by Lori L. Otto
“It’s a nice disguise, right? It’s good. I promise.”
“Are we celebrating something?”
“No, it’s to get us in the mood.”
Her grin is mischievous. “I’m scared to ask.” She nudges Katrina, who produces a bottle from a different bag. She hands it to me. “Hair dye?”
“You like it?”
“It’s blue.”
“We think you look good in blue!” Katrina says, digging into the bag and pulling out two more bottles. “Rachelle’s going green. I’m going pink.”
“I’m not going blue,” I state, still studying the bottle. “How long does this last, anyway?”
“Since your hair’s kind of dark, probably a few weeks. Or sooner if you wash your hair more often,” Katrina says. “I mean, you won’t get anything pierced. You don’t want a tattoo–”
“Yet,” I add. I’d like one when I can think of something I want on my body permanently. I wonder if Jon regrets his. I wonder how he’ll explain that to another girl. I wonder if he’ll just say it’s his favorite Shakespearean quote and never mention me. That’s the easy way out, which I’m sure he’ll take.
“You don’t have to dye all of your hair,” Rachelle says, walking toward me. She nudges me off the bed and pulls me to the mirror with her. “Just, maybe, this little swoop.” She takes a section of of my bangs. “It would look awesome.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just some strands,” she says, taking her long tresses in her hands. I wish I hadn’t cut my hair. “I think I might use a little of all the colors, though.”
“I’m doing the whole thing,” Katrina says. I grin, imagining her head of dull blonde hair looking like cotton candy. “I’ve used it before.”
“I’m not sure I want to draw more attention to myself,” I explain, unsure of the plan.
“That’s why we picked dark blue for you. I mean, in the dark, you’ll hardly notice it.”
“I don’t think it’s going to blend in, if that’s what you’re thinking. This dark blue is much darker than my hair. Plus, my dad will flip. I mean, he freaked out when I cut it!”
“He’ll get over it,” Katrina says, her tone pleading. “Please?”
“Can I think on it for a few days?”
“Sunday night,” Rachelle says. “Then it will look perfectly shocking for Econ on Monday morning.” I laugh as I consider our ultra-conservative professor and imagine the look of disdain he’ll give us. He’s already made comments about what we wear every day. Apparently, Yale had a nice jacket-and-tie dress code once upon a time, but those days are long gone. Dad would have fit in nicely at that Yale. I wonder if Harvard was like that when he went there.
“I’ll think about it. That’s the best I can do,” I tell them. They high-five one another, feeling they’ve won me over. “So that sparkling wine there has to wait until Sunday, too?” I ask.
Rachelle shrugs. “I can get more.” She opens the package and hands both Katrina and me a small can. A tiny straw is attached to the side, which makes the whole thing even funnier. Champagne from a can. This is classy. “It pays having an older sister here.”
“Right,” I say, popping the top. My roommates do the same, and we toast to our new friendship before settling down with our drinks and books for the night.
CHAPTER 3
My house is eerily quiet when I get home Friday night. I’d stopped to have dinner with Grandma and Grandpa Holland in Stamford so I wouldn’t arrive in Manhattan during rush hour, but ushering in the weekend seemed to put everyone on the streets at a later hour, anyway. I’ll just have to get used to the traffic.
I’d taken Dad’s parking spot in the garage, as he instructed me to. The first weekend I came home, a few of the more aggressive photographers had come to our house, waiting at the edge of our property to catch a glimpse of me. Dad hated it, and wanted me to have a little privacy. I didn’t leave the house at all that weekend, though, so none of the photographers got any pictures, and they didn’t return the following weekend when we concealed the evidence–my car–in the garage. I still wanted to believe they wouldn’t recognize me with my haircut.
