by Lori L. Otto
“Your uncle is awesome,” Camille says.
“I know. You should have met his ex, Lucas. He was even crazier. They were a pair.” When they broke up, the rest of the family lost all contact with Matty’s ex-partner. He’d become a part of our family, so it was difficult on all of us, but we all knew it was hardest on Matty, and we had to respect his decision. We knew it was a decision he didn’t take lightly, and as far as we knew, he hadn’t been in love since.
The next morning, my dad takes me out of the city to practice driving my new car. I can’t drive it alone until I get my license officially in December, but he promises to take me out a few times a week to practice, and says we can run errands in it when I need to. More than once, he’s cautioned me to slow down as his knuckles wrap around the handle in the door.
With Dad’s permission, my uncle, mom and I take the Audi to go shopping for a dress that afternoon. We end up on a street with a few designer boutiques, and my Aunt Anna meets us there, at my mother’s request.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to the adults.
“We all have a purpose,” Mom explains. “Anna wants to make sure it’s fashionable. Matty won’t shut up about how sexy you’re going to look,” she grumbles. “I just want you to be comfortable. I also know what your Dad will absolutely not tolerate.” She glares at Matty.
“I still think it’s a good idea for me to take him out to dinner or something so he doesn’t even have to see his little princess go out with her prince charming.”
“He won’t go for that.” My mom laughs. “I’ve considered it.”
As they shuttle me from store to store, in and out of countless dresses that I can’t stand, I eventually grow frustrated and start to get a little irritable.
“Can’t we just go home? I have those black pants and that green shirt with the sparkly things, Mom. The one you love so much. That will be fine.”
“You’ll look perfect in anything,” my aunt says. “But your mom told me where you’re going–”
“Where?” I ask.
“He wants it to be a surprise, but you’ll love it. I promise.”
“Yes, you will, Liv, but you’ll feel much more comfortable in something nicer. Here, how about this?” Anna asks as she holds up a knee-length black dress with silver and black beading around the waist. It’s the first dress I’ve seen all day that I don’t entirely hate.
“Let’s try it,” I say with a sigh, following her into the dressing room. “Why would he take me somewhere that I have to dress up to go to?” I ask myself, more than to anyone else.
“Probably because he’d like to see you in a dress, Livvy,” my uncle says. “He’s a seventeen-year-old boy. Apparently the straight ones like to see a little leg and a lot of cleavage.”
I groan in frustration as I blush.
“You and me both. I don’t see the draw, either, but they do,” he says with a laugh.
“Now I’m nervous.” My stomach feels totally unsettled all of a sudden. With all the focus on what I’m going to wear, I nearly forget that I’ll be spending the evening alone with a guy I really, really like. Love, even. I stand in front of the full length mirror, watching myself tie the thick black ribbon behind my neck. When I finally bring my arms to my side, a smile breaks across my face. I stand on my tiptoes, envisioning myself in high heels, lengthening my legs. One thing is for certain. I do not look like a little girl in this dress. I look so unlike a little girl that I’m not sure my dad would approve of me in this dress. I realize immediately I have to have it.
“I love it,” I say from behind the dressing room door.
“Open up,” Anna says.
“Let me see, Liv,” my mom encourages me.
I take a deep breath and pull my long, brown hair over my shoulders in an attempt to mask some of the apparent cleavage that the top of the dress highlights. My aunt, uncle and mom are watching expectantly when I open the door.
“It’s beautiful,” Anna says.
“Perfection,” Matty adds.
“No way,” Mom says as she pushes my hair back behind my shoulders to get an unobstructed view of the bodice. “I don’t think your dad will go for that.”
“I don’t care,” I tell her.
“I don’t either,” my uncle chimes in. “I’ll fight this battle. She’s wearing this dress tonight.”
“What don’t you like, Emi?” Anna asks.
“It’s... it’s so grown up. I mean, look at her,” she says as her focus diverts to my breasts.
“Mom!” I fold my arms over my chest, but Anna pulls them down quickly.
“Turn around, Livvy.”
I make a slow circle, watching myself at different angles in the mirror. “I’m wearing this.”
“Absolutely not,” my mom declares when my back is to her. “It’s practically backless,” she says.
“Em, it is not. She wears tank tops that show more than this dress.” It’s true. I do. “I think it’s perfectly age-appropriate. And yes, maybe it shows off her curves a little, but wasn’t that the point in finding a dress for her tonight? I mean, what were your expectations?”
