Twenty-Three
The next morning Viola learned that the Moores were one of those sadistic families that made everyone sit down to breakfast before opening presents on Christmas morning. The way Beau and Jackson kept craning their heads away from the dining room table to gaze longingly at the Christmas tree teasing them from the living room made her poke her lips out softly, feeling the utmost pity for the incredible torture they must’ve been enduring. Beau seemed to be struggling the most—leaning so far out of his highchair to stare at the tree behind him he was one false move from tumbling right out. Thankfully, Betty caught him just in time and put him back in his seat.
Her smiling blue eyes danced around the table. “Shall we join hands?”
Everyone at the table joined hands—all dressed in their Sunday best. Betty took Beau’s hand, Beau took Mary’s at the head of the table, Mary took Jon’s, Jon took Viola’s—which sent a warm shiver down her spine as always, Viola took Milo’s, Milo took Robert’s at the other end of the table, and finally, Robert took Jackson’s—who was still distracted by the dozens of gifts under the tree in the living room.
Once the entire family was hand in hand, everyone bowed their heads, even Jackson, clearly anxious to get this meal over with as quickly as humanly possible.
As expected, Betty’s prayer was long and drawn out, the rise and fall inflection to her voice dramatic and over the top from beginning to end. Viola tuned out halfway through, unable to quell her thoughts of Jon as Betty’s prayer quickly became overly preachy and repetitive. Viola’s heartbeat picked up a little faster every second her hand was in Jon’s. Not because her body always went into overdrive when she was touching him, but because of how loose his hand felt in hers. He hadn’t bothered to wrap his fingers around hers, opting instead to let them hang loose like a dead fish. Like she had an infectious disease, and he was terrified of catching it.
When they’d left the tattoo parlor the day before she’d been under the impression that they’d had a disagreement. Jon’s refusal to even look her in the eye, let alone speak to her, for the entire day afterward, however, quickly proved otherwise. Viola had no idea what was in his head because he wouldn’t speak to her.
Had they broken up?
Better yet, had they ever really been together?
Can’t break up with someone who was never yours, after all. Had he ever been hers? She hadn’t realized that she’d opened her eyes and was now staring at Jon with the same longing that Jackson and Beau had been staring at the tree until Milo tugged at her hand from her right. Her wide eyes flew to him just in time to see his steely brown eyes shrink into a glare.
“Close your eyes,” he mouthed, giving her a look that could kill.
Rolling her eyes, Viola did what she was told. Not because she feared Milo’s wrath, but rather, Jon’s rejection. She couldn’t spend another minute obsessing about what was going on between them, why he’d refused to speak to her all morning, and why his hand currently felt like a dead fish in hers. If she dwelled on it too long, she knew she might burst into tears.
“Amen,” Betty finally said.
Relieved sighs rang across the table from all around as everyone lifted their heads and opened their eyes. Viola’s head spun, having been on the verge of falling into a short nap during the prayer that never ended. In the next instant, everyone was digging in, picking up the platters of eggs, sausage, pancakes, fruit, and croissants in the middle of the table and passing them around so they could each fill their plate.
As Viola slowly filled hers, she realized she had no idea how she was going to eat the food she was piling onto her plate with her stomach currently on the floor. As per usual, a Christmas tune, Let it Snow, was wafting softly from the speakers of the radio in the living room, the lyrics relating to the disastrous state of her life so succinctly it only made her stomach sink lower. Like it had penetrated the Earth’s atmosphere and was currently plummeting to hell where it would surely burn to a crisp.
The weather outside really was frightful—the first snowy day in Salt Lake all year—but nowhere near as frightful as the dark energy that Viola felt permeating off Jon at that moment, growing more intense by the second. And there was certainly nothing delightful about the fire blazing in his eyes whenever he accidentally looked at her, proving he’d rather be anywhere but there, stuck at that dinner table with her. To him, there really was no place to go. No escape. No matter how desperately he searched for one.