Slinging my duffel over one shoulder and my backpack over the other, I head to the basement, flicking on the light at the top of the stairway. On my way to my room, I turn on the television for some noise as the silence becomes unsettling. I take two steps in my room before I realize it’s not my room. The walls are painted a soft blue, and a new full-sized bed with superhero linens greets me in the center of the room. Looking to the left for my studio, I see all of my brother’s toys instead, organized neatly on colorful shelves amid child-sized furniture.
What the hell? I release all the air from my lungs in one confused sigh before turning around and looking for evidence of other changes. Where am I supposed to sleep? The game room looks the same. It’s a little messier than usual, and I can only assume it’s because my brother is spending more time down here. In what used to be the guest bedroom, I find my bed, dresser and night stand. The room is large enough for the furniture, but it seems so cramped without the open studio attached to it. I miss my studio. I miss my room. Dropping my bags on the bed, I realize I miss my family and wish they had been here to soften the blow.
I knew the plan was to move my brother down here, but I expected my parents to give me some sort of warning. I certainly didn’t think it would happen over a week while I was away. I never even got to say goodbye.
The first thing I do is take my phone out of my purse, setting it on the dock on the night stand and making sure the volume is turned up. I peek to see if I’ve missed any calls, but of course I haven’t. I unpack my brushes next, and wonder where I’m supposed to paint. In fact, where are all of my easels, and my benches? Maybe they’ve already moved everything over to the loft.
Although I told my roommates I’d been painting at the loft, I haven’t been at all since I started college. I’d been painting in my studio here on the weekends. I immediately realize how I’d taken that luxury for granted. I don’t have the key to the loft anymore, although I suppose I’ll get it when I turn eighteen in a few weeks.
By my parents’ actions–by them converting my room into a kid’s room and my studio into Trey’s play area–I get the sudden impression that they’re ready for me to be out and on my own. It’s what I’d been so excited about for the last year and a half, and now that I’m faced with that as my only option, it makes me sad. I’d never wanted to be alone in the loft. I’d only wanted to be there with Jon.
The entire summer had been spent alone there. During the days, I worked on the massive series of thirty paintings that now hang on the brick accent wall. It was all anyone would see when they walked into the living room. It’s the whole reason why I haven’t been back since I finished painting them. I had vowed to move on when I finished them. I don’t accept that it’s over. I’m not ready to move on. I’ve had no closure.
I wander back into my brother’s new room and lie down on his bed, staring at all of his toys. It looks like they’ve bought him a lot of new ones to fill the space. I never had toys like this. My brother is pretty spoiled. I bet he loves it down here. I wonder how the room will change as he does. I wonder who Trey will become. Already, at his age, I knew what I was going to be. I don’t see that same drive or direction in him. I wonder where I got that from. I’d always assumed I got it from Dad, but I would think Trey would be the same way. Maybe it’s a trait inherited from one of my biological parents.
I jump as I feel a hand on my shoulder, opening my eyes warily and trying to remember my surroundings.
“Surprise?” my dad says quietly. I sit up and give him a hug, not realizing I’d fallen asleep. “What do you think?” I pull back and see his uneasy expression.
“I think I’m being phased out,” I tell him with a light laugh.
“Never,” he assures me. “This is why we’d hoped you would have waited to come out in the morning. We should have been he
re.”
“It would have been nice, but it’s fine, Daddy. Does Trey love it?”
“I don’t think he likes being so far from us yet. You were much more independent than he is.”
“Yeah, I kind of forced you guys to move me down here.”
“You’d come sleep in this room, just so you could be close to your paintings. I remember on weekends, you’d be up before either of us, quietly working in the other bedroom, where you’d staked your claim. I didn’t want to knock down that wall, but it made sense, for you.”
“Where’s all my stuff?” I ask him.
“At the loft.” I don’t hide my disappointment from him. “I thought you’d be happy about that.”
“I just wanted to work tonight, that’s all. What time is it anyway?”
“Eleven-fifteen,” he says. “It’s too late to go over there tonight.”
“In a few weeks, I’ll be able–”
“Can we wait to talk about this in the morning, Contessa? I’m exhausted and we have a lot of details to go over about that before your birthday.”
