by Lori L. Otto
“You remember Jon?” he asks her.
“Good to see you,” I tell her, smiling, just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. She reaches to me to shake her hand, and eventually hugs me awkwardly. “Are you excited to start at Columbia?”
“I can’t wait,” she says. “But I’m secretly hoping you’ll fall madly in love with my roommate so we can switch dorm rooms,” she teases.
“What’s she like?” I ask, playing along.
“I haven’t met her yet in person, but we did a few video calls over the summer. She seems pretty meek. She never had an opinion about anything.”
“I think that would drive Jon nuts,” Fred says.
“You like a girl with an opinion?”
“I like a girl with a little spirit,” I say. “And I like her to know her own wants, and be able to tell me. I don’t want to dominate a relationship. It should be a partnership.” Just like Livvy’s letter described our relationship. We’re partners. Or were.
“Well, hopefully we’ll both grow to love her because I intend to spend a lot of time over here, and she may get lonely.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, directing the question to my roommate.
“We are looking forward to being together here,” he says sheepishly.
“Why didn’t you just get a co-ed room then? I would have been okay with that.”
“Our parents wouldn’t go for that. No living together before marriage.”
“Your parents, huh?” Even if my parents had been overly loving and attentive all my life, I still don’t think I’d consider their opinions of how to live my life at nineteen. “You’re adults,” I whisper to them both.
“It’s different, Jon,” Fred says. “We’ve talked about this.”
“Right, right. Wait,” I say, suddenly feeling like the third wheel, “is that why you’re here?”
“My roommate could show up any minute,” she says, “and that would be an awkward way to meet.”
I look at my watch. “I could go for a run,” I tell them both.
“Maybe an hour?”
“I may die of heatstroke, but yeah, okay. An hour.”
“Knock before you come in.”
Annoyed, I nod and go into the bathroom to change into some running shorts. I don’t even bother putting a shirt on. It’s way too hot outside for that.
“Jesus,” Fred says when I come back out into the room. “Look away,” he tells his girlfriend with a laugh, but she stares at my chest, her eyes widened. “Manual labor did that?”
“It did,” I tell him with a sly smile.
“I’ve got work to do,” he says quietly as I set my glasses aside and grab my key, phone and a few dollars before leaving them alone. Once I make it the courtyard, I check the time on the display.
Olivia: 1 voicemail
I guess she’s figured out that I’m back. She never tried to call after the first few days I was in Utah. I listen to the message. “It’s Livvy.” Oh, God, her voice. It’s shaky and cautious. “I’m at the loft. I’ll be here until ele–” The message is cut off. I listen to it once more to make sure, and to hear her again.
I know exactly where I’ll be running today. I shove my things into my pocket, making one stop along the way at a local market to get two large bottles of water. I drink one of them in its entirety before continuing.
The route through Central Park is a smart one, my body needing the shade of the trees. It is insufferably hot here today, and I don’t think I’ve sweat this bad in all of my life. It burns my eyes, and wish I’d brought a towel with me. I laugh, thinking about my brother and The Hitchhiker’s Guide. Douglas Adams was so right.
If not a towel, though, a shirt would have been wise. I’d use it to blot my forehead and block my skin from the sun. I can feel the burn setting in as I run.
Seeing the Guggenheim beyond the trees is encouraging. The loft is on the next block south. She’s right there. I keep running toward her, my pace quickening even though I can feel the energy draining with each step and each drop of sweat.
I stop running when I see her building directly across the street. Leaning against a tree, I drink my second bottle of water and look up to the top floor. Squinting, I notice one of the windows is cracked open. If she looked down, she’d be able to see me. I wonder if she’d even recognize me.
I know one way she would. I find a trashcan and throw the bottle away before returning to the tree. I turn around, putting my hands on the thick trunk and stretching my legs. She would know my tattoo. After giving equal time to each leg, and plenty of time for her to see me if she looked outside, I turn back around and look back up at her apartment.