“Something pretty, but something... I don’t know... more conservative?”
“She looks beautiful, Emi. And it’s not revealing. It’s quite modest, actually. It’s not low-cut. It’s not see-through. It goes down to her knees. It covers more than half of her back,” my aunt tries to convince her. “I don’t think we would find anything more perfect. It’s her first date, Emi. And Jon wants it to be special. Livvy, do you feel special?”
“I do,” I tell her happily. “I totally do.” I feel like a grown up in this dress.
“We’ll get her some strappy heels–”
“No,” my mom protests. “Let’s go conservative with the shoes. Peep-toes, max.”
“Even better,” my uncle says. “Nothing’s sexier than a peep-toe.”
“Matty, you’re not helping,” I tell him as I watch my mom’s shoulders relax. “Can I get it, Mom?”
“Matty, you’re going to have to help me sell this to Jacks.”
“I’ll handle my brother. I can spin this, don’t worry.”
“Alright then,” she says. “I have the perfect necklace for you to wear, Livvy.”
“No, I already have something in mind,” I tell her. I pull the silver chain out of my purse. I’d been hiding it from her all day, but I knew I wanted to wear it tonight, and now seems like a good enough time to show her. I clasp the necklace around my neck, and the small charm hangs at the perfect length.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“It says chosen, in French.”
“It’s so pretty, Livvy. Where did you get that?”
“Jon gave it to me Thursday.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Jon did?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s lovely, Liv, but maybe we shouldn’t let your dad see that quite yet.”
“He already has.”
“He has?” she states her question evenly.
I nod my head. “Last night.”
“And he knows where you got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Curious that he wouldn’t mention such a thing to me,” she says. “What did he say?”
“Nothing,” I tell her.
“Nothing,” she repeats. “Well, it’s very sweet. It just seems a tad serious.”
“Well, I think it is serious.”
She smiles, but it feels like she’s not taking me seriously. I could tell her that he’s said he’s in love with me, but I don’t want to do anything that might make my parents change their minds about letting me go out with him.
“Okay, sweetie. Let’s get changed so we can go find some heels for you to wear.”
“Peep-toe,” I insist as I close the door.
“What have I started?” she asks my aunt and uncle as I start to get into my jeans and t-shirt. I hang the dress carefully and pass it over the dressing room door to my mom. I keep the necklace on,
proud to wear it and happy that I don’t feel the need to hide it anymore.
After we find the shoes, I drive Matty, Mom and myself back to the house. I hadn’t realized it was so late in the day, and start to get a little jittery when I get home and realize I still have to shower, curl my hair, paint my nails and put on make-up before Jon shows up in two hours. I guess the best thing about it, though, is my dad doesn’t have any time to argue about the dress when he finally sees me in it. I emerge from the basement with only five minutes to spare.
“Livvy,” my dad says with a tinge of sadness to his voice. I can tell he wants to say more as his hand drags across the stubble on his chin. He eventually covers his mouth, seemingly unable to speak. I can see the smile in his eyes, though, and he just shakes his head minutely.
“You should have seen the dress she really wanted, Jacks,” my uncle lies. “Really short, and it had this, like, cut-out around her midriff. We talked her into this.” My mom smiles behind my dad’s back.
“You look so grown up, Contessa,” he says. “This is our little girl?” he asks my mom.
“Yep,” she answers him.
“You’re beautiful,” my dad says to me.
“Thanks, Dad.” Just then, a knock on the door interrupts our conversation. I walk in front of my dad to answer it, showing off my back.
“She’s got a sweater or something, right? To cover up?” he asks my mother.
“It’s unseasonably warm, Jacks. She won’t need it.”
“What if I just want her to wear it?” I shoot him a glance, and am grateful to see Mom making the same face. “I’m not gonna win this one, huh?”
“Nope,” my mom and Matty say together.
“Hi,” I say brightly to Jon when I open the front door. He’s dressed in a dark suit and wearing a yellow tie. His slightly messy hair is the only physical characteristic that reminds me he’s still a teenager. He looks gorgeous. I look beyond him, noticing that a cab waits at the curb.
He lets out a quick sigh as his eyes inspect me from head to toe. My dad clears his throat, likely to get Jon’s attention. His eyes meet my father’s first, then mine, and then he remembers to hand me the six red carnations he’d tied with a ribbon and was clutching tightly in his right hand.
