by Lori L. Otto
“I need to do a little Christmas shopping, Tessa,” Dad tells me.
“And I need to see Jon,” I add, impatient and ready for this meeting to be over. I had complained to my dad for scheduling it on a Saturday when he knows that’s when I spend time with Jon, but he’d been busy throughout the week, and this was the first chance he had. He hated putting off business meetings that had to do with my art. He said he never wanted to be the cause of a delay in our progress. Once he told me that, I quickly forgave him because I knew he was being sincere.
“Liv, you’ll see him tonight. I need you and Abram to go look at the spaces, okay?”
“All right,” I agree. Dad kisses the top of my head on his way out. I turn to Abram, looking at him expectantly. “Well? You’re going to know about this a lot more than I am.”
“Yes, but you’re the artist with the vision. We have to make sure it all meshes well.”
“Let’s go, then.” He holds the door open for me.
“Nice jeans,” I tell him as I walk by. “Really, you look so much younger... so much cooler.”
“Not hotter?” he asks, and I internally laugh at the way he says it.
“Okay, hot-tuh,” I tease him.
I can feel his eyes on me as he thanks me for the compliment.
“Listen,” he starts as we walk toward the first vacant building. “The last piece in your portfolio is remarkable,” he says. “The one called The Better Option. What was your inspiration, if I may inquire?”
“You may,” I say. “But first tell me why you want to know.”
“I’m just curious.”
“No, that’s a lame excuse. If I’m going to open up to you, you have to do the same for me.”
A faint smile forms on his lips, and he nods, accepting my challenge. “Because–and your title supports this–it seems to me you are faced with a decision,” he says. “As if two opposites were vying for your attention, and you didn’t know which one to bestow your affections upon.”
“You think it’s about guys?” I ask him.
“It could be,” he suggests. “But I suppose it could be a choice between any two things... it’s not about guys?”
I think about the piece he’d mentioned. It was a concept I’d derived last year, when I was struggling between my unrealistic obsession with Granna’s son, Nate, and the growing frustration I was feeling with my father. At the time, it was too difficult for me to finish, because I was too entrenched in the emotions to create, but after weeks of mending the relationship I’d broken with my father, I was finally able to complete the work, still bringing in a considerable amount of emotion but managing to keep a safe distance. I loved my father more than anyone in this world, and I’d never go back to that place that doubted his care for me.
“No, it is about guys,” I admit with a smug smile, knowing that’s not exactly what he was implying. “You really are good.”
“Miss Holland,” Abram says, “rest assured that whatever man you choose will be a very lucky man.”
I think only of Jon. “Yes, he will.”
“I would love to own that piece,” he adds. “I normally don’t make a habit of buying my client’s art, but I’d like to talk to your father about a fair price.”
I hold his arm back to stop him from proceeding. “You really like it that much?” I ask him.
His eyes search mine for a few seconds, making me a little uncomfortable. He puts his hand on my shoulder and nods his head. “I like it very much, Miss Holland. Yes.”
“You know, the piece means a lot to me. It’s something I know I can’t hold on to, but it’s something I wouldn’t mind seeing again from time to time. You can have it, Abram.”
“Livvy,” he says, and I think it’s the first time he’s called me that. Finally, he’s breaking down his walls. “I couldn’t.”
“I insist. You’ll be doing me a favor.”
“But your father–”
“Abram, shut up!” I laugh at him. “I am in charge of this, ultimately. And honestly, I don’t think I want to make money on this one. It feels a little like exploitation to me anyway. Seriously, please keep it for me.”
“If you truly mean it–”
“I do.”
He smiles larger than I’ve ever seen him smile. He’s not one to typically show a lot of emotion, but I can tell this means a lot to him. He hugs me quickly, then kisses me on the cheek before whispering a quick thank you in my ear.
I pull away and laugh, diverting my attention to the street and beginning to walk toward the shop we’re supposed to visit. He catches up with me, resuming regular conversation about stuff that means nothing to either of us. It’s small talk, and its familiarity feels comfortable.
After we visit all three of the spaces my dad was interested in buying and converting into my own gallery, I return home. Dad still isn’t here, and a note on the kitchen counter says that Mom and Trey have gone shopping, too. Thankful I’d finished my shopping early, I decide to go downstairs and get ready for my date.
Matty is in the media room watching a movie.
“Where were you?” he asks.
“I had a meeting with Abram and Dad,” I tell him, sitting down on the couch next to him.
“Abram, huh?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me about Abram.”
I shrug my shoulders and try to explain my quirky agent to my uncle. “He’s a little awkward and a little socially... odd... but when he has to do his job, he’s just really good at it. He can schmooze well, I guess.”
“Single?”
I look curiously at Matty. “Yeah...” I say, lingering on the word.
“Who would he be more interested in?” he asks. “Me or you?”
“I don’t know,” I laugh. “You, I think, but I’m not sure.”
“Yeah, he kind of threw me the other day, too.”
“Did you see him?”
“Jacks needed me to pick up a check for that painting he sold. He’s very attractive.”
“He’s too young for you,” I tell him.
