman who was so pissed off by the fact that I had a date, she stormed off and spent eight hours sitting at the bar on a cruise ship. Why wouldn’t she want me to cancel the date? She’d be getting her way.
“Um, thanks to you, we have to cancel the date.” I know I was nasty, but I couldn’t help feeling irritated by her. “I have to take care of you.”
“No, you don’t,” she said with a smile, swaying on the seat a little bit. “You don’t have to stay in the room to take care of me. I’m going to come with you.” A band had been setting up in the middle of the lobby, and they chose that moment to start playing.
“Um, what?” I cocked my ear toward her because I was certain that I had misheard her.
“I love this song!” Vi announced as she jumped down from the bar stool and dashed into the middle of the lobby, waving her arms in the air and practically whacking the lead vocalist in the head.
Best Friends & Other Liars Page 17
