by Lori L. Otto
“Let me know if that’s not enough.” He climbs back into the bed, reassuming his position and settling me back into place against him. He kisses my forehead and plays with my messy hair. “You, um...” he begins. “You didn’t seem as tense this time.”
“I know. It was different. I wasn’t thinking about us having sex.” He shifts suddenly, staring at me curiously. “I was just thinking about making you happy.”
“So that’s what you’ve been doing wrong,” he teases me. “Because every time, all I ever think about is making you happy.”
“You think about making yourself happy,” I challenge him playfully, poking him in the side, relieved to see him smiling again.
“Hey,” he says softly, suddenly concerned. He turns his body to face mine, pulling my leg up over his so we can be closer to one another. “You don’t really think that, do you?”
“No,” I laugh. “Never. Well, maybe I think you’re trying to make us both happy, together.”
He’s pensive for a few seconds, nodding his head in agreement. “Maybe that.” We share some lingering kisses, holding hands beneath the sheets.
“Jon?”
“Yeah?”
“With your parents, you know... being like they were... how did you turn out like this?”
“What, like such a good lover?” he jokes with me.
“Shut up,” I giggle lightly. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
He kisses my nose, smiling at me. “I blame you.”
“Me?”
“One thing that I always admired about you, Olivia, was how you could convey your emotions, in whatever language you chose to do it in. Sometimes in words, sometimes tears, a few tantrums when we were younger... actions... art. You’ve always been sensitive and completely unafraid of your feelings. I’ve always been drawn to that in you. I always felt like that was how I wanted to be.”
“It’s how you are,” I tell him. “You do the same.”
“Now I do,” he shrugs. “My dad thought I was ‘too soft.’ I can’t tell you how many times I heard that growing up. It made me think it was wrong to have feelings at all. Around him, I became stoic because I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I wanted him to love me.
“But in the end, that didn’t do any good. When Dad died, I spent some time with Ray. Somehow, he convinced me that my father did love me, in whatever handicapped way he could. Ray had always wanted more from my dad, too, so we bonded a little over that common unresolved wish.
“I spent most of the immediate months following my dad’s death alone, though. It was the summer. I didn’t have school. The people I considered my friends were up to no good.”
I remember that the summer after his father had died was when he also had been with the two other girls. I feel a little less special at the thought of them, wondering if the comfort they provided him was just like what I’d done for him today. I focus on his voice more intently, hoping to stop thinking of his past.
“I read a lot... more non-fiction than usual, self-help,” he says with a blush. “I’d hover in the back of the library, reading for hours and hours, ashamed at the feelings I was having and wanting to know how to deal with them.”
“Which feelings?”
“Anger for my father. A desperate need to be loved. Guilt for what I thought was love, but wasn’t.”
“How did you deal with them?”
“I realized that being angry at my dad wasn’t going to bring him back to tell me what I’d been wanting to hear. I accepted Ray’s assessment of Dad’s feelings... and I forgave him.
“Seeing my mother deteriorate over the years really highlighted how to handle my need to be loved. I knew I couldn’t be reliant on anyone other than myself to make me happy.”
“Until you met me,” I tell him.
“No. Even then. When we started dating, I forgot about that. Truly. I was enraptured by you. Your happiness was my own. It was symbiotic, and it seemed so romantic and complete. But when we broke up last year, I had to step back and look at what I’d become.”
“And what you became was something bad?” I ask, feeling a little offended but trying to mask it as best as I can.
“Not bad... but not me. I’d begun to rely on you. In those first few days, I saw myself breaking; broken, even. There was physical pain, which surprised me, and scared me. I started to think you were a bad influence on me.” He chuckles at the end of the sentence, but I maintain my serious composure, waiting for the rest.
“Go on,” I eventually encourage him, growing impatient.
“Of course it wasn’t your fault. I’d let myself get to that point... but relying so heavily on you didn’t make me happy. So I dropped my expectations entirely,” he says. “I looked at myself, and started working to be the best person that I–alone–could be. I was immediately happier, and then, any time anything good happened, it was that much better, more pure. Because I was already happy with myself. I had that foundation already. Anything that you did, or that we did together, just built upon that. And I think we’re that much better for it.”
“But I want you to be able to rely on me.”
“Baby, I do,” he assures me. “Just not in that unhealthy, co-dependent way that destroys people when something goes wrong. I rely on you to build upon my foundation. But I don’t put the weight of everything on you. That wouldn’t be fair to you, anyway, would it?”
“No,” I admit.
“I think you went through the same thing when we were apart. At least that’s what your paintings communicated to me.”
“Well, they didn’t articulate it quite as well as you just did. In fact, I’m not really sure I really understood what I’d painted until right now.”
“Well, your paintings made me understand better.”
“I’m glad I could help.” He kisses my cheek, and then my lips.
“You know, things happened too quickly between us when we started going out.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I threw out the ‘L’ word right away. It kind of limited me on how I could express my feelings for you after that.”
“Did you not love me then?”
