by Lori L. Otto
“I know, Livvy. There were a lot of angry feelings today, and a lot of things were said and done that shouldn’t have been.”
“How can I ever convince him that I didn’t mean it?”
“Are we talking about Jon or Dad?”
“Dad,” I explain quickly. “Just Dad.”
“He’ll come around. Historically, he’s pretty forgiving.”
“How do you know? You never fight.”
“Now that’s not true. Everyone fights. We don’t do it often, and we try to never do it in front of you or your brother, but we’ve had some pretty bad arguments. A lot before we even got married. One very reminiscent of tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I slapped him,” Mom says. “I swore to him years ago I’d never hit him again, and I did.”
“You hit him?”
She simply frowns. “I knew the second I felt his skin that I’d messed up.”
“What did he do?”
“He was stunned for a moment, and then I walked out of the room, shaking. A few minutes later, he came into the bedroom, packed a bag, and told me he was taking Trey to a hotel for the night. That was it.”
“You’ve hit him before?”
“I punched him years ago. I broke my hand. It was when we were engaged. We almost weren’t after that.”
“What made you punch him?”
“Insecurity,” she answers with a shrug. “Stupidity, I don’t know.”
“Has he ever hit you back?”
“He’s never made any physical threats whatsoever. That’s why it’s so unfair that I hit him. I know that he has no comeback for it. It was a cheap way to end a discussion that needed to be had.”
“I can’t believe I said those things, Mom. I was just mad at him. He has to know that.”
Mom stares at me as her mind tries to formulate her thoughts into words. I can tell by the way she studies my face with a look of sorrow. “Livvy, your obsession with Nate has gotten a little out of hand lately.”
“My obsession?”
“Yes. Granna and I had been talking about it, hoping it would go away, maybe as you started spending more time with Jon, but obviously, it didn’t.”
“I’m not obsessed with him. And I love Dad, Mom, I do. So much, I do. But Nate and I have so much in common,” I try to explain. “There are so many links.”
“You look for those links, though. You’re caught up in the idea of him. You get dreamy-eyed any time we talk about him.”
I look away from her, realizing the truth in her words. “He was just so talented. I want to be able to create paintings like he did. I want to be able to share what I feel with the world without having to say a single word.”
“You do that already, Liv. You do that on your own, and you don’t need him for that. You don’t need anyone for that. You have done that for years, and your art has gotten so much better as you’ve grown up to experience more emotions. In my mind, you’ve surpassed what he accomplished. As you learn more about yourself, your work becomes so much more engaging and sophisticated–just like you.
“I think, had Nate lived, he may have been able to do what you do–but he squandered quite a few good years being a little immature and self-involved.
“But that wasn’t really him. That wasn’t the Nate I knew or cared about.”
“I’m not that good,” I disagree.
“You’re your worst critic. If you could see what I see, if you could hear what Jacks has to say about it–and believe it–you’d be astonished.”
“What does Dad say?”
“He says every painting you do is one that takes you further into adulthood–and further away from him. He loves your art, but it breaks his heart. He sees more than you realize. He sees more than he realizes. The reason that he doesn’t talk to you about it is... well, he just can’t. He wants to seem strong and balanced for you. And he knows you’re sick of hearing him complain about how fast you’re growing up.
“We were down here a few days ago, studying your most recent piece. That one on the easel,” she says as she points in that direction. “Want to know what the first words out of your dad’s mouth were?”
“Yeah.”
“‘She must really be in love,’ he’d said. After a few more minutes of quiet contemplation, he asked me, ‘Do you think they’re having sex?’”
I immediately start crying. “He thought that from the painting?”
“Come on, Liv.” My mom half-laughs. “It’s the most romantic, passionate, explosive–most erotic piece I’ve ever seen. Ever. It’s beautiful.”
“Erotic?” I ask her, leery.
“Yeah.”
“We haven’t had sex,” I explain, realizing the question–although not directly addressed to me–is still hanging in the air. “But I think I want to.”
“I can tell,” she says with a nudge to my side and a nod to the painting. “You’ve told the whole world.”
My cheeks turn bright pink. “And Dad.”
“Yes, and Dad. Listen, Livvy, I want to talk about what you said to him–”
“I didn’t mean it,” I reiterate.
“Nevertheless, I want to make a few things clear. I don’t want you to ever, ever question him like that again.”
“I won’t.”
“I believe you. I think what you did tonight was just defensive and childish. And a little selfish.”
“I know.”
“But we all do things that are a little selfish at times. Nate was pretty selfish. I can be a little selfish, although you kids have taught me some pretty invaluable lessons. Even your dad can be selfish.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I remember this one time. Do you remember when you were around six, and Dad sat you down to tell you that you were going to go to a new art school instead of the Art Room?”
“No,” I tell her honestly.
“Well, I bet your dad would like to know that you don’t remember, because at the time, he thought he’d ruined your life.”
“What was the conversation?”
