by Lori L. Otto
He looks at me and nods his head in understanding. “Yes, I know. I’m not heartless.”
“I know you’re not heartless.” My phone rings as I’m cleaning the pictures. Jon grabs it out of my bag and tosses it to me.
“Hey, Finn,” I say, continuing with my task.
“What am I going to do?” he asks.
“About what?” I ask him, already angry with him. “You didn’t.”
“I messed up, Liv. Has she called you? She knows, right?”
“She knows the rumors she’s heard, but I assured her they weren’t true. You didn’t leave with Natalia, did you?” He sighs into the phone. I glance at Jon, who looks surprised at our conversation. “You did?”
“I was drinking,” he says, “and she’s fun.”
“Camille’s fun,” I remind him dryly. “Even when you’re not drinking.”
“I know, Livvy. Damn it.”
“What happened?” I ask him, praying he doesn’t tell me he slept with her but knowing that’s what happened.
“We did it.” His admission still knocks the wind out of me. I sit speechless for a few seconds, having no idea what to say to him.
“I can’t help you, Finn. She’s my friend–”
“You’re, like, family, though,” he pleads.
“If you were the victim here, I’d choose your side. But I need to be there for Camille–after you tell her. This will destroy her, you realize that, right? You’ve been dating for over two years! How could you do this?” Jon stops assembling boxes and stands next to me, running his fingers up and down my arm.
“Things have kind of plateaued,” he explains softly.
“You know what? That’s a fine explanation. It would have been a fine explanation to tell her that you need to break up before you went out and slept with another girl, though, Finn. But I guess a break-up is inevitable now, so what do you care?”
“That’s just it, I kind of do.”
“Or Natalia wasn’t everything you expected her to be,” I say sarcastically.
“That’s not it. Not really.”
“Good luck convincing Camille of that.”
“What do I tell her?” he asks me, clearly wanting my advice.
“I have no idea!” I exclaim. “If Jon cheated on me, I don’t think there’s anything he could say that would convince me to stay with him. Ugh!” I groan loudly, frustratedly throwing my phone on the couch.
Jon retrieves it promptly, knowing I hadn’t hung up yet. “I’d start with an apology,” he says to Finn, “and then expect it to not work out like you want it to.”
I go back to cleaning the pictures, wondering how Camille will handle the news. I’m sure I’ll have to go see her tonight, despite my plans.
“I can’t tell you what I’d do,” Jon responds to something Finn said, “because I’d never cheat on Olivia. She’s everything I want. What’s the point?” He looks over at me and sees my smile. “Yeah, well, then grovel and beg... no! You can’t lie to her! It won’t go away,” he argues. “You can blame it on the alcohol, but that doesn’t make the betrayal any less.”
I set down my cleaning supplies and grab the phone back. “She’s going to hate you, either way.”
“Well, what can I do?” he asks me again.
“I don’t know. Apologize and move on, I guess, because I’m going to tell her she can do better. She can, and she deserves better than this, Finn. I’m so mad at you right now!” Jon sits quietly. “I can’t talk to you.”
“Livvy–”
I hang up the phone and put it in Jon’s awaiting hand, which keeps me from throwing it somewhere in a fit of rage. He sets it on the coffee table and puts his arms around me.
“Idiot,” I mumble in his shirt.
“Oh, he’s not the first guy in history to make this mistake,” Jon says. “And somehow, people are forgiven for worse things every day. Maybe he’s sincere. Maybe Camille will forgive him.”
“Absolutely not!” I argue. “She has to maintain her dignity. I’d be disappointed in her if she went back to him after that.”
“Baby, you need to encourage her to do what she thinks is best–not what you do. You don’t know the same Finn she knows. And–God forbid–something like that did happen with us, it wouldn’t be a cut-and-dry scenario, and you know it. People in love can’t just flip a switch to turn off their feelings.”
“It’ll never happen with us, right?” I look up at him, needing assurance.
