Olivia

by Lori L. Otto

  “It really hurts, Dad.”

  “I know. We’ll get something for the pain. Just stick with me, okay? Don’t pass out anymore. It’s a little unnerving. Thank God your mom isn’t here,” he adds. “She’d be in a state of panic.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Just a couple of minutes,” he explains.

  “And they helped all of those other people already?” I ask, knowing there were at least thirty other people in that waiting room when I showed up.

  “Contessa, there is a children’s wing here named after me. That has to be good for a place at the front of the line. Don’t worry, they help the critical people as they come in.”

  “Okay.”

  We finally make it to a private room, and the nurse helps me up onto the bed. “On a scale from one to ten, what’s your pain level?” she asks.

  “Eight?” I say, unsure. “It’s bad.”

  “Okay. The doctors will be in shortly, Mr. Holland.”

  “Please, call me Jack,” he says. She nods politely and leaves the room.

  “Doctors, plural?” I ask.

  “I requested an orthopedic surgeon,” he says. “Your hands are kind of important in what you do.” He smiles weakly.

  “Could it be that bad?” I ask. I hadn’t even considered that. What if I can’t paint anymore? Physically?

  “I doubt it, Tessa, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  I nod, trying to remember how deep the cut was but feeling woozy again. “So what is the best way to cut an onion?” I ask, focusing on something else. My stomach suddenly aches with worry.

  Dad chuckles and glares at me. “Very carefully,” he answers. “Cut it in half, then lay it flat.”

  That does make more sense. “Okay.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. About those pain meds...”

  “I think Rosa was going to get something. The nurse,” he explains when my expression lets him know I don’t know who that is. “It looked pretty nasty, huh?” he asks.

  “Dad, can we talk about something else?”

  “Of course. Well, before this happened, we were talking about coming home on the weekends next year. Have you thought about that? Or do you think you’ll play it by ear?”

  This isn’t what I want to talk about, and I’m relieved when Rosa comes back into the room. She sets up an IV drip of morphine, letting me know the pain will lessen soon. She once again says the doctors will be in soon.

  “You know, Jackson really does want your room, but if you’re going to come back home often, we’ll wait a few more years.”

  I have no problem with them handing my room over. I have a loft that will be mine two months after I move out for college. I decide now might not be the right time to remind him of that. Not that he’s forgotten, because I’m sure he hasn’t. I think he must just be in denial.

  “Dad? After I graduate, you know... will I still have a curfew?”

  “Absolutely,” he answers quickly. “Although we’ll probably extend it another hour. As long as you’re living with us, you’ll need the curfew.”

  “I don’t need a curfew. Maybe you need the curfew,” I correct him brazenly.

  “I think you’re half right. Yes, your mother and I need you to have a curfew so we can still sleep at night, knowing you’re not in some sort of trouble in the middle of the night. And you may not want the curfew, but I think you need some boundaries.”

  I groan, half of it in response to his answer; half in response to my pain. “When I go away to school, you’ll never know where I’m at,” I tell him. “How’s that any different?”

  “You’ll be in someone else’s care,” he says. “That’s why you have resident advisors. That’s why you have to live on campus your first year. It’s more for the parents,” he laughs, but I still don’t find any humor in it.

  “It just seems silly. The day I move out, you get to flip a switch and don’t have to worry about me anymore. Just flip the switch now,” I suggest. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Now?” he asks.

  “Graduation,” I clarify. “I mean... I’ll be with someone who worries about me.” I bite my lip, punishing it, surprised that it let the words out. It must be the morphine talking.

  “Not while you’re a minor, Liv,” he says plainly. “And again, not while you’re living under my roof.”

  The doctors push the door open cautiously, hearing the end of our conversation.

  “Mr. Holland, I’m Dr. Bander.” Dad stands up to shake his hand.

  “Jack,” the other man says, “it’s good to see you again.”

  “Charles,” Dad addresses him, shaking his hand as well. “This is my daughter, Livvy,” he tells them.