I rest for a few more minutes, but never catch a glimpse of her. I have no idea what I would have done if I had, though. Lord knows what she would do if she saw me anyway, looking like this. I imagine I don’t smell very great, either.
My phone vibrates in my pocket again. Fred is telling me I can come back.
Only a half hour? Okay.
I run back the way I came, stopping at a drug store to get a few more bottles of water. We haven’t even been to the store yet, so there’s nothing at the dorm to quench my thirst. I expect people to back off after seeing me, but they don’t. Men look away, sure, but women stare.
Hmmm… that’s new.
Most of the windows in my dorm building are opened, as are the doors when I get back.
“No electricity,” the RA says on the steps.
“Huh?” I’m very much in need of some air conditioning.
“We’re having rolling blackouts,” he says. “Welcome back, right?” he says with a shrug.
“No joke. How long do they last?”
“Usually just a couple of hours. But it won’t stop the cookout,” he says. “We’re going to start things early, in just a few minutes. Lots of cold drinks. Looks like you could use one.”
“And a shower,” I agree with him.
“It’ll be pointless,” he says. I’m sure he’s right. I’d lived through plenty of summers in my mother’s apartment where the AC unit stopped working and we couldn’t afford to get it fixed. I usually retreated to the library until it closed, but there were many nights where it was so uncomfortable we simply couldn’t sleep.
I go to the second floor and shower anyway, even though the windowless bathroom is already sweltering. I can see why Fred and his girlfriend had cut their activities short–or maybe her dorm had electricity and she decided getting caught was still a better option than our single room, two-bed sauna.
I’m still sweating when I get out, even though it was a cold shower. I find another pair of shorts and a sleeveless tank. I can’t imagine wearing anything more than that, and I don’t care what the rest of my classmates think. I bet I won’t be the only one dressed in the equivalent of underwear.
And I’m not. When I get outside, girls are in bikini tops and guys are in swim trunks, lounging on the ground or canvas folding chairs. Campus organizers are quickly setting up drink and food stations while students limit their activity in the heat. Most of the coveted shaded areas are taken, but I see Shu, one of my original roommates, beneath a tree. He waves me over.
Standing up, we exchange a casual handshake before he invites me to sit amongst his group. He’s got a cooler, and reaches inside to get me some water.
“Thanks, man,” I say. “This is insane.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “They say there’s power in Carman Hall, but that’s it. Since it’s a first-year only building, no one’s moved in yet, so they’re allowing people in the lobby. Nowhere else. There’s talk they may let some people sleep there if the power doesn’t come back on.”
“Stampede!” I exclaim, imagining how all of the students around me would act in that situation. Shu and his friends laugh. He introduces me to them. I recognize a few from classes last year.
Fred joins us after a few minutes.
“See what living in sin gets you?” I tease him. “Hell. You’ve brought hell upon u
s all.”
As the sun begins to set, they start serving food. Having only eaten a cookie all afternoon, I’m famished, and fill my plate to reflect that. We all eat together, discussing last year and plans for this year. It’s nice, meeting new people and catching up with old friends. At some point, one of Shu’s friends brings some beer, and people start secretly filling red cups with it. I take one, surprised that it actually tastes decent. I’m still so thirsty, though, I’d probably drink anything.
Over the next few hours, the beer starts to taste better and better. Four cups later, I’m incredibly relaxed and could probably sleep through the night even without power or the AC unit. I could probably sleep right here.
“So what happened at the end of last year?” Shu asks, the alcohol making everyone less inhibited with questions.
“What do you mean?” I ask for clarification, even though I don’t need it.
“With Livvy. And that guy.”
“You heard about that?” I say sarcastically. Everyone is listening intently. I take it that–even though I’ve only met some of these people for the first time tonight–they all somehow know I used to date Livvy Holland.
“Kissing Cousins. It was news for days,” a girl says.
