by Lori L. Otto
“What’s his number?” Rachelle asks, giving me a sly grin.
“Yuck, you can have him,” I joke with her, finally taking off my coat and sitting on my bed.
“Sure, give me your cast-offs,” she says. “But I’d rather start with that one you left in New York. He was so sexy.”
I smile at her, and try to be casual about her comment. I can’t hold it against her. I haven’t told her anything about Jon. The only things she knows about him are the things she discovered online when she found out we’d be roommates. She’d apparently spent an afternoon trying to learn more about me.
“Wait, which one?” Katrina asks. “Jon or Finn?”
“Either,” my older roommate clarifies.
“Guys, Finn’s like my cousin–I mean, we’re not really related, but he’s family to me. I had a concussion and I didn’t know what was going on when that happened.” Not only do I have the memory of that horrible day when I kissed Finn, the moment lives on forever in pictures and videos on the Internet. They make me sick to my stomach to even think about. I lost my best friend and my boyfriend in a span of five seconds.
“And Jon?” they ask in unison, laughing at their joint curiosity.
“I’ve just known him since I was little.” I downplay our relationship, picking up a text book off of my desk and thumbing through the pages. “Did you guys study for our psych test already? Because I could use a little help.”
“That’s Katrina’s forte.”
“Sure, Liv, what are you having problems with?” She sits on my bed next to me with her back against the wall, and we start looking over some of the behavioral theories in the book. I zone out as she speaks, though, remembering the days when Jon would tutor me. I didn’t really need his help, but he made everything make more sense. Fortunately, I already understand our psychology homework. I just want a distraction.
I’d hoped schoolwork would be that distraction tonight. Like every other night, though, my focus returns to Jon.
CHAPTER 2
The following night, my roommates and I go out for pizza at a place just off-campus. A lot of our classmates are there, listening to an eclectic mix of alternative and Indie rock. I definitely enjoy the music, but I cringe every time there’s a break in the songs, hoping they don’t play anything by my favorite band, the one we saw last New Year’s Eve.
I’ve been lucky so far.
“So who’s next?” Rachelle asks.
“What do you mean?” I laugh, knowing what she means.
“We live vicariously through you,” Katrina says. “Four guys have asked you out. Who’s taking you out next?”
“You guys have been asked out,” I remind them both. Neither were at all interested in their potential dates, though: twin brothers from Minnesota who were shorter than us all. I roll my eyes at them, embarrassed by the attention. “Manny,” I tell them.
“Which one’s that?”
“Sorry, Emmanuel,” I correct myself, remembering that he didn’t like his nickname anymore. “The TA from our Intro to Photography class,” I tell Rachelle, who’s in the class with me. She perks up immediately.
“He’s so mysterious,” she explains to our other roommate. “And intense. When he looks at me, I melt.”
“He’s changed a lot since my first visit here,” I tell her. I hardly recognized my tour guide when I first saw him in class. He passed out our syllabi and gave me this weird smirk when he handed me mine. I had shyly looked away, but he stopped me after class, asking me how my boyfriend liked the picture he’d taken of me.
Since last fall, he’d shaved his head into a short mohawk that most guys couldn’t pull off, and he had gotten his cartilage pierced on both ears. He may have always had the tattoos on his right arm, but I don’t remember them from my college tour. He definitely looks a little dangerous now, whereas back then he was pretty harmless. Back then, he was someone I didn’t look at twice.
Just as quickly as he’d found out I had a boyfriend that first time we’d met, he found out that we had broken up. Emmanuel wasted no time, asking me out as we walked to our next classes. I was caught off-guard, but flattered. I didn’t hesitate with my answer. I’d told him I’d love to.
He was far from familiar, but it was easy to talk to him and to be around him. He didn’t make my stomach flutter in nerves, but I liked it when he’d work with me in class and walk with me around campus. He felt like someone I wanted to trust.
“When are you going out with him?” Katrina asks.
“Next Thursday.”
“Why not this weekend?” Rachelle asks.
“I’m going home again,” I tell her. I’m surprised she doesn’t expect my answer. I’d gone home all three weekends since I moved here.
“Livvy, you have got to start staying here with us some weekends. There’s so much happening that you’re missing out on!”
“I know, but–”
“But, what? Your mom and dad will survive without you.” She’s one-hundred percent right, but I don’t bother to tell her that both of my parents have been trying to convince me to stay in New Haven for the weekend, too.
“I know, it’s just... I paint a lot on the weekends,” I tell them both. “I have a studio that overlooks Central Park. It inspires me.”
Katrina looks at me sideways, challenging me. “I bet we can find someplace beautiful and inspiring here, too–”
“Like Emmanuel’s bedroom!” Rachelle says as her jovial laugh drowns out the driving chorus of the song that’s playing. Katrina slaps her on the arm, but giggles with her. “You’ll tell us how beautiful and inspiring he is in the bedroom, won’t you?” she says, lowering her voice to a loud whisper.
“I don’t think I’ll be finding that out next week,” I tell her, forcing a smile and playing along. The thought of being with someone else–well, it’s a thought I don’t even want to have. If that’s what he wants from me...
