by Lori L. Otto
“Chicken nuggets,” Jon tells me after he hangs up. “I hate that his favorite food is chicken nuggets. Not to mention it’s past his bed time and the poor thing hasn’t had dinner.”
“Where’s your mother?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “It’s the second time she’s done this since I left for college. I mean, they’re already left to fend for themselves on Wednesdays because she has to work the dinner shift, but she’s supposed to be there the rest of the week. This can’t continue,” he mutters, tipping my head up with his index finger. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Me, too,” I tell him, jutting my bottom lip out. He weaves his fingers between mine and starts walking again toward my house. When we reach the corner, I glance into the yard, noting how quiet it is outside.
“Where’s your dad?” Jon asks.
“Trey had a parent-teacher night at school,” I explain. “I think they were going to pick Mom up at the Art Room and go get cupcakes at the bakery.”
“Wait, so no one’s home?”
“Nope.”
“Man, Liv. I’m really sorry now. We could have been alone?”
“Not for long, but yeah.”
“This sucks... but hey,” he says, his voice becoming cheerful. “In two nights, it’s just me and you, right? All night?”
I feel my cheeks turn pink at the thought of it, and I can’t help but smile. My stomach flutters in nervous jitters. “All night,” I whisper, unable to look him in the eyes.
“I can’t wait, Olivia. I mean, we’ve waited so long for this. We should go somewhere romantic for dinner... or maybe cook?”
“We have to have dinner with Abram,” I remind him of the meeting my agent had set up.
“Oh, I forgot.” He crinkles his nose. He’s never been a big fan of Abram’s.
“But hey, we are going somewhere romantic. He wants to go to La Créme.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“I just know my parents have gone there on date nights. They’re really good about maintaining some level of privacy. Abram suggested it to keep the photographers at bay.”
“A romantic dinner for three,” Jon says in a mangled British accent. “I’m so chuffed.”
“You’re a dork,” I tease him once we get across the street. “Go get your chicken nuggets so Max won’t starve.”
“But I’m hungry, too,” he says with an intense gaze.
“For?” I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly, looking up at him expectantly.
“You,” he says seriously, making my heart skip a beat. “For a kiss.”
“Make it good,” I challenge him. “Make it count.”
He grins, clearly accepting the challenge, and his hands move to the nape of my neck. Before he leans in, we both check our surroundings, making sure we don’t have an audience. Feeling safe that we’re alone, he angles my head to the right and moves in slowly, beginning the kiss tentatively, like he’s teasing me.
“I said, make it count,” I remind him. Before I even realize what he’s doing, his left hand moves to my lower back to support me while he dips me theatrically and allows his lips to attack mine. I giggle through the kiss until I lose my footing and fall back onto the lawn. Even though I know he could have stayed upright, he comes with me, laughing with me in the grass.
“So what do your brothers do on Wednesdays for dinner?” I ask him.
“I take them for a sandwich or something.”
“Come over,” I urge him. “Bring your brothers. That way we can see each other another night, and all three of you can have a home-cooked meal.”
“I don’t want to burden your parents,” he says, shaking his head.
“You won’t be. And I’ll help Dad cook. I’ve been wanting to learn anyway, so it’s a win-win.”
“Ask him first, then let me know.”
I roll my eyes at him as I try to get up. He grips my forearm and pulls me back down.
“Please?” He jabs his fingers into my side, tickling me.
“Okay, okay!” I laugh.
“One more kiss before Saturday?”
This time, I make it count. He has a hard time catching his breath when I pull away. “My parents are leaving around noon. What time should I come get you?”
“I’ve got a study group until three,” he tells me, eliciting a frown from both of us. “I’ll be ready at three-thirty.”
“I’m ready now,” I taunt him. He groans at me, standing up and helping me to my feet. “There’s the bus,” I nod. He grabs his bag and kisses the top of my head before jogging down the street to catch his ride to Harlem. “Love you!”
He stops and turns around, a move which could cause him to miss his transportation to his mother’s apartment. “I love you, Olivia.” He puts his hand over his heart and looks at me sweetly.
“It’s gonna leave!” I yell to him. Taking off in a sprint, he catches the attention of a woman getting on the bus, making sure he has time to get on board.
On Saturday, as my dad and brother pack for their weekend getaway, I escape to the back patio. On the steps with a small jar of red polish, I start to paint my toenails. It had been months since I did this myself. When I take off the cap, I stare long and hard at the tiny brush. Even it seems to taunt me, and my normally steady hand shakes as I try to apply the polish.
By the third toe, I’m pissed off. I put the top back on the jar and tighten it before hurling it into the middle of our backyard.
“What did that nail polish ever do to you?” my dad says with a quiet laugh, and I wonder how long he’s been standing there. I don’t turn around to look at him, instead focusing on the mess I’ve made of my feet and picking at the skin around my nails. “Livvy, honey?” His dress shoes clack on the wood patio as he approaches. I feel the palm of his hand on my head. After spending so much time on my hair this morning, I start to shirk away, but I’m comforted by him, and sit still as his fingers massage my scalp lightly. “Are you okay?”
