by Lori L. Otto
In bed together, it was an urgent whisper said with little breath. It was like an echo of my own voice every time, because she would repeat it anytime I said it to her. Was it out of obligation? Did she ever really feel it?
Does she really feel it now?
I made a mistake.
Finally.
When I look back now, I laugh.
Once again, I want to crumple up the letter and get it far, far away from me, but I keep reading, wondering how she can make what happened humorous.
I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to tell my parents about our discussion about sex after that first date. It was such an important fact I’d learned, and I was never one to keep things from my parents. As a good kid, I told them everything.
Upon seeing your reaction when you found out I’d told them, I realized I was venturing into a territory where I was no longer a kid. It was the first time I realized there was such a thing as a ‘private life,’ and you and I were about to embark on having one.
You asked me to keep our conversations between us, and it was in that moment that I chose to be loyal to you over my mother and father. No one had ever ranked higher than Mom and Dad, but you surpassed them that night. The power very often wavered between you, my mom and my dad, but when the matter was truly private, I kept those things between us, just like you’d asked. I know we didn’t always agree on what should be kept private, but know that my heart was always in the right place.
I’ve kept one secret from you. I never thought it was important, but I realize if I ever hope to be with you again, it needs to come out.
I can see Finn’s name without even reading on. I’m not sure I want to know whatever she’s about to say. My eyes begin to water in anticipation.
Over Spring Break, Finn kissed me one time. I told you he’d tried. I didn’t tell you he’d actually succeeded. The kiss we shared in Wyoming meant nothing to me. I felt nothing, and I told him so. It wasn’t something that stuck with him, either. Telling you the half-truth seemed good enough at the time. I knew if you had all the information, you might hate Finn, and he’s a permanent fixture in our family, so that wouldn’t have worked.
And right there, she didn’t just put her parents above me, she did that with this guy that she considered family. And kissed. The tabloid sites loved exploiting that relationship. I’d had to avoid the internet for a few days after her graduation just so I wouldn’t be confronted with it.
How you feel about Finn doesn’t matter to me anymore. I can handle the awkwardness of every future Spring Break, Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas as long as I know you’re there, too.
He’s my friend, though, and I have to be honest. I want to have him in my life as my friend.
That can’t be a secret that I keep from you, either.
Who does she think she is, making conditions and telling me her non-negotiable terms? Here’s mine, Liv! I don’t want him in my life.
I don’t want you, either.
Thinking that I don’t want her makes my watery eyes unleash the tears they’d been holding back. I don’t want you, either.
Would I ever have the strength to tell her that to her face?
We aren’t finished.
Yes, we are.
In pale green, she adds her non-standard sign-off. I almost didn’t notice it at all, it blended in so well with the paper.
Secrets
Hearing the doorbell ring, I tuck the note in my pocket and stand up quickly, composing myself. I clear the lump from my throat. I check my face in the TV’s reflection, wiping away all evidence of my sadness. I wear a smile that hides the ruins of my heart and the crushing blow to my soul.
I keep my own secrets.
As I walk to the door with my wallet in hand, I realize that I’m not just hiding things from my family. My non-response to her letters keeps all my feelings from her a secret. That’s its own sort of punishment.
As cruel as it is, she deserves it.
ENLIGHTENMENT
Enlightenment
This time, the word is etched in dark purple paint and is the first thing that grabs my attention when I pull the letter out of the envelope. The word is so clear, so prominent. Why does it have to be so vague? I can’t discern what the letter’s going to be about from that.
I scan the letter quickly. Intimate. Kiss. Reading about either of those things makes me want her more. I’m trying to want her less. Why does she keep sending these?
I love you, Jon.
I love how you open my eyes to new things. Not many guys really care about their girlfriends’ educations. Not like you do, anyway. Even though our study time wasn’t always used for studying schoolwork, you made sure I had learned something in each session. I know that ignorance is something you won’t tolerate, and I love that about you. I love how you always want to learn more. I love that you always want to share what you learn with me.
Not anymore, Liv.
You never just taught me what I needed to know, either. You went deeper into my lessons. You taught me how to learn better and how to think about things more thoroughly. Although I appreciate the emphasis you put on scholarly pursuits, I am personally more grateful for the patience you exhibited while I learned things of a more intimate nature.
I loved teaching her those things, too. I never had to tell her much. I could correct the mistakes that came from her inexperience simply by showing her in another moment. I never wanted to discourage her or embarrass her by pointing out what she was doing wrong– and it was never wrong when she touched me or kissed me. It was never wrong, by any means. I just knew some things were more pleasurable done differently.
When she first kissed my ear, she was clearly holding back. Her lips captured my lobe for a fraction of a second. It was sweet, but I knew it could be much more sensual. When I had the chance, I reminded her of how it should be done, moistening her lobe with my tongue and scraping it gently with my teeth, barely tugging before I let go. It drove her crazy. When she finally did it to me, I’d wished that I could show her more, kiss her other places. I’d wished she would kiss other places.
