Project "Lavender" - Chapter Two

Below is the first draft of the second chapter of my work in progress novel "Lavender."

Author’s Note:

This is a rough draft. It has not been edited properly. Nothing is set in stone yet, and things may change as the draft develops. Thank you to anyone who reads and leaves feedback.

Read chapter one, here.

Ten Years Ago:

“You’re moping,” Alannah accuses.

Augusta isn’t moping. She just doesn’t want to be here. It’s fucking cold, they had to take two buses to get here, and now she’s walking down a residential street in heels to get to a party she really should have skipped out on. She’s shivering. Her legs are exposed to the crisp, damp October air through her sheer tights, and she doesn’t have a jacket. Oh, and on top of all that, she’s been miserable for days.

She’s not intentionally moping, but she may be a buzzkill nonetheless.

“I told you I didn’t want to come,” Augusta grumbles, hugging her arms around herself.

“It’s Halloween,” Alannah says, which is made very evident by her sexy alien costume, complete with bright green eyeliner. “You like Halloween.”

“Normally I like Halloween,” Augusta agrees. “Today I am one half of a stupid couple’s costume, freshly dumped, and feeling like stuffing my mouth with mini chocolate bars instead of vodka. That’s festive, right?”

“Wrong,” Alannah says. “You need to rebound. Get that prick off your mind. Have some fun for once, Auggie.”

Part of Augusta thinks Alannah might be right. They’ve been friends since orientation week of their first year of university, and while Alannah might have a different level of seriousness about her studies and ratio of time spent at school versus parties, she’s never intentionally given Augusta bad advice. And Nathan is a prick. He’s the one that made her buy a Velma Dinkley costume so he could be Shaggy – rather than, say, Fred and Daphne – two weeks before dumping her over their different directions in life.

“Maybe you’re right,” Augusta sighs.

“Of course I’m right!” Alannah exclaims. “Babe, this is going to be a good night. Don’t count yourself out of having a good time before we even get there.”

And Augusta has a bad habit of that, doesn’t she? Pessimism. Assuming the worst is always going to happen, simply because it has a history of happening when she really needed it not to. Her therapist would tell her that doesn’t necessarily mean everything is always going to go wrong.

“Fine,” Augusta relents. “I’ll try to have a good time.”

▪️▪️▪️

The problem about going to parties with Alannah is that everyone, across the two university campuses that make up a significant part of this city, seems to know and like her. She’s fantastic at making friends. She adopted Augusta by proximity, being neighbors in their residence, but that doesn’t mean they stick strictly together at these things. Even if, sometimes, Augusta would prefer they do.

All this to say, by the time Augusta is a quarter way through her first vodka soda, Alannah is nowhere to be seen. Cool.

The party is being thrown by a guy Alannah knows from first year; a wealthy engineering student whose parents bought him a house in town rather than sending him to student living. His name starts with a B. Brayden? Brendan? Augusta doesn’t remember. The only thing she finds particularly interesting about him is how many parties he manages to throw without losing his necessary grade point average to stay in his program or having the cops called over a noise complaint. Maybe he just has stellar luck.

When it happens, Augusta is sitting on a faux brown leather couch with a crack in the cushion cover that has been haphazardly covered in duct tape. She’s watching a very inebriated game of Cards Against Humanity being played, occasionally laughing at an answer someone comes up with. It’s not terribly thrilling. She’s not really having as much fun as Alannah suggested she might. Really, the most interesting part of the evening has been looking at everyone's costumes as they come through the front door. Because people just keep piling in.

There are a lot of Marvel and DC related costumes. She thinks four separate Harley Quinns have strutted through the door, with varying degrees of character acting attached to their choice. Two Jokers. One low effort minion. Several vampires, all the way from horror-movie camp to Twilight sparkle, to just plain sexy. One very creative attempt at Bender from Futurama. Augusta appreciates that construction, if she’s being honest.

Augusta is nearly done with her vodka soda when the most eye-catching costume of them all walks in. Daphne from Scooby-Doo.

It feels sort of like a movie moment. A lone Daphne, walking into a party with no Fred in sight, while Augusta is over here dressed up as Velma. Not only that, but the young woman wearing the costume, someone Augusta doesn’t recognize at all, is stunning. Like model gorgeous. Should be on a catwalk gorgeous. Should be being photographed in all sorts of silly fashion statements gorgeous, because no one will look at the clothes anyway.

She’s tall and willowy, and under the makeup and what is an almost comically bright ginger wig, she had big, brown eyes so dark they kind of look like onyx stones. Perfect bow lips. A sharp, angular nose that gives her face so much character. There’s a beauty mark beside her eye. Augusta can’t stop looking at her.

