Page 31 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
Violet reached for her mug of warm milk with cinnamon, careful to lift it from the table. “You, silly.”
“Me?” Jasper started. He turned, his big eyes even larger than usual.
“Yeah. You’ll be my first kiss ever. Do you want to kiss me?”
He flipped back around, facing the tree and turning the blue ornament in his fingers. The movement reminded Violet of spider legs crawling around a ball. “Well, yes… but not now. We’re too young.”
Violet held the warm mug with both hands, smiling. “So when we’re older? When we’re eighteen?”
“Maybe… maybe a little sooner than that.”
“Sixteen?” Violet brightened.
“I don’t know—”
“Thirteen?”
“Violet, I don’t know! We can decidelater.”
“I’m excited.” Violet grinned, bringing her milk up to take a long sip.
“I—I’m… excited, too.”
“Will I be your first?”
He nodded. “Yes… Yeah.”
When he turned and was standing over her again, she beamed up at him. “Jasper Oliver Laurent wants tokissme.”
He frowned, his eyes shifting away and his face pink in the firelight. “You have milk under your nose. Would you just give me the next ornament, please?”
“Which color? How about purple? You like purple things.” She lifted her chin, flashing a toothy grin. “Like my name—”
“The purple one is fine.”
15
Now
At first, Violet felt confused. Then, embarrassed. This was quickly followed by frustration and indignation, which, soon, were wholly replaced with panic.
In her hasty exit from Laurent House, she’d forgotten her laptop charger. It was still plugged into the wall beside the brick fireplace. The cord hadn’t been long enough to reach her position on the couch, so she’d abandoned the effort and told herself she’d plug it in later if needed.
“Ugh, I don’t want to go back there right now…” She slouched on the sofa, an empty wine glass on the low table in front of her—her second glass of the evening. It was dusk and still snowing, sizable flakes now. Wet and heavy. The sky was overcast, but there were soft breaks in the clouds to show the pink-orange watercolor hues of sunset. She paused, squinting and blinking at her watch through her inebriated haze: 6:04 p.m. It was already well outside of Jasper’s two to five o’clock visiting hours, and he’d booted her out. Violet groaned.
“What am I going to do? I need that stupid thing.”
Why had he kicked her out so abruptly? Because she’d offered to cook for him again? Because she’d touched his hair? Was he averse to touching? If that was the case, fine. But he should have communicated as much instead of throwing her out. What kind of sickness did he have where touching him was a heinous crime?
In truth, the more time she spent with him, the less sickly he seemed. Aside from being underfed (likely due to his steady diet of leaves, nuts and berries), he presented as energetic and strong. Astute and witty. If you took away the dusty old house and his lack of concern over his wardrobe and general appearance, a seemingly healthy young man remained. The house and his unkempt appearance were starting to feel like theatrics—props to aid him in his self-appointed role as a sick person.
It was all so confusing and Violet wanted to understand. Weren’t they getting along well? The initial start had been a bit bumpy, but the more they met, talking to him felt easier—just as it had been when they were little. No subject had been off limits back then, the conversations and questions always flowing freely between them. Without judgement or rebuke. Without shame or tension.
In the past month of being reunited, Violet had felt as if things were still the same, even as adults. But this sickness of his was untouchable: an impenetrable wall between them.
She sighed. “I need my charger.” Violet abruptly pushed herself up from the sofa, but paused when the floor seemed to tilt underneath her. “Whoa… Move slowly, Violet.”
After a moment to get her bearings, she walked to the front door, slid her emerald peacoat onto her body and fluffed out the curly mass of her hair from underneath the collar. Given her wine-induced state, she decided to walk and take the path through the woods to Laurent House.