Viola gaped at his profile as he made a concentrated effort not to meet her eyes again, wondering if he was the same Jon Baca who’d lain in the tattoo chair next to her as they’d gotten two halves of the word ‘mine’ branded onto their skin. The Jon Baca sitting next to her in that moment seemed closer to a man who’d much rather get ‘anyone else’s’ burned into his hipbone instead.
Since it was customary for the Moore family to wait until everyone’s plate had been filled before anyone started eating, the entire family waited patiently until the last platter had finally been returned to the middle of the table before they even touched their utensils.
“We ready? Everyone has everything they want?” Mary smiled brightly, downright giddy, even then, to have all of her children at the dinner table with her on Christmas.
“Ready,” everyone said.
“Let’s eat!” Mary beamed.
“Hold on, before everyone digs in,” Robert held his hands out just as everyone picked up their knives and forks, causing the clatter of utensils on plates and scattered conversation to come to an immediate halt. “I have something to say.”
The family looked on at him silently.
Robert clenched his fists on top of the table, his brown eyes shifting to his left. “Jon…”
Viola held her breath. She could feel everyone else at the table holding theirs too. She swore she could hear the moment it happened. When the silence that already existed plunged to an even deeper level. One that left every heart at the table racing so quickly that not even the Christmas music petering in from the living room was audible in all their humming ears.
“Jon, I wanted to take this moment, in front of the whole family… to say… to say I’m sorry.”
A soft gasp left Viola’s lips. Her eyes flew to Jon just in time to see his own mouth fall open as well. The complete and utter shock that washed over his face was enough to break her heart and warm it at the same time. She smiled softly at him, but he didn’t notice, his stunned blue eyes locked onto his father. Glistening with what looked suspiciously to Viola like moisture.
At the opposite end of the table, there was no question about the tears that were filling Mary’s eyes as she pressed her lips together and nodded sharply at her husband. Looking at him with the kind of pride that would be in a mother’s eyes as she watched her toddler learning to walk for the first time.
In a way, Viola guessed this was Robert’s own special brand of learning to walk. Of taking that first step. A step he’d been shaky about since the moment they’d all arrived at that house, two weeks earlier.
Even Viola found herself looking back to Robert with a new softness in her eyes, but even more so, gratefulness.
Robert drew in a deep breath, spreading his fingers wide with his eyes lowered. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved at the campfire…” A lump moved down his throat as if he were choking down a bed of nails. “I regret my behavior. It wasn’t fair to you, and I really… really hope you can join me… help me… in taking the first step toward making things right.”
Jon went to speak, but only a soft croak left his lips, and no words came.
Robert exhaled and shifted his eyes to Milo. “Milo, I was wrong for pitting you against your brother. Not just during this trip… but for all these… all these years. That was wrong.”
Viola looked at Jon again just as his shoulders collapsed in naked relief. His eyes fell closed, and he shook his head softly as if tangling with the tornado of emotions charging through him was quickly becoming too much to bear.
“I was wrong, son,” Robert continued to Jon. “I was wrong on all of it. I’m your father, this entire family takes their cues from me, and I’ve been leading us in the wrong… in the wrong direction. For too long. But it stops today.” He pressed his pointer finger into the table hard enough to make it vibrate. “You have my word, Jon.”
Jon’s nostrils flared, but all he could do was nod as Mary cupped his shoulder with a smile.
Robert smiled at Jon. “I was wrong about you, Jon. All along. I was wrong. And I’m s—”
“Jon and Viola was kissing!” Beau cried from his high chair, smiling proudly as every eye in the room flew to him in shock. “I saw Jon’s penis and Viola’s ‘gina!”
Viola nearly emptied her stomach. Every bone in her body went rigid. A new silence filled the room, one that was much thicker than the one Robert had inspired just a moment earlier. One she’d never in her life experienced. One that made her entire body feel tight to the point of breaking. Like the cold chill that raced down her spine had frozen all her internal organs solid. The goose bumps that prickled her skin and the hair standing on the back of her neck the only signs of life. She couldn’t even look at Jon to see how he’d reacted, too terrified to move.
