Page 57 of Love & Other Disasters

Twenty-One

An hour later, he dropped Jill off at an apartment complex. Violet collected the wrappers and empty cups from breakfast and stuffed them back into the paper bag. She directed him to a neighborhood off of Belmont Boulevard. It was an older area with a mix of old homes and newer construction. Mature trees shown above houses in backyards. Some of the homes had driveways while others had on-street parking with retaining walls between the cars and homes. He remembered Elle saying they’d gone to college at Belmont.

“Is this near where you went to college?”

“Yeah, I thought about leaving after, but I like the neighborhood.” She pointed to a brick duplex. “There.”

The front yard was all gravel, and he pulled up next to her car. Each side of the duplex had a porch, one was plain, while the other was decorated with a painted wooden plank welcome sign propped next to the door, a small table with a pot of flowers in the middle, and two chairs. That side was hers.

Across the street were shiny new ultra-modern homes. That was the style of the neighborhood. He’d never been here and hoped she’d invite him inside because there were still things they needed to discuss.

Violet slid from the car and looked down at the seat she’d vacated. How could anyone leave that much dirt behind and still be filthy?

“I’m sorry,” she said, closing the door.

He jumped from the car. “Vi, wait… It’ll clean.” He followed her. “It’s no big deal,” he said when she turned.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” she cried. “I’m sorry for going along with her last night, and then letting her call you—dragging you into this mess. And making you late for work with everything…” Her shoulders slumped.

J.P. closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t worry about that,” he whispered into her hair. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up. You’re exhausted,” he said. “Did you sleep any?”

“Not really,” she turned, digging her keys from her pocket. He used the opportunity to fish the stick out of her hair. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he said, dropping the twig behind him.

J.P. followed her to the door, hand on her lower back as she worked the key in the lock. Her hair was caked in dried mud and hanging in a matted ball. Inside, a quiet room greeted them. The space held a mix of eclectic mismatched furniture. A bright yellow bookcase filled to the brim, and a lone plant of thin green leaves sat under one of the two windows along the back wall. But a dozen more potted plants sat lined up at the front windows by a table. The room displayed more whimsy than the reserved Violet allowed the world to see.

She moved to the end of the couch and pulled a cord from the floor, and plugging in her phone, she sat it on the end table.

“You left without your purse or anything else?”

“I was going with her to pick up a laptop. Thought it’d only take a minute.” She tried to run a hand through her hair and grimaced as her fingers stuck.

“Come on, let me help you with that,” he said.

“How could you help me with it?”

“Do you have any cooking oil?”

“Are you planning on sautéing my hair for lunch?”

He shook his head. “Not sure that’d make an enjoyable meal.” J.P. found the galley kitchen of the duplex. The cabinets and appliances were older like the home. But in a rental, the landlord wouldn’t put money into upgrades unless required.

“Cabinet next to the stove,” she said behind him.

J.P. located the vegetable oil and held up the bottle. “Bathroom.”

“I’m not in the mood for kinky sex.”

“It’s for detangling,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But if we take food to the bedroom, it won’t be cooking oil.”

“We’ll put a pin in the food thing. How do you know it’ll detangle? From sisters or former girlfriend?”

“Neither sisters or girlfriend.”

“Did you used to have long hair? Oh, tell me you rocked a man bun.”

He shuddered at the mental image. “God no. If I was the type for a man bun, trust me, I’d rock it. But this carefully coiffed mane is always on the short side.”

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