by Lori L. Otto
“No,” he says, then swallows hard. He turns back around to face me. “I didn’t love them. I cared about them, and they liked me, but I didn’t love them.”
“Who were they?”
“One girl was a classmate of mine, the first one. She and I were lab partners our sophomore year, and we started dating shortly before my dad died. After he was gone, I just–” He shakes his head and doesn’t finish his sentence. “We enjoyed each other’s company. And honestly, I was lonely.”
“How long had you been seeing her?”
“Two months? Maybe three? But, I mean, I’ve known her for a couple years. She moved away a few weeks later. I knew it wasn’t anything permanent, but I needed someone at the time.”
“Who was the other one?”
“She’s a neighbor of mine. I’ve known her all my life and we spent a lot of time together last summer. I needed to feel close to someone... something. I was grasping at whatever bit of intimacy I could find.”
“Well, that’s just a bad answer,” I tell him, stunned.
“It’s the truth,” he explains. “You may not like my answer, Liv, but it’s better than a lie.”
“I’m not sure that it is.”
“Did you want me to tell you I loved them?”
“Ideally, I’d like you to tell me you didn’t sleep with them.”
“Well, I’m not going to lie. I would hope that if the tables were turned, you’d still be honest even though you knew the truth might hurt. Because I can get over the pain. Regaining trust is something I have a really hard time with.”
“Well, I don’t have to lie,” I spit back at him. “Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Livvy, I didn’t do anything wrong, either. I did something I’m not entirely proud of. I did something that you clearly are having a hard time accepting. There was nothing wrong with what I did, though. No one got hurt.
“If I could have predicted the future, and if I could have known that you would be dating me now, I can honestly say I wouldn’t have wasted my time with those other girls. Especially now that I know how important it is to you.”
“I want it to be important to you, too.”
“It is.” He runs his fingers through his hair and throws away his nearly full drink. “I’m tired, Livvy. This has been a horrible day, and I just want to put it behind me. So I’m gonna go.”
“Okay,” I tell him, stone-faced.
“And here.” He hands me a one hundred dollar bill. “Please give that back to your dad. I don’t want his money.”
“What was it for?”
“Cab fare. Tell him he won’t need to worry about you taking the bus anymore.”
My eyes well up with tears as I crumple the money in my hand. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“Do you still want to go out with me?” he asks as he takes a step closer to me. “Because I still want to see you, if you can try to accept this.”
“I’ll try.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’ll try. I will.”
“Alright. Then just tell your dad I will pay for cabs, carriage rides, limos, whatever he deems appropriate for you. I swear I will never take you on a city bus again. I think your dad’s a little misinformed about what happens on buses, but I’m not going to be the one to argue with him. Not with this anyway. I’ll save it for something more important.”
I force a smile. “Okay.”
“So I’ll see you Monday after school. Around four?”
“I’ll be there, ready to study.”
“Alright. If you have any more questions, call me. Text me. Send smoke signals. Just leave your parents out of it, okay? For us?”
“Got it. I truly am sorry.”
“Just a minor hurdle. I’ll jump through hoops. Just stop raising them up so high, okay?”
“Okay. Good night. Thank you for coming.”
“It was nice to see you.” He kisses my forehead before heading west to catch his bus. I tuck the money in my handbag and return to the school to rejoin the open house. Everyone is starting to file upstairs for the concert and for the gallery unveiling. I follow at the end of the line, my parents nowhere in sight.
What greets me as I walk into the gallery upstairs catches me completely off guard. The first painting anyone sees is the example I used when we were discussing the color brown. It’s the painting I gave to Granna. It’s a painting of Nate. My parents stand on one side of it, Granna on the other. The rest of the parents are inspecting their own child’s work. I start to turn back around to go downstairs.
“Livvy,” Granna catches me and pulls me back in. “You didn’t show your parents this before you gave it to me?”
“What is it?” I look around the room, intentionally avoiding the painting right in front of my face.
“Your portrait of Nate?”
“Oh, um...” My parents both stare at me, awaiting my response. Dad looks hurt. Mom looks worried.
I feel sick.
“He was hot,” Matty comments.
“It’s just beautiful, Livvy,” my mom says. “I’ve never seen you paint anything quite like that. It’s extraordinary, honey.”
“It’s nice,” my dad adds on quickly.
“Nice?”
“Very nice.”
“Thanks, Dad. Your opinion means so much to me,” I tell him sarcastically.
“Emi, can you make sure our daughter makes it home okay?” he asks, completely put out. “I think Matty and I are going to go pick up Jackson and call it a night.”
“Jacks–” my mom tries to reason with him.
“Excellent work, Donna,” he tells her with a hug on his way out. “You’re doing wonderful things here.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me. Thank you for all of your contributions.”
“I do it for the kids,” he says. “But it’s nice to be appreciated.” He doesn’t look at me on his way out, but I can sufficiently read between the lines.
“Good luck,” my uncle whispers with a grimace.