I start to tell him I can’t paint–that even this task of putting polish on my toenails is impossible to me–but I don’t want to have that talk with him today.
“We can stay,” he offers. “When I planned this weekend, I didn’t remember it was Donna’s birthday today. If you don’t want to be alone–”
“Dad, I’m fine,” I tell him, looking up at him with an assuring smile. I’d known what today was from our first discussion of his initial plans. I’d recognized that I would need a distraction. Jon is providing the perfect one tonight. Just keeping my nerves in tact is going to take most of my energy today. Lying to my dad about it will take the rest of it. “I’m spending the afternoon touring Columbia, meeting Abram for dinner and then going to Camille’s. I’ve got plenty to do today.”
“I want details on Columbia. Many, many details.”
He hadn’t voiced his concern about me spending the afternoon on campus with Jon, but I knew he was worried. “Yes, Dad.”
“And if you really want to go there, I want a concrete reason for that. And it needs to be longer than a three-letter word.”
I look at him, confused. Does he know I’m planning on having sex with Jon– “Oh, Jon?”
He stares at me, unblinking, finally nodding.
“Of course,” I tell him, looking down at my feet to hide my guilt.
“You’re not going to miss painting at the loft today?”
I look back down when I answer him. “I mean... it’s fine. There’s always next week.”
“’Do you have enough to show Abram tonight?” I nod, wondering what Abram will say to the fact that I still have nothing new to show him. All we’ve done is re-take photos of my current work with the camera I’d received for Christmas last year. Maybe things will look new to him. My agent had never made any demands of me, but I’d been lying to him, too. Now that he is ready to have a gallery event, I worry that the truth will only hurt his efforts. I’m afraid he’ll then tell my father what I’m sure he already knows. I can
worry about that tomorrow.
A heavy force rams against my back, and two small arms wrap tightly around my neck. “Trey,” I choke out, “not so tight!”
He giggles and lets go, then walks around me and plops into my lap, barely missing my wet toenails.
“You’ll be good for Mommy and Daddy this weekend, right?”
“Yep!” he says, excited.
“Have you been to the bathroom? Daddy doesn’t like to stop.”
“Yep!” he answers once more.
“Is Charlie packed?”
“Oh, Charlie!” he exclaims, getting up abruptly and running back into the house.
“Thank God you thought of the robot,” my dad says. “I can’t keep up with everything on my own. I’ve always counted on your mom to pack his things. We’ve got to find her some help.”
“I know,” I tell him as he sits down in a chair nearby. “She’ll be so happy you’re doing this, though.”
“I hope,” he answers. I try to smile. “I still don’t know that you should take Jon to dinner with Abram.”
“Why not? You’ve gone to every meeting I’ve had with him.”
“Yes, but it’s a business meeting, and I consider myself an investor in your work. Plus, I always pay for dinner for us. I seriously doubt your agent’s expecting a sixteen-year-old girl to pay for dinner at La Créme. He shouldn’t have to pick up the tab for your boyfriend, though.”
“I’ll pay for Jon,” I sigh, exasperated. “I’ll put it on my card.”
“That’s not an endless supply of funds, you know,” he says. He’d said it before, but I used it when I wanted and was never reprimanded for my spending. The money was always there, regardless of what he said. My dad’s a billionaire, and although I had learned at a young age to not want a ton of material things, I was rarely denied things I did, in fact, want. It was even easier since they gave me my own check card over the summer.
“I want him to come with me, Dad,” I plead. “I need some moral support.”
“I’ll stay.”
“Mom needs this, Dad. You both do.”
He considers this for a second. “Fine,” he says, handing me some cash. “Just offer to cover your part.”
“Done,” I tell him with a small smile.
“And then you’re staying with Camille tonight?”
“She’s planned a movie marathon, so I’ll be entertained, don’t worry.”
“Don’t be surprised if we call to check in.”
“That’s why you got me the phone!” I remind him, knowing he’s threatening to call Camille’s parents. I’d reprogrammed their numbers in my parents’ phones so they would call Camille’s cell phone, just in case.
“Well, if your plans fall through–or you just want to spend the weekend with us at the lake house–call me. I’ll send a driver to pick you up. I don’t want you making that drive alone.”
“I’ll–”
“Yes, you’ll be fine,” he interrupts me, finishing my sentence. “I know. I’ll stop worrying.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He squats down next to me and gives me a big hug, then kisses me on the cheek.
“Wish me luck,” he says as he stands and walks to the door.
“You don’t need it. She’ll be happy to get some fresh air and a change of scenery. It will be good.”
“I know. Have a good weekend. We will be back tomorrow evening–but we’re only a phone call away.”
“Love you, Dad.” He tells me he loves me, too, before shutting the back door. As soon as I hear his car drive away, I go back into the house and lock the patio door behind me.
I knew I would be nervous today. I didn’t think I’d feel actual fear, but I do. When Jon and I were together in Mykonos, it was so spur of the moment that I had no time to worry about it. Now, this has been weeks in the making, and we’ve both built it up in our minds. I hope I live up to his expectations. I won’t back out, though. I don’t know when we’ll ever get another opportunity like this. I don’t want to let him down.
