by Lori L. Otto
I know I’m loading the brush with too much paint. I know this, but I want to coat the canvas, leaving no evidence of the cloth beneath the pigment. That means I’ll have to let it dry a little before adding another layer. I finish the base, a gradual blend of light blue, light green and deep brown. I turn on the fan I’d set up to keep me cool and point it on the canvas, hoping it will dry sooner.
Taking a seat on my stool, I pick up a pencil with the intention of sketching so I can focus on something other than Jon, other than Emmanuel, other than these conflicted feelings that have me more confused than I’ve been in a long time.
I love Jon. I hate him for what he’s done to us, but I still love him, and I still think I always will. What I feel for Emmanuel is different. It’s not love. It’s curiosity. It’s instability. It’s unfamiliar. It’s want, and it’s the desire to be wanted. It’s vengeful. It’s lust.
Lust. Do I really want a relationship like that with Emmanuel? Could I see myself with him that way? Could I trust him enough to try that? He seems unpredictable and fickle. Maybe even a little shallow. I don’t doubt that he likes me. I’m just not sure I’d be the only one he liked. Nor am I sure what he likes about me.
I was always certain with Jon. I knew I never had to be afraid of him liking someone else more than me. When we were together, I never saw anyone else, either. And yet my actions made it look like I did like someone else more. But it wasn’t like that with Finn. It would never be like that with Finn.
Jon and I are meant to be together. I don’t know how we can ever get back to that point–how I can ever let him back into my life–but I feel it in my gut that we are meant to be together.
I want a future of certainty. When I see myself in five or ten years, Jon is there. Jon is steadfast. Jon is true. But how can I think that when he walked away like he did? There’s nothing steadfast or true about that. If he loves me like I love him, how can he stay away from me?
Under the spotlight of my lamp, I break down and cry. Grateful no one else is in the studio, I don’t hold back. Easing down onto the floor, my knees pulled into my body, I wrap my arms around myself tightly, trying in vain to hold myself together. I’m shattered, though. I may look like a whole person, but I don’t feel like it today. I’m shorn, fragments of who I used to be.
Pull yourself together, Livvy! I am complete and whole. Rationally, I know this, but this solitude allows the sadness to seep in and makes me doubt everything I’ve worked so hard to become... a woman who doesn’t need a man to feel whole, to feel special, to feel cherished, to feel desired, to feel loved.
I am all those things, alone. Without anyone. And I want someone who lets me be that, too. I know Jon wanted me to be more self-sufficient. And here I am, having accomplished that, and he’s nowhere around to even see me.
And I shouldn’t feel the need for him to see me like this, either. But I do. I do because he lives within me in my speech, my actions, my thoughts, my art. From an early age, we engrained ourselves in one another. Our lives have been intertwined for years.
Emmanuel doesn’t have a chance in hell.
I don’t care that I’m physically attracted to him, because honestly, that’s all it is. And I had that and so much more with Jon. I blot my face to remove any remaining moisture and pull out my compact to put on some powder. The display on my phone is lit up.
Text Message from Jon Scott.
I drop my purse in a hurry to read his message. Scrambling to get the phone after it tumbles onto the floor, I hit my head on the work bench. Touching the back of my head, I remember the concussion. This doesn’t hurt nearly as bad, and I wipe away the last of the tears so I can see his message clearly.
“Sorry it took so long to respond. I can’t tutor her, but I found someone who can. Her name is Yasmin. I’ll send her contact info in an email.”
Why wouldn’t he just call me back? Everything I want him to do, he does the opposite, and it makes me even more angry with him. To top it off, the email is blank, with only an attachment with Yasmin’s phone number and email address. Who’s Yasmin, anyway?
I respond to his text with a simple thank you and wait for a few minutes for him to type something back. Even a ‘you’re welcome’ would be fine, but after thirty minutes, I give up that hope and call Camille. I clear my throat a few times, hoping to rid it of the lingering sadness.
