Olivia

by Lori L. Otto

  Within seconds, we’re looking at photos of me and Finn on one of the tabloid sites. Links to videos are below the sensational article with the headline of ‘Kissing Cousins.’

  Dad sighs heavily, clicking on one of the links to launch the video player. He only watches a few seconds before getting up and walking across the room.

  “Let me get you a drink, Jack,” Finn’s step-mom says.

  “Thank you,” he replies from behind me.

  “Oh, Livvy,” my mom whispers softly, putting her arms around me. It looks so intimate in the video... like a stolen kiss between two forbidden lovers. It looks much worse than I thought it would.

  “This is an embarrassment, Livvy,” Dad says.

  “I know.”

  “Jacks, it had to be the concussion,” Mom says in my defense. “Livvy and Finn have been friends their whole lives. They’ve just said they don’t like one another that way. Right?”

  “Right,” Finn and I both say.

  “And I’m sorry, honey, but I’m more worried about what Jon and Camille think about this than what the rest of Manhattan does. It’s a minor embarrassment, but those two must be devastated.”

  “I’m sure Jon thought I did it on purpose,” I tell her. “He didn’t come to my graduation. He didn’t even answer my calls. I know he’s angry... but now... he must hate me.”

  “And poor Camille,” Mom adds.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I explain. “I was just confused.”

  “Jacks, you need to make some sort of a statement or something.”

  “What, and draw more attention to this?”

  “Stop worrying about your reputation for a minute and let’s think about our daughter’s, okay?”

  “I think we should just let this be. They can blow this up, however they want, put whatever spin they want to on it, but what they’re reporting isn’t true. I don’t want to give any more credibility to their article.”

  “What about Jon?” Mom asks.

  “Livvy needs to deal with him personally.”

  “I’m sure he won’t talk to me,” I tell him.

  “He will,” he assures me. “When he’s ready, he will.”

  “He leaves in three days,” I whine.

  “I’ll step in, if I need to,” he says. I start to cry again. He moves back to the couch and kneels in front of me, taking me into his arms. “We’ll fix it. Don’t worry. Let’s get you home and to bed, though. It seems like this concussion is worse than we thought it was.”

  “What about the dinner? And the lock-in?” I ask him, referring to our plans for the evening.

  “I think you need some rest,” he says. “At home.”

  “We’ll have dinner another time,” Finn’s step-mom says. “When we all feel like celebrating.”

  “Okay,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “Let’s get you home,” Mom says as she helps me to my feet. “That bump is looking pretty bad.”

  “Thanks, Finn,” I say to him on my way out. Even though being with him made things worse, I know it wasn’t all his fault. I had been an active participant in what happened. I’m not even certain who initiated it. It just seemed to happen.

  As we get closer to our house, I see people gathered out front. At first, I think it’s the rest of my family, but realize quickly that they’re all strangers. Most have cameras.

  Dad pulls into the garage and promptly slams his door after he gets out. I watch from the backseat of the car until the garage door shuts my mother and I safely inside. When we get out, I hear his voice loudly proclaiming that my accident yesterday caused a more severe concussion than initially believed, leaving me very unsteady and confused. He asks for privacy, and then he stops talking. Mom and I go into the house, meeting Dad in the kitchen.

  Our house is crowded with members of my family, all of them waiting for us to return so they can go to dinner. It’s much quieter than it should be, and I realize they all know what happened between me and Finn. A few of my cousins are gathered around a computer, and I don’t have to guess what they’re looking at. The surprised looks on their faces give them away. I look down at the floor hurriedly, not wanting to meet their questioning gazes.

  “Livvy needs her rest. Emi and I are going to stay here, but the rest of you are welcome to head over to the restaurant. They are expecting us.”

  “Jacks, can we bring you something back?” my aunt Kelly asks him.

  “Sure,” he says, squeezing his sister’s arm. “Whatever’s good. And bring something sweet for Liv,” he says.