“Sure,” I tell him as my mother enters the room. “Hi, Mom.” I get up to give her a hug, knowing I should head to my own room anyway.
“It’s good to see you, sweetie. I moved your summer clothes into our closet upstairs for now. They won’t fit in the guest room closet.”
“You mean my room’s closet.”
“I guess it’s going to take a little getting used to. If you have trouble finding anything, let me know.”
“I just wish I had some of my supplies here.”
“It’s just temporary, Liv. And we’ll take you to the loft tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Maybe,” I tell her.
What is that siren noise? The next morning, this sound infiltrates my dream, but even when I pull over for the cops, the siren won’t stop. It finally brings me out of what was quickly becoming a nightmare. The sound hasn’t stopped, though, but it’s not a siren. Someone’s making a noise like a siren. I finally realize my brother must be home from my uncle’s already.
Pulling on my robe, I check my hair in the mirror. I miss the ability to pull it back, and it always looks horrible first thing in the morning. Every morning, I feel obligated to shower immediately, trying to tame it as best as I can. My roommates had only seen me three times with my hair like that. I’d gone to the campus store and bought a baseball cap after the first time.
When I open my door, I nearly trip over my brother, who has pulled his toys into the main room of the basement–the media room. Trey has set up his race track right outside my door.
“Livvy!” he exclaims, jumping up and giving me a big hug. “I didn’t think you’d ever wake up!”
“And I didn’t think you’d ever shut up,” I murmur to him. “That siren was driving me crazy, buddy. Why aren’t you playing in your awesome new room?”
“Because I wanted you to get up.”
“Well, here you go. I’m up,” I tell him with a smile.
“Mom said we could make pancakes when you got up.”
“Go run up to the kitchen and let her know I’m taking a shower, okay? I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
“’kay,” he answers, taking off quickly up the stairway.
After I get ready, I return to my room briefly to get out the jersey I’d promised my brother. I set it on his unmade bed, wanting him to find his little surprise later.
I hear voices other than my parents’ and brother’s when I get upstairs.
“Matty!” I say, running into the formal dining room.
“There she is!” he exclaims, standing up to hug me. I notice another man next to him, talking to my mom and dad. “Nolan, this is my favorite niece, Livvy.”
“I’ve heard so much about you,” he says. The pictures I’d seen of him made him look younger than he actually appears in person. He has a little bit of grey hair. He’s very attractive, but I thought my uncle would have gone for a younger guy. I move to the other side of the table to give him a hug.
“Morning, Liv,” Dad says as he pours a glass of orange juice for me. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Up until the cops came to arrest me...”
“That was a fire truck,” Trey corrects me.
“Sorry. Until the firemen came to rescue me.” My mom’s expression is apologetic.
“Hope they were good-looking,” Matty says, going along with my story.
“As good looking as this little monster can be, I guess.” I ruffle my brother’s hair.
“I’m not little,” he argues.
“Right,” I say. “But monster’s okay?”
He roars at me loudly before taking a bite of his pancake. “Jackson, keep it down,” my dad corrects him.
“Have a seat, sweetie,” Mom says, pulling out a chair for me. She sits down next to me as Dad returns to the kitchen.
“May I have some pancakes, Dad?”
“That’s what I’m doing, Contessa,” he says assuredly from the kitchen.
Nolan and Matty continue the conversation I had interrupted. Mom can’t stop laughing. She and my uncle always had a special bond, just like Matty and I do. He truly has a way with women, even though they’re not his preference. I notice how he looks at Nolan while he tells the story. His eyes look brighter, his smile more genuine than I’ve seen in a long time. He laughs easily and touches his shoulder and arm affectionately every once in awhile.
When his boyfriend finishes talking, he glances at Matty and they exchange a look. I feel a pang of jealousy. It’s that look of awareness, and happiness; secrecy and intimacy. Jon used to look at me like that.