“Hi, Livvy,” she says.
“Hey, Camille. How’s it going?”
“It’s great, Liv. Listen, I don’t want you to think I was just calling for a tutor.”
“I was hoping not,” I admit. “Camille, I am so sorry. There was never anything between me and Finn. I hope you know that.”
“It’s all in the past now,” she says. “Finn wasn’t good enough for me.”
“He treated you poorly,” I agree. Even as I say that, I wonder if what she said was meant to be an insult to me. I decide not to read into her words, letting her say what she needs to.
“Do you remember Xavier? He transferred to another school in the eighth grade?”
“Sure I remember him.”
“Well, we have the same piano teacher–”
“You got back into piano?” I’m shocked. She had lost interest in all of her hobbies when she and Finn started dating.
“Oh, yes, over the summer. I missed it so much, Livvy, but anyway, Xavier and I met up at a recital, and we’ve been dating ever since.”
“That’s great news! I always thought he was so nice,” I admit.
“He still is,” she assures me.
“You deserve that.”
“Thanks, Livvy. That means a lot to me.”
“Hey, maybe we can get together one weekend when I’m home,” I suggest.
“Are you doing anything for your birthday?”
I hesitate, remembering Finn. “I’m having a party Saturday at the loft. I’d love for you to come. You could bring Xavier, of course, but Finn is coming home for it.”
She quietly considers the invitation. “That would be great! Maybe he’ll actually be jealous.”
“Maybe,” I laugh. “But he wasn’t right for you,” I remind her.
“Oh, I know. It might be nice to show him what he gave up, though. But I promise I’ll be nice. I don’t want to cause a scene.”
“I’m sure he’ll be civil, too. I’m so excited to see you! And you can meet my roommates. They’ll be coming, too.”
“Cool.”
“Anyway,” I tell her. “Jon said he’s too busy for tutoring, but he gave me the name of a classmate.” I sincerely hope it’s his classmate and not a girlfriend. My stomach wrenches in pain at the thought. What if Camille finds out Yasmin and Jon are dating? I don’t want to know. I’ll never want to know. “So I’ll send you her info and you can work something out.”
“Great, Liv. Thank you so much.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“Livvy, I hate that things happened like they did, but I’m glad they did happen. It made me get over him quickly. I probably would have hung on to hope forever.”
Is that what it will take to get over Jon? I feel the tears coming again. “Well, I have to go,” I tell her, knowing my voice is unsteady. “I’ll see you this weekend?”
“Sure thing. See you then. Bye.”
“Bye.” I barely disconnect the line before erupting in sobs again. I don’t want him to have a new girlfriend. He can’t. I don’t want to give up hope.
After another twenty minutes of uninhibited cries, I finally pull myself together and start painting again. The next few hours are spent alternating between painting and tears. At three in the morning, I finally decide to make my way back to the dorm, deciding that I’ll skip calculus in the morning so I can catch up on missed sleep.
CHAPTER 7
I didn’t go to class at all on Wednesday. I think I’d worked myself into such an emotional frenzy that I gave myself a migraine. I stayed in bed all day with the blinds drawn, the lights off, wearing my eye m
ask for extra measure. My roommates were exceedingly considerate. They went out to dinner and brought me soup, then went to another dorm room to watch television and study that evening.
Something changed on Wednesday, though. I felt stronger. I felt like I could handle Jon’s rejection, and I felt like I could be honest with Emmanuel about my feelings. By the time Thursday came along, I was up early, and felt hopeful for the first time in a long time. We had a test in our photography class, and I left when I finished, giving Emmanuel a friendly wave on my way out as he monitored the rest of the students. I made it to the art building with time to spare before a lecture I’d signed up to see. I wandered around one of the galleries, wondering how long it would take me to be able to show my work in it.
Before I leave for Manhattan on Friday night, I remind Rachelle and Katrina how to get to the loft. Since my grandparents will be joining the rest of our family on Sunday night for dinner, I don’t stop in Stamford.
