by Lori L. Otto
He locks his pinky finger with mine and glances over at me, smiling. As loudly as my thoughts are screaming in my head, silently pleading with him, he doesn’t kiss me, but rather sinks into the couch comfortably and settles into watching the movie.
An hour later, myself enthralled with the plot, I move a throw pillow into his lap and lie down on the couch, my head resting on the pillow. He pulls my blanket up over my shoulder but continues to rub my arm lightly. His other hand starts to play with my hair.
“You’re so pretty, Livvy,” he whispers to me a few minutes later. I look up at him and smile. “Sit up for a second.”
“What?” I laugh.
“It’s just that my legs are tired,” he tells me.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I quickly sit up and start to stand to rearrange the pillows into a different position. He grabs my arm, pulling me back down onto the couch to sit next to him–right next to him. He shifts slightly so he can face me and leans in quickly to kiss me.
“My legs aren’t really tired,” he admits as he leans his forehead against mine. “I was just tired of waiting to do that.” I close my eyes again and he puts his hand on my cheek, guiding my lips to his again. I put my hand on his waist, under the warm thermal shirt. He moves again to sit up straight, this time pulling my legs into his lap and putting his arm around my back so he can pull me into him closely. His chest presses against mine. His other hand creeps noticeably up my thigh, his thumb kneading into my muscle firmly. I put my hand on top of his to stop it from going further, but I honestly don’t think he would have. He continues to kiss me, and turns his palm up so we’re holding hands.
The basement lights come on, and we both release each other immediately. Jon turns around to see who’s behind him, and sighs in relief when he realizes we’ve been alone up until now.
“It’s okay,” I whisper as I lean back into the couch and turn toward the television. The footsteps descend slowly down the stairs.
“Everything okay down here?” my dad asks.
“Yep!” I say too quickly, I’m sure. I can feel the heat of my cheeks. I’m blessed with darker skin that masks my embarrassment most of the time, but Jon’s pale skin gives him away as pink splotches spread across his face.
“Yes, sir,” he says after clearing his throat.
“The Godfather?” Dad asks.
“Yeah, I’ve never seen it,” I explain.
“Timeless piece of film making,” he says. “The second one’s even better.”
“That’s exactly what I told her,” Jon says, easing into the conversation without looking at my father.
“Liv, Mom wanted to find out if you wanted any popcorn? Sodas?”
“I’ll take a soda.”
“I’m fine,” Jon says. “Maybe some water.”
“Okay. Livvy, do you want to help me with that?” My gaze finally settles on my dad’s, and I know he suspects something was going on. Dad looks at me hard, his expression one of disapproval. “Please?”
“Sure,” I say as I roll my eyes.
“I’ll pause it,” Jon offers, picking up the remote.
I follow my dad up the stairs, even though he and I both know there’s a refrigerator stocked full of beverages in the game room next to my bedroom. This isn’t about refreshments.
“Let’s keep the lights on down there, okay, Livvy?” he asks when we get to the kitchen.
“Why, Dad? We’re watching a movie. It’s supposed to be dark.”
My mom follows us in. “I think your dad remembers our first date here,” she adds.
“I don’t want to know what happened, do I?” I ask them both.
“Emi, I’ve got this.”
She nods her head playfully at him and leaves the kitchen.
“Lights on,” he says seriously, handing me a bottle of water and a soda.
“Alright,” I agree, not wanting to push it. I know my parents aren’t stupid, my dad especially. And I know Jon’s inability to look at my dad in the eyes gave our activities away.
“Are you in trouble?” Jon asks when I make it back down to the basement.
“Nah,” I answer, giving him his drink. “He just says we have to keep the lights on.”
“That’s fair,” Jon says. “Probably best. I could do that with you all night.”
My skin prickles in goose bumps as a smile breaks across my face. I can only nod in agreement.
He starts the movie again, but our minds are both elsewhere.
“What would you like to do on our first official date next week?” he asks.
“Kiss you,” I whisper, knowing that a parent could appear at the base of the stairs with no warning now since the lights are already on–and probably will at some point.
“I promise that will happen. But really, what do you want to do?”
“It doesn’t matter. Anything will be fine.”
“I want to take you somewhere nice. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, Livvy.”
“That sounds fine,” I tell him. I look into his eyes reassuringly. “I’d go anywhere with you.”
He raises his eyebrows just a tad and smiles. “Tell me about this lake house you have,” he says quietly. “That sounds like a place I’d like to take you.”
“Jon!” I say, shocked at his brazen suggestion, but excited by it at the same time.
“Not today,” he says quickly. “Someday in the future.”
“It’s a house on a lake, I don’t know.”
“Trees?”
“Lots of trees. And the most amazing flower garden you’ve ever seen.”
“A dock?”
“Two docks. Oh, and an old rowboat that Uncle Steven takes out fishing sometimes.”
“Excellent. Sounds perfect.”
“It is perfect. Oh, wait a second.” I get up and go into my room, grabbing a canvas off of the wall above my headboard.
“Is this your room?” Jon asks me from the doorway. He’s deliberate about not coming in.