There’s the nervous stomach.
“I bet he’d like to show you, though,” Rachelle says. “My god, he’s sexy.”
“Okay, that’s enough.”
“Oh, don’t get all bashful on us,” she says.
“Rachelle, leave her alone,” Katrina argues playfully, careful not to come off too serious.
“Thank you,” I tell Katrina smugly.
“But we will be the first to know about the bedroom, right?” she tacks on quickly.
“I hate you both,” I tell them as I grab another slice of pizza.
“Next weekend, Liv,” my older roommate says, “you’re staying in New Haven if I have to tie you to the bedpost.”
“Maybe this Emmanuel guy would like that,” Katrina says, causing them both to erupt in laughter again. I glare at them as I chew my dinner.
I ask Rachelle to drop me off on campus before they head to a local outdoor mall. It had been awhile since I’d had any time to myself, and I couldn’t wait for that hour alone in our dorm room. I’ve learned to appreciate moments of privacy, finding that I have so little of it these days.
I retrieve my overnight bag from my closet as soon as I get back to the room and start packing for the weekend. I don’t bother gathering up any clothes, knowing I have more than enough to wear at home. I pay special attention to my favorite paintbrushes, wrapping them carefully to keep the bristles straight. I pull the baseball jersey I’d promised to buy my brother out from under the bed and tuck it in the corner of my bag. My phone rings as I’m putting my toiletries in their case.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Dad said you called earlier. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just getting ready for the weekend. I finally have a few minutes to myself.”
“Are you girls not getting along?”
“Oh, no, we are!” I tell her. “It’s just nice to have some quiet time, to think.”
“Gosh, Liv, I’m pretty sure you got a lifetime’s worth of ‘quiet time to think’ over the summer–”
“Mom,” I start to w
arn her. Both of my parents were sad about the outcome of my relationship with Jon, but they were both ready for me to move on, and had been very vocal about it toward the end of the summer.
“So,” she says, obviously changing the subject. “Matty says your date didn’t go so well.”
“It was fine,” I tell her. “I didn’t expect it to be earth-shattering.” I tell her the highlights, and she agrees with my assessment that he’s not the one when I tell her how many times he dropped my name to total strangers.
“I don’t know if Dad told you,” she tells me, “but he and I are going to a fund raiser tomorrow night. Your brother’s staying at Steven’s.”
“That’s fine,” I tell her quickly, looking forward to having the house to myself.
“Well, I was thinking that maybe you should stay there tomorrow night and drive home Saturday morning.”
“No, I’m already packed,” I tell her. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll find something to do. You guys don’t need to entertain me every second I’m home.”
“Does Rachelle go home on the weekends?”
“No, but I’m not Rachelle,” I tell her, mildly frustrated. “I want to see you guys, and I want to see Manhattan. I miss the sounds.”
I hear her laugh lightly into the phone. “I can understand that,” she says. “If you’re sure you don’t mind us not being here.”
“Not at all, Mom.” Maybe Jon will call me tomorrow, out of the blue. Maybe I’ll get a chance to give him a piece of my mind. I wrote love notes all summer, but I have a lot more things to say to him now that he pushed me away at Columbia and hasn’t even bothered to call. Maybe he’d even apologize.
Maybe I should stop getting my hopes up that impossible things are going to happen.
“Have you given any thought to your birthday?” she asks.
“I think I want to have a party at the loft. Maybe just the cousins... maybe I’ll invite some friends from here to come to the city for a night.”
“Ummm...” she hesitates. “We can talk about that this weekend.”
“I mean, of course I’ll spend some time with you guys, too, Mom. I didn’t mean to not include you.”
“I know, Liv. We’ll work it out this weekend.”
“Okay,” I tell her, hoping that I hadn’t hurt her feelings. “I love you, Mom.”
“We love you, too, Livvy.”
“Tell Dad hello,” I tell her.
“I will. Good night.”
In truth, Jon was the only one I’d ever planned to celebrate with on my eighteenth birthday. No matter what I do, it won’t live up to the expectations I’ve had since my sixteenth birthday, my first birthday as his girlfriend. We’d waited so long for this milestone.
After packing the last of my things, I set my bag aside and pull out the small box from my desk drawer, removing the ring from its cushion and putting it on my finger, where it belongs.
He made me promises. He vowed to never take me for granted. He was going to make every moment with me the best it could be. He would never let me forget that I was the best choice he’d ever made. Choisie. I touch my chest, in search of the necklace I no longer have.
I never even got a chance to explain myself. If he never read the letters, he’ll never understand how much I care for him. Does he really think I like Finn? After all, most people accept the concussion explanation. Even I believe it, because I have no other logical reason for what I did that day. I was desperate. I was confused. I was angry. I know I was all of those things, but to share a kiss with another guy... and not just any kiss. Our kiss. To do that, it’s obviously unforgivable in his mind.
It was just a horrible mistake!
I start to cry, and once I start, the angry tears fall quickly and freely and the sobs cut off my breathing. I haven’t cried like this in weeks. I’d hoped it would make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I start to wonder if anything will.
