by Lori L. Otto
To many, the thirtieth would have seemed to fit much earlier on in the series. Not to me, though, and I knew Jon would understand.
I finally sit down to compose the final note to Jon. I keep a box of tissues close by, so I don’t mar any of the words with teardrops. I want him to hear and understand every last word I say–just in case they are the last words I say to him. It had always been my plan to continue the letters until the series was finished.
“I love you, Jon,”
I struggle with this note, wondering if I should keep the same format, or write something different. I take a deep breath, unclasping the hook of the necklace I’ve continued to wear around my neck. I set it down next to the tissues.
“Nearly two years ago, you gave me this charm. Choisie. You told me I was chosen. I’d known it all my life, but to be chosen by you was something wholly different and inspiring. To be hand-picked by two parents who needed a child to complete their family was one thing. To be hand-picked by a man who wanted to love a woman–to love her in every way–it was nearly inconceivable to the the fifteen-year-old girl I was then. The ramifications were beyond my comprehension that night, but I knew I meant something to you. I knew I meant more to you than any other girl did, and to me, having the boy of my dreams want me like that was the best gift I could have asked for.
“In our time together, you showed me what it was like to be special, hand-picked, chosen, loved, needed and wanted. I feel like I did the same, but I realize my actions last June undid a lot of that–if not all of it. Believe me when I tell you that I still want you, need you, love you, and choose you. You and only you. Regardless of what I did in those brief seconds, you are the only one who’s ever had my heart. It still beats–no, it pounds uncontrollably, until it aches–for you.
“I don’t believe that you don’t want me anymore. I refuse to believe that I’m not ‘Choisie’ to you anymore.
“In the final painting–Reunion–you return this token to me. In hopes of making this painting the last of the memories of our past, I’m giving it back to you.
“But I want it back. For good, this time.
“I promise to be better for you, this time. Every time. In the future. Forever.
“These paintings are all of the moments that brought us to where we are now. Hopefully, we’ll be able to reflect on these as a time of discovery. These were times spent learning who we were as individuals, and deciding whether or not we were meant to be as a couple.
“We were, Jon. We are. There’s no one else. I choose you. I want our future to be our always. I want all of the memories going forward to be ones we can remember together, Jon. I want them to be pictures in a photo album that we can look at as we grow older. I don’t want them to bring us pain. I’ve worked through the pain with every brush stroke and every color. Even the happiest moments I’ve painted make me ache with remorse.
“I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. I painted a stunning series that reflects me and you, together. There were days when it hurt so bad, I wanted to quit, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I wasn’t finished yet.”
After swiping away the relentless tears, I finally repeat the words I’d said to him in every message all summer long. At some point, I had to convince him of their truth.
“We aren’t finished.”
As I’d done with every note before this one, I take a small brush and moisten it with a little paint from the most recent piece of art. The last color I’d used was dark blue, on Jon’s shirt. In the bottom right corner of the card, I smear a little of the paint.
Before it dries, I grab another tool and etch my name into the pigment.
“Olivia”
It only takes a few minutes to dry. I could have made it home by curfew if I’d left then, but I wait until eleven before I start to lock up. I hadn’t given up on him. I’d told him I’d be here until then.
“No one came by?” I ask the night doorman on my way out.
“Not this evening, Miss Holland, no.”
I nod my head and try to hide my disappointment. He calls the valet for my car. When I get in, I don’t head home. I go north, driving toward Columbia where I know he is. He and Fred had the same dorm room. He’d told me that last spring; he was excited about it.
In the parking lot, tents and booths are set up, and hundreds of students are milling about. I circle the campus a few times, looking for a place nearby to park. I finally find a spot and check myself in the vanity mirror before getting out of my car.
I take a deep breath, feeling like a kid walking on their campus. In three days, I’ll be a college student myself. Some of these people are my age, and recognizing that, I’m able to wander the gathering relatively unnoticed. I look at everyone, just hoping to see Jon or Fred.
Music plays loudly from a few large speakers. Some of the men and women are dancing close by, and I figure Jon wouldn’t be around them. I keep walking, past the noise, past the bulk of the tents, until I reach a small park area. Students are seated on benches, on the grass, and on lawn chairs, talking. I see Frederick first, as he faces me. Even though Jon’s hair has grown out, I know the shape of his head. I know his posture. I know the tattoo that peeks out beneath the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing on this hot night.
I suddenly forget how to breathe, and stop walking in an effort to compose myself. Jon’s roommate’s gaze finally meets mine, and he nods in my direction, saying something to Jon that I can’t hear. He turns around slowly, then looks away quickly when he sees me. He waits a few agonizing seconds before standing from his chair and walking over to me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. There’s no sign of relief or joy on his face. He looks annoyed.
“I have this for you,” I tell him, holding out the envelope that’s fully addressed to him. He takes it and taps it against his palm a few times.
“Thanks.”
“Jon,” I say as I grasp his shirt, “we need to talk.”
He wraps his hand around mine, pulling it from his clothing and dropping it gently.
“Go home, Liv.”