“I did,” he says. “I think I’ve kind of loved you for years, in my own teen-age, heart-sick kind of way. But I shouldn’t have said it so soon. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Like, since I felt it, I had to tell you. And often,” he laughs. “But it was kind of making up for things I’d missed in my own life.”
“Well, I don’t think you said it too soon. And I don’t think you say it too often. There’s nothing better in the world than someone telling you that they love you, Jon. Nothing.”
“Not showing you?” he asks. I consider his question. This afternoon was the first time we were together that I didn’t feel inadequate; that I didn’t feel like I was doing it wrong. It was the first time I could really admit to myself that I enjoyed it all, from beginning to end. It still hurt more than I think it should, but the pain was less, and subsided after awhile.
Still, I’d rather hear his affirmation daily. Hearing him tell me he loves me still gives me butterflies and goosebumps and a racing heart. How one phrase can be so powerful, I don’t know. But it is.
“No, hearing it said is the best. It sounds so effortless, but you know there is so much more behind those words. That’s the foundation,” I tell him, relating back to his earlier explanation of his own happiness. “Everything else just builds upon it.”
“I love you, Olivia,” he tells me.
“I love you, Jon.”
We check the time before curling up together and falling asleep. Jon’s cell phone wakes us both up, but I find it difficult to keep my eyes open. I drift in and out of consciousness, listening to him talk to his oldest brother on the phone. After a few minutes, he goes into the living room and closes the door. I’m not sure if he wants his privacy or if he’s trying to let me sleep some more, but either way, I’m happy to hear his voice come back to life.
&nb
sp; His brothers also build on that foundation. They make the world around him a better place, too. I can’t imagine how their absence will affect him. I like to think he’s strong enough to handle it.
I admire how that sad little boy could grow into such a self-reliant man. His childhood made him that way. I know he was working to make his brothers the same, but if this situation saves them from that loveless childhood that he had to endure, what will they become? Logic would say that they’d become better men.
But I really don’t believe there could be a better man than Jon.
When he comes back in the bedroom, still dressed only in his boxers even though the chilly air from outside finds its way in through the old windows in the apartment, he starts clearing out another drawer and packing clothes away. He’s very quiet, and I gather he thinks I’m still asleep.
“Are they okay?” I ask him.
“Will is good,” he says, dropping the shirts and coming back over to his bed. He picks up Max’s baseball mitt on the way and bends it back and forth in his hand. “I think he sees the opportunity in this, which is good,” he concedes.
“And Max?” I already know his youngest brother isn’t okay by his sudden change in demeanor.
“He was just crying, asking me when I was going to come and get him. That was his first plane ride, you know? It should have been fun and exciting for him, but instead it took him away from everything he knows.”
“What did you tell him when he asked when you were going to come and get him?”
“I told him I’d be there in three days.” I sit up slowly in bed, curious. I touch his tattoo, covering up the phrase with my palm. I knead his shoulder with my fingertips.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m hand-delivering this mitt to him, and I’m going to Utah for Thanksgiving. My aunt offered to front me the money for the flight. Hopefully, I’ll have enough time with him to convince him to want to stay there for the time being.”
I frown, realizing this ruins my own Thanksgiving plans, and I’m glad he can’t see my selfish reaction.
“I’ll drive you to the airport,” I offer, knowing this is something he has to do.
He turns around and leans into me, pushing me back down against the pillows. “You’re kind to offer, even though I know we were supposed to spend the holiday together. But just know this, Olivia.” He kisses me hard, a kiss that’s meant to last awhile, I can tell. “I’ll be genuinely sad that I won’t be with the one person I’m most thankful for on Thursday.”
“I’ll be here,” I tell him, patting his heart. “And you’ll be here.” I take his hand in mine and place it over my own heart. He watches my reaction as his hand travels elsewhere, slowly caressing different curves on my body.
“Thank you for today.”
“Thank you for every day,” I tell him in return.
“Thank you for loving me–and telling me.”
“Thank you for showing me.”
CHAPTER 13
Holding a white rook in my right hand, I stare across the chess board at my opponent before making my move. My intimidation tactics don’t seem to be working, though, as my little brother is distracted by a large balloon dog in a parade on TV.
“Trey, I’m about to take one of your pawns.”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“I thought you wanted to practice!”
“I wanna watch the parade,” he says, angling his body toward the television, essentially letting me know the game was over.
“You forfeit?”
“What’s that mean?”
“You quit?”
“I’m not a quitter,” he says, getting upset at me. “Can’t we just play later?”
“I guess so.” I return my rook to the square it had been on and carefully pick up the board, carrying it into my room and putting it on one of my worktables. After making a second trip to pick up the pieces we’d each already conquered, I sit back on the floor by Trey.
“I thought Max was coming over today,” he says, confused.
“Yeah, buddy, he was supposed to, but he went away for awhile, remember? He went to Utah last weekend.”
“When will he be back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is Jon coming over?”
“No, he’s in Utah too.”