I turn around quickly, still standing on the pillows, holding the painting.
“Yeah.”
“Wow, what’s that?” he asks, peeking at the painting hanging on the wall by the door.
“It’s a replica of one of Nate’s paintings.”
“That’s... wow. That’s evocative.” He takes a few steps toward the artwork.
“I know. It’s great right?”
“You have to wonder what he was feeling, to paint such a thing.” He leans against my dresser.
“Um... you can’t be in here,” I tell him apologetically.
“Right,” he says, realizing where he is. “It’s huge.”
“I know. This used to be two bedrooms, but we converted it so my studio could be a part of my room.”
“I’m pretty sure our entire apartment could fit in half of your basement.”
“Nuh-uh,” I counter, hopping off the bed and bringing the painting with me.
“Actually, yeah, Livvy. I share my bedroom with my brothers,” he explains. “It’s easily a third of the size of your room.”
“Oh. Sounds cozy.”
“Uncomfortable,” he corrects me as we both sit back down on the couch. I clutch the painting in my grasp, listening to him and suddenly feeling weird that we’re talking about my family’s second house. “It’s cramped and uncomfortable and there’s absolutely no privacy, except on Saturdays when Mom takes them to see their father.”
“Oh, they’re your half-brothers?”
“Yeah. Their dad is in jail, actually. He’s a winner.”
“What’s he in jail for?”
“Stealing a car and evading the police. This time, anyway.”
“Wow. I’m sorry.”
“I am, too,” he says. “He’s an embarrassment, and has set a horrible example for Max and Will. That’s why I think it’s important for me to stay close by. When he’s out of jail, my mom will leave them with him while she goes out or runs errands, and it pisses me off to no end that she d
oes stupid things like that. She’s made some bad choices in her life.
“I don’t want my brothers turning out like either of them.”
“Do they look up to you?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I feel like the only parent in the household. And Max is thirteen, you know? So he’s at a really critical age where he needs someone to watch out for him, someone to answer questions. You know–things a parent should do.”
“Sounds like you have a lot of responsibility.”
“Yeah. But I guess it’s helped make me into who I am. And I’m not so bad, right?”
“Not at all.”
“So when can we go to this lake house?” he says jokingly as he holds my painting up, examining it. “Is this it?” he asks, outlining the house with his index finger.
“Yeah,” I tell him.
“Is that your lake house bedroom?” he asks quietly, pointing to a window in the painting with pink curtains.
“Now you’re bad.”
“Yeah, I know.” He stares into my eyes intensely and leans in to kiss me quickly. “You know I’m just messing with you, right?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my lips still very close to his.
“Mostly, anyway,” he says, kissing me once more, this one slower and less cautious. It’s the last kiss of the night for us.
My dad comes down the stairs as soon as the credits roll on the movie, but Jon has already decided it’s time to head home. Dad carries Jon’s shirt with him, now dry but wrinkled, as well as his tie.
“You’re welcome to take my shirt,” my dad offers. “It’s probably dropped twenty degrees since you got here. You didn’t bring a jacket?”
“No,” Jon says. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Would you like a ride home?”
“No, thank you. I’ll just hop on a bus.”
“It’s really no problem.”
“No, I don’t mind the bus at all. It’s an interesting study of human nature,” Jon says. I laugh, but when he looks at me curiously, I realize he was being serious. “You’ve never been on a city bus, have you?”
“No,” I admit to him. “Dad’s not a fan of mass transportation.”
“I just worry about you, Livvy. It’s not safe for a young girl.”
Jon shrugs his shoulders, taking his clothes from my dad. The three of us ascend the stairs and meet my mother in the hallway. I can still hear the rain coming down hard outside.
“Let us take you home, Jon.”
“Livvy, it’s fine.”
My mom goes into the hall closet and grabs an umbrella, handing it to Jon. “Keep it,” she insists before he has time to argue. “I threw your other one away.”
He laughs and thanks her for the umbrella, and then thanks my parents for dinner. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it. “See you Thursday?”
“Definitely. Can’t wait.”
“Good night.”
“Bye,” I tell him, cringing as I watch him make his way down the water-soaked sidewalk. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry about me!” he yells over a clap of thunder, his pace picking up to a jog as he spies the nearest bus stop one block north.
The next five days drag by in anticipation of seeing Jon again. He joins our class in progress on Thursday night, having been invited by Granna earlier in the week. She thought he would be a good mentor to talk about perspective. Jon’s drawings are always very geometric and orderly–perfectly proportioned. This isn’t my style, so when the kids started struggling with this aspect of their art, we knew we had to ask someone else to show the kids different techniques. Jon was my first suggestion. Granna didn’t flinch. I turn the lesson over to him, watching him interact with the young children. He uses the dry erase board at the front of the classroom to draw some quick sketches, making it look effortless. The kids are in awe of him.
I kind of am, too. On more than one occasion, he catches me staring dreamily at him.
While the kids practice, Granna asks us to run upstairs to look for a specific painting of Nate’s she wanted to use as an example. There was an airtight closet next to my mom’s office that stored a few canvases of his that we would alternate into the permanent collection throughout the year. She thought the painting was among them.