Daphne looks around the room like she’s searching for someone. Maybe there is a Fred that’s supposed to be here. A second half to her costume. But before she can spot them, her eyes land on Augusta. On Augusta’s costume.

Her eyes catch Augusta’s. Augusta gives an awkward, acknowledging little smile. Yes, hello, gorgeous woman. We are dressed as two people from the same media franchise. Daphne laughs a little. Like she can read Augusta’s mind.

Then, she does the craziest thing. She waves Augusta over.

It’s not a rude gesture. Not demanding. Just a little wave, cupped hand gesturing inwards, like she’s inviting Augusta into an exclusive space. Like she has a secret to tell her.

Augusta abandons her spot on the couch without a second though. She pulls down the ridden up edges of her ugly, brownish pleated skirt, and walks across the main floor to where Daphne is standing.

“Hi!” Daphne says brightly. Her voice has a little musical lilt to it. It’s pretty. Everything about her is pretty. “Velma!”

“Daphne,” Augusta says, smiling. “Should I be expecting other members of the Scooby Squad?”

“Well, that’s just the thing,” Daphne says. “You looked sort of like you were sitting by yourself over there?”

Augusta’s cheeks heat. “My friend went AWOL.”

“Gotcha,” Daphne replies. “So, I had to dump my Fred the other night. I do not want to talk about it. But I know enough people here who will ask and comment on my half of a couples’ costume.”

“Oh,” Augusta says. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Daphne sighs. “Needed to happen.”

“My Shaggy dumped me,” Augusta confesses.

Daphne raises a manicured, dark eyebrow. “Sweetie, look at you. You can do better than a Shaggy, anyway.”

Augusta’s stomach sort of flips.

“Anyway,” Daphne continues. “I am humbly asking if we could please stick together and pretend to be a matching set so if anyone asks about Fred, I can say I came with Velma? I promise I’m fun.”

And how the hell is Augusta supposed to say no to an offer like that?

Day One:

It’s Daphne.

Luana is Daphne.

All these years later, and she never knew her name. She never ran into her again. They never exchanged numbers. But Augusta is certain. It’s her.

Everything happens so quickly while Augusta is trying to process. Trying to determine whether or not Luana recognizes her, too. Her expression must read with shock. She must be coming across like a deer in the headlights.

“Sam, Luana, this is Gus,” Carey introduces her. Her hearing is going in and out, like she’s dissociating. She can’t follow the conversation properly. “Gus, Sam and Luana.”

Sam takes the first step forward and extends his hand.

Augusta fumbles awkwardly to shake it.

“Augusta,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”

He nods, gives her a stiff little smile. She can see the lines on his cheeks where his smile usually extends into something bright, but this feels like someone has injected dental numbing agent into his mouth. There’s something tense behind his eyes, too. An obvious discomfort.

“Good to meet you, finally,” he replies. It sounds like a lie.

Augusta shrinks back from him a little, uncertain. She glances at Carey, trying to read his interpretation of his exchange. He looks entirely unbothered. Fine. Excellent. Hard to believe this is the usual demeanour of perfect, amicable Sam, but whatever.

She turns to Luana next. Their eyes catch, just like they had at that party, ten years ago. Luana has a carefully trained smile on her face. It’s impenetrable.

“So great to meet you, Augusta,” she says cheerily, reaching to shake her hand. “I was beginning to think Carey was making you up.”

“Hey, now!” Carey complains.

Augusta gives a perfunctory little chuckle at the jab, but in all reality, she feels too frozen to find anything funny.

She has no idea whether or not Luana remembers her. But how the hell could she forget?

▪️▪️▪️

Augusta thinks the whole scene ahead of her probably looks like a magazine ad from Cottage Life magazine or something. Two couples, on a nicely finished deck, glasses of wine in hand. Grill open, burgers sizzling. A happy dog strutting around with a stick in its mouth. Truly, it’s idyllic.

Not to sound dramatic, but Augusta thinks she might be in Hell.

Carey is rotating between grilling, playing fetch with Sailor and her splintering, slobbery stick, and refilling everyone’s drinks. He’s being a great host. Really, he is. But it also sort of means Augusta is one versus two in a sort of strange get to know you chat with Sam and Luana.

Augusta feels compelled to show that she’s making an effort. She’s trying. She wants to get along with Carey’s friends. Even if one of them seems determined to avoid making eye contact with her, and the other is either a brilliant actress or has forgotten her completely. Maybe there’s a brain injury involved. Who can say?

“So, Sam,” Augusta says, when it’s getting a little too quiet on the porch. “Carey says you’re a nurse?”

