Page 22 of Love & Other Disasters

Ten

For Sunday dinner at her parents’ house, Violet tried to keep her head down and eat the meal without rocking the boat. Her sister Jill had a different tactic, she preferred shock and awe to getting through in peace. On the first of July, Jill brought a new guy to dinner. The knotted mass of unwashed hair standing in the living room was the first clue that this would go south fast.

“This is Geoff,” Jill giggled.

“That’s G-E-O-F-F,” he spelled. The second clue that Geoff would go over like cooking fish in the break room microwave.

Their mom stared at the mangy haired hippie and plastered on the same smile of a politician’s wife on the campaign trail—fake, utterly horrified, and ready for a drink. They’ve been through this before. Jill had horrible taste in men; the struggling musicians, the starving artists, the writer who claimed himself “too progressive for the world.” She had a type—broke and full of themselves.

“So, Geoff, what do you do?” Dad asked.

“I’m a Shaman in The Order of the Protectors. We are an organization whose goal is the save the planet and live a natural existence in harmony with the earth. They gave us this planet to take care of, and it’s our job to save it from destruction.”

“You are quite right,” Mom replied. She may have relaxed a fraction.

“He’s a modern day Buddha,” Jill exclaimed. “So in tune.”

“So what does a Shaman do for money, Geoff?” Dad asked.

“I don’t believe in money. It does nothing but cause problems in the world. Most of the world’s money is in the bank accounts of like four men. That’s not right. We should abolish money. We’d all be better off.”

“I will check on dinner,” Mom said, leaving the room.

“How do you pay the bills?”

“We all live together and the world provides,” Geoff waved his arms around. “Therefore, we must save it. And to save the world, we must push for the abolishment of money and of animal slavery and put an end to the murder of all innocent animals. We all have the right to live free of tyranny.”

“That’s something…” Dad replied, with resignation.

This guy was a vegan and wasn’t going to respond well to the dinner that was cooking. What on earth was Jill doing? Leaving the delightful conversation, she made a hasty retreat out of the room to warn their mom about the vegan.

“Hey,” she found Mom in the kitchen, pouring a glass of white wine.

“Your sister is a disaster,” she whispered.

“It gets even better. He’s one of those militant vegans.”

“Oh, no… Do you think Jill’s a vegan now, too?”

As far as Violet knew Jill wasn’t even dating anyone last week, so it seemed doubtful. But Jill would be one in front of Geoff, the “modern day Buddha” charlatan she paraded into their parents’ house.

“Great,” Mom mumbled, pulling salad ingredients out of the fridge. “Your sister is trying to drive your father and me into an early grave. Why can’t she be more like you? You don’t drag the craziest men through here like your bedroom is a revolving door. You’re smart and do not date at all. There aren’t any men out there good enough for you.” She pinched Violet’s cheek and smiled.

Violet didn’t know what was more depressing, the fact she thought her singleness was by choice and not her invisibility to men, or that she’d told Jill it scared her Violet was becoming a spinster. Which one was it? She leaned toward the spinster angle.

Tomorrow she’d have to face the man that she’d lied to, slept with, and left. And now he’s the boss. And she considered pretending that nothing happened, despite Elle’s assertion she was a terrible liar. Virtuous people do not find themselves in these crazy scenarios. Her life sucked. And she had to do something about it, because she wanted to defend her sister and the crazy cult member sitting in the living room.

“Maybe he’s not all that bad,” she said. “Let’s not judge him too soon. Jill sees something in him.”

Mom shot her a skeptical look. “Sure, we’ll go with that. Help me take the food to the table.”

Geoff’s disdainful gaze fell on the platter of roast beef, carrots, and potatoes that sat in the middle of the dining room table. They only used the table when there were over four people eating, which outside of holidays and Jill’s antics, were rare. Violet wished that she had pulled her aside before dinner and asked what she was up to with this jackass.

“I understand you’re not a meat eater,” Mom said. “But if you want some potatoes and carrots help yourself.”

“No. Those are soaked in the blood of the murdered.”

“Here’s the salad, then,” she snapped.

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