Mom and Dad have decorated the formal dining room and have a cake waiting for me when I get home. After dinner, I blow out the candles, wishing for some closure with Jon. I don’t know what that closure looks like exactly–whether it means I see him to say goodbye or I just get over him–but it seems like the best thing I can wish for.
Wanting to spend some time with my family, I stay at my parents’ house Friday night. We all settle into the basement to watch some movies and talk about our week. It feels really good to be home.
Saturday, around one, I pack up a few essential things and head over to the loft. As I hug my parents on the way out, Mom starts crying. She’d done the same thing when they left New Haven the first time. I tell them they can stop by the party tonight if they want. Dad mentions they are planning on dropping in on Uncle Matty’s get-together anyway, so he says they’ll come say hello to my friends and cousins.
“Miss Holland!” Francisco says happily as he holds the door open for me. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you,” I laugh, giving him a hug.
“Happy birthday! How does it feel to be eighteen?”
“No different than seventeen,” I tell him honestly. “Well, except I now have this amazing apartment. This is gonna be cool.”
“If you ever need anything, I’m a phone call away,” he explains. “Errands, food delivery, reservations. We offer full concierge services.”
“Thank you.”
“And I guess all of the parental restrictions have been lifted?” he asks, referring to the rule my parents had set last year, keeping Jon and me from being here alone.
“I guess so. They’ll be by tonight, though, if you want to make sure.”
“I trust you. You’re an adult now! You’re having guests tonight, correct?”
“Just a small party. I promise we won’t be loud.”
“Well, the only person you’d bother is your uncle. I suppose the two of you can be as loud as you want.”
“I guess we can! I’m gonna head upstairs.”
“One last thing,” he says, stopping me. “There are two more keys that you need. One is to the storage closet on the lower level, if you have anything you’d like out of the way.”
“Okay.”
“And the other is a surprise from your parents.”
“Well, what do I do with it?”
“When you get to your floor, go to the stairwell and go up one more flight. Unlock the door there. You’ll see.”
“There’s another floor?”
“You’ll have to see for yourself. Oh, but you can’t go until after dark.”
“What happens if I do?”
“Just don’t,” he tells me with a smile. “Just today.”
“Alright, Francisco. Have a good day!”
“You, as well. Have a wonderful birthday.”
The loft is cool and quiet. I turn on some lights and open all of the curtains to let in the sunlight. It’s a perfectly clear day. The tall trees in the park across the street sway in the wind, losing brittle leaves a few at a time. I could sit on the window seat all day and watch the world go by. I glance in the direction of Columbia, but my gaze doesn’t linger there.
I pick up my things and unpack some toiletries in the bathroom and some paint supplies in the studio. Wandering to the stereo system my dad had showed me last weekend, I pick some old school R.E.M. Mom had been a fan back in college, and I’d liked the CDs I found when I was younger. I still listen to them, enjoying the nostalgia.
The main living room is meticulously decorated, but I want to make sure all of my guests have space to move around. Finn told me he’d stop by when his flight got in to help me rearrange some of the furniture. My parents had spared no expense, and the furniture was made of real wood and expensive fabrics–too heavy for me to move around on my own without the possibility of hurting myself.
I check the two spare bedrooms and make sure my guests will have everything they need. Katrina and Rachelle are definitely staying the night. My cousins all had homes to go to. Emmanuel was the only unknown. We hadn’t discussed where he’d stay. He said he knew people here, and mentioned stopping by the party, so I hope he’s not intending to sleep over. I’m nervous if he is, he’ll expect things that I’ve decided I don’t want. I’m also scared that spending time with him will make me second guess that decision. Now I’m afraid of him.
I shift my thoughts to Jon, acknowledging those feelings of desire that I have for him as pure; as love. It’s not that with Emmanuel. I don’t want to be someone who acts on lust alone, even if he doesn’t seem to mind.