When we get upstairs, there are two oddly placed chairs in the corner of the room.
I go to the closet, thinking Jon’s behind me.
“The painting’s not here,” he tells me. I turn around to see him sitting in one of the two fold-out chairs.
“Huh?”
“Yeah, Donna made that up.”
“Really? Why?”
“So I could get you up here alone for a few minutes. Your Granna is awesome.”
“Yeah, she kind of is.” Jon pats the seat next to him, and I make my way over to him quickly, nervously. “Were you going to give me a kiss?” I ask him, my heart pounding.
“Nope,” he says. “I promised her I’d be on my best behavior. I wanted to give you something else, though.” He digs into his pocket for a small velvet pouch. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Livvy. I wanted to be the first.”
“Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to buy me anything. We’re going out Saturday. That’s all I want.”
“I didn’t buy it. A friend of mine made it for you.” He hands me the pouch.
I smile, curious, and open up the little blue envelope, getting a tiny glimpse of something silver inside. He stops me, holding onto my left hand and examining it closely. He touches the faint red splotches gently.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him nonchalantly. I’ve carried the markings with me for so long that no one in my family or my close circle of friends even remarks about them anymore. “They’re just paint stains.”
He laughs at me and shakes his head. “I believe you have some solvent downstairs that will take that off. I could help you with that.”
“I don’t want to take it off,” I explain. “I like it.”
“Oh. Okay.” He looks a little confused, but nods and lets go of my hand. I finish opening the flap from the envelope. Inside is a long, lightweight silver chain with a small circular charm hanging from it. Pressed unevenly in the medal is a word I don’t recognize. Choisie.
“I don’t understand it,” I tell him. “It’s really pretty, but what’s it mean?”
“She says it’s French for chosen.” The gesture touches me deeply. After all, I’d been told all my life that I’d been chosen. “I would be honored, Livvy, if you’d agree to date me exclusively.”
“Of course,” I tell him. “I don’t want anyone else.”
“I don’t either. I’ve chosen you, Livvy. I really like you. A lot.” He takes the necklace from my hands and places it around my neck. The charm hangs evenly with my heart. I touch them both at the same time.
The conversation with my mother drifts back into my consciousness. She told me she had picked my father to love; she chose to be in love with him. They ended up getting married and are still very happy together. My imagination carries me five and a half years into the future, to a wedding day just after I graduate from Parsons. Or maybe we won’t even be able to wait that long. Maybe we’ll have to get married right when I get out of high school. Maybe we’ll be that much in love.
“Thank you,” I tell him, nearly out of breath. I lean into him, unable to contain my emotions, and I kiss him softly.
“I swore to Donna I would not kiss you up here, Livvy.” I can feel the pout form on my bottom lip. As soon as our eyes meet, his lips are back where I want them, hard and fast and unrestrained. His hands cradle my face. He kicks his chair backwards and kneels in front of me. My fingers pull through the strands of his hair gently. He bows his head to the floor, sliding away from me slowly. He pulls up one leg, and I think he’s about to stand up, but he remains in front of me.
...down on one knee...
“Livvy,” he says as he takes my hand in his. “I
think I’m in love with you.”
The corners of my lips turn up in the biggest smile they’ve ever formed. “I love you, too,” I tell him. I put my hands behind his neck and pull him back into me for one more kiss. This one ends in a tight embrace. I can feel his heart beat against my chest, and with his declaration, I know that he’s being completely sincere.
“Let’s get downstairs,” he whispers before planting one final kiss near my ear. We hold hands as we leave the gallery, and we don’t let go until he delivers me to the front steps of my home. He only held on tighter when my dad saw us approaching the house.
Dad had glanced at our grasp, but looked away quickly as he engaged us both in conversation. I’d wanted him to go inside so that I could give Jon a proper goodbye, but of course he wouldn’t do that for me.
“Have a great birthday, Livvy,” he tells me.
“Thanks. It already is the best one ever,” I admit to him.
He smiles and touches his finger to my chin sweetly. “Good,” he says confidently.
“We’ll see you Saturday?” my dad asks him.
“Of course,” Jon says as he walks down the front steps. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything, sir.”
“Great,” my dad says, and I can’t miss the tension that seeps between his gritted teeth as he responds.
CHAPTER 6
The next night, my parents take my brother and me out to dinner to celebrate my sixteenth birthday. We meet my grandparents and aunts and uncles at the restaurant I’d selected, along with a few of my cousins and Finn and Camille. Granna had been invited, but she wanted to take me out to a special dinner, just the two of us, the following Thursday after class. The majority of my cousins were away at college, but we still had twenty-six diners in our party, so my dad had rented out a party room. As was typical for family gatherings like this, the adults sit at one table and the kids sit at another. As I look across the table at my 24-year-old cousin, Lexi, and my 20-year-old cousin, Clara, I wonder if we’ll ever be old enough to sit at the adult table. They don’t seem to mind, though. We’d all grown up in a very tight-knit family, going on family vacations and celebrating holidays together.