“Will you read it?” I ask him. He shrugs his shoulders. “Have you read any of them?”
“I had a busy summer,” he states evenly.
“Oh.”
“Go home, Liv. Freshman move-in day isn’t for another few days.”
“Right,” I say.
“Where’d you park?” he asks, taking my elbow in his hand and guiding me away from the crowd.
I can’t even find a voice to answer him. I just walk in the direction toward my car, feeling his grip on me lessen every few steps, as if he can’t wait to let go.
By the time we get there, I’m having a hard time not falling apart. I clamp my jaw shut so tightly that it starts to hurt. My heart is pounding. I can’t catch my breath like this.
“I thought we could talk,” I tell him honestly. “I thought you could start to forgive me.”
“Here,” he says, pulling me into him and wrapping his arms around me. One hand massages the nape of my neck, and unstoppable tears wet his shirt. “It can’t be like it was, Liv. I’ve changed. Go home,” he says, this time softer.
I look up at him through my matted lashes, wanting him to kiss me. I know it’s not coming. I simply nod to him as he starts to let go. “I–”
He puts a finger over my mouth to stop me. “Go home, Livvy.” His tone is more commanding. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk tonight.
“Please read them,” I say as I get into the car. “Read them all.”
“I’ll try,” he says as he shuts the door. I roll the window down quickly after starting the car.
“Do you promise?” I ask him. He puts his hand on the door, and I place mine on top of his. He glances down, no doubt seeing the ring I haven’t taken off. It was another promise he’d made. I wanted him to keep that promise.
“I guess I’ll see you around,” he says casually, taking his hand from mine and beginning to walk away.
&
nbsp; “No,” I respond. He turns around, his brows raised as he waits to hear what I have to say. “I’ll be at Yale.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I want to be the first to say it. “Goodbye, Jon.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking a little confused. “Bye, Livvy.”
I try to stay calm on the way back to the house. I dig my fingernails into my leg, trying to distract myself. I turn up the music until I think the speakers might burst. I pay close attention to the traffic around me, but nothing I do can take away the image of him telling me goodbye.
And he didn’t promise to read my letters. That was all I’d asked... but he made it clear that he couldn’t make me that promise... which means he probably wasn’t going to keep the others he’d made to me, either.
My parents are waiting at the door when I come in. I slip past them, not caring that I’m late for curfew and not wanting to talk to them. Dad follows me down the stairs and stops me from shutting my bedroom door in his face. He hands me a tissue and sits down on my bed as I curl up on my side, letting the tears flow.
“What is it, Contessa?”
“I can’t talk about it,” I tell him as I roll over on the bed, away from him. He rubs my back softly, letting me cry. I know he expects me to stop, but I can’t. Five minutes later, he hasn’t moved, and the tears haven’t lessened.
“Did you finish today?”
“Yeah,” I admit softly.
“That’s something to be proud of, Livvy. Donna would be proud,” he says. I sniffle a few times and roll back over so I can see the completed portrait of Granna that hangs across the room. I’m sure she’d be proud of the painting. I know she’d be saddened by Jon. “Is that why you’re upset, sweetheart?”
“No.”
“Is it because of the deal we made?”
“Kind of.” The deal was that when I finished this project, I had to try to move on. I had to accept that I’d done what I could, and I had to move on with my life. It seemed fair two months ago, but I thought Jon and I would have sorted things out by now.
“You’ve done your part, Livvy. He has to take it from here. You have to give him the space to do that.”
“Two thousand miles away from me wasn’t enough space?”
“You sent him three letters a week, honey.”
“I don’t think he read a single one,” I admit.
“How do you know?”
“Daddy, he came home today.”
“Olivia So–”
“Before you get mad, he didn’t come to the loft. I invited him, but he didn’t. I waited until eleven, but he didn’t come.” Dad checks his watch. “I went to Columbia to give him the last letter.”
“Did you see him?”
I nod as a few more tears fall. “But he didn’t want to see me.” Instinctively, I reach up for the pendant that’s normally around my neck, but my fingers find nothing but skin.
“Where is it?” he asks.
“I gave it back to him.”
“I know it was hard, but it was the right thing to do.”
“How can you say that? If it was Mom, you never would have given up.”
“Given up? No. But I gave her up, honey. You know the story...” he says softly. “In college, after we first met, I was ready to offer her anything–I had nothing at the time–but I felt so strongly for her that I knew my feelings would be enough.
“She never gave me the chance, though.”
“Well, Uncle Chris stopped you.”
“Regardless... it wasn’t our time. And we both went on with our lives. I think it just made everything that much sweeter when we finally found each other again. I’d met other people. I knew what else was out there. I knew what we had was something extraordinary.”
“But I know what Jon and I have is extraordinary.”
“It does you no good if he doesn’t feel the same.”
“But I know he does,” I plead with him.
Dad shakes his head slowly, putting his hand on my shoulder. “He has to figure that out on his own. You’ve done your part to convince him. You had your time. Now give him his.”
“I was chosen, Daddy,” I tell him. “He picked me.”