“And you don’t know when he’ll be back, either?”
“He should be back Sunday,” I tell him, hoping that when he does return he’s more accepting of the situation.
“Can’t he bring Max back with him?”
“Not yet. But Jon’s going to start coming over again on Wednesdays for dinner. He’ll play catch with you and Dad. I promise. In fact, you just might see more of him.”
I realize a lot of Jon’s prior commitments have moved across country now, too. He won’t be going to Max’s t-ball practice on Saturday mornings, or Will’s football games on Friday nights. The idea of having more time with him is good, but I know it will be hard for him to leave those things behind.
Maybe more time with my brother will help.
Noise starts to filter down the stairs, and from the volume, I know my uncle, Steven, must be here with his boys. “I think Daniel and Stevie are here.”
“I hate being the youngest,” he says with a pout.
“Why? You get to cut in front of everyone for dinner. You get first choice at everything... that’s not so bad, is it?”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“All right, while you mope, I’m going to go upstairs and help Mom and Kaydra with dinner.”
“Tell Daddy to come down here,” he instructs me.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Upstairs, when I run into my twin cousins, I tell them that the parade is on in the basement. They run, racing one another, even though their dad is yelling at them to slow down. I decide they’ll be good enough company for Trey, and I don’t bother to tell my dad that he wants him.
Steven stands up and gives me a hug, wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. He sits back down in the living room in front of a beer that my dad had just set down next to him. They start to catch up with one another, and I excuse myself, going into the kitchen.
My mom is making way for Kaydra, who’s taken it upon herself to do most of the cooking this year. Normally, it’s my dad’s twin sister, Kelly, that handles it, but her family is having a quiet holiday at home–well, as quiet as it could be with a three-year-old and a newborn in the house. It was the first official holiday Kelly and Thomas would get to spend with their grandchildren, and they couldn’t have been more excited. I still can’t believe they even have grandchildren.
I miss my cousins, though. It already feels strange without them, but I know Lexi and Kyle and Clara will be here soon. I’ll have some company to make the day go faster, anyway. Time just seems to drag without Jon.
I sit down at the kitchen island, watching the preparation happen, when I notice my aunt’s profile.
“Whoa, Kayd,” I blurt out. She looks at me quickly, putting her hand over her belly. “That’s not...”
Mom turns around to see her, checking her out from the side, too.
“That is,” my aunt says. “Yes,” she sighs, “somehow, I’m pregnant.” Her cheeks flush as she smiles.
“Kaydra,” my mom says, her voice happy but concerned, “was this planned?”
She shakes her head no, starting to chop some celery. “Not planned, but welcomed,” she explains. “We had become a little too comfortable, apparently,” she laughs.
“What does he think?”
“He’s excited. Worried for me, but excited all the same.”
“How do you feel?” I ask her.
“Fine. I feel much better with this one than I did with the boys.” She looks up at me. “I think it’s because it’s a girl. They’re always less trouble, right?”
Mom and I start laughing together. “They’re not all like Lexi,” Mom says. “You could have a Clara,” she whispers humorously. We al
l love my cousin, but she’s been known to have a little too much fun at times. She’s never been in any real trouble, though, and has always done well for herself.
“Thanks for not using me as the bad example,” I joke with my mom.
“What does Lexi think? She must be excited. She always wanted a sister. She was always so good with Livvy.”
“Lexi thinks... I’ll just let Lexi tell you what she thinks,” she says, hinting at something.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“She should be here any minute. Just ask her.” I hop up from my chair and go back to the living room, glancing out the window in hopes of finding Kyle’s car, but they’re still not here.
“Dad, did you hear?”
“Hear what?” he asks.
“I’m going to be a grandfather,” Steven says.
“No, a father,” I correct him. My dad stares at him, wide-eyed.
“I’m already a father,” he says.
“But Kaydra–”
“Oh! Of course that!” my uncle says. “Do not tell Lexi–”
“Wait, Lexi’s pregnant, too?” I ask.
“Wait, too?” Dad says. “Who else?”
“Kaydra,” my uncle and I say in unison.
“No, no, no, no...” my dad says, trying to comprehend. “You’re way too young to be a grandfather. “First Kell–now you? Hell, Stevie, you’re only forty-three! I turned forty-three the year Jackson was born!”
“Well,” he laughs. “Lexi’s twenty-five.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Renee was only seventeen, remember?”
“That can’t be right, they can’t be growing up that fa–wait, Kaydra’s pregnant, too?”
“Keep up, old man,” Dad’s little brother teases him.
“It’s gonna take a second to process this. I mean, congratulations!” Dad first shakes his hand, but then both he and my uncle stand to hug one another. “Grandpa,” Dad teases.
Lexi and Kyle catch us all off guard, coming in quietly through the front door. “Dad!” she yells, hearing my father taunting hers.
“It was a complete accident, Lex, I swear,” Steven explains. “Kaydra told Livvy that she was pregnant... and I thought she’d told her you were. It’s all good news!”