“He’s her cousin’s cousin by marriage,” I state evenly, then take a deep breath. “It didn’t matter who he was, though. She kissed another guy, and I left.”
“You were still dating, though?” Shu asks.
“Yeah, we were.” I feel the pain and resentment again. I know these feelings are just amplified by the alcohol in my system, and I have no doubt it’s made worse by dehydration. While I know this, logically, I can’t stop myself from feeling things again.
“Well, still,” Billy, Shu’s new roommate says, “you got to sleep with Livvy Holland.”
I glance at Fred uneasily. This isn’t something I want to talk about, and I’m tempted to walk away. He shrugs, and I sense he’s telling me to do the same. Shrug it off. He puts his arm around his girlfriend, who I hadn’t even noticed joined us at some point.
“Yeah,” I say simply, quietly, my response clipped, my eyes glaring at the guy who asked the prying question.
“What was that like?” he prods further.
“Shhh!” Fred says sitting up straight. I look back over at him, grateful that he is stopping the conversation. “She’s behind you.”
All eyes on me, I turn slowly to see if she’s really there. Before I can even see her, others in my group confirm what my roommate already said.
“It’s her!”
“She’s hotter in person.”
When my eyes finally meet hers, I have to look away quickly. She’s hotter than she was in my memory. Granted, she, too, is wearing shorts and a tank. Her shorts are short, and her top is tight.
Get it together, Jon.
My group is silent as I take a few breaths, deciding what to do. This isn’t the time or place for a conversation with her. I don’t feel like myself, and I haven’t prepared enough for this moment.
I stand quickly, avoiding eye contact with anyone around me, and walk toward her. “What are you doing here?” I ask her urgently, quietly.
“I have this for you,” she says, holding a letter out for me. I’m smiling on the inside, but try to maintain my composure as I take it from her. Something inside is weighting it as I tap it in my palm, trying to figure out what it is.
“Thanks.” I drop my hands and turn slightly.
“Jon.” Her hands hold on to the hem of my shirt. “We need to talk.”
When I look again, I notice the necklace that she had worn nearly every moment we’d been together since I gave it to her is no longer there.
That’s what’s in the envelope. It feels like my lungs collapse.
I remove her hand and let go of it.
I swallow, wanting to avoid a scene in front of my friends and classmates. “Go home, Liv.”
“Will you read it?” she asks. I don’t want to open it at all. I can’t be sure it’s the necklace until I see it. So, no, I don’t want to open it. I shrug my shoulders. “Have you read any of them?”
Saying ‘yes’ will lead into more of a conversation. Why’d you give up on us, Livvy? I thought you wanted me. You spent all summer telling me that, and for what? For you to publicly break up with me? In front of a crowd, again? It takes me every ounce of energy to remain unaffected. “I had a busy summer.”
“Oh,” she breathes. I can see the pain that causes her.
“Go home, Liv,” I tell her again, feeling my blood pressure rise as my heart pounds in my chest. “Freshman move-in day isn’t for another few days.”
“Right,” she says, looking even more hurt. I can’t stand seeing her like that.
“Where’d you park?” I have to get away from the curious eyes of the other people around me. I don’t want to see Livvy’s pain, and I don’t want anyone else to see mine. I guide her back to the direction I assume she came from. She starts to pull away, angling her walk until I notice her car at the curb.
“I thought we could talk. I thought you could start to forgive me.” The look in her eyes crushes me. She’s starting to cry. I feel weak.
“Here.” I hold her close to me, rubbing her neck just below her hairline. She looks cute in a ponytail. She hardly ever wears her hair like that, but I can’t blame her, with this heat. And her hair smells like paint. She must have been painting at the loft. I breathe it in slowly, relishing in the scent.
Her shoulders move as she lets her emotions out in waves. She steps even closer to me, a posture that’s too familiar and intimate and I’m sure she can tell I’m turned on. She can’t think it’ll be this easy.