  “And how is our patient?” Dr. Bander asks me.

  “In pain,” I answer instinctively, then realize the pain isn’t as bad as it was. “In less pain, but in pain.”

  “What happened?”

  I explain my cooking lesson to them, describing my creative but ineffective way of cutting the onion. “I’m great with tomatoes,” I add. My dad smiles, sitting down again and putting his hand on my arm.

  “Look at me, Tessa,” he says as the doctors begin to take the temporary bandage off.

  He smiles at me warmly and runs his fingers through my hair, tugging on a strand when he reaches the end of it. I smile back, feeling very loved. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart. Who knew we should have been giving you morphine for affection all along?” he kids with me.

  “It’s deep,” Charles affirms, “but she didn’t get the muscle. Some stitches and minor therapy when they come out, and she should make a full recovery. Definitely nothing to worry about.”

  “Good. I just didn’t want to take any chances,” Dad explains to the man. “Thank you for coming in to see her.”

  “Anytime, Jack. We should hit the course soon. It’s been awhile.”

  “It has. I’ll call to set it up.” They shake hands once more while Dr. Bander starts to prep my hand for stitches.

  “It won’t hurt, Livvy, but it will feel strange.”

  “You probably don’t want to watch,” my dad warns me. “Just close your eyes. Think about something happy.”

  Immediately, I focus my thoughts on Jon. If he has no roommate over the summer, I can spend the days over there. I can spend every day at his dorm. My parents won’t care what I do during the day. He and I can just make the days our nights, and enjoy one another as much as we want.

  “What were you thinking about?” Dad asks me, startling me to alertness. I look down at my hand, and am shocked to see it bandaged.

  “He’s done?”

  “You were out. Smiling, but out.”

  “Did I faint again?”

  “I think it’s just the morphine. Or a lack of adrenaline or something. You’re fine. You were a good patient.”

  “Can we go home?”

  “Yes. Your mom has sent me about thirty text messages, checking on you.”

  “Jon’s supposed to come for dinner,” I remind Dad.

  “She’s called him. He’s probably already on his way there, but I can have her call if you’ve changed your mind... if you don’t feel up to having company.”

  “No, I want to see him tonight... but we didn’t make dinner,” I slur.

  “We’ll order in, Contessa. We can try the dish again soon, when your bandage comes off and I have a chance to dull all of the knives.” He helps me off the table and puts his arm around me to steady me.

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Don’t apologize. This was pretty minor. I’m sorry you cut yourself under my watch,” he says. “I should have been watching more.”

  I scoff, making it clear that I know it was my fault.

  I can hear my brother shouting to my mom as we approach the porch, announcing my arrival. He struggles with the locks and the heavy door, but finally opens it up.

  “Livvy! Are you oka
y?”

  “I’m fine, Trey,” I tell him, bending down to accept the hug he wants to give me. “I only lost a thumb.”

  His eyes widen as he first looks for my face to break its composure, and when it doesn’t, he pulls my arm to his face so he can see. “You did not!” he exclaims. I laugh, and suddenly notice Jon sitting on the couch with a checkerboard in front of him. I mouth a simple ‘hello’ to him as my mom envelops me in a tight embrace.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “They gave me medicine. It did hurt. It doesn’t so much now. I just feel... crooked,” I say. It’s the only thing I can think of to say. Uneven? I feel that, too. “Dizzy,” I clarify, remembering the word.

  “Jon, can you get her settled on the couch?” Dad asks. He immediately gets up and comes to me, taking Dad’s place by letting me put my arm around his neck for balance. He leads me to the sofa and guides me into a horizontal position. Mom brings some pillows and arranges them under my head.

  “I think I might throw up,” I tell them, feeling suddenly worse and clammy.

  “It’s okay,” Jon whispers as he arranges my hair away from my eyes. “You’re sweating.”

  I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths until the feeling passes.

