XOXO, Violet by Ginger Li
11Wesley
After staying behind to help Violet clean up, Ophelia and I headed home. Dusk was falling, and the palm trees along the highway stood out against a pink and purple sky. The image was postcard perfect. Since leaving Blooming Queen, Ophelia had been oddly quiet, and when we stopped at a red light, I peered over at my sister. “Did you enjoy the class?”
Too engrossed in her phone, she didn’t respond.
Adults were right. Kids these days did always have their noses stuck in their phones. I tugged on her seat belt to get her attention. “Did you like the class, O?”
She looked up and turned her phone over. “Sure. It was great.”
Uh-huh. I eyed her phone. What didn’t she want me seeing on her screen? I pretended to accept her answer and turned back to watch the road. But a couple of minutes later, Ophelia was scrolling through her phone again, and this time, I didn’t hold my tongue. “What are you doing?”
“Checking out Shy Plant Girl videos.”
That was all? Then why act so weird? Something didn’t add up. “Did she upload an additional video this week?”
My sister shook her head. “No. I’m watching one of her old videos—the one where she explained how to set up a propagation box.”
I tried to recall the specific video Ophelia was talking about, but after watching so many over the past couple of years, they’d all blurred together. By the time we arrived home, I still hadn’t figured out which one my sister was referring to.
As I pulled into the driveway, our phones vibrated.
Dad: Sorry. Need to work late tonight. You’ll have to get dinner without me.
Ophelia: Again? That’s the third time this week.
Dad: This project is killing me. I’ll make it up to both of you. Promise. Another plant?
Ophelia: Fine. But it’s going to be a rare one.
Dad: Deal.
Ophelia sighedand dropped her phone in her lap. “Dad’s always been busy, but it’s gotten even worse since the divorce. It’s like they’ve both checked out.”
I leaned back in my seat, wishing that weren’t true. But my sister was right. Most days, it felt as though all Ophelia and I had was each other. Dad was competing with Mom for the absentee-parent award.
I hated complaining about it, because we had everything we could possibly need and lived in a gorgeous house. But what good was an enormous home if no one was there to parent us?
“Do you want pizza from Giovanni’s?” I suggested, attempting to change the topic.
“We’ve already had that twice this week,” Ophelia huffed. Then her face lit up. “I know, let’s make dinner. Just the two of us. I want to bake cookies too.”
I thanked my lucky stars that she was so easy to please. A home-cooked meal and cookies? Done. But I decided to make her sweat it out. “I don’t know. It’s probably easier to just buy takeout.”
“Please?” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.
I hid my smile by coughing behind my hand. “Fine. I guess.”
“Yes!” Ophelia did a little dance in her seat and hopped out of the car.
My good mood soured when my gaze fell on my phone again. Sure, Ophelia and I were old enough to be by ourselves, but we still needed our parents around. I picked up my phone and typed a private message to my father.
Me: Are you hanging out with O tomorrow?
Dad: I’ll try. We’ll see how the project goes.
Me: Fine. But don’t forget you’re taking her in for tests next week.
Dad: Of course. It’s on the calendar.
Dad: Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.
I hoped he was right.Ophelia had been in remission for a year now. But that didn’t mean I’d stopped worrying. Some days, the possibility of her getting sick again struck me so hard that I felt physically ill. Most days, the fear was like an air conditioner, constantly humming in the background. But every time a checkup came around, it reminded me that we lived in a fragile house of cards.
Everything could come tumbling down in an instant.
Ophelia’s good mood lasted while we cooked dinner. You’d think that after all these years of taking care of ourselves, we’d be pros in the kitchen. Truth was, neither of us was particularly skilled, but we could cook pasta and heat up a jarred sauce with the best of them. I took charge of the meal and left the baking to my sister. Cookies were Ophelia’s specialty, and her sweet tooth meant we kept all the baking essentials well stocked.
“Voilà.” I slid a plate of spaghetti and meatballs with bagged salad in front of my sister. “Bon appétit.”
“Thanks,” Ophelia mumbled, her face buried in her phone again.
“You know, if you’re going to keep staring at that screen, I’ll have to take it away.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes. “You remind me of Dad.”
“That’s what I was aiming for.” Dad was a stickler for phones being on silent during mealtimes. “What were you looking at anyway?”
“The same video as before.”
I took a bite of my cooking. The noodles were al dente, and the sauce wasn’t half bad. “Do you want to start your own propagation box? You’ve often mentioned wanting to try.”
Ophelia ate a couple of mouthfuls of salad and shook her head. “No. I was looking at SPG’s ring. Here, let me show you.”