With patience, she eventually would, and with one of those places, I couldn’t adequately show her in a reciprocal way. While her body felt familiar and beautiful to me, mine was foreign and awkward to her. Any man’s would have been. At first, I had to direct her, to tell her what felt good when she did it. I had to pull her lips to mine when something didn’t feel right, subtly correcting her without disturbing the intimacy. There was no way in hell I would do anything to make that experience unpleasant for her. Some men lived with wives who refused this act of pleasure, and after that first time, I couldn’t imagine not being granted that indulgence from time to time.
Without spending the last year and a half with you, I wouldn’t know how to show you I love you without having to say the words. Those were my favorite ways to tell you how I felt about you. If you were here–if you would see me–I would grasp your hand in mine. I would hold it tightly. I would hold you close to me while the fingers from my other hand caressed your smooth hair, massaged your scalp, rubbed your neck and pulled your lips to mine. I’d kiss you slowly. I’d kiss you hard. I’d kiss you however you wanted me to. I’d ask to learn more from you. You’re the only teacher I want.
And I still had things to teach her. I still had things to learn myself. I’d always envisioned fumbling through them together. Such things, one only tries with people they fully trust and are okay to be completely vulnerable with. We were there. We were that. And now? How could I ever trust her again?
I know that what you taught me would only apply to you. You didn’t teach me how to show someone else I love them. You taught me how to express my love to you alone. I want you to be the only person who benefits from what I now know.
My heart makes itself known, beating faster at her last statement. If I read between the lines, it’s safe to assume she’d gone no further with Finn. But she’d already gone far enough, an
d in that, didn’t he already benefit from what I’d taught her? She’d practiced on me to be the extraordinary kisser she’d become. She perfected the art in moments we’d shared–tender ones, loving ones, all-consuming ones that left our lips swollen and raw. It was always gratifying for me to send her back home with marks of our passion evident on her face.
I smile now, remembering how pretty she was with her lips naturally red and plump. They suited her face; offset her big, brown eyes.
Damn it, Livvy, why did you have to ruin everything we had?
We aren’t finished.
Enlightenment
I’d love to enlighten her now; to teach her now. Hey, Livvy, you can’t kiss another guy and expect your boyfriend to look the other way. Maybe our lessons should have started with that.
I just thought she had more common sense than that.
With memories flooding my mind of all the ways she had ever shown me her love, I decide to go to bed. I don’t think I can be productive doing anything else this evening.
I can count on one hand the number of days she’d let me show her all of my love. It’s surprising to me we’d only made love on five separate occasions. Our closeness made it seem like many, many more. She’d taken my heart at some point early on, and I let her have it for safe keeping. I held on to hers. We were entwined by that. It felt like we were one entity operating as two bodies, but we were always working toward one goal. We wanted to be together. It’s safe to say we wanted to be together forever. I believed we had already started our forever. I never prepared myself for what she’s done to me. I never prepared for her to take my forever. She’s left me with never. She’s left me with nothing. She won’t even give me back my heart.
OLIVIA
The project has been moving along so quickly that we have been granted a day off. I’d gotten used to the long days and was actually disappointed when I found out last night. My family had already made plans to visit a few museums today, and they left before the sun came up, assuming I would be working today like I had to last Saturday. I should have informed them last night, but I wanted to be alone.
I’d expected the construction work to be physically demanding, but as I take on bigger projects at the site, I study the choices the architects made, looking for the reasons behind the materials or angles. It’s mentally fulfilling, too. There were a few instances this past week that I realized I would have done something differently, and I’ve been sketching those plans all day. I have no intention of showing them to anyone, but maybe I’ll take some of this new perspective back to my job in the fall. I feel reaffirmed in my interests, becoming more and more excited to return to the firm every day. They were bidding on a public works project in the city before I left. The outcome of that process should be announced mid-August, and I hope I will be able to work on it upon my return. I’d contributed to the plans. Some of the ideas presented were mine, and I was proud of my work.
I can pretend like Livvy hasn’t been on my mind all day, but it’s a lie. I fully expect a letter this afternoon, and with the blinds open, I’ve had my eye on the mailbox for the vast majority of the day. I’d even gone out to check it a few times when I had to leave my viewing post.
When the mail finally comes around five, I take the letters from the postman directly, not even letting him put them in the box. I avoid disappointment today, seeing Livvy’s letter on top. I make a sandwich for myself, pouring a tall glass of milk to go with it and emptying the carton. Looking through the refrigerator, I realize I’ll need to walk down to the store after dinner. I look forward to the fresh air, to stretching my muscles a little.
After taking a bite, I open the envelope. The mustard on my sandwich masks the smell. I move the food away and hold the paper up to my nose, taking a whiff. When I pull it back, I see that she signed her name… sort of. It’s this letter’s footnote.
Olivia
Appropriately, her name is etched in black. Maybe she does recognize the dark cloud she’s cast over me. And she doesn’t say Livvy. No, she says Olivia, and the reference isn’t lost on me.
I love you, Jon.