I’m sure I’ll be fine.
To kill some time, I call Camille and convince her to come to the salon with me to get our nails done together. Of course she’s in on my plans this evening, but I want to make sure we’ve covered all of our bases.
“Why’d he come?” I ask my best friend as Finn stands in front of me.
“I need a pedicure,” he tells me. I look down at his feet and cringe at his toes, wiggling through his flip flops. “Soccer destroys my nails.”
“Seriously?” I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does.
“I like foot massages,” he admits with a shrug. “She won’t touch my feet.”
“Camille!” I chastise her. “After all he does for you, you won’t touch his feet?”
“Look at them!” she argues. “They’re disgusting.”
I don’t say it aloud, but his nails are pretty gross, uneven and caked with dirt. Having grown up with him, though, he’s always been pretty carefree about his hygiene. His lawyer parents were convinced they were given the wrong child at birth. They were both so put together, and he was always a mess. Before Camille, I suspect he didn’t shower every day. He’s gotten much better. He still doesn’t fix his hair, but at least I know it’s clean.
Finn sits in the chair between me and Camille. Although I haven’t talked to him directly about the plans I have tonight with Jon, I know Camille has told him. She swore him to secrecy, and I trust him.
The people in my salon, though, I don’t trust. The last time I came here, I’d had an argument with my mother. I don’t even remember what it was about, but there was a blurb in the society pages the next day.
While they work on our pedicures, I take out my phone, watching Finn typing quickly on his. A message comes through on my phone.
“Is he pressuring you?”
I look at Finn, surprised and confused. “No,” I whisper. He nods his head.
“I just wanted to make sure. You don’t have to–”
“Shhh!” I stop him abruptly, waving my phone at him.
“Are you nervous?” This message is from Camille.
“Very,” I tell her, but not for the reasons she thinks. I’m worried something bad will happen again.
“It hurts the first time,” she informs me. I remember. “It gets better. Much better.”
“She’s telling you how awesome I am, right?”
I answer Finn out loud. “No. Quite the opposite.”
“What the hell, Camille?” he says, sloshing water on his attendant as he confronts his girlfriend. I start laughing as they playfully argue. They used to seem so intense, but over the past few months, they’d become much more comfortable and casual together. Their friendship is obvious.
Would people say the same about me and Jon? In public, it’s hard for us to even be ourselves. In private, we have a lot of fun together. I envision a day where we can both paint and create together. Some of my best memories of him are of us in Nate’s Art Room when we were younger. I’d help him with colors, because he always seemed to be in a black and white rut. He was always open to my suggestions, and then sometimes, I’d get stuck on an idea. He would walk me through the mental blocks. This one, though–not being able to create at all–nothing he’s said has been able to get me into the mindset to paint again. It scares me. I can tell it worries him, too. I can’t face Granna’s painting, though, because I can’t finish it. Until I do that, I can’t move on, either. It feels like leaving her behind.
“Don’t be scared,” a message from Camille says. I notice she’s sent it to both me and Finn.
“If you need us for anything, let us know,” he adds.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure them both, knowing that Jon will be gentle and would never push me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I know this because we’ve already done it before. They just don’t know.
No one knows except me and Jon. And no one will. I truly believe it was a mistake then, not because we weren’t ready
though. I’d wanted to be with him, more than anything, but had we not been so wrapped up in one another, I would have answered that call from Granna. It’s possible she’d be alive today. I glance up above me, willing the tears to stay put and not reveal my sadness to everyone in the salon.
I can’t not take advantage of this weekend, though. Jon’s been so patient all summer, and I know the chances of this happening again are not good. It’s not like this will be a common occurrence. We both know this. I feel like we deserve another chance to make this right. We deserve to experience one another without having to feel immense amounts of guilt and regret about it.
I’m not sure tonight will provide me with that opportunity, either, though. I always thought I would tell my mother when the time came. We’ve had that relationship for years. I know she would want to know. I know I wouldn’t be in trouble–not with her. Now my father, that’s another story entirely. I know he’d want me to remain chaste until I got married at 35, but he is more realistic than that. As much as I know he suspects something happened between Jon and me in Greece, I think he has avoided pushing the issue with me or Matty, not wanting to know the truth anyway. Surely Matty has a breaking point. I know I do. There are times when Dad and I are together that I feel like I could tell him anything. He has a way of making me feel safe, regardless. I know I could be weak in a moment like that. But again, I think he knows the truth underneath, and he doesn’t want to believe that his daughter is sexually active. Moreover, he doesn’t want to believe his daughter would lie to him. Not after what we’ve been through.
This time when I blink, a tear does escape.
CHAPTER 7
After meeting me in a parking garage, Jon leads me to his dorm room. We’d left our overnight bags in the trunk of my car. He insisted on hanging up his button down shirt though, wanting to wear it tonight when we go out with Abram.
“You don’t have to dress up tonight, Jon,” I tell him as we ascend the steps to get to his room. “You’ll be with me. You can get in anywhere.”
