Livvy

by Lori L. Otto

  “Fine,” I say with a sigh, pushing the chair around to face him. “How was it?”

  He’s still smiling. “Exhilarating. I, uh...” He runs his fingers through his windblown hair, “never really wanted a sports car before. But then again, I never knew what I was missing. That car is incredible... and the view... it’s pretty up here.”

  “You feel okay about driving it with a passenger now?”

  “My precious cargo...” he laments as he drags his thumb along his stubbled chin. “I’m ready.” He walks over and kisses my lips firmly.

  “You do realize you’re driving us back to Manhattan, right?”

  “God, I was hoping you were going to tell me that. I can’t believe your dad would even consider this.”

  “He didn’t. Matty did it for me.”

  “I love Matty,” Jon says. “No, I love you.”

  “I know you do.” I stand up and hug him, holding on for a few seconds, feeling as if I need his support. He rubs his hands up and down my back, comforting me. “What do you want to do?”

  “You shot down my first idea,” he says. “You decide.”

  “They have an indoor pool,” I suggest, “and a gym.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I just want to relax. I was thinking about getting a massage, and maybe taking a little nap.”

  “Lie down,” he instructs me. “Free massage, right here. Then I’ll leave you to your sleep. You need to be well rested,” he says, his words a playful warning. I roll my eyes at him and take my sweater off, leaving the satin camisole on in an attempt to keep him from trying anything.

  “Olivia?” he whispers. I blink my eyes open, having difficulty seeing him in the dim light.

  “Hmmm?”

  “You should probably start getting ready.”

  “I’m still tired,” I tell him groggily. “You want to shower first?”

  “I already did,” he answers. “It’s time for you to get up.” I glance at the clock. It’s seven-thirty.

  “Okay.” I stretch, rolling over on my back. Jon lifts my shirt and kisses my stomach a few times, making me smile. He looks up to see my pleased expression.

  “I can’t wait to be alone with you later.”

  “Me, neither,” I agree. “This is going to be fun tonight. I promise.”

  “I trust you,” he says. “And if it’s not, I can escape in a Vanquish.”

  “You can’t leave me behind.”

  “I wouldn’t. Go shower. I’ll run downstairs and get you a latte to wake you up.”

  “Sounds good,” I agree, taking his hand, allowing him to pull me off the bed.

  A warm chai tea latte is waiting on the counter when I get out of the shower. Glancing into the closet, I notice Jon’s tux is missing. I can’t wait to see him in it, but I force myself to get ready completely before revealing myself to him. I curl my hair after drying it, pulling it back in two rhinestone clips that match the red sequined handbag I’d brought with me.

  The silver dress I found at a resale shop was a steal. After spending more than I’d anticipated on Christmas presents for my family, I had to find a good deal on a formal dress for the party. I know most of the girls will probably wear custom-designed gowns, but even though mine is off-the-rack, I don’t think anyone could have designed anything prettier for me.

  While the dress I wore to Jon’s prom had a flowing A-line skirt, the cut of this one hugs my curves in all the right places. I turn around, checking out the back of the dress where my shoulder blades are exposed. Since I tried on the dress the first time, I’ve been envisioning Jon unhooking the tiny clasp at the nape of my neck and planting soft kisses down my spine. Just the thought of it makes me shiver.

  I put on more makeup than normal, knowing the occasion calls for it. Anna had helped me pick out eyeshadow and blush colors that gave me a dewy glow. I put on lipgloss for now, since I presume Jon may want to kiss me once he sees me. I hope he does. This is all for him.

  I sit on the edge of the tub to slip into my shoes, checking my nail polish on the two toes that can be seen through the peep-toe heels. Taking a deep breath, I glance one last time in the mirror before exiting the bathroom. Most of the suite is dark, with a warm yellow glow emanating from the next room.

  “Did you know,” Jon says, his voice coming from the adjoining reading nook, “that butterflies taste with their back feet?” I peek around the wall, looking at him curiously without exposing myself. He’s holding his glasses in one hand, and has his nose buried in a book. He’s got the tux on, but his shirt isn’t buttoned up, nor is he wearing the tie yet.