“Can I tell her?” my uncle asks my dad after he sets a plate down in front of me. Dad shakes his head.
“What?”
“We have something big to talk to you about today.”
“Bigger than you can imagine,” Matty says. Dad glares to silence him. I have no idea what they want to tell me. It seems like good news, from the looks on everyones’ faces.
“I know we’re going to talk about the loft, but that’s not big news to me.”
“Ye–” Dad throws a wadded-up napkin at his brother. Nolan laughs at Matty’s exuberance. It’s obvious he won’t be able to keep the secret for long. He’s never been good with secrets.
“It’s about the loft. Just finish your breakfast, and then we’re going to go over there.” I stare at him curiously, only moderately dreading a trip to the apartment. I know I have to face it–especially now that half of my life is over there.
After helping my brother with the dishes, we load into Dad’s car. Matty and Nolan follow us in their SUV.
Francisco greets me with a hug at the front door. “Welcome home, Livvy,” he says. “You look beautiful. So much older already.”
“It’s just the haircut,” I assure him. When we get into the elevator, Dad pushes the button to the 12th floor, then inserts a key into a slot next to it. “New security measure?” I ask my father. I never had to do that before. He shrugs his shoulders as I take a closer look at the button. It no longer has a 12 on it. I notice it’s marked with the letter H just as the doors open to the top floor. I peek out into the hallway first. Everything looks exactly how I remember it. “What’s going on?”
“We’re home,” Matty says as he holds up his well-worn keychain that he’d bought on one of our family vacations.
“What do you mean, ‘we’re home?’” I ask. Did Dad give Matty my apartment? Sure, it was his to do with what he wanted until I turn eighteen, but that’s only a few weeks away.
I follow my uncle down the hall to the door, but he turns before he gets there, unlocking apartment C on our right. “Wait, you bought the apartment across the hall?” I ask him, feeling a sense of relief.
“We bought the floor, Contessa,” Dad says. “Apartment C is Matty’s.”
“And whose is B?” I ask, nodding to the other smaller apartment on the right–or what used to be Apartment B. “Wait, w
here’s the door for B?”
“There is no Apartment B anymore.”
“And mine is A?” My voice is quiet and tentative.
“Yours will be A.”
“Well, what happened to B?”
Dad opens the door to my loft, where my aunt Anna is standing in the middle of the room. It looks nothing like it did a month ago. Walls are lowered and moved, the floors are new, the furniture’s different and the decor is eccentric and colorful, exactly how I like things. I quickly glance over to the wall I’d been avoiding. I’m disappointed and happy, all at the same time. I’d not wanted anyone to move the paintings, but I also didn’t want to look at them yet. They’re even more remarkable than I’d remembered.
I did those. I am proud of them. Whatever pain I endured to create that wall, I wouldn’t change a thing. “Come in, Livvy,” my aunt says, coming forward to give me a tight embrace. “I hope you like it.”
“Did you do all this?”
“I helped with the decor, but your dad hired the renovation team. They’ve been working like crazy to get this place ready.”
“It’s–” Suddenly, I notice how the open apartment spans around the corner. Apartment B is now part of Apartment A. My family is silent as I study the space. The bed is no longer in the main room. The room itself is smaller, but with the floor-to-ceiling windows and new partial walls, everything still feels open. The next space is a beautiful bedroom, but maintains the loft feel without full walls or a door. A new, third space is beyond yet another half-wall–my studio. It’s huge, with a polished concrete floor that will be easy to clean paint from. There are two easels facing the windows, with blank white canvases prepped and ready for use.
Around the corner is another open living space, and then two enclosed bedrooms beyond that with an additional bathroom next to them. “So there’s a little privacy if guests come,” Anna says as I enter one of the rooms, “or, you know... the future...”
My stomach falls at that statement. This is my home. This isn’t some temporary living space that I’ll reside in until I get married and move to the suburbs, which I’d never actually intended to do. This is where my parents expect me to stay.
