by Lori L. Otto
“I could work, too,” Jon says, “and save some money for us, as well.”
“You could live here, rent-free, since your student housing runs out this year. That would be one less expense for you.”
“That would help,” he agrees. “If you’d really let me.”
“I want you here,” I assure him. “If I’m here, I want you here. And if I’m not here, the best thing to come home to would be you... living here.”
He raises his eyebrows with a content expression. He nods in agreement and takes my hand in his.
“I think I would miss you,” he says, “but I would hate myself if I was the reason you missed an opportunity like this. This is your dream.”
“You’re a part of that dream, though, Jon. Yes, this is something I’d like to do, but you’re who I want to be with. You know that, right?”
“Of course, baby. I’ve never felt closer to you than I have over the last six months... and we’ve been living two hours apart for most of that time.”
“But we have the weekends.”
“Exactly,” he agrees. “The weekends are what get me through everything else.”
“I wouldn’t be able to come home on the weekends. It’s a thirteen hour flight.”
“South Brazil, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I mean, maybe I could come home a few times, but I’m not sure. I’m sure I could have guests, if you could get away from work...”
“Yeah but that’s probably not a cheap flight,” he says.
“It’s not, but before you argue, I’ll pay for it for me, not you.” He laughs a little. “And again, I may not even like the city. Or I may not click with Ariana, who knows?”
“True,” he says as he brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “But you should go into this with an open mind.”
“That’s the same thing I told my dad. Para ter a mente aberta.”
“Your Portuguese sounds good,” he sighs, still smiling.
“Eu sei,” I answer in the native language. “Obrigada.”
“How do you say, ‘you better still want me when you come back?’”
“Eu te amo,” I answer.
“How do you say ‘I don’t speak Portuguese?’”
“Eu não falo Portugués.”
“How do you say ‘show me you love me?’”
“Me beije,” I answer, waiting. He shakes his head. “Bésame,” I say, knowing he’ll understand my Spanish.
He grins and responds appropriately with a slow kiss, eventually maneuvering me back on the sofa with him lying on top of me. “Can I stay with you over spring break?” he asks, returning the kiss before I have a chance to answer.
I push him away playfully. “Probably not if you intend to do this with me.”
“Of course I intend to do this with you. You’re the woman I love. And you said Jack’s not paying for this trip, right?”
“But–” I try to talk, but succumb to his romantic embrace once more. After another full minute of kissing, he moves away, but covers my mouth loosely.
“But daddy doesn’t get a say,” Jon says. “Wait, this artist does know your boyfriend’s coming, right?”
“Yes. She invited you.” I kiss his cheek, feeling his hands on my waist. His fingers move beneath my top, moving across my skin lightly.
“I know she was going to put my family up in a hotel,” I tell him, “and she mentioned I could stay in the apartment I’d be living in this summer.”
“And me?”
“She never mentioned where you’d stay. I’m sure she assumed you’d be staying with me.”
“And Jack will not allow that,” he says, pushing me back slightly to look into my eyes.
“It’s not up to him, Jon. I’m eighteen. You’ll be twenty in a few weeks. In Brazil, we’re legal to do anything we want. And if that means I want to sleep with you every night we’re there, then damn it, I’m going to sleep with you.”
“You talk big,” he teases me.
“This is a chance to really assert my independence, Jon. I haven’t really had that opportunity. But if I’m going to be living there by myself all summer, they have to accept that I can survive on my own as an adult, doing what adults do.”
“I like this woman,” Jon says with a sly grin, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest. “In fact, I love her.”
After classes on Monday, I go to the bookstore and check out some language software, intending to learn as much Portuguese as I possibly can before the summer.
Tim is standing outside his door when I get back to the residence hall. “Como foram suas aulas hoje, Olivia?”
I stop, trying to figure out what he said. I’d told him about my opportunity, and was happy to learn that his mother was Brazilian and he’d spent many vacations visiting his grandparents there when he was younger. He’s warned me that his Portuguese is rusty, but he’s still saying things I’ve never heard before.
“How... classes today. Oh!” I say, understanding his question. “Great!”
“Me diga em Portugués,” he says disapprovingly.
“Minhas aulas foram muito bueno!”
“Muito bem,” he says with a smile. “Keep it up!”
“Thanks!”
Katrina and Rachelle are already at our dorm by the time I come in. I’d gotten home so late last night that they were in bed, asleep, and unable to talk.
“Hey, guys!”
“Good weekend, Liv?”
“Yeah, what about you two?”
“We went to a party Saturday, and shopping yesterday. All in all, a relaxing weekend.”
“I haven’t seen Dimitri around lately,” I say to Rachelle. “Did that just fizzle out?”
“I thought I’d do the right thing by telling him I kissed that guy at the New Year’s party... apparently, he’d prefer ignorance to honesty, I don’t know.”
“He’s mad?”
“I guess. Although when I asked if he was breaking up with me, he wouldn’t answer. It’s like he’s just withholding. He should learn that withholding... you know, affection from me–”
“Just say sex,” Katrina cuts in laughing.
“Well, yes, when he does that, it just makes me think of being with, like, every other guy I see.”