  “I didn’t know that,” I respond to him, moving across the bedroom to find the small container of perfume I’d packed. After putting it on, I get out my diamond necklace.

  “I bet you didn’t know that the wingspan of a 747 is longer than the Wright Brother’s first flight. Can you believe that?” he laughs.

  “Not at all,” I respond, huffing a little to myself at how excited he seems at the discovery of these trivial facts.

  “Weird, and the ampersand sign was once the 27th letter of the alphabet. That’s just... odd, right?”

  “Right,” I say, a little distracted trying to clasp the necklace myself, having difficulty. I finally just decide to approach him, since he doesn’t seem interested in me enough to seek me out. “Can you help me?”

  “Get this, a small child,” he starts, diverting his eyes from the book quickly and finally seeing me. The silly look of wonder becomes one of desire, and defeat. His lips part slightly, and I can see the motions of his heavy breaths in his shoulders and chest.

  “A small child what?” I ask, holding the necklace out to him. After about ten seconds, he moves, tossing the book to the floor and standing up. Walking toward me, he reaches out for the strand of diamonds.

  “I don’t know,” he says, seemingly mesmerized. “Turn around?” he suggests softly, poised to put on my necklace. I comply, letting him place the jewelry around my neck.

  “A small child what?” I question him again, this time pretending I don’t know what I’m doing to him.

  “I don’t care,” he answers finally, placing a kiss just above the clasp at the base of my neck. His fingers trace my shoulder blades, causing goosebumps to prickle across my skin. “I love this,” he says as he runs his hands down the sides of my dress, pressing against my curves over the crinkled taffeta. His eyes drift to our reflection in the window, the light of the room luminous, starkly contrasting to the darkened night sky. He pulls me into him, my back against his chest, and clasps his hands loosely in front of me. I smile at him, putting my hands on his.

  “Slowly, silently, now the moon

  Walks the night in her silver shoon;

  This way, and that, she peers, and sees

  Silver fruit upon silver trees...”*

  “What’s that?” I ask him, keeping my voice soft, like his.

  “A poem we studied my senior year,” he answers. After a brief pause, he continues, contemplative. “Sometimes, words... phrases... poetry... they don’t have meaning when you first hear them.” I glance back at him, but he looks beyond me, as if lost in his thoughts. “And then one day, a vision releases each of those words from disarray in your subconscious to perfect, methodical lucidity, like you were saving them up to mean something in one, solitary moment.

  “This is that moment for me.” His eyes finally focus on mine. I can tell he sees my confusion, my struggle to follow his pondering.

  “You’re the moon and the sun, Olivia. I’ve seen both in you, and right now, I can’t tell which one I love more.”

  I blush in appreciation of his flattering metaphor. “Thank you.” I recognize his reference to our first night together in Mykonos immediately. He’d told me then that I looked like sunshine.

  “You’re my universe. You encompass me.” He sounds breathless, as if I’ve stolen his air. “My heaven and my earth.”

  “Jon,” I whisper, turning a
round to face him and feeling overwhelmed and inadequate. I’m not sure I can live up to that. His hands travel slowly up my body to my cheeks, which he strokes with his thumbs. He nods his head subtly. I can’t help but smile at him, at the way he admires me. He grins back, finally moistening his lips and moving in for a kiss. I wrap my fingers around his biceps, needing his support to stand, his caress making me weak.

  “My Olivia.” His voice is barely audible. “My life.”

  My heart pounds in my chest. I take a few deep breaths to try to calm myself. “I don’t ever want to be where you’re not, Jon. I hope you know I’d follow you anywhere. This Yale thing... they’re only miles separating us, but I want you to know that my heart is always with you. I never feel that far from you. It doesn’t make sense, I know–”

  “It makes perfect sense to me, Liv. You’re everywhere in my world. My constant. My perpetuity.”

  “You and your damn vocabulary,” I tease him.