“I love you, Olivia,” he says as he replaces some errant strands of hairs. “I think you and I would both know if things between us started going south.”
“A simple ‘No, I’ll never cheat on you, Livvy’ will suffice,” I suggest.
“It doesn’t sound like Finn planned on cheating. I would never plan to, either. And I like to think that I stay out of situations that could ever lead to a mistake like that.
“What I’m saying is I would talk to you if I was ever in a place where the desire to cheat was there... but I think we would both know already at that point that something was wrong. I think we’re pretty in touch with what the other is feeling. Don’t you?”
I nod my head in agreement.
“Good,” he whispers, pulling me into him and kissing me with purpose. It’s the assurance I need, and I kiss him back, hopefully providing him with the same. My fingers venture up the back of his shirt, and I drag my nails up and down his spine. He shivers and groans a little, moving his own hands to my lower back and pressing against me.
Needing a breath, I pull away and lean my forehead into his chest. “What’s wrong?” he asks, now kneading my shoulders.
I surprise him by moving my hand to his stomach, then venturing down slowly to the zipper on his jeans. I hesitate, and his fingers meet mine, helping me along.
“I want to, but I’m not sure,” I admit.
“They’ll never have to know.”
“I don’t want to lie.”
“They won’t ask,” he says. “We’re careful. We’re in a private residence. We won’t get into any trouble. I mean, who knows when we’ll have another opportunity like this?”
“I know.” I look up at him and smile, touching his face with my free hand. “I know.” We finish lowering his zipper and I unbutton his jeans. He walks backwards to his old room, pulling me with him as we return to our kiss.
“Are you all right?” I say into the phone, trying to hide my lack of breath from Camille. I snuggle into Jon’s naked chest, his body still moist with sweat. I love how his cologne smells, mixed with his perspiration, and I focus on my breathing as I listen to my friend.
“He did it,” she barely squeaks out before she releases a giant sob.
“Camille,” I begin, “calm down.”
“I can’t calm down. I can’t do this, Livvy. It hurts too bad.”
“I know it does, but you can do this.”
“He is everything to me. Everything!”
“He’s not everything, Camille. You have a full life of your own.” Even as the words come out of my mouth, I struggle to find any truth in them. She has focused all of her attention on Finn for the last few years of her life. She’d even planned to go to the same college he was going to in Miami after she graduated. And she hates hot weather.
“Do you want something to drink?” Jon asks quietly before pressing his lips to my forehead. “I saw some sodas in the fridge.” He starts to climb out from under me.
“No, don’t leave,” I beg him, covering the mic on the phone.
“I’ll be right back.” Standing in the boxers he hadn’t yet removed, he picks up his t-shirt off the floor and tosses it to me. “You always want clothes...”
“...after...” I remind him. We hadn’t gotten that far yet.
“Are you with Jon?” Camille says through sniffles as I loosely arrange his shirt over my bare stomach and chest.
“Yeah, but it’s okay.”
“Am I interrupting a date?” she asks. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, now I’m really sorry!” she says.
“Camille, it’s fine,” I assure her, knowing Jon wouldn’t agree with that statement. “We’re just getting to the good part,” he had joked with a whine after the third time my phone rang. I argued that there isn’t just one good part, and that we’d hit upon many of them already... but I knew what he meant. I wanted it, too. “What did Finn say?”
As Camille recounts their conversation, which apparently involved a fair amount of groveling, begging and apologizing, Jon brings me a Coke and sips on a Sprite of his own. I take one drink before setting it on his desk, still listening. After a few minutes, Jon finds my panties on the floor and starts to slide them back up my legs.
“No!” I whisper, once again trying to hide my voice from Camille.
“Yes,” Jon says as he kisses my calves and knees along the way. “I have to get back to work. I do have a deadline–the guys will be here at six.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to get dressed,” I suggest.