The music suddenly decreases in volume as a soft chime sounds. I look around, seeing a flashing light on a panel by the door. They installed an intercom. I rush over to it and answer.
“Miss Holland,” Francisco announces. “You have a visitor.”
“Cool, I’ll be right there!” Finn must have caught an earlier flight. I grab my keys and hurry to the elevator, excited to see my friend.
When I reach the lobby, it’s not Finn that’s waiting for me. “James,” I say, recognizing Granna’s husband. I hadn’t seen him in months, and it wasn’t often that I spent any time with him socially. He traveled a lot, and wasn’t around very much. Granna’s independence helped make that marriage a success. I was starting to think that’s how Jon and I would have been, now that I’ve gotten some perspective. “Are you here to see me?”
“I am,” he says kindly. “First of all, happy birthday.”
“Thanks. Um, did you want to come up?” It would be awkward to have him in the loft, but it was Donna’s before she left it to me. Maybe he heard about the renovations.
“No, I just needed to bring you this.” He hands me an envelope. The stationery is soft, and feels more like fabric than paper. I recognize Donna’s handwriting immediately.
Olivia Sophia Holland. Personal and confidential.
“What’s this?”
“This was part of her will, Livvy. She asked that I hand-deliver it to you on your eighteenth birthday.” It still surprises me how meticulously she had made her will, as if she knew she wouldn’t be around. My mother had reminded me that Granna had learned early on that life was brief, and could be over any day with no warning.
“Do you know what it is?”
“A card, I guess,” he says. “But she requested that you be alone when you read it.”
I look at him curiously. “That’s an odd request, isn’t it?”
“I thought the same thing. But I don’t question her.”
“Of course not,” I say with a wistful smile. “I still miss her every day.”
“I do, too. She loved you so much.”
“She loved you, too,” I tell him. He nods, looking sad. “Thank you for bringing this by. I can’t wait to read it.”
“Have a good birthday, Livvy. It’s good to see you.” We hug one another before he turns to leave the building.
“That was a surprise,” Francisco says.
“Yeah. Hey, I was actually expecting someone else
, so–”
“You don’t have to come down every time, you know? We have a master key that takes us to your floor. I can accompany someone up, if you’d like.”
“That would be great. Thank you. I guess I’ve got some reading to do.” I untuck the flap as I get back on the elevator. When it doesn’t respond to the press of the H button, I remember to insert my key.
The note is handwritten, and dated a month before Granna died.
“My dearest Livvy,
“I’ve struggled with how to best deliver this news to you. I’d thought about telling you in person, but ultimately I decided this is a private matter that you and you alone should face.”
When she wrote this, she had no way of knowing she’d be gone a month later.
“I have not told your parents, and I don’t want to play a part in your decision unless you specifically ask me to.”
The elevator stops at my floor, and I almost forget to get out before the doors close to return the car to the lobby.
“When you asked me a few weeks ago if there was any way that Nate could be your father–”
Suddenly, I feel like my heart is going to throb right through my chest. What is this?
“...if there was any way that Nate could be your father, I told you no, that there was no possible way. You accepted that answer, but I didn’t.”
The letter falls from my hands, sailing quietly onto the floor in the hallway separating my apartment from Matty’s. I stare at it, frozen, fearing news that I don’t want. I’d left this notion behind. Nate can’t be my father. Quickly, I walk to Matty’s door and pound on it.
“Matty!” I yell, finding it difficult to produce words when my mouth is so dry. My uncle isn’t home. I knew he wasn’t anyway, but I’m not sure I can continue reading the note by myself, as she apparently requested.
I move slowly toward the paper, picking it up tentatively and flipping it over so the words are hidden from me. I could rip this up right now, and everything would be just how it was. Jack Holland is my father. He’s the only father I want. My knees weak, I fall into the decorative bench in between our apartments. I look at the envelope once more. Is this a joke, Granna?