“Donna, if you’ll excuse us,” my mom says as she leads me into her office in the corner of the second floor. She closes the door quietly. “Have a seat.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I don’t care,” she says back to me. I sit down on the sofa by the window. “This has to stop.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong! I’m just being who I am, and if he can’t accept me for that and for the things I do, then I don’t know how to fix it. How am I supposed to stop him from wanting me to be someone I’m not?”
“He doesn’t want that. And I can’t figure out what makes you think that he does.”
“He never even tries to talk to me!”
“Yes, Livvy, he does, but he’s greeted with silence or sarcasm. You can’t have a civil conversation with him anymore. You say things to him that are meant to be hurtful, and I don’t know if you realize this, but it hurts me, too. I hate being stuck in the middle here.”
“Nobody asked you to mediate.”
“Honey, I’m afraid if no one intervenes, you won’t have a relationship with him to work on anymore. I won’t sit back and watch that happen. I exchanged vows with your father to stick with him, through good times and bad times–”
“So you’re just taking his side?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m trying to make you see that we’re all on the same side. You’re the one drawing a line in the sand, Liv. Not your father.”
“That’s not how I see it,” I mumble.
“Well try to look at it differently.” I fold my arms across my chest and look once more at the park. “Livvy, why did you paint that portrait of Nate?”
“It was a gift for Granna,” I tell her.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you show it to me before you gave it to her?”
“I didn’t think you’d like it.”
“Technically, it’s perfect. I know yo
u can see that, too. Why didn’t you think I’d like it?”
“Because I know you don’t like to talk about Nate in front of Dad.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because Dad doesn’t like him.”
Mom laughs quietly. “That’s not the case at all.”
“Well, he’s jealous of him or something.”
“That’s not it either. Livvy, that night was the worst night of my life. I still have flashbacks of what I saw, and how he looked.” She gets choked up quickly. “He was broken, and dead in my arms. I lost a child in that accident. And no amount of therapy makes those memories or that reality go away. I don’t like to think about it. I don’t like to get upset about it, and your dad will do everything in his power to keep those memories at bay. The only thing he hates more than seeing me cry, Liv, is seeing you cry. And that’s the truth.
“The painting of Nate was beautiful, but it feels like a slap in the face, Livvy.”
“Well I never knew how you guys felt,” I try to argue.
“But you just said it’s because you thought Dad didn’t like him... that he’s jealous. If you felt like that, why would you paint Nate’s portrait? To hurt your dad?”
I sit quietly, thinking hard about her question. “No,” I say softly. “I don’t know why I did it.”
“Well, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to start considering the outcomes of the decisions you make. Think about how they affect other people, especially when it’s your dad who’s going to be affected.”
“Fine,” I retort.
“Okay. Why don’t you go say your goodbyes, and let’s go home. This has not been a banner night in the Holland household.”
“Alright.”
I go immediately to my room and shut my door when I get home and set up a canvas to paint. The guest bedroom is dark, and I assume Matty kept his plans to meet up with some of his old friends. About a half hour later, I hear my dad and brother in the media room outside my door, setting up to watch my brother’s favorite cartoon movie. I know my parents had planned to go out after the show. My brother was supposed to stay over at Aunt Anna and Uncle Chris’s house. I knew I had spoiled their evening.
I paint for a few hours, but I can’t settle on what exactly I’m trying to paint. It’s just a mess of my emotions, haphazardly strewn on the canvas. I sit down and stare at it, realizing that I do paint the way Nate painted. It’s therapeutic for me, and even though the painting is nothing I’d dare show anyone, it makes me feel a little better when my arm starts to hurt and I’m too tired to continue.
I grab my pajamas and head toward the bathroom. It’s been so quiet, I thought everyone in the house had gone to bed, but my brother and dad are still on the couch, the television still on, but barely audible. Trey is curled up under a blanket, his head laying on my dad’s leg. The guest bedroom is still dark, everything the way it was when I went into my room.
“Matty’s still out?”
“I don’t expect him back tonight,” he says.
“Oh. I didn’t know you were still up,” I say quietly, standing just outside my door.
“Yeah,” he answers in a whisper. I glance at the television. He’s watching an infomercial about some sort of pressure cooker.
“Want me to put Trey to bed?” I ask.
“No,” he says quickly. “I’m going to enjoy this while I can, because some day he’ll grow up and he won’t even have memories of nights like this, much less want to sit down with me and experience one again.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it.
“I remember having movie nights with you.”
“Good,” he says. He finally glances in my direction. “Those are some of my favorite memories, Liv. When I’d try to pick you up and carry you to bed, you’d open your eyes really wide and try to convince me that you were awake and beg me to start another movie, even though you’d been sleeping for an hour.
“I’d do it every time. You’d spend the first thirty minutes of the second movie staving off yawns, but then you’d succumb to your exhaustion and lean into my chest and fall asleep once more. Sometimes we’d get to three movies.” He laughs softly, careful not to wake Trey. “I just couldn’t say no. Your mom hated it. You’d be so tired the next day, but it was well worth it to me. She would punish me by putting me in charge of bartering with you–our grouchy and uncooperative daughter–but I did it willingly, knowing that your tantrums were only temporary, and that the next day, you’d be back to your old self.”