Sam nods. “I am.”

It’s not a rude answer, exactly. It’s just sort of a short answer. An answer that puts the burden of continuing any sort of conversation completely on her.

Augusta fiddles nervously with the fabric of the sundress she changed into after swimming.

“Uh, what kind of nursing do you do?”

“I work on the children’s inpatient floor,” Sam says. He brushes a fallen cedar leaf off the Toronto Blue Jays shirt he’s wearing.

Luana gives him a funny look. Like she, too, is expecting less closed off answers from him. Is he normally animated about his work? Carey says he’s so good at it.

“That must be rewarding,” Augusta says. Then, she panics and adds, “and challenging.”

She can’t personally imagine working with sick kids. Or healthy kids. Kids kind of freak her out a little, actually. Not that she doesn’t like them. She just doesn’t really know any? She was a kid, and then she wasn’t, and now there are no kids in her life.

Sam. “Mhm, yeah. Can be both.”

Luana frowns. “Sam’s patients love him, though. He’s great with kids.”

Just not adults, apparently.

Sam offers her a grateful smile but doesn’t comment. Cool.

“What do you do, Luana?” Augusta asks.

She won’t lie, she’s curious. She learned so much about Daphne that night, but not any of the small talk conversations. Not the kind of things that let you identify a person. Just the kind of things that give you a little slice of insight into their soul.

“I’m an architect, actually,” she says. “I’m working with a firm that does residential builds all over the province.”

See, that’s how you answer a question.

“Wow,” Augusta replies. “That’s super cool.”

“Yeah,” Luana smiles. “Thank you. We just finished this amazing property up on Georgian Bay that was a lot of fun to help design.”

“That’s amazing,” Augusta says, picturing some sort of fancy modern palace overlooking the crystal blue water of Georgian Bay. “How did you two meet, then? Doesn’t sound like it was through work.”

The question comes naturally, and Augusta feels a weird stab of annoyance in her gut. It should not be easier to talk to Luana than Sam. And yet.

Luana smiles. “Well, actually-”

“This is a good story!” Carey interjects loudly from his spot in front of the barbecue. “Right out of Grey’s Anatomy.”

Sam lets out a fond, bubbling laugh. It’s so warm it catches Augusta by surprise.

“You always say that,” he accuses Carey. “It’s not like that. You’re so dramatic.”

“Drama is what keeps me successful!” Carey argues.

He’s not wrong. He works at a publishing house. One his grandfather started decades and decades ago. He chooses which fiction manuscripts they’re going to move forward with.

“Okay, now I have to hear the story,” Augusta says. If not only to keep up this banter between Sam and Carey that actually renders Sam pleasant.

“It’s really not that crazy,” Luana says. “My nephew was in the hospital with appendicitis. Sam was his nurse.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Augusta says. She can see how meeting someone in that capacity might lead to an attraction. A caregiver, taking good care of someone important to you. Don’t people develop crushes on doctors and first responders all the time for this exact reason?

“You’re missing the details,” Carey accuses. “That’s what makes it Grey’s Anatomy.”

“If it was Grey’s Anatomy, we’d both be surgeons, and the hospital would be on fire,” Sam shakes his head.

Luana sighs. “So, I’m working in Windsor for a few weeks. Not too far, but definitely a drive. My brother tells me not to worry about coming home, it’s a routine operation, I can just visit Frankie once I’m back.”

“Right,” Augusta nods along.

“Here we go,” Carey smirks.

“So, I’m thinking, whatever,” Luana says. “I’ll come back from my work trip with a video game for him or something.”

Augusta nods again.

“And then my mom calls, telling me I need to rush back to see Frankie immediately,” Luana says. “Says it’s urgent.”

“Oh my god,” Augusta says.

“Here I am thinking the kid is dying, but really, it’s all a ploy to introduce me to Sam.”

“Keep in mind,” Sam says. The first time he’s offered non-requisite detail to Augusta. “Lu’s mom and aunt had already been plotting to slip me her number, and had been not so subtly suggesting they had the perfect woman for me.”

“Well, they were right,” Luana teases. “Not to cosign their methods…”

Sam chuckles.

Out of the corner of Augusta’s eye, she notices Carey’s smile falter. Just a little. Barely perceptible. Like it loses thirty percent of its dazzle. She wonders why. Does he not think Luana is perfect for Sam? He’s never said anything to indicate that to Augusta. Then again, she never asked. She accepted the couple as a package deal.

“That is a great story,” Augusta says, looking away from Carey. “I’m sure your mom is quite pleased with herself.”

Luana nods. “Very. I think she would choose Sam over me should we ever part ways.”

