by Lori L. Otto
“If there hadn’t been, would you have still done it?”
“I swear, Jon, it never occurred to me that it was anything other than him wanting to show me his work.” I struggle to hide my frustration, but inwardly I know I’m only frustrated with myself.
“That’s what I worry about, Olivia.” His voice is very soft and kind; his concern, genuine. “I think your parents have sheltered you a little too much.”
“This isn’t about that.”
“Sure it is. It’s a strange dichotomy, really. On the one hand, you’re this woman that I love, who knows herself so well. And on the other hand, you’re still a seventeen-year-old girl who really doesn’t know the world at all. I forget that sometimes.”
“I’ll be more careful,” I tell him. “But I’m probably never going to see him again anyway, so Manny’s not an issue.”
“But if it’s not Manny, who will be next?”
“What, do I have to question the motives of every person around me?”
“Like your dad does? Maybe so... it’s made him a good judge of character. You’re incredibly introspective, Liv. You just need to use that scrutiny for other people. Just be a little more discerning, that’s all I’m asking.”
“Okay,” I agree quietly.
“Don’t put yourself in a situation where you’ll be alone with a guy you don’t really know, okay? Maybe Manny’s intentions were pure, but I can guarantee not every guy’s would be.”
“Okay,” I tell him, my voice more animated. “I get it.”
“Good. I trust you.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have some homework to do?” he asks. I can tell he’s just trying to fill the time so he doesn’t have to think about his family. He may look strong, but I know how much it must bother him to know his brothers are staying with strangers, their futures in limbo.
“I have to write a two-page summary of what I thought about Walden.”
“That doesn’t sound too hard.”
“It’s not. I’ve got it outlined, I just need to write it,” I explain. “You look really tired. Did you sleep at all last night?”
He shakes his head.
“Why don’t you try to take a nap or something?”
“Because I’m not sure when I’ll see you again. I don’t want to waste our time together.”
“Please, sleep. I’ve got my laptop. I’ll stay right here and work on it. I’ll be right here with you.”
He kisses me, an unspoken thank you, and settles into his pillow. Five minutes after I start working, he’s asleep. When I finish my paper, I connect to the school’s wifi and open up a web browser. The page I’d been looking at last night is still up.
Yale College.
Two hours ago, I had given up my own plans to stay in Manhattan for college. I knew with one-hundred-percent certainty that I wanted to go to Yale. Now, I wonder if I could leave Jon behind.
The options are varied, based on so many circumstances that seem to hang in the balance right now.
He goes to Columbia, and I go to Yale. We see each other some weekends, and I spend the summer in the city. After graduation, we get married and live in the loft, where he can work close to the neighborhoods he wants to help, and I can paint.
He goes to Columbia, and I stay in the city and go to Parsons. Next fall, I’ll be eighteen, and my anonymity will be a thing of the past. People in New York will be watching my every step or mis-step. I don’t want to live under that microscope. The more I think about it, the more pressure I think it would put on both of us. I think–for me–getting out of the city for awhile is paramount. I want to experience college, and make friends–and mistakes–without the attention of an entire city.
Jon drops out of school to take care of his brothers. Where would that leave me? I recognize how important Will and Max are to him, but I can’t imagine my life with him if he chooses this route. Raising a child my brother’s age? I know it’s selfish, but I don’t want that for myself. I don’t want it for Jon, either. Wouldn’t that just put him in the same place he’s been all of his life, trying to escape? Wasn’t his mission to break the cycle, not just for his own family, but for many families who find themselves in a similar position?
The dorm room door wakes Jon and startles me, even though Frederick is cautious as he opens it, peeking around it to see if we’re still here. Hollis’ voice carries down the hall as he yells at someone else.
I close my laptop, putting it in my bag and deciding it’s probably time for me to get home anyway.
“How long was I asleep?” Jon asks as his roommates settle back into the room.
“An hour? Hour and a half? I’m not sure. But go back to sleep.” I run my fingers through his hair. “I’m going to get a cab home.” He stretches and starts to get up. “No, really. Stay here and sleep. I can get a taxi on my own.”
“I don’t want you out there alone,” he says, punctuating the sentence with a yawn.
“I’ll go with her,” Frederick says, standing up from his desk. I look at my boyfriend, questioning the suggestion. “Seriously, Jon. You need some sleep.”
“Okay,” he says, not putting up a fight.
I squat down next to the bed and speak to him softly. “I can be alone with this one?”
His eyes are still closed, but he smiles broadly. “I trust Fred,” he says, finally blinking his eyes open. I lean in to kiss him one last time.
“If you need anything at all, Jon, just let me know. And call me tomorrow after you talk to your aunt, okay?”
“I will, baby.” He pulls his comforter into his chest and relaxes into his bed. “Thank you.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too,” he mumbles as sleep starts to overtake him.
Frederick walks me to the street, but stops to talk to me before hailing a cab. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“He can’t quit school,” I tell him, worried. “He has to know that’s not a good resolution.”
“I know,” he assures me, “but this is really testing everything he believes. We spent half the night talking about what could happen.”