“Mid-twenties?”
“Yeah, he’s twenty-five.”
“You think that’s too young for me?” he laughs.
“That’s, like, twenty years younger! You could be his dad!”
“How?” he asks. “How does that work, Little Liv? Last time I checked, two men couldn’t make a baby.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Honey,” he says. “Twenty-five is fine with me. And trust me, there are plenty of guys his age who are looking for older, more settled men.”
“More settled as in you’re living in your brother’s basement?” I tease him.
“Touché, Livvy.” He glares at me playfully. “Listen, convince Jacks to let me take you to the next meeting. I’ll behave, I just need to feel him out.”
“Ewww...”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. Have some manners, you were raised better than that,” he jabs back. “Give me a proper introduction?”
“All right,” I agree. “It’ll probably be in a few weeks; maybe mid-January.”
“Good. I’m not too busy next month.”
The Thursday before Christmas is the last day before our holiday break, and no one is focused at school, including our teachers. Camille and I sit on the gym floor, our backs pressed against the wall, talking about Finn and Jon. Our coach didn’t even make us dress out for athletics.
“Do you know what Jon’s getting you?”
“No. He keeps giving me obscure hints, but I have no idea. I’m starting to think he’s just throwing out red herrings at this point.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” my best friend says. “Finn’s getting me the purse I showed you at the boutique last week.”
“Lucky,” I tell her. “Jon has never once asked me what I want. He likes thinking of things on his own.”
“What are you getting him?”
“I got him two tickets to see some famous a
rchitect speak at the Museum of Modern Art and a watch.”
“What kind of watch?”
“Well, I’ll show you...” I pat my back jeans pocket for my phone, but realize I left it in the locker. “Never mind, I don’t have my phone.”
“Here, I’ve got mine.” She unlocks it, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see that she has about ten unread text messages.
“Popular today, huh?” I give her privacy, watching some of our classmates playing keep away. A few of the girls are looking in our direction, whispering. I’d never been really close with many people at school, keeping my circle of friends pretty tightly knit. My parents were that way, and raised me to be that way, too.
Still, they normally leave me alone.
“Ummm... Livvy?”
“Yeah?”
“Is this you?”
“Where?” I grab her phone, needing only a split second to recognize the picture on the display. It’s the picture Jon snapped of me at the loft, when I was wearing the black lace lingerie. I drop Camille’s phone on the gymnasium floor, and my hands are shaking too badly to pick it back up. I look up from the phone, seeing other girls laughing at my reaction.
“Why would Jon send you that?” I ask reflexively, but I’m genuinely confused.
“He didn’t. Finn did. And so did Robbie. And Sadie... and Carissa...”
Feeling as if I’ve been stabbed in the heart, I get up quickly and run to the locker room. Camille follows me.
“It’s you?”
“No!” I tell her, my face turning bright pink as I put in the combination to the lock and swing the metal door open with so much force it shuts again. I lean my head against the locker and start crying. She puts her hand on my back, and I simply whisper an amended response. “Yes.”
“Livvy!” she yells. “It’s all over the Internet!”
“What do you mean?” I’m going to die. Mom and Dad will kill me.
“Finn keeps sending me links... one celebrity site after another.”
“Oh, my God.” I open my locker again, grabbing my phone out of my purse. I’m inundated with texts, too, but none from Jon–and none from my parents, which is a relief. “I’m going home.” I grab my purse and bag, and run as quickly as I can out of the locker room. A few girls have followed me and Camille into the room, and stand at the exit, laughing as I run past them.
I call Jon first, leaving him a message. I call him again, leaving him another message. I text him–multiple times. Why would he do this to me?
I blow past the front desk, ignoring the administrators who are calling to me from their desks. When I reach my car, I try to take a few deep breaths before I start to scan the messages I’d received. After visiting three sites, I decide I have to act–fast.
I call my dad at work.
“Dad, I need to ask a favor.”
“Sure, Tessa. Anything.”
“Don’t ask me any questions, I just need you to meet me at home in twenty minutes.”
“Why aren’t you in school?”
“I was, but I need to leave. So you need to call them and tell them I have a doctor’s appointment or something.”
“Do you need one? Are you okay?”
“I’m… okay, Dad, but will you do this?”
“I mean, for you, yes, but–”
“Can you do a few other things?”
“What’s going on, Livvy?” He’s impatient, and louder.
“Just promise me you won’t answer your phone, check your email, listen to the news, or go online right now.”
“Livvy, you’re starting to scare me.”
“It’s nothing to be scared of, Dad. Just trust me.” How can I even ask him to trust me? He never will again. “And one more thing, Dad. Can you pick Mom up? And ask her to not answer her phone or anything either.”
“She’s home already,” he says. “Matty’s covering for her today. But I’ll give her the rest of your message.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, Livvy. Be careful driving home and I’ll see you soon.”
I see the garage door closing as I pull into the driveway. I just pray they haven’t found out yet so I can be in control of the conversation. This is going to be hard enough as it is.
They’re waiting in the kitchen for me, and I hear them discussing theories as I walk through the house.
