Livvy

by Lori L. Otto

  “Make love to me, please,” I beg him as I slide my hand back beneath his briefs. He’s definitely turned on. I know he wants to, but he doesn’t help me to remove the rest of his clothes. I open my eyes warily, feeling moisture in the corners. “Please?”

  “Not now, baby.” Before I can argue, he disappears under the blankets, kissing my body over my clothes all the way down.

  In a matter of seconds, I forget that I ever wanted anything else from him. I realize the final cry of his name was probably loud enough for people on the street to hear.

  I feel something snap under his fingers before he makes his way back up my body. “Souvenir,” he jokes with me, and I realize he’s broken the other lace string of my bikini.

  “Thank you,” I tell him. “You know, not for forcing me to go commando in front of my friends, but for the thing before that.” I push against him in jest.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  “For?”

  “My turn. Let’s go downstairs.”

  “Finn and Katrina are there... we can’t do anything while they’re at the loft. We don’t have a bedroom door.”

  “There’s a bathroom door,” he suggests.

  “No way. Things echo in there!”

  “I’ll be quiet,” he tries to barter with me.

  “No!”

  “I’ll go get protection then. I’ll be right back.”

  “Jon, I’m cold,” I tell him. “Feel my ears.” He cups his hands around my ears. His hands are so warm against my skin. He kisses me, nudging my nose with his.

  “Your nose is like an icicle. Let’s go downstairs. You can put on some warm clothes and we can make a fire or something.”

  “Is that okay?” I ask.

  “I’m not going to make you freeze to death out here. It’s fine.” He slips out from beneath the covers, still in his underwear. I glance down tentatively, feeling a tinge of guilt when I see him. He finds his jeans and puts them on carefully, wincing a little as he zips them up.

  “You okay?”

  He shuts his eyes tightly but answers. “I will be.” He takes the top blanket and folds it up, holding it in front of his body. I take the other, wrapping it around my shoulders in an effort to stay warm. I’m exhausted, and my limbs still feel like jelly.

  When we get downstairs, Finn is just leaving the apartment.

  “Leaving so soon?” Jon asks.

  “She’s tired,” he answers. “She fell asleep watching TV, but it’s fine. I told Gabby I’d play a game with her before bed tonight anyway, and it’s getting late.”

  “Okay. We’ll see you both tomorrow?” Jon pats Finn on the shoulder, then slips inside the apartment, still walking a bit stiffly.

  “With Dad and Diana. What time are you guys going over there?”

  “I think around two.”

  “I’ll be there around two,” he says. “I’m already anxious to see her again.”

  “Good.” He gives me a hug goodbye, which isn’t returned since my arms are wrapped up tightly in the blanket. “Be careful going home.”

  Jon corners me the second I get inside the loft, kissing me hungrily. I push him away, looking around. He hands me a slip of paper.

  “I’m exhausted and going to bed. I’ll be up around nine, but wake me if I need to be up sooner. Katrina.”

  “And you think this means–”

  “Yes,” he says as he picks me up. “I think it means yes.” He sets me down by the bed, but I kick my shoes off and tiptoe down the hallway to see if the guest room door is closed. It is, and the light is off. I feel his arms snake around me before he kisses my neck. “I swear I won’t make a sound.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I warn him. “Hey, didn’t you say something about a fire?” He looks at me impatiently. “All I’m saying is that the fireplace is on the complete opposite end of the loft, behind a second wall. Do you see where I’m going with this?” I ask him.

  “I’ll start the fire.”

  “I’ll get some pillows and blankets.”

  “Olivia...”

  “No,” I whine. “It can’t be morning.”

  “You keep telling me that these curtains do, in fact, block all sunlight, but I’ve yet to see you make that happen, baby.” Jon says. I burrow my head into his back.

  “How’d we end up like this?” I ask, finding it odd that I’m spooning him.