“If I intend to get anything done, you do. Unless you want to do this while she’s on the phone,” he jokes. “I don’t have a problem with it, but she might be a little offended.”
“Right?” Camille says. I hadn’t heard her question.
“I’m sorry, Camille, one more time? My phone cut out.” Jon laughs and kisses my stomach when he’s successfully re-dressed me in my underwear. He climbs on top of me, pressing against me briefly, and kisses my cheek.
“Take your time, baby,” he whispers in my ear as I try to concentrate on my phone conversation. “She needs you.”
When he pulls away, we stare at one another, and my heart speeds up again, too. I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. “I need you, too, but she needs you more right now.”
I mouth the words ‘I love you,’ to him. He takes his t-shirt back, touching my naked breasts lightly as he pulls away.
“Right?” Camille repeats. This time, I’d heard enough to answer the question.
“Yes, Camille, you were right to assume he’d be faithful. You’re absolutely right.” I lean over the bed and grab my own shirt, putting it on as I shuffle the phone from ear to ear.
Thirty minutes later, Camille’s older sister shows up at her house, and my friend finds a new person to try to make her feel better. I’d tried, but she seems inconsolable right now. I can’t say that I blame her, either.
After I put on the rest of my clothes, I join Jon in his mother’s room. I’m amazed at his progress in a half-hour.
“Wow, you’ve done half of the room?”
“Let’s just say after finding a few items, it was just better to grab things by the handful and shove them in boxes. I can only imagine how mortified she’ll be when she opens these later, realizing I’ve packed them and seen things I never should have.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He shakes his head and laughs a little. “I’m really just trying to put it out of my mind. Don’t make me give them more life by talking about them.”
“Okay. Should I help?”
“Why don’t you work on the kitchen?” he suggests. “I can’t imagine there’d be anything embarrassing in there. I hope.”
“I’ll just keep my mouth shut and put it in a box,” I promise. “And no judgment.”
“Right. Come here,” he says as he sets a box aside. I walk over and squat next to him. He kisses me, running his hand up the back of my leg. “I do want to finish what we started,” he says. “Maybe we’ll find some place tonight after we get everything into storage.”
I start trying to think of where we can go, but like always, there’s not a single place between us that would allow us the time and space and privacy to be together. I smile and nod, though, maintaining his level of hope.
We get a lot done, working separately, and within another few hours, we have nearly everything in boxes. Some pillows and linens remain, but Fred told Jon he’d bring a few more boxes when he arrived with the truck.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask him as we sit together on the couch, staring at the empty wall across from us. My fingers play with his while we relax together.
“You. In my room,” he says. “Thinking about what it would be like to come home to that every day.”
“What would it be like?” I ask for his thoughts.
“It might be too much,” he laughs. “I’m used to the deprivation,” he teases me.
“You know, they do have coed housing at Columbia. I researched it.”
“I think you can get that idea out of your head right now,” he says. “That’s a pipe dream that’s not coming true in your father’s lifetime,” he admits with a blush.
“I’m yours when I’m eighteen,” I tell him. “Daddy will love me either way. He’ll be happy I’m going to a good school like Columbia, and one day, he’ll wake up and be happy I’m in love with a good guy like you.”
His smile is sweet. “He’d be happier with you away from me, at Yale, though,” he says meekly.
“You’re right. But I wouldn’t be. I couldn’t be happier than I am with you. No school curriculum will overshadow what we have.”
“I just don’t think it’s bad to consider.”
“I am,” I say, mildly frustrated, but not allowing myself to be angry with him. Of course I’m considering it. I loved the campus. The people were cool. The idea of a little more privacy is becoming more inviting every day, but still. I just want him.
“We’d still see a lot of each other, either way. You’ll have the loft,” he suggests. “If you’re mine at eighteen, we could shack up on the weekends.” He tickles me lightly and laughs.
“We could shack up every day if I’m in Manhattan.” I elbow him in the side.