“I’m glad he has a friend to talk to.” I smile at him sincerely. I knew Jon had a hard time making friends in high school because no one could match his intelligence or ambition, so it’s good to see that there are people like Frederick around him. “Can I give you my number, in case something happens?”
He looks a little surprised. “Sure, yeah. Of course.”
“I can trust you won’t give it out, right?”
“Livvy,” he laughs, “of course I wouldn’t. I respect you both.”
“Thanks.” As he flags down a taxi, I program my number into his phone. “And thanks for getting me the cab.”
“My pleasure. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Okay. Good night.” I instruct the driver where to to take me, and plan the upcoming conversation with my parents as he takes me through the streets of Manhattan.
CHAPTER 12
I would hate to live here. I would hate even more to admit that to Jon, knowing he spent his whole life in this apartment, but the noise from the street and adjoining units is overwhelming and stressful. It only heightens the tension I’m already feeling. I put myself in his shoes, wondering how he’s dealing with the transition. I mean, the thought of Trey being whisked across the country is unfathomable to me. Even if he was being sent to live with my grandparents in Wyoming, I can’t imagine our home life without him.
Jon sits on the floor of his brothers’ room, carefully folding shirts and putting them in boxes. He’s quiet, and takes his time with each one. I’d offered to help him, but he said he wanted to handle this part. I’d already packed away the few items that Will and Max shared between the two of them, and I stripped the beds and went down to the laundry room in the basement of his mother’s building to wash their sheets. I still wasn’t sure how we were going to dry the linens. The two dryers down there both had OUT OF ORDER signs on them. I
figured I’d end up taking them to my house to finish the job.
“It’s just temporary,” I remind him, unable to withstand the tension anymore. “And you can visit them anytime.”
“How?” he asks, frustrated. “How am I going to fly to Utah on a regular basis, Liv?”
“There are ways,” I tell him, not wanting to say what he doesn’t want to hear anyway. My mother had made the suggestion to me already. “I’ve always wanted to go to Utah.”
“Yeah, that’s gonna happen,” he says sarcastically. “Your parents are going to let you and me fly across the country together for the weekend? Wake up, Liv.”
I know he doesn’t mean to be cruel. I know he’s just angry and hurting. I look around his side of the room–his brothers hadn’t changed a thing on Jon’s side since he moved out–trying to find something to occupy my time. I find a book on the corner of his desk, The Brothers Karamazov. I’ve never read it, but I know it is one of Jon’s favorites. I also know this is not his copy. His is on a bookshelf in his dorm, the paperback cover worn, the spine broken.
He’d given this copy to his oldest brother when he moved out. He didn’t expect him to read it at his age, but Jon had hoped Will would be curious enough to try. The bookmark was still stuck in front of the title page.
I wonder if I should pack this without Jon knowing. Thumbing through a few pages, I start reading a passage in the second part.
“What am I thinking?” Jon asks, his back still facing me. I’m not certain he’s talking to me. “Who am I to think I can make changes in society when I can’t even fix my own family? This is as messed up and as broken as it gets.”
“Jon.” I close the book and tuck it inside the box I’d started packing, crossing the room to sit behind him. “This is the best solution right now. Your mom’s finally getting some help, and your aunt seems really nice. She’ll take care of your brothers.”
“They’re so far away, though,” he says sadly. “And what role models do they have? A father in jail and a mother in rehab–”
“And a brother at Columbia University,” I tell him, stating the obvious, which he seems to be forgetting. “A brother who rose above the situations that have defeated so many other people. What better role model could they have?”
He doesn’t answer me immediately. He takes the last of the t-shirts from the bottom drawer and tucks it neatly on top of the folded stack. “I’d wanted to be that. It’s going to be difficult when they’re thousands of miles away, though.”
“Difficult, but doable.”
“I always thought they’d be okay if they had me to look up to. But I can’t watch them now. I can’t watch them grow up. I can’t be there when they have questions that only a man can answer for them. There’s no father figure in Utah, either.”
“Call them often,” I encourage him. “Every day. You can still be a presence in their life. I’m sure your aunt would want that, anyway.”
“It’s just not the same.” He closes the box and finally turns around to face me.
“No, it’s not. It’s change. And what did you ultimately want for them? Change. Something different than the life they know. This could be a start.”
“I just didn’t expect it to happen without me nearby. That’s all.” I stroke the side of his face, and then run my fingers through his hair. “And I know they didn’t want that, either. You should have seen Max.” He looks down into his lap and takes my other hand in his, playing with my ring. “Aunt Patty had to pry him from my leg at the airport. I can only hope he settled down before they got on the plane this morning.”
“They’ll be there in a few hours. You can find out then. I’m sure they’ll call you tonight.”
“I know,” he says as he looks up at me. “Thanks for being here with me today.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” His smile is weak before he leans in and kisses me. Even in its brevity, I can feel his need for comfort.
He picks up a roll of packing tape next to my leg and secures the box beside him. Until a tear falls onto the cardboard, I don’t realize he’s crying. “Jon,” I whisper softly, inching closer and putting my arm around his slumped shoulders. “It’s okay.”