  He tugs on a curl playfully, keeping his face close to mine. I trace his unshaven chin with the back of my fingers, happy that he kept his five o’clock shadow. It makes him look older. It makes him look even sexier. “I’m not afraid of this,” he declares. “I’m not afraid of giving so much of myself to you.”

  “No?” I ask as I drag my hands down his chest, almost wishing we didn’t have to go tonight. Almost, but not quite. I’m anxious to show him off.

  “No. Because I know you’ll give me just as much of yourself to make up the difference.”

  “I will,” I tell him. “I do.” He grins smugly.

  “I hope that’s not the last time I hear those two words from you.” He moves his hands to mine and strokes my promise ring thoughtfully.

  “In time,” I assure him. “I’ll say them again, when the time is right. I’ll save them for you, though.” It feels like we’re walking a tightrope, tempting fate. “Can I get your tie?”

  “Sure,” he says. He looks confident and happy.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask, feeling his eyes on me as I walk away.

  “Not a bit,” he responds. “I’ll be with you. I’m safe with you.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” I tell him, flipping the tie casually in my hand. I try to put it on him, knotting it how I think I’ve seen my mom do it over the years. It looks good. Or it looks secure, anyway. When he steps back to look in the mirror, he shakes his head and undoes the knot. “That’s a half-Windsor,” he says. “I think formal is full.”

  “I don’t know the difference.”

  “I’ll show you,” he says, watching his motions in his reflection. It looks like he’s struggling.

  “Matty taught you this, huh?”

  “Shut up,” he says, laughing. “But yeah.” He finally releases the knot. It looks identical to the one I’d tied, but I tell him it looks nice anyway.

  “Just be yourself tonight, Jon. That’s all I want, okay?”

  “But if that was the case, why the Vanquish?” he challenges me.

  “If we go in the Vanquish or a limo, Jon, neither are really our style. I just thought you’d have a little more fun, that’s all.”

  “Gotcha,” he says. “I’ll be myself. I can’t really be anyone else.”

  “Then don’t talk about half-Windsor knots.” He bites back a grin and nods. “You look gorgeous,” I tell him. “Perfect.”

  “And you look celestial,” he says.

  “Like the sun or moon,” I say casually.

  “My world,” he says seriously, holding out his hand for me to take it. I happily do, and he leads me toward the door, grabbing my handbag and the keys on the way out.

  We both stand stiffly in the elevator. He can say he’s not nervous, but even I am, so I’m sure he is. “A small child can crawl through the artery in a blue whale,” Jon breaks the silence.

  “Why would it?” I ask him.

  He shrugs his shoulders as we reach the bottom floor. “I mean, he’d be the only kid to say he had, right?”

  “I guess. Is that something that would impress people in school?” I play along with his nonsensical conversation.

  “I guess it depends on the school.” He directs my attention to the large fish tank on the way out.

  “Dork,” I laugh at him.

  On the drive into Glastonbury, I see huge estates in the distance. These aren’t like the ranch homes we pass in Wyoming on the way to my grandparents’ house. These aren’t remotely like Granna’s home, either, which had three stories and five bedrooms. These look more like the castles we saw in England last year. Most still have their Christmas lights up. Add a little snow and this would be a living, breathing winter wonderland.

  I’m absolutely floored by Rachelle’s house. I am well aware that my family can afford a lot more than we have, and I know my parents have more money than most people in the state–and probably beyond–but I cannot imagine living in a house like hers.

  When Jon pulls up in front around the circular drive, other people who are outside turn to look at the car with the powerful engine. I can’t help but laugh. A few of the guys come over to take a look. One of them starts talking to Jon, asking questions. He read the brochure, and thanks to his photographic memory, he’s got the facts memorized. After he hands the key to the grateful valet, we hold hands and go inside.

  A photographer is set up just inside the door, ready to take our picture as we arrive. As we’re standing in front of the holiday-themed backdrop, I hear my name in a high-pitched squeal. I look away, just as the flash goes off.

  “I’m sorry,” I laugh, waving at Rachelle.