  “You hurt your leg,” he says, “and you refuse to sleep on the other side of the bed.” I move my legs and feel the tender muscle immediately in my left upper thigh.

  “You hurt my leg,” I correct him, remembering. “Does your leg bend that way?” I challenge him.

  “I’ve never tried, but probably not. I am really sorry.”

  “Next time, just warn me,” I tell him before kissing his tattoo.

  “Maybe a hot bath would make it feel a little better.” He rolls over onto his back and waits for my response.

  “It sounds nice.”

  “I’ll go start the water, then. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I try to stretch the muscle again. I definitely pulled something last night. After it happened, he carried me around the apartment at my whim, taking me to get water, to find some socks, to turn on some music, and even to the restroom to freshen up. He waited by the door and carried me to bed. I’m not sure how I’ll get around today. There will be no way to disguise a limp, so I start trying to think of a story.

  “Ready?” Jon asks, waiting by the bedside. “Want me to carry you?”

  “No, I better try to walk it out.”

  “I’ll help,” he says, putting his arm beneath mine to support my weight as I take my first step.

  “Oh, God, it hurts.”

  “Are you gonna be okay? Do you think it’s serious?” He guides me slowly toward the bathroom.

  “I think it’s seriously painful, but I know I just pulled a muscle. I’ll take some ibuprofen. Maybe put a heating pad on it before we go. What time is it?”

  “Seven,” he says, checking his watch that was sitting on the bathroom counter.

  “You should put on some more clothes, in case Katrina gets up early,” I tell him as I tuck my finger under the waistline of his boxers.

  “Yes, ma’am. Should I help you undress?”

  “I’ve got it from here,” I assure him, hanging on to the corner of the counter. “You can bring me some clothes, though. I’ll just wear my pink flannel pajamas. Would you mind?”

  “I’ll get them.”

  “Can you bring my phone and put on some music?”

  This time he glares at me. “I’m going to be paying for this until you’re healed, aren’t I?”

  “In more ways than you realize,” I taunt him. He sighs in mock protest, and pulls the bathroom door shut on his way out. A few minutes later, after I’ve sunken into the hot bubble bath, Jon returns with clothes and the music I’d asked for.

  “Is the volume okay, miss?” he asks.

  “Shut up.” He stands at the door, as if waiting to be dismissed. “It’s perfect, Jon. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Put some more clothes on!” I yell after him as he closes the door.

  The water is soothing, and I try to massage some of the tension out of the sore muscle. My cheeks flush when I remember the moment the injury happened. We were both feeling pretty good until then. Not sure how I’d be able to stand on my own to wash my hair, I spin around in the garden tub and start to run the water again, dipping my head beneath the stream and lathering my hair with shampoo.

  Getting out of the tub proves to be more of a challenge than I thought it would be, but I finally manage, using the shower curtain and a towel rack to help steady myself. I also make the decision to not let Jon pick out my clothes anymore, either. He’s brought me black lace underwear, its matching bra and the flannel sleep shirt I asked for. Nothing else.

  I peek out the bathroom first, looking for Katrina. Although I’d learned to be much less modest
than I was before I went to college, I’m still not entirely comfortable walking around in underwear in front of my roommates. I leave the flannel shirt unbuttoned to reveal the bra, just to make a point to Jon. He was deliberate about his choices. He wanted to see me wearing the fancy underclothes.

  Accepting that it’s still just me and Jon awake this morning, I limp toward kitchen where I smell something spicy. Chai tea. I love chai tea on cold mornings. Jon looks surprised to see me come into the hallway. “Is this everything you envisioned?” I stop, resting my weight on my good leg and pulling the shirt off my shoulders. Jon tucks his head in his hands. “What?” I laugh.

  “Good morning, sweetie.”

  I cover up quickly, stumbling as I turn around to see my mother standing next to the oven. “Mom! Hey!”

  “That limp looks pretty bad...”

  “Yeah, my heel slipped out from under me when I got out of the car last night.”