He shakes his head, and I hear him swallow. After a few deep breaths, he explains his mood. “This is very reminiscent of when my father died,” he admits. “I sat alone in his apartment, packing up his things, too. Mom wouldn’t help–not that I blame her.”
“What about your uncle?”
“He was too upset.” He laughs a little. “What my dad lacked in emotion, Ray has in spades. They were complete opposites.”
“What was your dad like?” I ask him. He’d never brought it up, and I’d never wanted to be the one to broach that subject, but it seems like it’s okay to talk about it now.
“My dad...” He sighs. “My dad was emotionally distant, I guess you could say. He was very intelligent, obsessed with knowing everything about everything. If you think I’m bad, you have no idea,” he says with a wistful smile. “He loved science. He loved literature. He loved art. He loved film. He loved nature. He loved logic. But he didn’t love any god, nor did he know how to show love to another person.
“Looking back, I’ve never seen so much passion or attention wasted on things that could never benefit from it, you know? Things and ideas, those were what made him happy, and he became alive when you’d engage him in any intellectual conversation that gave him the freedom to boast his knowledge or tout his opinion. But God forbid you love him,” Jon said, his voice trailing off. “That, he couldn’t return.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you ever wonder how my mother got to be this way? This selfish, alcoholic woman who can’t care for her own children? It was my dad’s fault. He could never love her. He married this woman who was completely taken with him, but he just couldn’t love her.”
“Then why did they get married?”
He turns to look at me, then points to himself. “I showed up.”
“Oh,” I say simply. “I didn’t know.”
“I never told you,” he says. “My dad thought he’d been tricked. He’d asked for an abortion, but she wouldn’t do it. He resented me for quite some time. When I was three and a half, they split up.”
“He walked out?” I ask him.
“Not without good reason. Mom went out, looking for love... she found the affection of Will and Max’s father, and had an affair. She didn’t love him, though. Not like she loved my dad. She tried to hide the pregnancy first, and then she tried to convince Dad that she was pregnant with his child, but apparently there was ‘no way’ that could have happened. Five months after they split, Will was born.”
“How’d you find out about all of this?”
“Mom got drunk one night and let it all out.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve. It wasn’t too long after Max was born.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Jon shakes his head. “It’s weird, because I’d never really thought about ‘love’ when it came to my dad. It wasn’t something I’d ever really looked for. I knew some kids had that–hell, I knew you had that, with the way your dad doted over you–but I just assumed you were all lucky, or special, or somehow extraordinary. I never knew it was something I should expect. I mean, my dad never even told me he loved me. And when Will and Max came along, their dad was the same. Emotionally dead.
“And Mom wasn’t much better. She was too hurt by my dad–and then too drunk in the wake of what happened. She’d tell me she loved me, but it was rarely when she was in a coherent, sober state.”
“I love you, Jon,” I tell him spontaneously, moved to say so by his story and by my own genuine compassion for him. “How could anyone not love you?” Sadness overwhelms me as I look into his eyes, and I feel myself begin to cry. “Don’t believe it for a second. Just because they didn’t say it doesn’t mean they didn’t feel it.”
Another tear falls down his cheek
, but he never breaks down. He looks at me for a few seconds, his thumbs wiping away the wetness from my face, and returns my involuntary verbal outburst with an instinctive physical one of his own. His lips crash hard against mine, moving quickly as his hands lace through my hair and rest at the nape of my neck.
Both of us in need of a breath, he turns his head to the side slightly, resting his temple against mine. My hands press on his chest, feeling the fast rise and fall of his breathing that mirrors my own. His left hand trails down my right arm until it reaches my hip. His fingers grasp my hipbone as his right hand gently caresses my cheek.
“I need you,” he whispers in my ear. I nod my head against his, and I know he can feel my response. He continues to stroke the corner of my mouth with his thumb. I kiss it sweetly, and he lets it linger over my lips. I kiss it a few more times before I grasp his t-shirt in my hands and start to take it off. He lets go of me to pull it over his head.
His eyes trained on mine, he stands up in front of me, offering his hand to help me to my feet. Once standing, I kiss his lips, then his jawline, then his neck, and he turns his shoulder like clockwork, bending down ever so slightly so I can kiss the dream and the sleep.
I slowly pull back, and he lifts my chin with his finger so I can look into his pretty green eyes, and he can look back into mine. His smile is small, but it’s there.
“Love me,” I tell him.
“I do,” he responds.
“Show me.”
He swallows hard, moving his hands slowly to unbutton my shirt. As he slides it off my shoulders, down my arms, his fingers wrap around mine. “I will.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m a little cold,” I tell him. Even under the worn sheet and thin comforter, with his body still radiating its own heat, I shiver in his arms. “Some clothes would be nice.”
He slides out of bed, walking confidently across the room. Just when I start to comment on how comfortable he is in his skin, he pulls his boxers on and picks up his t-shirt and my panties. He hands me my underwear, and I struggle to put them back on under the blankets. He waits until I’m done to slide the shirt over my head and arms.