“Not every choice can be forever, Livvy. A few are,” he says. “The choice Emi and I made the day we met you–that’s forever. You will always be the best decision we ever made. But you know what this means for you?”
“No,” I tell him.
“You get to make the choices now. You’re going to college, you’ll be away from us... and you get to start making the decisions that make you happy. We’ll always be here to help, but this isn’t a bad thing, Contessa.”
I smile a little at him, wiping my eyes.
“So, what’s it gonna be?” he asks casually. Once again I look at the painting of Granna. I’d started over, painted over the original portrait because the memory I had of her was so much clearer than even the picture I’d been using as a template. She was strong, self-assured and assuring. She was loving. And above all, she was always happy. Through so much tragedy, she was happy with life. The smirk she wears in the painting is one I saw often. It was a challenging look, one that compelled me to look deeper into myself. It was one that helped to show me who Livvy Holland really was. Who she is.
“I’m going to be happy,” I state with conviction, pushing myself up and straightening my posture. I take the ring off of my finger and tuck it in the back of my nightstand drawer.
I take a deep breath and sigh with relief. Dad’s smile is big as he pulls me into a hug. “Good choice.”
OLIVIA EXTRAS
The Mourning After - additional chapters from the days following Livvy and Jon’s night in Mykonos
Handouts and Handcuffs - alternate point of view that takes place after Jon finds out the Hollands paid for his mother’s rehab in Chapter 16 of Olivia
Spring Break - alternate point of view that begins at the airport when Jon and Livvy return from their spring break destinations in Chapter 21 of Olivia
THE MOURNING AFTER
JON
My heart hasn’t stopped racing since waking up to Matty pounding on the door this morning. I don’t anticipate it ceasing anytime soon, either. Not with Jack sitting two rows in front of us. He has been silent, somber. I mean, he has good reason to be, but I sense it’s more than just the death of his friend; someone he considered a part of his family.
“Are you okay?” I ask Olivia. She had also said only a handful of words to me since the news was delivered to us. She feels distant, when we had been so close last night – as close as we’d ever been.
“No,” she barely whispers. When she blinks, heavy tears race down her pink cheeks. I know how sad I feel. I’m also fairly certain that she feels worse. I imagine her pain is much like the pain I felt when I lost my father. I’d felt hollow. I’d felt alone in my mourning. Olivia’s not, though, and I unbuckle my seatbelt and take her in my arms to comfort her. She releases hushed sobs as she tucks her head into the crook of my neck. Her hair still damp from her shower, I stroke it gently, careful not to pull on the tangled tresses. I don’t think she even brushed her hair before we left.
“Fasten your seat belts,” Jack tells us. I catch his stare as I pull away, but he averts his eyes quickly. He knows. I don’t think Matty told him, but he sure as hell knows. My heart sinks. I know disappointment when I see it.
After I secure myself into the seat, I put my arm around Olivia, welcoming her head on my shoulder. She gathers up some used tissues and puts them in a plastic bag in the seat next to her. As the jet starts to move, she turns her attention to the runway outside. The sun is just coming up. On the other side of the plane, bright orange streams filter through the trees as we pass them. On our side, though, it’s still inky; the details of the horizon a mystery. Darkness looms, and steals the exuberance of the girl I love.
Olivia was sunlight personified last night. I even told her that as we sat side by side on the bed, just after I felt the warm, smooth skin of
her upper thigh. She radiated heat, passion and desire, the effect magnified by the warm yellow color of the slip she wore. Against her tanned skin, she was a vision of summer that was sure to welcome me into the best season of my life.
I had never been so excited. Last night compared to no other night, not even the first night I’d been with a girl, intimately. It just proves that Olivia is my future. It proves that she’s the only one for me. The excitement wasn’t just physical. It was spiritual. Her warmth spread through me, reaching every pore after our first kiss. The fact that I would be Olivia’s first lover was not something I would ever take for granted, and every move I made was cautious, loving, and devoted to her comfort, and ultimately, her pleasure.
I feel my cheeks heat up, just thinking about our night together. Her warmth still reaches me through memories, but I long to feel it again, right here. I know it’s greedy, but a kiss would offer her assurance, too. My right hand reaching across, I touch her cheek softly, causing her to look up at me. She makes the move to kiss me, not the other way around. The way her lips linger, the deliberate way she moves them slowly against mine, I sense her need. It’s not the same need as last night, but I don’t want to fulfill this one any less. She needs a friend, a companion, a shoulder to cry on, a reminder that she’s not alone. I’m here for her and would do anything for her.
“Thank you,” she says breathily after she pulls away. I nod, pulling her head back against my shoulder. Her left hand reaches across her body to my right one, and she links her fingers loosely. I rub my thumb against her ring, reminding her of my promise. I can feel her sigh against me.
I watch our hands as I drift back to last night. While we were both more than willing to make good use of our night alone – the first night alone we’d ever had and wanted desperately for months – Olivia was uncomfortable, her purity fully evident. I’d asked her more than once if she wanted to stop, but she assured me she didn’t. I’ll be alright, she’d said quickly. Of course I wanted her to be more than alright, but I tempered my expectations for our first night together.