“Can you guys sit down?” I ask them. They exchange worried glances, but both take a seat at the dining room table. I stand in front of them, playing with the pendant of my necklace, running it back and forth along the fine chain. “I’m going to come clean about something right now. And this isn’t easy, and I probably wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to, but I kind of have to.”
“Is someone blackmailing you?” Dad asks quickly.
“No. Just listen. You know when you went to the lake house for the weekend? And I stayed with Camille?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t stay with Camille.”
I don’t really understand Mom’s expression. She simply looks concerned, and warm, and completely encouraging right now. I glance at my dad, who doesn’t exactly appear to be breathing. He looks down, pinching the bridge of his nose. I decide to keep my focus on Mom.
“In my house, Livvy?” Dad asks, still not looking up.
“No, Dad. Of course not.” He nods his head in understanding and looks up at me, but I can’t look back. “Jon and I stayed at the loft, and… well, things happened,” I tell them vaguely.
“Livvy, are you–” He can’t even ask the question.
“No!” I shriek. “No, no, I promise, no, we were really, really careful.” I silently plead with Mom to calm down Dad. She puts her hand on his forearm, and he flips his hand over to hold hers.
“Thank God,” he says. “Wait, you two have been meeting up at the loft?”
“No, it was the only time.”
“The only time at the loft? Or the only time... ever?”
“Jacks,” Mom cautions him. He stares at me, waiting for an answer, but my mom shakes her head at me, careful to make the motion minuscule so he can’t see her.
“Were you keeping this from me, Emi?” he asks her angrily.
“Of course not, Jacks, I had no idea.”
“We kiss and stuff, Dad, and…”
“I think we get the point, Liv,” Mom says, stopping me before I have to lie.
“Okay,” I sigh, thinking of how I can continue.
“I’m disappointed that you betrayed our trust again, Livvy, and lied to us,” my dad says evenly, “but thank you for telling us this.”
“Well, like I said, I hadn’t planned on telling you. Um…” I exhale quickly and shake my head, looking down at the floor now and tracing the tile with the toe of my shoe. “He took a picture of me,” I say quietly, and hope to God it was loud enough.
“Oh, good lord, Liv,” Dad says, standing up and pushing his chair back, releasing Mom’s hand. He runs his hand through his hair, staring hard at me as he paces the dining room floor. “What happened with the picture?”
“He swore he’d hide it on his computer. And he did, I made him show me where it was hidden, and he had a really good password and it was buried in multiple folders, and the file name wasn’t obvious, but somehow… I don’t know, Dad, we even deleted it from the camera. I made sure that was the only copy. But it’s on the Internet today.”
“Do you think he leaked it? Got paid for it?”
“Absolutely not, Dad. Come on, you know him.” The fact that I haven’t talked to him creates doubt in my voice, though.
“He wouldn’t do that, Jacks,” Mom chimes in. She looks at me reassuringly. “He wouldn’t.”
“Well, then how?”
“I don’t know, Dad. I’m waiting for him to call me back, but maybe he’s in class. I’m guessing he doesn’t even know right now.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Some kids at school found it on a blog. Multiple blogs, actually.
They texted me links; Camille, too.”
“Livvy, honey,” Mom starts slowly. “What exactly is it a picture of?” She cringes, and Dad stops in his tracks, listening intently.
“I’m clothed,” I tell them, “just not… um, properly.”
“And what does that mean?” Dad asks cautiously.
“I had on a sort-of slip thing. I mean, you can’t exactly see anything. And my hair covers part of my face, so it’s not, like, incredibly obvious…”
“But the kids at school knew?”
“Yeah. My name was in the blog.”
“So if it wasn’t obvious, then they must know you or Jon, to know who you are.”
“I guess.”
“Where’s the picture?” Mom asks. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and unlock it. I notice Jon’s sent me three texts, but I ignore them, navigating back to the webpage one of my schoolmates had directed me to.
“See, it could be anyone, right?”
“Except for your hair and that ring that got so much attention last summer.” I hadn’t even given the ring a second thought.
“You can’t really see it though, can you?”
“Well, that camera you have for your art is incredibly high-resolution... as is this photo. So let’s just zoom in.”
“Crap,” I say, defeated. “Forget it, Mom. I believe you.” She offers to show my dad the picture, but he turns away.
I sit in silence as Mom continues to look at my phone. “I just did a quick search on the web,” my mother tells me. “It could be much worse, but still, this isn’t good, Liv. It’s everywhere.”
While Dad’s in the formal dining room making himself a drink, someone knocks at the front door. Mom and I both recognize Jon’s knock.
“Can you stay here for a second? Just so I can warn him?” I plead with my mother. She nods in agreement as I walk toward the foyer.
“Make sure no one else is around,” Dad hollers after me. I stare back at him, wanting to roll my eyes, but don’t. I open up the door for my clearly-worried boyfriend.
“I called Camille when you didn’t respond. Baby, I have no idea how this happened. You saw where I put it, I swear there were no other copies.”
“I believe you, but that doesn’t really help us.”