  “You better smile pretty,” she instructs me, standing just outside of the frame. “Hi, Jon!”

  He only smiles, careful not to mess up the second picture. When we’re finished, Rachelle hugs me tightly, letting go of me quickly to do the same to Jon. “You guys look great,” she says. “Oh, my god, that dress, Liv.”

  “Yours is so classy,” I say, surprised at her selection. She normally wears clothes that accentuate parts of her body, but tonight, her dress is modest, covering more of her skin than even my dress does. It’s beautiful.

  “I helped design it,” she says. “I wanted it to be lower in the front, but the designer insisted this was more appropriate.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Jon, what do you think of Liv?”

  “I haven’t been able to find the right words,” he says, although I feel like he has.

  “I think he looks incredible,” I interject.

  “You look like you belong to one another.”

  “Good,” I say brightly. “We do.”

  “Come in, let me introduce you to some of my friends.” She takes me around, and so many of the girls she went to high school with already know who I am, know more about me than I’m comfortable with. One girl pulls me aside and asks me if this guy is different than the ones who were involved in the ‘scandal.’ After blushing hard, I tell her that it was just a misunderstanding. I explain that Jon is the only boyfriend I’ve ever had.

  Rachelle’s older sister has invited more guys than girls, and most of them are from Yale, older than us. A group of them steals Jon away from me, first talking about the car, and then talking about design, which is one of the topics sure to make Jon feel at home.

  A few of Rachelle’s friends are very sweet and very nice to me. Some ask me questions that I’m sure are public knowledge, but I appreciate the fact that they’re asking to get first hand information from me. Little things like that help settle my nerves.

  “There are rumors that you’re the artist behind some sought-after artwork in Manhattan,” one girl, Elaina, says to me. “And Rachelle says you’re a painter.”

  “I dabble,” I lie. “What artwork?” I ask. Rachelle knows my alias, but she and Katrina had both sworn they’d never tell.

  “There’s an unknown artist who calls herself Olivia Choisie.” I squint my eyes like I’ve never heard the name. “Her work is incredible.”

&
nbsp; “Well, mine’s not really ready to see the world,” I tell her. “Someday, I hope.”

  “Right,” she says, looking at me sideways, not believing me.

  “I’ll have to look up her work online. See what my competition is,” I tell her.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, directing my attention to a growing group of party-goers that are now listening to every word Jon says. He’s fitting in better than I am. I feel like I could stand in a corner and go most of the night unnoticed, but he’s quickly becoming the life of the party. Even Rachelle makes her way over there, standing so close to Jon their shoulders touch repeatedly.

  “Yes. That’s Jon. He goes to Columbia.”

  “He’s cute.”

  “Yeah,” I say proudly. “I kind of like him.”

  “Is that an engagement ring?” Elaina asks.

  “No. It’s, uh... it’s a promise ring,” I tell her, somehow embarrassed by my answer. When I was a junior in high school, it seemed like such a serious, permanent, life-long gesture. Now, it almost seems like we’re scared to make more of a commitment to one another. I would, if he’d ask. I don’t think he’ll ask anytime soon, knowing that I have a lot more I want to do before a wedding and a marriage. Still, I would say yes. I’d make that commitment tonight.

  This is it, I remember him saying. And it is.

  “Olivia,” Jon calls to me, waving me over. Elaina nods, understanding that I want to join him. My shoulders back, I walk over to him confidently. “This is Harry, Stephan and Mohammed,” he says, introducing me to some of the guys he was talking to.

  “I have to admit,” Mohammed says, “I grew up in Manhattan, wishing you’d be my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, seriously,” I say, blowing off his compliment.

  “I did! But I didn’t think you’d go for the brainiac.”

  “You thought wrong,” I say, sidling up to Jon after Rachelle makes room for me.

  “Stephan goes to Columbia,” Jon says. “But Harry and Mohammed both go to Yale.”

  “I was in your poetry class,” Harry says. “What is hysteria, Miss Holland?” he says, imitating our professor on the day I was late to class.