“Rachelle, give him some time. He’ll come around. I could talk to him. I could tell him that guy was just a friend of yours from high school. I witnessed the whole thing, you know? It looked pretty harmless to me.”
“Maybe that will help, I don’t know. Next week’s Valentine’s Day. If he doesn’t come around then, I’m just going to give him an ultimatum. Get over it or move on. I don’t think I deserve to be punished for just doing what’s traditional at midnight on New Year’s Eve at a party he didn’t want to come to anyway.”
“You’re right. But I like him. He’s nice.”
“I know,” she concedes. “I don’t know.”
“Did you figure out your plans?”
“I think so. We’re all going to Florianópolis.”
“Who is?”
“My family... and Jon.”
“You worried for nothing, Liv,” Rachelle adds.
“We’ll see, I guess,” I tell them as I shrug my shoulders, sure that something has to happen that will keep me from going. Too many good things are going my way right now.
Mom and Dad insist on taking Jon out for his birthday, but I know it’s a guise to set some ground rules for our trip to Brazil in two weeks. I’d mentioned it to Jon beforehand, and he’s been practicing being cordial all day.
“Don’t take anything I say tonight seriously, Olivia,” he tells me, holding the door to the restaurant open for me. “My goal tonight is to say whatever makes them happy. My goal in Brazil is to do whatever makes you happy.”
His admission makes my stomach jittery. I try to recover by talking to the hostess, but Jon snakes his arms around me and kisses my neck before I can get any words out. I revel in the feeling for a few seconds too lon
g. It just feels so good to be loved by him.
“Miss Holland, your parents are already here,” the hostess says. She hands two menus to a host, and he leads us to their table in a private room separated from the rest of the space by frosted glass windows. I can be certain they didn’t see Jon’s attempt to make out with me in the entrance.
Dad stands up when we enter, and I kiss both him and my mother hello, taking the seat next to my father, purposely creating a buffer between him and my boyfriend. I want to be able to hear every word exchanged, and sometimes they have a tendency to discuss things about me when I’m not within earshot. I know they have my best interest at heart, but it frustrates me sometimes. I’m an adult now, and no one should be making decisions on my behalf anymore.
“I know you have plans with your friends tonight, Jon, so we won’t keep you too late.”
“It’s no problem, Jack,” Jon says, tucking his napkin in his lap. “The band I want to see doesn’t come on until eleven, so we have plenty of time.”
“Well, Trey should be ready to leave Stevie’s well before then, so you’ll excuse us if we don’t stay for dessert,” Mom says.
“I don’t know,” Jon says. “You have to have a cupcake with me.”
“I stopped by Kelly’s. They’re in my bag,” I tell them.
“Of course we’ll stay,” Dad says. We all look over the menu, ready to order when the waiter comes in to check on us.
When we all have our drinks, Dad lifts his glass of wine up to the middle of the table. “A toast,” he begins.
“Here we go,” I say sarcastically, earning a glare from my father. I smile innocently, picking up my glass and playing along.
“To Jon, who is officially no longer a teenager today,” Dad says. “Although in truth, you haven’t really seemed like one in about eight years.”
“There’ve been a few times,” Jon corrects him.
“I don’t like to dwell on those,” Dad says. “Happy birthday to an exceptional young man who has really enriched all of our lives.”
Mom smiles sweetly at Jon, who looks a little caught off guard by Dad’s toast. “Thank you, Jack.” We all take a sip of our drinks in Jon’s honor.
“And secondly, to my little Contessa. I hope you’re able to keep an open mind about our upcoming trip, and that you can make the decision that’s right for you when the time comes. You’ve earned all the accolades and opportunities, Livvy, but the future is yours. You make the choice. Nobody makes it for you.”
“I know, Daddy.” We clink our glasses and take another drink.
“I hope you don’t think I’m trying to dissuade her,” Jon says defensively. I hadn’t thought that Dad was talking about him influencing my decision, but it’s clear that Jon has taken it that way. “I stand behind whatever decision she makes. I’ve told her that. She knows she has my support either way.”
“I didn’t mean it that way at all, Jon,” Dad says, taken aback by Jon’s outburst. “I’m more concerned that Livvy will feel–”
“I’m right here, Dad. If you’re talking about me, talk to me.”
He sighs and turns his direction to me. “I’m more concerned that you will feel obligated to take this apprenticeship because of Ariana’s generosity and hospitality this spring break. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to say yes to that if you don’t have a good feeling about it.”
“I know,” I assure him. “And Jon,” I say, turning to him, “I will discuss my decision with you first. I know you stand behind me, but I want you to tell me any concerns beforehand. Okay?”
“Okay,” he says quietly. “And my apologies, Jack. I misunderstood.”
“It’s fine, son. You probably have a right to jump to that conclusion.” Both he and my mother smile weakly at him. “Let’s talk about this trip.”
“Let’s,” I say.
“All I ask is that you two behave politely in Mrs. Cardosa’s company, do you understand?”
“Of course.”
“I know this will be your first vacation together, but you need to remember at all times that you are a guest in her home.”