“Well, when we started sending you to the Art Room, it was more like a day care scenario for us. We were recently married, and we hadn’t had a lot of time alone by the time we adopted you. So Donna agreed to watch you at the Art Room a few times a week to let us go out by ourselves. We knew you’d have fun because you seemed interested in art, and you loved Donna, and you enjoyed the company of other kids, so it was a win-win for everyone.
“Anyway, when you were six, and we realized how gifted you were artistically, we decided to get you enrolled in what was then the most prestigious art program in the city. We had to show them your art, and you even had to be interviewed by a few of their professors. You don’t remember that?”
“No.”
“Yeah, the interviews seemed like therapy sessions. They were strange. Anyway, you were accepted, and we were so excited to give you the news. Dad decided to take you on a tour of the school, but on the way, he took you on a walk in Central Park, and at the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, he sat you down and told you.”
“You cried. You screamed. You made such a scene that people were watching and photographers were snapping pictures that were in the paper the very next day.
“It was very embarrassing for him, and not at all what he expected. But you loved the Art Room, more than either of us realized, and you had become attached to your classmates.”
“So did I have to go? Is that why he was selfish?”
“No, you never went. And I’m getting to that part. The charter for Nate’s Art Room had income requirements. If a parent made over a certain amount–”
“–then their kids couldn’t go, I know.”
“Right. So that meant, by the charter, you couldn’t attend, either. Jacks realized you were taking the spot of another child who was not as fortunate as you were. Even though no parent ever complained–and in fact, they all seemed to like you in the class with their kids–it didn’t
sit well with Dad. So he had the charter changed to include any legal offspring of the founders of Nate’s Art Room.
“Even then, he wasn’t okay with it. He struggled with the decision and he felt like he was being selfish, taking advantage of the time and attention that the instructors were giving. But he did it so you would be happy.”
“That doesn’t seem very selfish.”
“He thought it was,” Mom adds. “But then, you know? I’m not sure that time counts because he ended up giving a full scholarship for the prestigious art school to the little boy whose place you took. I think that finally made him feel okay about the charter change.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t count. Name another time.”
“Well, there was this other time that–” She stops and looks up at the ceiling, then starts shaking her head. “You know, I can’t think of another time. He’s the most selfless guy I know, Livvy. He’d do anything for you.
“And Nate? Would he have been a good father?” Mom reflects. “I’ve always wondered, and I’ll never know. There are times when Jacks reacts to something, and I wonder how Nate may have handled the situation differently. It always seems to come back to that one point: Nate was a little selfish, and I have a hard time imagining him doing things for anyone other than himself, except maybe me. I’m sure if he had been a dad, he would have, but I never knew that side of him.
“Nate was an only child,” she continues. “And not just that, he was a wealthy only child who had a very lonely upbringing. He didn’t know any other way to be. I don’t blame him for how he was, and I never loved him any less for that, but your dad was the oldest of four kids–kids he was charged with helping to care for while his father was busy at work. Jacks was made for this. Being a father is his purpose in life. I could never, ever say that about Nate. Kids weren’t on his radar until accidents happened,” she says with a slight blush. “Jacks knew what he wanted, all of his adult life.”
“I know,” I tell her softly.
“I know you know. I just think you’ve always envisioned someone more like you. Well, Liv, you’ve got me. I’m the someone like you. Not your father.”
I give her half a smile. “I’m okay with that.”
“He would do anything for either of us. And because he’s Jacks, he’d do anything for us even if we say the most hurtful things or hit him when we swore we never would.”
“How are we going to fix this?”
She looks around my room, considering her plan.
“Pack a bag,” she says. “We’re going to the Ritz.”
CHAPTER 17
I drive my mother and myself to the hotel. She still hates to drive at night. After she tips the valet, she gets out her cell phone and dials my father.
“Jacks, we’re downstairs. What room are you in?” She smiles as she hangs up, relief softening the worried lines on her face. “Penthouse,” she tells me.
“Of course.” It was Dad’s favorite hotel room in the city–not that he had tried many out. This one apparently had special meaning that my parents said they might tell me about “when I’m much older.” I decided I didn’t really want to know.
“Your eyes are so puffy, Liv,” she remarks, looking at my reflection in the side of the elevator car.
“Yeah, yours don’t look so great, either.” She leans in closer to the mirror, pressing at the bags under her eyes. “I’m kind of hungry, Mom.”
She simply nods at me as the doors to the lift open onto the lobby of the top floor of the hotel. My Dad is standing in the doorway of his room, waiting for us.
“Poppet,” he says in a gentle voice with a small smile across his lips.
My mom’s pace quickens until she reaches his outstretched arms. “I am so sorry, Jacks.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he says, leaning in to kiss her. My mom’s lips move to the right side of his face, which I think is weird until I realize that’s likely where he was slapped. Still, it goes on for too long, and I decide to slip past them into the suite.
“Hey, Trey,” I say to my brother, who’s curled up on the couch with a book in hand. “What have you been up to?”