Mary laughed bashfully and cupped Beau’s shoulder, clearly convinced that he hadn’t just said what she thought he just said. “Sweetie, what did you just say?”
“I saw Jon’s penis and Viola’s ‘gina,” Beau announced again, as nonchalantly as he would announce that he needed to go boo-boo.
This time, every eye at the table shifted to Jon and Viola.
Viola tried to play it cool, but couldn’t, unable to stand the feeling of every horror-stricken eye hitting her. She leaned forward on the table and buried her head in her hands.
“What the hell is he talking about?” Robert spat, eyes burning a hole into Jon.
“He’s obviously confused,” Mary said, still laughing nervously.
“No, he’s not.” Robert leaned one elbow on the table while pointing a finger at Jon. “He’s not confused, is he Jon?”
Viola looked at Jon—as did the rest of the table—just as Jon slammed his eyes closed. Probably fantasizing about how fast he was going to take his hundred dollars back from his loud-mouthed baby brother.
“What the hell did you do?” Robert roared.
Viola gasped softly, the very act painful because her lungs had caught fire.
Jackson’s entire body was craned backward as if he were moments from melting into the upholstery of his chair. Teeth clenched tight, his head was pulled so far back he looked like he had five chins.
Even Betty was struck speechless, her wide blue eyes dashing all over the table like she was watching a five-man tennis match.
Even Milo looked upon Jon and Viola like he was looking at two strangers. As if he wasn’t the biggest fraud there.
When Jon didn’t answer the question quickly enough for his liking, Robert slammed his fist down on the table, so hard it made all the plates jump into the air and clatter back down with a clank. Every soul in the room gasped as their food became upended from their plates at the blow, flying through the air before dropping back down on the table as Robert’s voice rose to a roar.
“You never fail!” he screamed to Jon, his entire face beet red. “And to think I damn near apologized. To think I believed I was wrong about you! I believed that you’d changed.”
“Robert, please—”
“You’d sleep with your brother’s girlfriend? Are you that sick, Jon? That evil? That goddamn depraved?”
“Robert,” Betty begged.
“Milo,” Viola begged too, her watery eyes flying to Milo.
Every bone in Milo’s body shook as their eyes met. When he saw the pleading in Viola’s brown orbs as the first tear popped out and raced down her cheek, he lowered his own, grinding his teeth.
Robert stood from his seat, which caused Mary to stand too, reaching a desperate hand across the table at him, speechless, entranced in her own daze, so much so that she couldn’t even make a real effort to calm him down.
Gasping, Robert pointed toward the door, spittle flying from his lips. “You get the hell out of my house, Jon. You get the hell out of my house, and don’t you ever come back!”
Jon threw his napkin down on the table and stood, causing Mary to break and explode into full-on cries, immediately running to the dining room entry to block Jon from leaving.
“Get out!” Robert screamed. “You’re not my son! Everything you touch, Jon! Everything you touch turns to shi—”
“I’m gay!” Milo stood from his seat with his arms thrown out at his sides—his own cheeks red-hot as his shouted voice sent another silence blasting through the room.
“You’re what?” Betty breathed as the entire dining room came to its millionth standstill of the morning.
As all eyes zoomed to Milo, everyone holding their breath, Viola took her first breath in the last several minutes, saying her first genuine prayer of thanks to the highest God for the first time since she’d landed in that miserable city.
Milo’s lips glistened with saliva, eyes filled with tears, chest heaving. “I’m gay.”
Robert collapsed on the table, cradling both his hands on top of it as if to stop himself from crumbling to his knees. Jon and Mary gaped at Milo from the dining room entryway and Jackson from his chair. Baby Beau was back to rolling his toy car back and forth on top of his high-chair with little to no awareness of the havoc he’d caused.
Swallowing thickly, Milo motioned to Viola. “I asked Viola to come down to Utah and pose as my girlfriend because I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready for you guys to know. I… I… I was afraid—I was terrified.”
Relief washed over Viola like a tidal wave, and when she looked across the dining room at Jon and found him looking back at her—willingly—for the first time since the tattoo parlor, she felt alive again. Like she’d been hanging off the edge of a hundred foot building for the last two weeks, but had finally managed to find the strength to pull herself back up and climb over the edge to safety.