  “So this was after you twisted your ankle running from the crowd at the restaurant?” she asks, looking at Jon.

  “Uh, yeah,” I say. “I guess the odds were stacked against me last night. What are you doing here? Is Dad–” I don’t bother to ask the question, instead choosing to hobble in a circle to check my surroundings. I don’t see my father, but I do see a mess of blankets and pillows by the still smoldering fireplace, and my bed with the linens half-stripped from one corner. It’s obvious what happened last night.

  “He’s at home with your brother and Kelly, getting things started for lunch.”

  “Thank God,” I sigh.

  “I wanted to bring Jon some pumpkin bread. Kelly made it fresh this morning. I was just heating it up for him.”

  “That was nice, Mom. Jon, did you want to put a shirt on or something?” I ask him meekly. He doesn’t answer me, but he moves quickly past me toward the closet.

  “Do you want to put some pants on?” Mom asks me.

  “Yes, I do.” I lean into the counter, taking the weight off my leg, just as Jon throws the flannel pajama pants at me. They land on my head.

  “Thanks, babe.” I shake my head, feeling more than a little embarrassed. I have to sit down on a bar stool to pull them up my legs, and even then I strain to reach my left foot. Jon sees my struggle and leans down to help me, pulling his own t-shirt down after I’m dressed. I run my fingers through his messy hair, trying to tame it.

  “Did you just have a hunch that he’d be here?” I ask my mother.

  “No. If I thought that, I would have had the doorman call up and not just used our key, and saved us all from this awkwardness. I was going to suggest you take it to him at his dorm. I knew he’d appreciate it.”

  “I do,” Jon says, “and Emi, I’m sorry for this.”

  “I mean, we know it’s going on,” she says. “I just thought with Katrina here that... I don’t know what I thought. She is here, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she went to bed early. She was really tired, and...” It does seem rude and oddly inappropriate that we had sex while she was shut in a bedroom. “We’re in love, Mom.” It’s the best answer I can come up with. Jon links his pinky finger with mine in quiet solidarity.

  “I promise I will call from now on,” she says.

  “Thanks. Because this is kind of a permanent thing,” I explain. Jon moves to stand behind my chair, rubbing my arms slowly. “I don’t want to be apart from him any more than I have to be.”

  “The weeks without her are bad enough,” Jon adds. This makes my mom smile.

  “You crazy kids,” she says.

  “Are you going to tell Dad?”

  “Let me worry about your father. He likes to live in denial when it comes to you embracing adulthood. Whatever I decide to do, I’ll wait until this week’s over. No use spoiling his family time.”

  “Good idea,” I concur.

  “Anyway, I think the bread’s probably warm now. I brought butter, just in case you didn’t have groceries, but I see someone’s stocked a few things.”

  “That’d be Jon,” I tell her.

  “Thank you,” she says to him, getting her purse and moving toward the door. “We’ll see you at two?”

  “Yes,” Jon answers. “Thank you again. It means a lot.”

  “I hope it brings a little bit of familiarity to your holiday.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Mom smiles, beginning to close the door. She stops herself, stepping back into the entryway one last time. “Just tell me you’re being smart.”

  “We are,” Jon and I say together.

  “Good. Love you, kids.”

  “Love you, Mom.” My head collapses on the island as soon as the door shuts. “Oh, God...”

  Jon’s hands slide up my arms to my shoulders and neck. He massages deeply, easing the tension. “It’s fine, baby. You’re an adult. You’re living on your own. She even said they know...”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I mumble. “I feel like I’ve let her down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we didn’t wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “To get married?” I ask him, thinking it was obvious what I was talking about.

  “Hey,” he says, pulling me up by my shoulders. He adjusts the chair and moves to stand in front of me, being purposefully careful with my leg. “No one wants us to get married at our age, Livvy. Trust me. And they’ve known that we’ve been having sex for at least a year.”

  “No, they know we had sex once.”

  “You’re a fool if you believe that.”

