Page 57 of Puppy Love

Trying new things may just be my new favorite hobby. With Violet, at least, because holy fuck is my mind blown.

It’s so foreign to me, enjoying something new without the constant fear of it going wrong. I don’t know how she does it, makes me feel so confident about doing things I’ve never done before.

“I see you’ve made it,” Violet smirks, leaning against the silver tub. I look up from the silver lab inside. “Does that mean I get to try again?”

I shoot her a glare that says, “contract violation,” like I wouldn’t like to see her try.

“Do you need something, or are you just going to keep coming in here to distract me?”

“Chico’s dad wanted a nail trim. I was wondering if you’d—”

A melody cuts her off, singing cheerfully from her back pocket. Of course Violet would have “Walking on Sunshine” as her ringtone. How on-brand of her. She looks at the screen and smiles to herself before answering.

“What’s up, Ruthie?” she asks casually. I don’t know who Ruthie is, but for some reason, my stomach sinks just a little when I hear her name. My eyes dart to Violet’s face, trying to read what her expression might tell me. But the second it reaches, that smile drops. Her forehead creases, her brows pressed together. “Woah, woah, slow down. What?”

Concern fills her face, her eyes darting back and forth in front of her, but I don’t think she’s really looking at anything. She shakes her head, her shoulders dropping.

“No Ruthie. I’m not-I can’t. I’m sorry but no. I’ve put them both through it four times, and I can’t afford to do it again. Especially—”

I’m assuming whoever Ruthie is interrupts her because Violet stops in the middle of her sentence. She shakes her head again.

“Ruthie, they never follow through. They are never going to follow through. I know it’s a disease, I’m not saying it isn’t. But—”

She stops again.

“No. If they wanted to get better, they would have by now. They have the tools, they have the support.”

Violet’s eyes dart up to me, then quickly lower. “I’m at work. I have to go. Love you,” she says, then hangs up the phone. She slides it into her pocket, her eyes still lowered to the floor.

11“Sorry about that,” she says, letting out a forced chuckle. “You know how sisters are.”

I nod, like I have any idea how sisters can be.

Violet’s eyes look glazed over, her once-loose body now tense and rigid. My head tilts, and I look at her with concern.

“Is everything okay?” I ask. I don’t mean to, and really, I feel like I’ve completely overstepped by asking. This really is none of my business, and per our agreement, it should stay that way. But Violet’s forced smile has me so unconvinced that the concern I feel only grows.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she says, scratching the back of her head. “It’s...”

She stops, swallowing hard and I think she too just remembered the terms of our arrangement. But I don’t care about that right now. I can tell something is bothering her, and I know I won’t be able to think about anything else until I know why. I look around, the door to the salon shut tight.

“I’ve fucked you enough times to know when something is off,” I say in a hushed tone, which may not be the best approach to a serious conversation. But if there’s one thing I know about Violet, it’s that “serious” isn’t in her vocabulary. Her head shakes, and her eyes meet mine.

“It’s nothing, really,” she says, trying to play it off. “Parents are just hard sometimes.”

I let out a soft laugh, not because it’s funny but because if anyone knows how hard parents can be, it sure as hell isn’t me. I never even met my mom, and my dad was my best friend. He wasn’t ever difficult. Protective, maybe. But never hard. So really, the only thing I know about parents is that they die.

But I guess, in some way, that is parents being hard. It was hard to lose them. Sometimes, it’s hard to live without them.

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at her. “I get it.”

Violet’s eyebrow raises, her hazel eyes looking into mine like they’re trying to read me. Her tongue fiddles with her lip piercing from the inside, which causes it to twist and turn. She sighs.

“It’s… they haven’t always been there. Never, actually,” she says with a sad laugh. “And they’ve been leeching off my sister Ruthie for the past few months now because they got evicted from their house. I guess paying their rent wasn’t as important as paying for drugs.” She shakes her head, her gaze falling. “I’ve been trying to tell Ruthie to kick them out since the moment they moved in. There are shelters in the area they can go to, resources for them if they need it. But she refuses. She thinks they’re going to get better.”

A loud sigh escapes her mouth, and she rubs the dog’s head gently. My stomach sinks, listening to her heart break. “You’d think after twenty-five years she’d stop thinking that. But anyway, she found a little baggie of something tucked under their mattress. And she’s got two little kids in the house. She called me because she wants me to help her put them through rehab.” Violet’s voice breaks, but she swallows it down and continues with a firm tone. “Which they’ve already been through multiple times. They never stay sober for more than a week after. So, I told her no. I can’t afford to keep doing it, especially if they aren’t going to actually try. They’ve never tried.” Her voice grows angry, her brows furrowed and her face red.

“Literally, for our entire lives, they’ve barely even been roommates. I fed Ruthie. I clothed her. I stole shirts out of the bins behind the thrift store, so we had something to wear to school, even if they were three sizes too big. We spent weekends in the hospital, with them taking turns on who OD’d. We’d sit there, praying they wouldn’t die.” She shakes her head, then her eyes dart to me. “And I know it’s fucked up, but sometimes, I think it would be easier if they had.”

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