  “There are lemon cupcakes next to the toaster,” she says.

  “Thanks, Kelly,” I tell her with a small smile.

  After my family has left–they all have to push through the intrusive gathering out front to get by–my parents help me downstairs to the basement.

  “I’m sorry I embarrassed you, Dad.”

  “Baby, I’m sorry for making you feel like you did. You’re unwell. I know it was a mistake.”

  “Still...”

  “Hush. I don’t want you to say another word about it. I want you to lie down and get some sleep... and just remember that you graduated today, and that I’m very proud of you for that. That’s what we should be focusing on. Okay?”

  “Right,” I say with a sigh. “I graduated, and I ruined my relationship with Jon. So proud.”

  “Livvy,” Mom says, “please just try to get some rest, honey. Everything’s going to work out. I promise.”

  “How do you know?” I ask her.

  “Because I believe it’s meant to be,” she says confidently, smiling. Dad’s expression is comforting, too.

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Tessa.”

  They both give me big hugs before leaving me in my room. After changing into some pajamas, I crawl into bed, believing that my parents are right. They normally are. When I wake up, I’ll be able to go see Jon and explain everything. He’ll forgive me because he thinks we’re meant to be, too.

  CHAPTER 26

  The air conditioning in the loft doesn’t seem to be working like it should. The unexpected heat-wave in mid-August is taking its toll on everyone, though, and with the rolling blackouts that seem to be happening more and more often, it’s harder to regulate the temperatures in any building.

  I take off my smock, leaving me in a tank top and a pair of shorts. I kick off my shoes and socks, too, not caring if I drop paint on my feet. Wanting a bottle of ice-cold water, I abandon my project momentarily and go to the kitchen.

  Taking a seat at the kitchen island, my summer paintings capture my attention as they hang on the tall wall across the room. I’d painted scenes on twenty-nine canvases, each one the same size–three square feet. In most other spaces, they wouldn’t fit on the walls, but the tall ceilings of the penthouse loft provided the perfect place for display.

  One painting to go... and I’m almost finished.

  At the beginning of the summer, I’d vowed to do three paintings a week for every week that Jon was in Utah. It was my promise to him. I’d hoped to have this last one done before today, but I struggled with it. It had a title, but I wasn’t sure what the tone of it should be.

  Reunion.

  I’d since figured out what to paint, even though I had no idea what our reunion would be like. In fact, I wasn’t sure there would even be one.

  I hadn’t heard from him since our fight in the street after graduation. I’d called him, left dozens of long messages, sent him letters to an address I had for his aunt–Dad had obtained it when he was working on getting Jon’s mom into rehab, and I found it in his address book. The letters weren’t returned, so I assumed Jon was receiving them.

  I’d send a note after completing each painting, describing it as best as I could. I didn’t send him pictures of them, though. I wanted him to have something to look forward to when he got back to Manhattan.

  Every message I’d left for him, no matter which way I chose to communicate, started with the same three wor
ds. He had to know how strongly I felt about him, and about us.

  I poured everything into the paintings, and what little emotion was left at the end of the day, I’d put into the letters. I’d said all that I could say to convey my remorse, my regret, the disappointment I felt in myself. There were tear-stains on the notecards. There was no way he didn’t know how bad I felt about kissing Finn. I made sure he knew it meant nothing to me. The fight about Utah and Columbia was nothing compared to that stupid kiss. I’d forgiven him for going away for the summer. I wanted the opportunity to make sure he knew I’d give him space, but that I would always want to be with him.

  If he’d take me back.

  While everyone else believed the concussion story, I knew that he would not. He knew Finn and I had kissed before. It had made him very jealous and possessive. He’d forgiven me then. I knew it would be a lot harder to forgive me this time around–especially since he saw the kiss with Finn–and how it ended in such an intimate manner.