  “Here are a couple of towels,” Mom say. I peek to see who she’s talking to, and watch her hand the towels to Jon. “I can take over from here,” she offers.

  “It’s fine.” Jon stays next to me, linking his pinky finger with mine on my bandaged hand. “Hand me the checkerboard,” he says to my brother. I hear the plastic pieces scatter onto the glass coffee table, and a few moments later feel gushes of cool air hit my face. I smile, realizing he’s fanning me with the game board.

  “That feels nice.”

  “You’re going to have to come up with a better injury to keep me from going to Utah tomorrow,” he jokes with me. “I know you don’t want me to go, but this was going a little too far.”

  “I didn’t tell you about the terminal illness I picked up in the hospital,” I mumble. “I have a week to live.”

  “I guess it’s been nice knowin’ ya,” he says casually. I let out a weak laugh. “Can you feel anything?”

  “I feel your pinky holding my pinky,” I tell him. “Is that what you mean?”

  “No pain?”

  “Not right now, no. It was gross. I fainted.”

  “Fainted?”

  “Dad said I fainted twice after looking at it.”

  “You masochist, you. He said it didn’t hit any muscle though, right?”

  “That’s what they say.” I finally open my eyes and grin at him. “But I got your attention, right?”

  “You always have that, baby. I heard you were going to make dinner for me?”

  “It was a surprise. I’m still going to. It’ll just have to wait a few weeks or so.”

  “I’m excited. Thank you. I’m not going to turn that down.”

  “Liv, Chinese?” Dad asks.

  “I’m not really hungry. Get whatever you want. I may pick at something later.”

  “Jon? Do you like Chinese?”

  “That sounds fine,” he says, turning his focus back on me. “I guess this doesn’t affect your plans for Wyoming, huh?”

  “No, I’m fine. I just hope I’m not nauseous tomorrow. That would make for an interesting plane ride.”

  “Here, Tessa,” Dad says, handing me a glass of water and a pill. “This should help with that.”

  “Is it going to make me tired?”

  “Maybe a little. But you should get some rest, sweetie. Jon can stay as long as he wants, but you need to let the healing begin, okay?”

  “As long as he wants?” I ask with enthusiasm.

  “Until curfew,” he amends his answer. “You just take and take and take,” he teases with me. I smile and swallow the medicine.

  Jon sets the water down on the coffee table, then leans over and presses his lips against mine. “Hi,” he says softly, nuzzling my nose with his.

  “Hi,” I say back to him.

  “I have something for you. Wait here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him. He goes over to his messenger bag and pulls out a cream-colored t-shirt.

  “Now, this will only be good for a week, but I thought you might like it.”

  “How can a t-shirt only be good for a week? Is it biode... dis... biodisposable?” I know that’s not right, but I can’t think of the word.

  He holds it up to his chest so I can read it, laughing at my new word.

  Someone in Utah loves me.

  “Awww,” I say, taking it in my left hand and pulling it to my chest. “That’s so sweet!”

  “Max sent it to me. Obviously they all think I still have the body of a pre-pubescent thirteen-year-old boy.”

  “Do I?” I ask him.

  He laughs and looks around the room to make sure we’re alone. “No, but I have a feeling it will be tight in all the right places.”

  “So all the hot Wyoming boys can check me out?”

  “Obviously, I didn’t think this through,” he says, pretending to attempt to take the shirt back. He laughs and lets go of it, grinning at me. “Wear it every night?” he suggests.

  “I can do that. It’s really soft. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, love.”

  “I have something for you, too,” I tell him. “Come here.” He leans in, expecting me to tell him what his gift is, but instead, I put my good hand on the back of his neck and pull his face to mine, kissing him sweetly before I take his bottom lip into my mouth, nibbling on it gently. He moans quietly, then pulls away quickly, probably feeling the same thing I am: turned on, and completely aware that we’re not alone.

  Of course, we aren’t alone. Here, we are never alone.