Jon tilted his head at her, his eyes gentler than they had been before but still utterly unreadable.
Viola would’ve given anything to get inside his head.
Milo’s trembling voice rang out again. “Please don’t attack Jon or Viola… this is…. This is my fault. I caused this.”
“You’re really gay?” Betty breathed.
“Yes, grandma, he’s really gay,” Jackson cried impatiently, giving Betty a wide-eyed look. “Unlike out-of-touch senior citizens like you, the rest of the world knows it’s not that big of a friggin’ deal. Like, nobody even cares—so what?” Jackson shoveled a piece of bacon into his mouth as his eyes shifted to the Christmas tree in the living room once more, even more longingly that ever, appearing to realize he was never going to have the opportunity to tear into his presents.
A flash of hope lit up Milo’s eyes at the complete lack of dismay from Jackson, who was ten times more interested in whether or not he’d gotten the drone he’d been begging for than he’d ever be in who his brother shared a bed with. The dash of hope that filled Milo’s eyes, however, was gone in an instant as he looked back to Jon.
“Hold on,” Milo said, motioning to Jon. “You didn’t know, though. You didn’t know I was gay.”
“Really?” Jon tilted his head at Milo, cringing softly. “You’re pissed off that I fell in love with your fake girlfriend?”
“What?” Viola breathed.
Jon’s face fell as if even he himself was amazed at the words that’d just come out of his mouth.
Mary chimed in. “Fell in love—?”
“You’ve only known each other for two weeks!” Milo screamed.
“Nah, I thought.” Jon cut his eyes to Viola. “I thought I knew her.”
For the millionth time that morning, Viola’s heart hit her feet.
“We can fix this,” Betty jumped in, her voice hopeful as she leaned toward Milo with big, hopeful eyes, speaking to him like a preschooler who was still learning his ABCs. “We can fix you, baby. Pence is always talking about that electric shock therapy. We can zap the gay right out of you.”
“Yeah, maybe we could even get a two-for-one deal, Grandma,” Jon interjected. “And zap the adulterous mistress out of you.”
Everyone gasped.
Milo locked eyes with Jon, and the two brothers shared a small smile. Suddenly, even if only for the moment, all previous reservations fell away and an understanding, the depth of which would only ever be fully grasped by the two of them, filled the room.
Jon gave Milo a soft nod, and Milo nodded back to him in return.
“I’m sorry…” Mary held her hands up on either side of her head. “What?”
Jon crossed his arms and nodded at Betty. “Grandma’s been sneaking out to nail Mr. Washington since the day I got here, and probably long before then too. That’s why she’s always gone at all hours of the night.”
“Mr. Washington?” Mary breathed, placing a hand over her heart before shooting a look at Betty.
“Ew…” Jackson’s entire face curled into a cringe and his mouth fell open, the barely chewed piece of bacon tumbling off his tongue and back onto the plate as the vision of his grandmother having sex rendered him thoroughly unappetized.
Betty sputtered from her seat and began making a concentrated effort to appear too confused to realize what was going on, her blue eyes darting all over the table.
“Ma,” Robert demanded, waiting for Betty to look at him. “Is this true? Has Mr. Washington been violating you against your will?”
Viola and Jon shared a look. The last thing Mr. Washington had been doing was violating Betty Moore against her will. If anything, it was the other way around.
Still, unable to come to that same conclusion, something broke in Robert, and in the next instant he’d shoved away from the table—violently enough to make the entire thing shift on the floor—and stomped toward the front door.
“Robert!” Mary held her hands out in front of her and tried to stop Robert, but he was moving too quickly.
A man on a mission, Robert’s face was pulled taut with determination as he flew into the foyer, snatched his coat from the rack, and threw the front door open, sliding his arms into the coat as he pounded across the porch and down the stairs. Every member of the family leaped from the table and followed the blazing trail Robert had left—each of them seizing their coats from the rack as well before charging out of the house.