Huddled together, we stared at the phone’s small screen, and it reminded me of how we used to hang out together after school. With only the two of us at home, we’d had an unspoken agreement to always leave the television on so we had some background voices. It had somehow made the empty house more bearable.
Ophelia paused the video as Shy Plant Girl began adding the rooting medium to her box. “Don’t you think it’s strange how she never shows her face?”
“Well with a name like Shy Plant Girl, it makes perfect sense.” It was something we often discussed when watching her videos. Fans always speculated because SPG never addressed the topic. I took another bite of my dinner and shrugged. “Or maybe she’s got a large hairy mustache that she doesn’t want the world to see.” I pretended to twirl an invisible handlebar mustache.
“Wes.” Annoyance crept into Ophelia’s voice. “Be serious.”
“What do you want me to say? Maybe she doesn’t show her face because she doesn’t want to distract her viewers from the planting experience. She wants us to virtually participate in growing things.”
And if that was the reason, then the girl was a genius because it worked. Unlike Ophelia, I’d never worked with plants, but after watching hours of SPG videos, I felt like I’d personally potted and repotted dozens of Monsteras, jade plants, and sansevierias.
“But what I don’t understand,” I continued, “is if someone’s really that shy, why make videos at all? Why put yourself out there?”
“Just because you’re shy doesn’t mean you don’t want to be heard. Everybody has something to share with others….” Ophelia restarted the video before immediately pausing it again. “What do you see here?”
I angled closer to the screen. “Um, a hand? Some dirt? A plastic tub. Do you want me to continue?”
“What’s on her hand?” Violet lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers in the air.
I peered at the screen again. “A daisy ring, like Violet’s. That makes sense. Didn’t you say SPG sells them?”
“That’s it?” Ophelia stared at me, her eyebrows lifting almost to her hairline.
I stared at the ring again. What was she trying to say? “Yeah. A flower ring. Come on, O. Cut me some slack, and say whatever it is you want to say instead of making me guess.”
Ophelia snatched up a cookie and took a bite. “Never mind. By the way, what you did for Violet today was nice. You know, with the handwritten notes.”
It was, wasn’t it? That had been a last-minute thought. I’d suspected Violet might get overwhelmed, so I’d wanted to remind her she could do it.
I shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Well, it was to her. I noticed you also helped her escape when everyone started talking around her. You like her, Wes. Admit it.”
Oh no. This needed to stop before her imagination ran wild. “Life isn’t like one of those books you read. Violet and I really are just friends. Guys and girls can be friends.”
Ophelia took a sip of her milk. “Fine. When are you seeing your friend again? Violet’s cool. She’s smart and funny. And very pretty.” My sister pinned me with a look as if daring me to disagree.
Which I wouldn’t do. Violet was smart, funny, and beautiful.Especially today in that cacti-print dress.
Ophelia took another sip of milk. “What do you know about Chase? Are Violet and Chase dating? He looks super—”
“Ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath.
My sister’s eyebrows raised. “I was going to say stylish. But interesting how your mind went there. Let’s talk about that. Sounds like someone’s a bit jealous.”
“Me? No way.” I sputtered, choking on my mouthful of cookie. Beside me, Ophelia cackled hysterically. “Whatever. I’d know if I had feelings for someone. It’s not as if I haven’t dated before.”
“You mean all those girls you brought home? Let’s see. You dated a whole bunch, but did you love any of them?”
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable. “Sure, I did. There was…” But, as I mentally ran through the girls I’d taken out, I couldn’t honestly say I’d loved any of them. “Okay, maybe I haven’t experienced love before. So what?”
Ophelia tilted her chin at me. “You’re not an expert on love.”
Oh, that was rich coming from my younger sister. “And you are? How many people have you been in love with?”
“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you. Fine. Let’s say you and Violet are just friends.” She punctuated the words with air quotes. “How would you feel if your friend started dating Chase?”
That was the plan, wasn’t it? I’d pass precalc, and Violet would go on a date with Chase. I was fine with them going out. Thrilled even.
Except that was a lie. I felt neither of those things. Instead, I was annoyed. Irritated. Jealous.
But why would I feel jealous?
Ophelia crossed her arms over her chest. “Here’s one final question for you.”
“I feel like I’m at a therapist’s office.”
“A therapist wouldn’t offer you one of these.” Ophelia handed me a cookie.
A decent one would, I thought grumpily as I took a bite. “These are delicious, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She beamed before narrowing her eyes. “Last question: How do you feel when you hang out with Violet?”
That was easy. Happy. Violet made me feel like anything was possible. She listened to me, and she made me laugh. When I was with her, I felt…complete.
My sister pinned me with a gaze that told me she knew exactly what I was thinking.
Oh shoot. Ophelia was right—I liked Violet.
And I had no idea what to do about it.