“Dad, we know,” I tell him, hoping he’ll stop insinuating what I think he’s insinuating.
“We’ll pay for incidentals and meals, and I hope she’ll take us on a tour together to look at the places you’ll be working, but this is our spring break, too,” he says. “Jackson’s going to DisneyWorld with Stevie, Matty and the boys.”
“I thought he was coming, too.”
“We didn’t think he’d have fun by himself. He’s thrilled to go to Florida. And frankly, we’re thrilled to have a vacation without kids for once.”
“Well... good, I guess,” I tell them, not wanting to think about why they want or need time away from us.
“Don’t make me regret this, Liv, okay?”
“Dad, I want to make a good impression on her, okay? Just trust me. I know how to act civilized and professional. And Jon, well, he can be trained–”
“Hey!” he cuts in laughing.
“You know he can be very adult, too,” I tell my dad, and I’m sure he already knows this.
“No drinking when we get there, honey,” Mom says. “I know the drinking age is eighteen, but please don’t make us worry.”
“I swear Mom, we’ll be the perfect little travelers.”
“Okay,” she says. “I trust that you will.”
After our food is delivered, Dad asks Jon what his summer will entail if I’m in Brazil. He tells my parents about his plans to continue work at the firm he’s been with. I also tell them that I’ve asked him to stay at the loft to save money on temporary housing over the summer. By their expression, I’d say Mom and Dad expected the news.
After dinner, Jon and I stop by the loft so I can give him his birthday gift.
“Give me your tie,” I demand when we get in the door.
“I like this gift already,” he says as he loosens the knot and slips the tie over his head. When he turns around to kiss me, I stop him, placing my finger on his lips.
“Not now. Turn back around.” He does as I ask, and shirks away from me momentarily when I try to fasten his neckwear over his eyes. “Trust,” I say to him, knotting the tie at the back of his head and adjusting it over his eyes.
“Baby, you didn’t have to buy me my own Aston Martin,” Jon teases.
“Yeah, and we had it airlifted to the roof by a helicopter,” I say sarcastically. “Hold my hand.” He complies and lets me pull him to the studio area of the loft. I position him in front of the drafting table that Matty had set up while we were gone, and tell him to take a seat on the ergonomic leather chair. “Stay there for a second. Keep your hands in your lap and don’t peek!”
“This is exciting!” he says, enjoying the attention. I walk to the curtains and pull them shut, making the loft completely dark except for a few lights from various electronic devices around the apartment.
Positioning myself between Jon and the table, I take off the blindfold, keeping my hands locked behind his neck so I can kiss him.
Getting carried away, he stands from the chair to press his body against mine, backing me up against the table. He removes his hands from my back and knocks on the desk behind me.
“What are we making out on?” he asks.
“Your present,” I tell him coyly. He doesn’t give me any room to turn around, still wanting to be close to me. “Take one tiny step backwards,” I whisper, and he does, finally dropping his arms to his side. Once I’m able to move, I flick on the lamp. He blinks to let his eyes adjust to the light, then finally sees the gift. “I want you to be able to work here sometimes... so you don’t always have to stay in the studio at school since you say people play their music too loud. Or, you know, maybe you can do some of your work drawings here.”
“Olivia, it’s perfect!” he says, dragging his hand across the laminate top. “Can you turn on all the lights?”
I quickly find the switch and turn on the track lig
hting. He walks around the desk, checking out the split-top that provides plenty of room for large sketches and a separate flat surface for his laptop. He pulls open the tool drawer and smiles when he sees the sharpened graphite pencils and technical pens, both in a full range of point sizes.
“Thank you so much, baby. I’m astonished. I wish you wouldn’t do so much for me though,” he says, settling back into the chair.
“But I want to,” I explain. “I want you to feel comfortable here. I want to give you a reason to be here at the loft.”
“Trust me, you’re the only reason I need. Come over here.” I walk over to him, taking the hand he extends to me. “Someday, Liv, I hope I can give you back all that you’ve given to me.”
“I have no doubt you will. You do whatever you set your mind to do. But all I want is you. Just tell me I have you, and I’m perfectly happy.”
“Of course you do.” He stands up and hugs me tightly.
CHAPTER 16
After staying up most of the night in preparation for our flight to Brazil, both Jon and I slept through half of the flight. The rest of the time was spent watching sitcoms on his laptop. I watched them, anyway. Jon was busy sketching some ideas on napkins, brainstorming for an assignment his boss had given him before we left. Pressed for space, he had to pack his sketchbook in his checked luggage. I’ve decided to make sure he has it on the way back.
Dad types in the address to Ariana’s studio in the GPS, and starts driving the rental car through the crowded streets of Florianópolis.
“I expected it to be much hotter here,” my mother says.
“Do you ever plan for trips, Mom?” I ask her, laughing, having checked the weather every day for the last two weeks to make sure I packed accordingly.
“That’s what your dad’s for,” she says.
“She always packs whatever she wants anyway,” Dad says, earning him a slap on the arm from my mother. “You’re going to argue with that?”
“I thought you stopped caring about that,” she says.
“I learned it made no difference what I said to you a long time ago, Poppet.”