  “Sorry,” my Dad says, his jaw taut. “Jon, did you need anything? Something to drink?”

  “Sure, yeah,” Jon says, hopping up. “I’ll get it.” Dad nods and goes back into the kitchen. Jon waits until he’s gone, then kneels back down next to me and kisses me again quickly.

  “I wanted to give you a lot more tonight,” I whisper to him. His stare is brief, but intense, making my heart flutter in my chest. He stands up to go into the kitchen.

  Everyone eats dinner in the living room, keeping me company as I lie on the couch, still feeling a little weak. I don’t contribute much to the conversation, but enjoy listening to Jon and my parents getting along better than they have in a long time. Trey begs him to play some catch with him and my father after they eat, and Jon agrees.

  “Do you want to move to the media room?” my mom asks. “There’s not much to do up here. You’ve got to be a little bored.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. You’re okay with that?”

  “Should I not be?” she asks, helping me off the couch.

  “No, you should be,” I answer. “We won’t go in my room. He’ll leave at midnight. We know you can appear at a moment’s notice. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Okay.”

  “Plus,” I say, grabbing on to my mom’s shoulder, “moving makes me woozy, so this probably all works in your favor... and I’m tired.”

  “Well, I don’t want you to feel sick,” she says as she helps me downstairs, carrying the pillows. I stop by the bathroom on the way, brushing my hair and putting on a little powder. I sit down on the large leather sofa, leaving plenty of room for Jon, waiting patiently for him to join me.

  CHAPTER 21

  Still on pain medication the next day, I lounge on the couch in my grandparent’s house, where most of my family has congregated as the central gathering point on their land.

  “Welcome to the compound,” my cousin Jackie says to Steven, Kaydra, Stevie, Daniel, Finn and his little sister, Gabby. I wasn’t sure Finn would be coming. We hadn’t really spoken more than pleasantries in the hallways of school since he had cheated on Camille. I was loyal to her, regardless of Finn’s ties to my family. Since I wasn’t really related to him, it
was easy to choose my friendship with my best friend.

  My uncle comes over and attempts to shake my hand, clearly poking fun at my injury. “Jacks told me. You okay, Little Liv?”

  “I’m fine,” I tell him with a smile. My eyelids feel heavy, and I can tell I’m going to need a nap soon. Finn taps on the bottom of my feet.

  “What?”

  “Move your feet. I want to sit down.”

  “There are a million other chairs in this house. In fact, there are even more chairs in the other houses on the property. Maybe you should go sit in one of those.”

  “Livvy,” Mom says, “we aren’t going to have a week of fighting. You two better find a way to get along while we’re here.”

  “I’m trying, Mom. I think it’s best if he stays out of my sight. If I can’t see him, I can’t fight with him.”

  “I’m sure it’s the Vicodin talking,” Mom says to Finn. I first glare at her, then at him as I pull my feet up.

  “Thank you,” he says, plopping down.

  “It’s not the Vicodin,” I clarify quietly after Mom leaves the room.

  “Trust me. I’m well aware of your acute hatred toward me right now.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “Nope,” he says. “It’s a little one-sided, but no.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Honestly, Liv? No. Contrary to what fairy-tale land you girls create in your minds, things weren’t going well with us. It was just sex.”

  “You date for two years, and you say it’s just sex?” I whisper a little louder than I intend to.

  “C’mon, Finn, Livvy,” Steven says. “Let’s be respectful and not talk about this in front of my parents, okay? They’re good, Catholic people. In their world, kids your age don’t have sex.”

  Finn and I both laugh a little. He picks up my legs and lets me rest my feet in his lap. “Truce? Just for the week.” He holds his left hand out, taking note of my bandage.

  “Camille can never know,” I tell him, shaking his hand.

  “Hey, Livvy,” Jackie says to me, “Madeleine and I are going to go horseback riding. Wanna come?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t right now. I don’t think I could sit up straight on a horse. Maybe later.”