  I pick up the phone to call him, not knowing exactly when he’s coming back. I had broken down and called Frederick a few weeks ago to find out the day. A loyal friend to his roommate, it took an inordinate amount of begging to get him to tell me which day. He wouldn’t tell me what time, or what flight. It’s left me on pins and needles all day, waiting in anticipation to see him.

  I’d told my parents Jon was set to arrive tomorrow. Without him in town all summer, Mom and Dad had entrusted me with the key to the loft. I spent most of my days here, painting. I had to be home at eleven every night, though. I was normally exhausted well before then anyway, so the early curfew didn’t bother me. It would have if there had been a better reason to stay out late, but Jon was the only reason I ever wanted.

  If he comes back to the city today, I want him to come here and spend some time with me. I know we need to talk. I want him to see what I’ve done for myself. I know my parents won’t allow me to be here alone with him, even if we haven’t spoken to one another all summer... even though I know that things won’t magically be okay when he walks through those doors.

  I hope he does walk through those doors today. I miss him so much, and the loft seems much quieter today than normal, even though nothing has changed from any of the previous days.

  I wasn’t always alone at the apartment. Sometimes my cousins would stop by. Sometimes Finn would, which became less and less awkward as the summer wore on. He leaves for school in Miami tomorrow, so I imagine he’ll come by today. I just hope he calls first, just in case Jon is around.

  Jon’s changed his greeting. His voice is happy. “Hey, it’s Jon. Yes, I’m back in the city. Leave a message and I’ll call when I can.”

  My heart pounds, realizing he’s only a few blocks from me. After hearing the beep, I forget myself; I forget the message I’d wanted to leave. “It’s Livvy,” I stutter. “I’m at the loft. I’ll be here until eleven. Welcome home. I’d love to see you. I love you.”

  Suddenly reenergized, I drink the rest of my water and get back into the studio. There are just a couple finishing touches to make, and after detailing with a few different colors, someone rings the buzzer. It must be someone the doorman knows since he didn’t call up. Not even considering how I look, I run to the door. I don’t think Jon could have gotten my message and made it over here already, but maybe he was already on his way.

  Finn is waving through the peephole. I open the door quickly. “Come in,” I tell him, hugging him on his way inside.

  “It’s hot in here,” he says.

  “It’s hot everywhere.”

  “You should call maintenance, Liv.”

  “Okay, okay, I will,” I concede. “Are you all packed?”

  “Yep,” he says. “The moving van’s filled to the brim.”

  “I’m so jealous,” I tell him. “Not everyone gets to move into their own apartment their freshman year. I feel like I’m just moving from one overly-supervised living quarters to another.”

  “You’ll have fun. It won’t be anything like having Jacks watching your every move. I promise.”

  “I hope.”

  “How’s the painting coming?” he asks, grabbing some water.

  “I’m almost done. You can look.” He follows me into the studio. “He’s back,” I say softly.

  “Did you hear from him?” he asks, looking over my shoulder. I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” he says, the sorrow in his voice genuine. I feel my confidence begin to crumble, but I breathe through it, willing myself not to cry. “Don’t lose hope,” Finn tells me, pulling me into an embrace.

  “I can’t,” I admit. “He’s my life, Finn. If I lose hope, I don’t know what else there is.”

  “Don’t say things like that,” he says suddenly, pushing me away from him. “You know there’s more to life than him... than the two of you, together.”

  “He’s my heart,” I say with a sniffle. “He’s my wings.”

  Finn disagrees. “You’re Livvy Holland, and you will soar–with or without him.”

  “But I couldn’t have painted any of this if it wasn’t for him.”

  “Hey,” he says as he walks to the main room, looking at the wall. “You did all of this without him.”

  “He inspired me,” I argue.

  “The happy moments you had together inspired you,” he corrects me. “Things you did together inspired you. The memories inspired you. He didn’t. He wasn’t here cheering you on. The thought that you might have this again, that’s what inspired you.”

  “And I want it.”

  “I know you do, Liv. But maybe it’s not with him, you know?”