“I remember,” I tell him.
“To hold you in my arms–to feel needed and loved by something so precious and unexpected–even to this day, nothing can compare to that.” I can hear a lump form in his throat. “I wish I had known the last time it happened that it would actually be the last time. I would have cherished it more.”
“I have to grow up, Dad. I can’t stay your little Contessa forever.”
“That knowledge doesn’t make it any easier,” he says after clearing his throat. “And believe me, I know. I’m just having a hard time accepting it, that’s all. But I do know.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Love you, honey,” he tells me.
“I love you, too.”
Jon arrives promptly at my house at four o’clock on Monday. I’m sure my uncle has better things to do than stay around the house and supervise our study date, but he doesn’t complain and makes himself at home with his laptop and a glass of wine. I’d rather my uncle be here than my parents, though, and nothing could spoil my mood when I get to see Jon more during the school week.
I’d planned to study in the media room, but my brother has set up a tent with sheets and chairs and it’s a mess down there, so Jon and I get comfortable in the living room upstairs. He outlines his tips to help me remember the elements. We make some flash cards and he quizzes me.
“You’ve got this in the bag,” he says after an hour of studying. “You don’t need my help.”
“I sure do,” I assure him. “I’m sure I’ll forget everything you taught me by tomorrow. I’ll definitely need more tutoring on Wednesday.”
“Of course you will. Don’t worry, I’ll find plenty of things to teach you. We could make a habit of this.”
“I like seeing you more often.”
“Same here. So you’ll take this seriously this week so we can get past your dad’s little test?”
“Definitely.”
He spends the next hour drilling elements and general chemistry concepts into my head. We do the same thing on Wednesday, again under the not-so-watchful eye of Matty, and by the time he leaves, I’m sure I won’t have any trouble with my test.
“Little Liv?” my uncle calls from the top of the basement stairs as he and my dad and brother make pancakes on Friday evening. “You have a visitor.”
“Who?” Camille asks.
“Beats me.” I’m hoping it’s Jon, but he typically doesn’t show up unannounced.
My best friend and I walk up the stairs, looking around. “In here, Tessa,” Dad calls from the kitchen. Camille and I walk in to see Jon smiling at the kitchen island, pouring glasses of sparkling cider into champagne flutes my dad has provided. The rest of my family is standing around, curious. Jon pours seven glasses after introducing himself to my best friend.
“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat, handing everyone a drink. I roll my eyes at him, but grin. “I just want to congratulate Livvy here on passing her chemistry test today,” he announces. “Jack, I would like to know if we can continue the tutoring sessions on Tuesdays every week.”
My uncle smiles smugly, taking a drink before the toast is even made. He winks at me.
“The deal was that she had to get a perfect score,” Dad says. Jon pulls out his phone and shows my father the photo I had sent to him as soon as I got the A+ handed back to me.
“She even got the extra credit question correct,” Camille says. “She was the only one.”
“Livvy, that’s great!”
Mom says.
“That’s my girl,” my dad chimes in.
“Thanks!” I respond. “I couldn’t have done it without Jon, though.” I hold my glass up and touch the rim of it to his. “So thank you.”
“What was the extra question?” he asks.
“We had to draw the Lewis structure for the carbonate ion.”
“Seriously?” He seems impressed. “I can’t believe you remembered that. We barely touched on it.”
“You explained it well, though.”
“I guess I did. Great work, baby.”
The kitchen goes silent as we’re all shocked by the nickname.
“Yeah, baby,” Matty says, making sure the slip-up wasn’t missed. Jon bites his lip, realizing too late what he’d said, and takes a drink from his glass.
“So, Tuesdays, huh?” my dad asks. I exhale a sigh of relief.
“Yes. If that works with Livvy’s schedule.”
“It’s great,” I say quickly.
“I don’t think that will be a problem. As long as she continues to excel at it, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I appreciate your help.”
“Thanks. I figure I can meet her at her school, and we can take a cab to the library and study for a few hours. I could have her home by seven.”
“At the library? Why not here?”
“Just to minimize the distractions. Little brothers are awesome,” he says as he ruffles my brother’s hair, “but they’re not always quiet. And we’ve both got ‘em. Some of these concepts are difficult to grasp, so I’d like her to be able to focus as much as possible.”
“I don’t know, Jon,” my mother says. “Livvy normally watches Trey until we get home from work.”
“We could do it later in the evening, then. After you get home.” Jon manages to keep a straight face as he suggests this.
“You know what? No. We’ll make that work,” Dad says quickly. “But she needs to be home by seven.”
“Got it.”
“And if her grades start to falter, all bets are off.”
“Understood. I feel pretty confident she’ll do fine.”
“Jon, would you like to stay for dinner?” my mom asks. “We were going to order pizza for the girls. And it’s Matty’s last night in town.”