“Robert, please!” Mary cried, tripping over her slippered feet as she chased Robert through the woods. The pleas of the rest of the family came in behind her as well as they all chased after Robert.
But Robert, having taken up a run shortly after leaving the house, had gained too much ground. So even with the youngest and strongest of the bunch: Jon, Milo, and Jackson, chasing him through the woods, Robert still managed to make it to Mr. Washington’s cabin before they could catch up, throwing open the front door without even knocking, and charging inside.
Viola took up the rear of the group, but she could still see inside Mr. Washington’s house, beyond the open door that Robert had just charged into. She could still see Robert approach Mr. Washington, who was sitting alone in his living room, reclining in a rocking chair in front of a Christmas tree. If there was a Mrs. Washington, she wasn’t in sight.
Even as all the running she’d just done slowed Viola’s pace to a sluggish jog, she could still see the moment Mr. Washington shot out of his chair at the sound of his front door flying open unexpectedly. She saw the moment he tried to grab his cane from where it was leaning against his chair—presumably to use as a weapon—but was too slow. Robert had zeroed in and reared back before he could even finish bending down to get it, sending a right hook into his jaw. Viola swore she could hear the sound of bones cracking from all the way outside the house.
She screamed as Mr. Washington went flying to the floor, and so did Betty and Mary. In the next instant, Viola’s view of the door was blocked as Jon, Milo, and Jackson finally caught up with Robert and went barreling through the door. All three of them raced inside and grabbed Robert from behind just as he straddled Mr. Washington, taking hold of Robert’s arms mere seconds before he had a chance to throw another blow. It took all three of them to pull their father off the poor, unsuspecting Mr. Washington.
Viola charged into the house a moment later with Mary and Betty on her heels. Jon, Milo, and Jackson were holding Robert back in one corner of the living room, and Mr. Washington was crouched in the other, covering his face with his hands. The brown pajamas he wore matched his skin almost to a tee, making him seem nearly invisible up against the log cabins mahogany walls. The dark black Afro on top of his head confirmed that, yes, there was a man lying helpless on the ground, still trembling from the unexpected hit from a man he’d once considered a friendly neighbor.
“Oh my God,” Viola breathed, covering her mouth with her hands, looking back toward the three brothers just as Robert snatched his body out of their hold.
“I’m good, I’m good!” Robert spat, cringing as his sons finally freed him while he shrugged his disheveled coat back onto his shoulder.
Betty charged past Viola the next second, weeping, and collapsed onto the floor next to Mr. Washington. She instantly wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled her crying face against his. Then she cut a look up at Robert as if she were gazing upon the Devil himself.
Silence fell. Nothing but the heaving breath from each pair of gasping lungs in the room there to fill the silence.
Jon was the first to move, rolling his eyes while stomping toward the door. He didn’t even look at Viola on his way by.
She tried to grab him. “Jon—”
“Don’t touch me.” He snatched his arm from her hold and stomped out of the open door, back into the woods, speed walking through the dirt and bark that crunched over his feet.
“Jon, please!” Viola begged, chasing after him. Suddenly, all the running that had taken her breath away a moment ago seemed as easy as pie. The sight of Jon walking away from her caused the adrenaline in her body to spike until she didn’t even feel the exertion from running—fighting, clawing at him for the entire walk back to the Moore house. Jon continued to calmly remove himself from her grasp, ignoring her pleas to talk, as he made his way back into the house and up the stairs. He charged into Beau’s room just long enough to seize his bag from where he’d been keeping it on top of the dresser.
He gave Viola only a passing, dead look before he breezed by her once more and back into the hallway.
“Jon, seriously? Will you please just talk to me?” She pounded down the stairs after him, pausing only for a moment when she looked into the dining room and saw that the entire family had forgotten all about baby Beau, who was still sitting in his high chair.
After making sure he was okay, still enraptured with his toy car and making growling engine noises, Viola charged out the front door after Jon once more. She made it to the bottom of the porch steps just in time to see Jackson and Milo making their way back to the house as well, a few hundred feet into the forest.