  “Have you been talking to my parents again?” I ask him sarcastically. I had just been joking with him, but I see a look flash across his face, and realize he had.

  “They’re worried, Livvy, that’s all. They say you just go home and sleep... and then wake up and paint.”

  “They would have been happy with that last summer.”

  “They’d never be happy, seeing you hurt. They don’t want you to paint at the expense of your happiness.”

  “The only time I’m happy is when I am painting,” I tell him. “When I relive these moments, when I face what we had, even though it hurts... it’s like a good cry, and the elation when I’m done is a total high for me.”

  “Your dad doesn’t think it’s healthy.”

  “I don’t expect him to understand,” I explain. “Dad’s not an artist. I think Mom gets it, though.”

  “Even she’s excited about you going away to school, to get away from this routine. She thinks it’s adding to your depression.”

  “When you look at these paintings, Finn, do you see depression?”

  “No, not at all,” he says, looking over the vibrant and colorful wall art. “But when I turn around, and look at you, Liv... that’s all I see. That’s all any of us see. You need to get out of this cycle.”

  “I want to. Jon’s back today. That will change everything.”

  “Are you in denial? He hasn’t tried to get in touch with you in nearly three months.”

  “Because it would be impossible to work this out over the phone,” I say, making excuses.

  Finn frowns at me, not buying it. “Finish up the last painting, Liv, and then go home. You have three days left before you move out of the Holland home. Make them count with your family.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Okay. I’m always a phone call away, Liv. I’ll always make time for you, okay?” he says as he sets his drink down. We hug each other tightly.

  “Good luck, Finn. I’ll miss having you around,” I tell him.

  “I’ll miss you, too. But I’ll see you in two months for your birthday, right?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. I’d been talking about having a big party here for my eighteenth birthday, but I never imagined having it without Jon. I can’t envision what it will be like without him. That was a day we’d been looking forward to for what seemed like forever.

  At this po
int, it was just looking like a family affair, one that would likely be fraught with tension anyway. Camille still wasn’t speaking to us, either... and Mom and Dad still weren’t thrilled about permanently handing over the loft to me, although it had become a much more palpable idea with Jon out of the picture.

  In my mind, he was always back by then. “Take care, Livvy,” Finn says, interrupting my daydream.

  “You, too, Finny. Call me when you get there.”

  “I will. Promise me you’re heading home soon.”

  “I am,” I lie with a forced smile.

  “Okay.” He hugs me once more before opening the door. “And call your maintenance crew. This isn’t normal.”

  “Got it, Finn,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.

  “That’s my Livvy,” he jokes, waving goodbye. I glance down the hallway, just to see if anyone else is there. No one is.

  I return to the painting and finish it up within the hour. I normally let the work dry on the easel before hanging it on the wall, but the nails are already in place, and I’m anxious to see the finished collection. As soon as the painting is on the wall, my eyes well up. I’d completed the project. It’s over. It’s now in the past, and Jon still hasn’t come back to me.

  He was supposed to be back by now.

  For hours, I stare at the wall, devoting plenty of time to each painting; to each memory that I’d captured in oil and canvas. Not all were happy moments, but each one was a defining moment in our relationship.

  Our first date, represented by deep red hues and a silly drink with an umbrella.

  Our first Christmas, where a tiny ring kept Jon and my father worlds apart.

  Our first time together in Mykonos. I’d considered painting the view from our room, but instead decided to paint the view of our room from the outside. What happened in that room that night was more beautiful than any landscape, in any country. A soft yellow glow emanated from french doors. That glow was happiness.

  I’d captured our first kiss, stolen on the walk home from the Art Room to my house. The night I celebrated his birthday with him at his uncle’s bar was represented, the tone of it sad because of the fight that ensued. There were a few fights represented on the wall. Each one had given us a better understanding of who we were as individuals, and as a couple. Even our last fight was featured. It was the twenty-ninth canvas in our story.