“It can’t be like it was, Liv. I’ve changed,” I tell her quickly as I step back, putting a little space between us. “Go home,” I plead in a whisper. If she doesn’t go home soon, I’ll change my mind. I’ll go against everything I’d planned. I’ll tell Fred to find another place to stay and take her back to my room. I’ll make it easy.
But does she even want that anymore? She’s given me back her necklace.
She looks up at me, licking her lips ever so slightly, as if preparing for a kiss.
I let go of her.
“I–” I put my finger over her lips. I don’t want to hear anything more. She has to leave. She has to get out–of my arms, my personal space, my field of vision, my neighborhood–before I cave and take everything I want from her.
“Go home, Livvy.” This time, I say it with more authority. Please, just go, baby.
“Please read them,” she pleads, glancing at the letter I’m gripping tightly in my hand as she gets into her car. I hold the door for her. “Read them all.”
I have. I have read, lived, and felt every last word, Liv. “I’ll try.” I shut the door, happy to have something dividing us. She rolls her window down, fighting the barriers I keep hoping for; needing.
“Do you promise?” she asks.
She wants another promise from me. I lean toward her car, needing the support, and put my hand on the door where the window had been. She immediately puts hers on top of mine.
My eyes begin to water, thinking of all the promises–kept ones, broken ones. I look down before she can see my emotions and breathe a few times for composure. I need to walk away before I completely break down.
“I guess I’ll see you around.” I take my hand from hers–the same hand that yearns to hold hers like it did that night in Mykonos. I feel a lump in my throat and turn my back to her.
“No,” she says, stopping me. “I’ll be at Yale.”
Yale? Don’t go. You were supposed to be here with me. I have it planned, Liv. We were going to work this all out. Somehow, over time, with casual interactions and dates and late nights drawing and painting. If you go to Yale, I’ll never see you. I’ll never get to find out if this is how it’s supposed to be.
So then is it not supposed to be like this? I have so many questions for her, but can’t formulate a
single one.
“Goodbye, Jon,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say, releasing all the air from my lungs. “Bye, Livvy.” I stare after her, watching until her car is out of sight.
The humidity feels like it’s trying to strangle me. The muscles in my throat cut off my air. I can’t believe she’s leaving me. I have nowhere to go to find solace. When I turn around, the outdoor party continues with music and dancing and food and drinks, and I want no part of it.
I go directly into the dorm and up to the second floor to our room. It’s dark and quiet and I don’t care if it’s hot. I need to be alone. I open the windows all the way, and feel a hot breeze that brings a little relief. After taking off my shirt, I lie on top of my comforter and take my phone out of my pocket. It’s dead. I wasn’t going to call her, but I was wanting the display to illuminate her letter. What would this one say? I’m almost certain it’s the last one.
Maybe I can read by the window, and the moon can provide enough light to see what she’s written. I get up and open the envelope, not remembering something was inside until it falls onto my foot and the floor with a soft clink. I don’t need to be able to see it. I bend over to pick it up, and feel it between my fingers.
Choisie. I can feel the engraving.
No, baby. Don’t do this.
I put the letter on the desk and lie back down, letting the tears fall. I retrace the steps of the night, thinking over the things I said, what she’d spoken to me. How I held her. How she wanted to be closer. How she was wearing the ring I’d given to her.
Wait, was she? She was! I remember feeling the cool metal against my knuckle when my hand was on her car. I’d taken the sight of it for granted. I’d seen it so many times it had become an extension of her. But I know she was wearing it.
I don’t understand why the necklace is back in my possession, and I guess I won’t know until I read that final letter, but I’m confident the goodbye she spoke won’t be the last one.
How is this going to work?
I take measured breaths to calm myself, trying to figure out my next move. There will be no chance meetings in the hallway. No excuses to linger late in the art building in hopes of seeing her. No offers to help with her Contemporary Civilization class. No common parties. No gallery shows that I know she’ll be attending.
