Keeping Secrets in Seattle

chapter One


August 19, 1997

I love Gabe. He doesn’t know it, but I do. Someday I’m going to tell him. And when I do, he’s going to say he loves me back. I know it will happen. I can feel it deep inside. We’re going to get married, and have babies, and live happily ever after. Mark my words…

Present Day…

“Damn it, Violet, why can’t my boobs look so hot when I wear that blouse?”

I tucked my journal deep in the back of my nightstand drawer and covered it up with an old scarf. The memories I’d been reading clouded around me like fog, and I had to shake my head to clear them. That’s what trips down memory lane did. Especially ones that involved reading my journal entries about my best friend. Sadly, out of the dozens and dozens of notebooks I’d filled with my innermost thoughts over the years, a huge percentage of them were devoted to dissecting my friendship—and more—with Gabe. Sometimes writing in, and rereading, those stupid, worn-out journals of mine was the only thing that kept me sane.

I pulled on my coat and shot my roommate a cheeky smile. “Because you’re too skinny, my dear.”

“Touché.” Kim laughed, tugging on a snowman sweater over her head. She had an arsenal of tacky Christmas sweaters in her closet, all gifts from her mother, and prided herself on being able to pair them with leather pants.

My other roommate, Betsy, emerged from the kitchen with a candy cane sticking out of her mouth. “I disagree,” she said. “I think your boobs are just fine, babe.”

“You’re biased.” I scooped my purse off the table. “She’s your girlfriend—of course you think she’s just fine.”

Betsy grinned and adjusted her glasses on her nose. “True. But for the record, I think you look fine as well. That shirt really does look great.”

“Gabe will be drooling all over himself. He’ll take one look at you and say, Alicia who?”

“You’re saying the name wrong.” Betsy pointed her candy cane at Kim. “Remember? It’s Ah-lee-sia.” She added a British accent for good measure.

“Don’t mess with the name, guys. Seriously.” The first time I’d met Gabe’s latest ex-girlfriend, she’d corrected my pronunciation of her name. Twice. And after only ten minutes in a bowling alley together, she’d looked from her taupe linen pantsuit to my plaid schoolgirl skirt and “I Love New York” T-shirt and immediately decided to dislike me. A claim Gabe vehemently denied.

But I knew better. I’d met dozens of Gabe’s girlfriends over the years, and as soon as they caught on to how close he and I were, it was a one-way ticket to Haterville. Population: one.

“To hell with how she looks,” Betsy said. “Once he hears what’s in your heart, he won’t want anyone else but you.”

It’d taken me forever to get to the place I was at that morning. After living with Kim and Betsy for three years, they’d finally worn me down. Countless nights spent whining into a pint of Häagen Dazs because the man I’d loved was out with other women had convinced me that it was time. Time to tell him how I felt. And, of course, the e-mail I’d received from Gabe saying that he’d broken things off with Alicia helped.

“Thanks, you two.” I looked up at the Felix the Cat clock ticking away on the wall. “I’m gonna miss my bus if I don’t scoot. Don’t touch that eggnog until I get home.”

Kim’s hand crossed her heart. “I promise. It’ll be us and Miracle on 34th Street when you get back. If you come back, that is.”

“Right after we finish family dinner hell,” Betsy added, grimacing down at her own sweater.

I grabbed my umbrella. “Ugh…are you sure you can’t come to Christmas dinner with me? Give me some emotional support? Possibly a kick in the rear if I try to chicken out?”

“Oh, no. I’ll be damned if you’re going to chicken out, Violet.” Kim blinked at me a few times. “We’ve been over this a thousand times. You love him. You always have. There’s no point in denying it anymore.”

Biting my lip, I nodded.

Kim peeled herself away from Betsy, who was still sucking on her candy cane, and came over to brush a lock of my hair back from my face. “Lookin’ good. I really like the hot pink streaks.”

I grimaced. “Of course you do—you’re the one who put them in.”

Since meeting Kim at cosmetology school, we’d discovered that we both had a fondness for body art and rockabilly style. A year later, after Betsy came into the fold, our passion for vintage clothing became a full-on obsession. Now our weekends—when Kim and I weren’t working at The Funky Fox, a hair salon on Capitol Hill, one of Seattle’s most diverse and eclectic neighborhoods—were spent scouring secondhand shops and flea marts.

Betsy groaned behind us. “Kim, we’ve got to go, too. My dad is going to flip if we’re late for another meal.”

Kim grimaced. “Seriously. In-laws. Oy.”

“You.” Betsy looked at me and frowned, making her freckles run together. “Don’t punk out. You’ve got the whole speech planned. Now you just need to trust your heart. All right?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Shut up.” She pulled me in for a hug. “Call if you’re home before we are.”

Kim leaned in to join the hug. “Yeah. We’ll use you as an excuse to get out of Betsy’s family dinner early.”

Betsy nodded. “For eggnog.”

“And a movie,” I reminded them, turning the door handle. I flashed my crossed fingers to my roommates and headed down the stairs toward the foyer, my platform pumps clunking loudly on the old, wooden steps.

This was it. I was going to Christmas dinner to celebrate the holiday with family, to open some gifts, to eat some pie, maybe sing a carol or two…

And to profess my love to Gabe. Talk about a Christmas bonus.