Sam laughs. “Not true.”

“What about you and Carey?” Luana asks. “He says you met at your work but I’m not sure I understand exactly what was going on there.”

Augusta feels a flood of nerves. This is where people usually decide they’re either fascinated by her or uninterested in her entirely. Their reaction to her work is always telling. She knows it’s not about her, not really. But it’s hard not to take it personally, when it’s so tied up in who she is.

“We did,” Augusta nods.

Carey watches her. He knows she’s insecure about this. He’s told her not to worry about Sam and Luana, but he knows she is nevertheless.

“Uh, I was giving a lecture,” Augusta explains. “It was open to the public. Carey came. Listened. Asked a lot of questions.”

“Of course he did,” Sam snorts.

Carey jokingly gives him the finger.

“You’re a professor?” Luana asks. “Or a public speaker?”

“Professor,” Augusta says. “Well, working on it. Not quite tenured yet, but on track.”

“Dr. Gus Bauer,” Carey grins, like a proud grandmother.

Augusta rolls her eyes. “Please.”

“A PhD in what?” Luana asks.

“Anthropology,” Augusta says.

Sam looks at Carey. “You don’t know shit about anthropology. What were you doing at a lecture?”

“Hey!” Carey protests. “You don’t know what I know!”

“What was the lecture on?” Luana asks.

Here it goes.

“Death and mourning rituals across human cultures,” Augusta answers.

Luana blinks. Sam’s expression tightens. Carey smiles, because he’s one of the only people she knows outside of academic spaces who can just generally find topics interesting without attaching a great moral value to them.

“Death?” Luana repeats.

“It’s something everyone has in common,” Augusta explains. “But something we all interpret and process differently. That’s what I study. Funerals, mourning, rituals, beliefs. Anything surrounding how humans make sense of death.”

Luana and Sam’s reactions could not be more different. Sam turns to Carey and gives him a critical look. As though Augusta’s line of work is reflective of him choosing her as a partner. She might as well have said she’s in the oil lobby or the animal testing industry. Augusta bristles, instantly uncomfortable. Luana, on the other hand, raises her eyebrows, curious.

“Wow,” she says. “Isn’t that heavy? To think about that every day?”

Well, she already was. She just found a way to turn it into a job.

“It can be,” Augusta admits, trying to ignore some telepathic exchange happening between Sam and Carey. All narrowed eyes and pinched mouths. “But I also find it helpful, personally.”

Luana gives her a look that feels a little too knowing for Augusta’s comfort. Does she remember, then? What Augusta told her a decade ago? Has this whole day been a fucking charade?

“It was such a good lecture,” Carey says. There’s a weird firmness to his voice. Almost as if someone had suggested it wasn’t and he’s trying to defend her. “Gus had so many great insights. It was almost like going to therapy.”

Augusta gives him a grateful smile. He doesn’t need to do this. She’s long since accepted that people are going to have mixed reactions. Also, it’s academia. Most people aren’t going to be interested in attending lectures anyway.

“There’s also actual bereavement therapy,” Sam mumbles.

Carey’s expression twitches at that. Luana gives her boyfriend a warning look.

Ah. Is that what this is about? That they met at a lecture about death, where Augusta was the expert, a few years after Carey’s parents died? Is that what Sam thinks this is? A weird coping mechanism? She supposes that’s a fair concern. She’d wondered, at first, when he asked her out for coffee, if that’s what it would be. She’d had her guard up. But they aren’t in some sort of unhealthy, toxic grieving partnership. That’s not why she enjoyed the first date, or agreed to a second, and it’s not why they’re together now.

At least, it’s not why Augusta’s with Carey. Is it why Carey’s with her? She looks at him. He’s looking at Sam, expression irked.

“Well,” Luana says, tone completely light and airy, like she isn’t noticing the very obvious tension on this deck, even though Augusta knows she is. “I think that’s such an interesting field of study. My mom is Portuguese and I’ve definitely noticed the way she handles grief is completely different to my dad’s side of the family.”

Augusta bites. And not because she particularly wants to talk about work right now, but because the alternative seems to be waiting for something to snap between Carey and Sam.

“Oh yeah?” She asks Luana. “In what way?”

And she listens, stomach churning with alcohol and acid, as Luana tells a long, animated story about a second cousin’s funeral, and her parents arguing in the car, until Sam remembers to pay attention to his girlfriend, and Carey returns his focus to the barbecue.