A week before our first Christmas together. Your apartment. On a blanket in front of a fire. All alone. You took your shirt off, and I had no idea what your action was leading up to. You turned around to reveal a quote disrupting the otherwise-unmarred flesh on your back. I’d never seen it plain before. Disrobed, in my eyes, the quote has always been there.
“If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!”
If you were here, I’d ceremoniously kiss it like I did that night, and many other nights that followed.
Not only would you not do that, Liv, I wouldn’t take my clothes off for you if I was there.
You were certain enough about me then to permanently mark your skin with a reminder of me. You were honoring me. You were honoring Olivia, the woman you wanted to be with, or so you told me.
I lost myself last year, Jon. I’m still struggling to find myself, and it’s even harder without you here to help me. Who is Olivia? Who is Livvy? Who am I?
Does Olivia even exist without you? You brought her to life. You helped her flourish. I don’t feel like her anymore. I don’t feel like myself either. And that’s part of the problem. Being Olivia to you and Livvy to everyone else made it feel like I was living separate lives. I couldn’t continue to give all of myself to both of these people. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t decide what was right for me.
Were you right for me? Were you good for me?
I suddenly feel like she’s blaming me for this. As if giving her a pet name gave her split personalities. Is this what caused your unfaithfulness, Liv? Is this my fault?
If I could see her now, I’d make it easy for her. She’s no longer Olivia. Olivia was the woman I loved, the woman I wanted to be with, but Livvy is the inconstant teenager who cheated on me with a kid she’s known most of her life. Saying “I love you, Olivia” doesn’t have the same tempo or tone. It doesn’t roll off my tongue the way it once did. I’m not sure I could force the words out now if I tried.
It doesn’t matter what you were to me once upon a time. Right or wrong, I love you now, and I want to find a way to prove to you that I am good for you. Maybe I wasn’t over the past year as I struggled with myself. But I’m getting better, Jon.
I swear. I’m finally finding myself. I feel more like the girl you once loved than I ever did. I know you grew to feel differently for me as I changed. You probably accepted my changes as a progression of the woman I was becoming, but I wasn’t growing into myself. I was becoming who I thought you wanted me to be when I was with you; and when you weren’t around, I wanted to be the person everyone else wanted me to be.
I couldn’t live up to everyones’ expectations. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of being someone even I don’t know. I have my own expectations of myself, and while you’re away, I intend to live up to each and every one. When you return in a few months, I’ll be a better version of myself.
I see things clearly now. I can be your Olivia and my parents’ Livvy all at once. I’ve reconciled their differences and I’ve brought them together. Your Olivia and their Livvy just want me to be happy, and that’s what I intend to be. I’ll be ready for you. I’ll be better for you. I promise.
I’ll be happy for you. Will you be happy for me?
We aren’t finished.
I don’t buy it. My Olivia. Their Livvy. And who, exactly, is she to Finn? Who kissed him? Olivia? Livvy? A cheater. That’s who kissed him. I didn’t cause that. He didn’t cause that. Only she could kiss him like that. She chose to do that.
She had a concussion.
Emi had told me that when I spoke with her before I left Manhattan. Again, she wasn’t making excuses for her daughter. It was just a factual statement, something for me to think about. I’ve thought about it. Now, knowing more of the facts, a concussion seems to matter less. Finn kissed her over spring break. She kissed him after her graduation. They shared feelings. Those feeli
ngs didn’t involve me. My feelings were not once considered.
Why do I keep replaying this over and over in my head? Every few days, she brings me back to a place I feel something for her. Anger. Love. Confusion. Desire. I am tired of feeling anything for her.
On the days when I’m working, I can go hours without thinking about her. Livvy. Olivia. The beautiful artist I admired from the first moment she spoke to me. The second I leave the work site, my mind drifts back to her, and I feel sorry for myself. The pity overwhelms me until I can go back to work. Or the pity becomes some emotion tied to her when I read her letters. Why am I letting her control me this much? It’s pointless. It’s unhealthy.
I am wasting precious time with my brothers. Once the summer is over, I’ll only see them on breaks and holidays. This summer will probably be the last one I can be away from Manhattan for the entire three month period. I’ll have courses next year, and hopefully the job at the architecture firm will be waiting for me, like my boss told me it would.
I have to stop holing up in my room every evening and every Sunday. My brothers are the reason I’m here in the first place. The sulking ends today.
I run my thumb over the paint stripe. Goodbye, Olivia. You’ve done all the damage you can do to this man.
And I believe it. I believe it all evening. I believe it as I listen to my brothers recap their day. I believe it as I help Max get ready for bed. I even believe it as I settle myself into the sheets for the night.
It’s only when the dream of her awakens me that I doubt my conviction. The pain still carves away at me. There’s more damage to be done, and I hate her for it.
PROMISES
“How’s the book coming?” I ask my oldest brother as we do dishes together.
“I finished it yesterday,” he says, then looks around to make sure we’re alone. “And it was good, but I don’t think there was any sex in it. They had almost sex.”