Jon threw his bag on the back of his motorcycle and climbed on top, starting it without even looking Viola in the eye. The rumble of the engine stabbed at her ears.
She slowed to a stop a few feet away from the bike, shoulders collapsing, tears filling her eyes. “Jon, if you drive away right now, I will never forgive you.”
Her words froze him in the midst of putting on his helmet, cutting his eyes at her. “You lied to me.”
She exhaled heavily, nearly melting into a pool of regret at the ground when it hit her that she couldn’t argue with that. He was right.
“You let me believe I was betraying him the whole time. Do you have any idea… the agony I’ve been in since the moment I laid eyes on you?” His voice rose. “You lied to me!”
She tried to speak, to fight, but no words came She tried again, finally managing to squeak, “You said you loved me.”
His face fell. It softened.
For a moment, she was sure that had done it. Reminding him that, just a few minutes earlier, in the kitchen, he’d admitted that he’d fallen in love with her. And love always won. Love was always worth fighting for.
As soon as his eyes softened, however, they hardened once more. “I can’t trust you.”
Her heart shattered into a million pieces when he put his helmet on without another word and cradled his feet on the bike pedals, revving the engine.
“No!” Jackson cried, taking up a run when he seemed to realize Jon was leaving. “No, Jon, you promised you’d take me with you! You promised we’d go back to LA together!”
If Jon heard Jackson, he didn’t show it. Perhaps his heart wouldn’t allow him to—allow him to drive away from Jackson knowing his feelings were hurt. Perhaps he knew that if Jackson begged him to stay, it would be a fight too difficult to win.
So Jon took hold of the handlebars, turned the front wheel of his bike, and roared away, the rear wheel kicking up dirt as he went.
“No, Jon—!” Jackson changed course, pivoting to the right in the dirt to cut Jon off at the road. He pumped his legs as fast as they would go, but he was still no match for a Ducati with a V-twin engine, and Jon had zoomed past him in seconds. Still, Jackson fought the good fight, continuing to chase after the bike while screaming at the top of his lungs. His pleas strained with more emotion with every foot the bike gained on him, running at top speed until he disappeared from Viola’s view completely.
Viola stared after Jackson and Jon long after they’d both disappeared over the steep hill that led away from the house, tears tumbling down her cheeks.
Milo approached a moment later, eyes squinted—hands shoved deep in his pockets.
She slapped the tears from her cheeks and met his eyes, forced to suck in each breath as the pain charging through her worked to glue her lungs shut.
“At least now they know, right?” She tried to smile, but the memory of Jon riding away was still breaking her heart just as badly as it had broken Jackson’s, who she could still hear shouting after him in the distance. “Now you don’t have to pretend anymore. You can see that they’ll love you no matter what. And… and I can be free to love Jon, too. It’ll be hard work, but we can fix it, right, Milo? It was an ugly step, but still a step. In the right direction…” When he didn’t immediately respond, her heartbeat tripled. “Right?”
He watched her for a long, silent moment, then his face shifted. “I asked you for one thing.”
Viola’s breath came up short. “Milo—”
“I asked you for one thing.” His voice wobbled with emotion. “As a friend.”
“Milo, I met him on the plane when I had no idea he was your brother. I fell in love with him before I had any idea he was your brother. Do you think I would’ve ever gotten involved with him if I had a choice? That I would’ve ever done this if I had a choice?” She stole Jon’s words from the tattoo parlor. “I didn’t have a choice. I love him.”
He blinked slowly, voice lowering. “I want you to leave.”
“Milo, you don’t mean that.”
“No, I really do. I want you to leave. Right now. Pack your shit and leave, Viola.”
When he pushed past her without a word, Viola was stunned speechless. Motionless. Staring blankly ahead long after Milo had re-entered the house behind her and slammed the door. Long after Jackson’s pleas for Jon to come back faded into nothingness—until she was encased in nothing but silence.
Silence.
Until the Christmas music still playing in the house filtered out of the front door and fluttered through the air, reaching Viola right on time as always.
Just in time for the lyrics to split her heart in two.