▪️▪️▪️

It’s weird for a while after that. Augusta will be the first to admit it, and perhaps the last. Everyone else seems like they’re stuck in a weird improv performance, yes and’ing every awkward interaction, but never addressing or questioning them. Carey and Luana seem committed to remaining positive. Sam seems occasionally deeply annoyed by one thing or another, though not so much that he’s ever willing to speak up or do anything about it. All three of them seem bound by the same rules of going with the flow, and Augusta, the newcomer in this dynamic, doesn’t want to be the one to disrupt a clearly intentionally kept status quo.

Augusta can’t help but notice that she is a recurring theme in the list of things that annoy Sam. She asks him a question? His mouth tightens like answering her is an inconvenience. Carey tells a story about something he and Augusta did? He looks entirely unimpressed. Carey pulls her in for a kiss? He’s watching them with narrowed, disapproving eyes. Maybe the latter is a PDA-related thing. He and Luana don’t seem especially touchy. Still, though. Augusta can’t help but feel that Sam hates her without even giving her a chance.

At first, Augusta thinks he’s just an ass. Carey’s taste in friends is clearly coloured by years of loyalty and his general blind faith in people. He’s so good. He probably doesn’t even notice how rude Sam is being. Sam is probably a dick to him too, but he just doesn’t see it.

At first, Augusta thinks she just has to make it through this week. She can focus on Luana. Luana, who has forgotten her, but seems very sweet. Luana, who at least has manners.

It’s not until the tail end of that first dinner that Augusta realizes the whole issue with Sam could spell trouble for her relationship. It might even end it, if she’s not careful.

Augusta is focusing very intently on the blue, floral pattern of the placemats on the table while Carey and Sam talk back and forth, with the occasional interjection from Luana. The alcohol has clearly hit, and they’re a bit louder and looser than they had been at the beginning of the meal. They’re telling Luana - and Augusta, she supposes, though she isn’t paying close attention - some sort of story from high school. Something they can both reminisce on.

“I swear that was the best party of all of twelfth grade,” Carey is saying.

“No,” Sam shakes his head. He’s laughing. “No it might have been the best party of twelfth grade, if your memory stops at approximately midnight, when you and Kara Simpson took off to hook up in her cousin’s treehouse. The rest of us had a terrible night.”

“What?” Carey asks. “No you didn’t!”

“We did!” Sam insists. “Wes had an absolute panic attack about his parents coming home and smelling weed and puke. We did a deep clean of the house at, like, two in the morning.”

“Man, you could have left,” Carey laughs.

Augusta has no idea who any of these people are. She glances at Luana, who seems equally as bored with the memory. She’s making small, circular motions with her wine glass and watching the liquid slosh around a little at the bottom, like a sommelier about to smell the vintage.

“Uh, you had the keys,” Sam says. “It was your car!”

“You lived two kilometers away!” Carey argues.

Augusta suspects they’ve had this argument before.

“And my dad would have killed me! I was supposed to be staying with you! Which you would have remembered if not for Kara-”

“Here we go,” Carey interrupts.

“My god, you two bicker like you’re married,” Luana sighs.

Carey sighs theatrically. “By that we’re on our, what? Crystal anniversary? What did you get me, honey?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Nothing. Carey is just misremembering how he’d get completely swept up in whichever pretty girl looked in his direction in high school and undergrad and sometimes his stories of fun nights were not really so fun.”

“That’s not true!” Carey protests.

Sam looks at Augusta quickly, lips tight, then looks back at Carey.

“It’s very true.”

Augusta’s stomach twists. What is he saying? Is he comparing Augusta to some high school fling? Saying she’s just whatever girl Carey is blinded by this season? It’ll be onto the next soon? She’s literally sitting right here. Who the hell is he to suggest that?

“Isn’t that pretty normal for that age?” Augusta asks, annoyed. “I mean, teenage puppy love and all that?”

Sam narrows his eyes and looks at her. “Yeah maybe at that age. Sure.”

Luana tilts her head to the side, confused, and opens her mouth to say something, but Carey has already beat her to the chase.

“Oh, Sam, get over it,” he pleads. “I broke up with her when you complained enough, didn’t I?”

Augusta feels cold.

“Oh my god, you did not dump a girl because Sam didn’t like her?” Luana asks, scoffing. “Sam, what’s wrong with you?”

“Please, he dumped her because Carey and Kara is a creepy coupling when you say it too many times.” Sam waves a dismissive hand.

“And because you didn’t like her!” Carey laughs. “Both of those things were factors.”

Sam’s eyes sweep over Augusta quickly.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “Your best friend usually knows what’s good for you, right?”

And his intentions could not be any clearer. Whatever Sam thinks is good for Carey, he doesn’t include Augusta on that list. Augusta is fairly certain his goal is to break them up.

Read Chapter Three