  “Maybe I’m in denial a little, too.”

  “You definitely are,” he teases me, giving me a kiss. “Livvy, please don’t be ashamed of this. We love each other and we’re mature enough to make this decision.”

  “I just don’t want it to be a topic of conversation with my dad.”

  “I swear to you I will never ever bring it up with him again.” We both laugh a little. “You don’t want to get married soon, do you?” His question is hesitant.

  “No,” I assure him. “That’s not what I was getting at. We have years to figure that out.”

  “Good,” he says. “I don’t need vows and an altar to feel committed to you, Olivia. I hope you don’t either.”

  “I feel like we’ve made some vows of our own. As long as you and I recognize this as a loving and monogamous relationship, that’s all I care about. I don’t need a proclamation or a license... or a reception, you know?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “So what’s all the fuss about this pumpkin bread?” I ask, easing off of the chair. I hobble to the oven and take out the pan.

  “Let me show you how we eat it.”

  Katrina joins us for breakfast just in time for a second helping.

  CHAPTER 13

  The month between Thanksgiving and Christmas was a blur to me. All of my classes had major projects due before the end of the semester, so most of my time during the week was spent either in the studio or in the library. On the weekends, I still returned to Manhattan. Jon and I had dinner with my parents on Fridays and lunch with them on Sundays. Saturdays were reserved for just the two of us, but with our busy school schedules, we spent the vast majority of the time studying, reading, writing, drawing or painting.

  Nearly everything has been perfect between us. The only point of contention we had was regarding Rachelle’s New Year’s Eve party. He had been fine the first time I brought it up, but that was before he realized it was a black tie affair. He couldn’t have cared less about what he’d have to wear. He was just nervous about the people we’d be spending the evening with.

  “You’ll fit in fine,” I had assured him.

  “What will we talk about?” he’d asked, feeling he’d have nothing in common with the high society people that would be celebrating the holiday at Rachelle’s house.

  “Ummm, anything you want to talk about. Trust me, you’ll have more to contribute than you’re giving yourself credit for. You could
speak about any topic.” It was true I was trying to make him feel better, but I was being honest, too. I knew he had absolutely nothing to worry about.

  “No one’s going to be interested in postmodern deconstructivism, Liv.”

  “I bet people will be fascinated. And if they aren’t, they’ll at least be polite enough to feign interest.”

  “So they’re all fake,” he’d suggested.

  “That’s not what I said,” I argued. “You’re by far the most intelligent, the most engaging, the most intriguing man I’ve ever met. If other people don’t see that, they’re probably just distracted by some shiny object.” My attempt to lighten the mood just provided more ammunition for his insecurity.

  “The diamonds they’re wearing,” he’d pondered. I rolled my eyes.

  “I’m planning on wearing some,” I had told him. “Am I an elitist for that?”

  “No, you’re relatively normal.”

  “I bet most of these people will be, too. Keep an open mind. They might surprise you.”

  “I’m going to be myself,” he’d said, as if he would be acting in a manner that I wouldn’t approve of.

  “As am I. I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else, Jon.”

  “Okay, good,” he’d said with a sigh. “I guess we can go.”

  I clapped, happy that I’d reassured him enough to go. “Hold on, I have to make a call to have them change your name tag from J. Augustus to plain old Jon.” As I’d started to run to get my phone, he grabbed my arm and looked at me, studying my expression. In two seconds, I’d cracked, unable to maintain my lie.

  “Not funny,” he said, although the grin had communicated the contrary. “Make sure they capitalize the P and O.”

  On the Wednesday before Christmas, I drop Katrina off at JFK before heading to my parents’ house. Mom meets me in the drive when I pull up, ready to help me unload my things.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s picking up Margie, Will and Max from LaGuardia.”

  “I thought he’d just send a car.”

  “He wanted to show them the loft and make sure they settled in okay.”

  “Jon and I could have done that later,” I tell her as we set my things down in the foyer.