“I was reading a story to Daddy,” he tells me. “I had a cheeseburger and we played catch.”
“That sounds like fun. Sorry to crash your boys night.” I set my bag next to the sofa and sit down next to him. I feel like a stranger here, like an intruder who hasn’t quite been welcomed back into the fold yet. My dad hasn’t acknowledged me.
“Trey!” my mom exclaims as if she hasn’t seen my brother in days. He crawls out from under the blanket and tosses the book in my lap, running to Mom. She picks him up and hugs him as my dad picks up her abandoned suitcase from the hallway and carries it to the bedroom. Every second that goes by without one of us saying something becomes more unbearable. I try to distract myself with Trey’s book, but it can’t hold my attention for long. I watch the bedroom door, waiting for Dad to return to the main living space.
Mom carries Trey back over to the couch, asking my brother about his afternoon. Dad did a good job of hiding the altercation from him. He seems to believe this was just a fun father-son outing.
After five minutes, I get tired of waiting and make my way to the master bedroom. The door’s wide open, and my dad is inside, unpacking for my mother. So soon forgiven.
“Dad, I’m so sorry,” I tell him, taking a few steps inside.
“Why don’t you close the door, Livvy?” he suggests. “Come sit down.” My nerves have brought the lump back to my throat almost immediately. Again, I feel selfish for wanting to cry, and try to stave off the tears as best as I can. I take a seat on the bed. Dad pulls the desk chair closer to me and sits down.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” I continue. He looks down at the floor with his hands clasped, his elbows on his knees. For a second, I think he might be crying again, but when he looks up, his eyes are dry and serious.
“I have one rule for this conversation tonight. Deal?”
“Anything.”
“No eye rolling.”
I begin to relax a little, and agree to his one and only term.
“When I was your age...” He watches me intently before continuing. “Good girl. That was a test.”
“Dad,” I attempt to urge him on.
“Okay. When I was your age, I was just starting to go out with this girl. I really liked her. And we had a standing date every Friday, kind of like you and Jon do on Saturdays.
“But we’d go to the football game, and then out to a local burger place, every week. I didn’t just like Friday nights because I got to see her, but it was also one of the few nights I got to get out at all. During the week, your grandpa did a lot of traveling. Once I got my drivers license, I had to step in and take my brothers to school, and to all of their extra curricular events.”
“Didn’t Kelly have her license, too?”
“She did, but she had to help around the house. My brothers were slobs. And without a father there to discipline them, it was easier to just clean up after them, which my sister was in charge of. Mom had to work long hours to make ends meet, and for a few years, it was pretty tough. Tough for a sixteen-year-old kid, anyway.
“So, on the night of homecoming, there was a big party after the game that everyone was going to. I had been looking forward to it all week. Mom had even extended my curfew, so that made the evening extra significant.
“But about an hour before I was to pick up my date, my dad showed up with special passes to go on this dinner-show boat tour around the city. Six passes. He was so excited, and I’d learn later, that he’d been putting money aside for this big surprise for weeks. It was apparently very expensive, and we didn’t have a lot of money to spare back then.
“I had no intention of going with him. Kelly didn’t either. Stevie and Matty were very excited, because their Friday nights typically consisted of board games with my parents. They couldn’t wait to get out, and, more importantly, they couldn’t wait to go out with Kel
ly and me. They looked up to us, and we rarely had time to do fun things together.”
Dad takes a moment to gather his thoughts and runs his hands through his hair a few times.
“Kelly and I ganged up on him. We talked about his absence, and his inability to provide for our family. We pointed out how he never had to be involved in any of the stressful events of the week. I rubbed it in his face that I was having father-son conversations with Stevie that he should most certainly be delivering. We accused him of stealing our childhood. Together, Kelly and I just became more enraged, and each thing we said to him was exponentially more hurtful than the last. We fueled each other on, and felt pretty smug and satisfied when Dad eventually tore the tickets up in front of us.
“I remember the last thing I said to him was, ‘Good, because who the hell would ever want to spend their free time with a man like you?’ I was on my way out of the room, feeling pretty almighty and smug, until Stevie broke down into tears, rushing to my father and hugging him.
“‘I would!’ he’d cried. Dad leaned down to hug him and I saw his eyes begin to water. Matty joined in their embrace, and my mom followed soon after. She was crying, too.
“I felt awful. Kelly went up to her room and started sobbing. The adrenaline was still coursing through my body, though, and I walked out, slamming the door behind me. I heard a vase from the front table by the door shatter as I walked to my car.
“It was my great-grandmother’s vase. Apparently the only thing that made it safely with her on her voyage from England.”
I cover my mouth, feeling the remorse for him. Even to this day, I can tell he still feels it.
“What’d you do?”
“I went to the game–and the party. And I stayed out past my extended curfew–but not because I was rebelling, but because I was too afraid to go home.
“I had an awful night. And I remember, when we had a talk the next day, he said something like, ‘just wait until you have kids.’ That statement has haunted me ever since.” He’s smiling when he says this.