“Livvy?” someone calls out to me from the hallway. Realizing people can hear me through the door, I try to calm myself quickly, but I don’t respond. “Livvy? Are you okay?” Tim asks.
“Yeah,” I tell my RA, my voice hoarse. I hear him try the doorknob, but I locked it when I came in.
“Can you open up for me?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, trying to hide my emotions. I know it’s not working and drag myself off the bed to let him in. I trudge back to my pillow, hearing him walk in softly behind me.
“I either have to have another girl come in here with us, or we have to leave the door open,” he explains. “Which would you prefer?”
I stare at him blankly, not wanting to talk to anyone.
“You don’t trust a lot of people, do you?” he asks.
I look away, down at my hands, watching my fingers pick away the purple polish I’d put on them.
Tim finds a box of tissues and brings them to me. He leaves the door open and pulls my desk chair closer to the bed, leaving only about a foot between us. He speaks with quiet concern. “You should talk to someone, Livvy.”
“I can’t,” I tell him, wiping my nose without an ounce of grace or poise. “I don’t know anyone here that I can talk to.”
“Do you know how many guys would love to have some time with you? Who’d do anything to be the person you go to?”
“I don’t care,” I tell him, not at all impressed with his attempt to compliment me. “They don’t know anything about me. They know about tabloid articles and rumors. They know about my money. They don’t know me. They can’t like me if they don’t know me.”
“I don’t like you,” he says. I look up at him, moderately surprised at his admission.
“Thanks. I’m not too fond of you, either,” I say spitefully, even though it’s not true.
“No, I mean,” he stutters. “Livvy, I see how you try to avoid half the guys in the hall–and they still track you down. They still follow you like lost puppies.”
“I don’t encourage it,” I tell him.
“I know you don’t. But you’re all these poor, lonely guys think about. But I want you to know that I’m not like them.”
“Okay,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders.
“I have a girlfriend. I love her.”
“Good for you.” When I look down again, I remember the ring. Hoping to not draw attention to it, I cover it with my right hand and slide it off slowly, the movements barely noticeable. My legs crossed beneath me, I tuck the jewelry in my shoe to hide it.
“I want to help you. You need someone you can trust. It must suck to have to constantly question everyones’ motives–”
“My dad taught me well–”
“I’m sure he did. But Livvy... let down your guard a bit. Let someone in.”
“Why? I mean... I don’t know what you think I need.”
“Your dad spoke with me before he left campus a few weeks ago. Your parents are worried about you. He mentioned there was a guy... someone that was special to you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t matter anymore.
“Sure it does. I mean, your first chance to be alone, and you’re locked in your room crying.” He puts his hand on my sneaker and squeezes my toes. “Do Katrina and Rachelle know about him?”
“They know of him.” I shift positions, pulling my knees into my chest so he’ll move his hand off of my shoe. “They don’t know how I feel about him,” I admit. “They think he was just a fling. Because of what happened with my friend, they don’t think either relationship was serious.”
“This was the, uh...” He hesitates, and I can tell he’s unsure if he should admit what I’m sure he already knows.
“The guy I kissed. The guy I kissed that wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“You had a concussion?” I nod, but look away when I do, still feeling guilty about my actions. Concussion or not, the kiss with Finn was intimate and it hurt Jon more than he had words to explain.
“You still love him? The boyfriend?”
“Ex,” I correct him. “
Can you hate and love someone at the same time? Because I think I do.”
“Livvy, if you love–”
“Surely you’re not going to tell me to set him free. Please don’t be that cliché. He’s free. He’s been free for almost four months, and where has that gotten me? Nowhere. It just makes me angrier and angrier, with each day of silence.”
“Hey–”
“And who do you think you are, prying into my life like this?”
“Your dad asked me to keep an eye on you. That’s all. I don’t mean to pry, and if you feel that I am,” he says, but doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he stands and pushes the chair back under my desk.
“I just can’t talk about it, Tim.”
“I hate to tell you this, Livvy,” he says, “but you just did. And it’s a good start.” I study his expression, examining him hard to see if he’s sincere. He certainly looks sincere. I muster a small smile for him, silently thanking him. “Don’t forget you put the ring in your shoe.” He hands me the little box that I’d set on the desk.
My cheeks burn when I look away. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. I mean it.”
“Okay.”
“I hear your roommates down the hall. Want me to close the door?”
“It’s okay. Leave it open.”
“Alright. Get some sleep, Liv.”
“Good night.”
Rachelle and Katrina are whispering to one another when they come in. “Can we close the door?” Katrina asks.
“Sure,” I say, turning quickly to put the box back in my desk drawer and hide my face in the process.
“Tim, too?” Rachelle asks.
“Tim, what?”
“Was he hitting on you?” She sounds exasperated and annoyed.
“No,” I tell her quickly. “We were talking, that’s all.”
“You okay?” Katrina walks to my side of the room, looking at me closely.
“I’m fine. Just homesick.” It’s not entirely a lie.
“Well, we got something for you.”
“You guys didn’t have to get me anything.” Rachelle pulls something out of a bag. “What is that?”
“Sparkling wine,” she says.
“In a can?”