“I’m not sure why we’re even discussing this,” he finally concedes. “You’re right.”
“I want to keep your interest,” I add with a shrug of my shoulders. “I wouldn’t want you to... you know... cheat on me...” I look up at him and blink innocently until he breaks, making the vow I’d been wanting him to make.
“Never,” he says quickly. “There, is that better?”
“Yep!” I kiss his cheek, and he turns his head to meet my lips with his.
“Movie tonight?” he asks. I guess he’s realized and accepted there’s nowhere for us to be alone tonight, either.
“Sounds great. You pick this week.”
“Okay.”
“I need to go by Camille’s,” I tell him. “Your friends will be here soon, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, looking around the apartment that’s been consolidated into boxes against walls.
“I’m fine, Olivia,” he assures me. “I hope when she comes back, I can help her find a much better place. Some place with actual heat. In a better neighborhood. With better schools. I’m not going to miss this place. I’ll miss the people, not the place.”
“Okay. Well, call me when you’re ready. I’ll come pick you up. Lift with your legs,” I instruct him as I climb off the couch. I kick off my shoe and run my toes up his calf muscle slowly. “These strong, handsome legs–” He grabs my wrist and pulls me back on top of him, and we both start laughing through our kiss.
“I’ll see you this evening,” he says. “Tell Camille she needs to find a hobby,” he advises me. “And tell her she can’t call you tonight, okay? I’m not stopping for her again.” His smile lets me know he’s just kidding with me.
“You’ll go all the way with me in the theater. Classy,” I mock him, raising my eyebrow.
“Anywhere, baby,” he says with a wink.
“Nice. Tell your friends I said hi.”
“Sure. Talk to you soon.”
After my detour at Camille’s, I finally make it home. Dad’s sister is in the kitchen with Trey, making cookies. A little girl is in there, too.
“Aunt Kelly?”
“Liv
vy, there you are!” she says. “Your parents weren’t sure when you’d be home, but I was starting to worry.”
“I had to go by Camille’s,” I tell her. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was already babysitting my granddaughter tonight,” she says with a smile, nodding to the little girl, “and I thought I’d offer to sit with Trey so your mom and dad could have a night out. They were always so nice to watch my kids when they were little.”
“So this is Nikki?” I ask, getting down on my knees to seem less scary to the shy little girl.
“Isn’t she a cutie?” Kelly asks.
“She’s adorable. Hi, Nikki!” She scoots behind the kitchen island, only peering at me from behind the corner of it. “It’s okay, sweetie.”
“She’ll warm up to you. Just give it an hour or two.”
“Oh,” I say, standing up. “Ummm... I’m going out with Jon tonight. It’s our weekly thing.”
“Your parents know?” she asks.
“It’s a weekly thing,” I repeat. “It’s kind of understood, at this point,” I tell her.
“They just didn’t mention it,” Kelly says. “I was hoping you could show Nikki how to paint. You were her age when you started.”
“Oh, I’d love to,” I tell her sincerely, but recognizing that it’s not just a lack of time that would keep me from doing that. “I can’t tonight. I can get stuff out for you, though, if you’d like.”
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about it,” Kelly says. “I’m just a little out of practice. I’ve had a hard time keeping her entertained.”
I think back to when I was Nikki’s age. I was three when I first met my parents. I remember there were two things I loved: my teddy bear and playing dress up. “Hold that thought.” I go downstairs and into my room, digging deep in the hope chest I’d had since I was little. Inside is an air-tight bag containing Teddy. He was a gift from my biological mother, but my adoptive parents had spent years making sure my stuffed animal was in good shape. The poor thing was covered in patches and stitches. It looked as well-loved as I knew I always was.
I don’t hesitate getting it out of the bag, because I know there’s a little girl upstairs who’d enjoy a few hours with the toy. I also find a box of princess gowns and fake jewelry, and bring those upstairs with me, too.