“Thank you.” I stand up a little straighter and run my free hand down my dress nervously. Jon smiles and lets out a little laugh.
“You ready to go?” he asks, and I’m a little surprised he doesn’t have more to say about the dress, or my curly hair, or the shoes.
“Yeah, sure.” I turn around and hand my mother the flowers.
“Thank you, Jack, Emi. I should have her home by midnight,” Jon says.
“Make it ten-thirty and we’ve got a deal,” my dad counters.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Jon says through nervous laughter. “Ten-thirty it is, sir.”
“You’ve got your phone, Contessa?”
“Dad!” I correct him.
“Livvy, sorry. But you’ve got it?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Well, you two have a good time. She’s allergic to horseradish.”
I turn around and glare at him. “I can speak for myself.”
“You’re right, Livvy. My apologies.” His smile is sweet and contrite. “See you at ten-thirty.”
“Sorry my dad’s so overprotective,” I tell Jon after we both get into the cab. He had held the door open and helped me in.
“If your dad was truly overprotective, Liv, he wouldn’t have let you leave the house in that dress.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know how hot you look in that dress.” I bite my lip to hold back my smile. “Yeah, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.”
“You haven’t. I hate wearing them.”
“I wish you didn’t. If I had my choice, you’d never cover up your legs again.” He brushes the back of his hand over my knee quickly.
“Well, maybe I’ll start wearing them more often.”
“Okay,” he whispers, taking a strand of my hair and wrapping it around his finger. He keeps letting it fall loosely, and repeating the motion. “Are you curious about where we’re going?”
“I am.”
“So your mom kept the secret?”
“I guess so. No one told me.”
“We’re going to this restaurant called One if By Land, Two if By Sea.”
“That sounds familiar,” I tell him.
“The restaurant? Or the saying?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well,” he says. “Do you know where the saying comes from? Think history class.”
“I’m thinking it has something to do with lanterns. Oh, yeah, I remember. It was a warning about the British Army. There was supposed to be one lantern if the Brits were approaching by land, and two lanterns if they were coming by boat. Is that right?”
“Pretty good,” Jon says. “The phrase is actually from a Longfellow poem called ‘Paul Revere’s Ride,’ And yes, you’re exactly right about the lanterns. Good memory.”
“Thanks,” I tell him.
“One if by land, and two if by sea / And I on the opposite shore will be / Ready to ride and spread the alarm / Through every Middlesex village and farm / For the country-folk to be up and to arm,” he says to me slowly. “I love history. And I love poetry. And I especially love it when the two converge.”
“I suck at history,” I confess. “But poetry, yeah. I love it.”
“Who’s your favorite poet?”
“I don’t know,” I say, embarrassed. “I like Shakespeare’s poems, at least the ones I understand.”
“Shakespeare, of course. But who doesn’t love Shakespeare? Who else?”
“I don’t guess I have favorites. I just hear poems and like them,” I tell him with a shrug.
“I read a poem the other day that reminded me of you. It’s called Novel, by a man named Arthur Rimbaud. I’ll have to show it to you sometime.” The cab pulls up to a brick building and stops. The sign on the restaurant is lit only by a dim streetlamp. Jon asks me to wait as he gets out of the taxi and walks around to my side to help me out. He hands the driver his fare and closes the door.
On the sidewalk, he takes my hand and whispers in my ear, “And when a young girl walks alluringly / Through a streetlamp’s pale light, beneath the ominous shadow / Of her father’s starched collar...” He stops and smiles at me. “Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping / She turns on a dime, eyes wide / Finding you too sweet to resist...
“Anyway, that’s the part that really stood out to me. There’s another line about a quivering kiss,” he says with a blush. “It just seems romantic to me. And it reminds me of you.”
“Quivering kiss, huh?” I ask him. He looks at me sideways and grins, pulling the door to the restaurant open and ushering me inside. “Whoa.” The location he’s picked for our first date is amazing. I’ve been to my share of nice restaurants with my family, but none as beautiful and romantic as this one. A single, red rose adorns the middle of each table, alit by soft candles that flank each side. Rich brown and red furnishings surround crisp, white tablecloths. Chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, perfectly placed to highlight the paintings hanging on the brick walls.
Immediately, I know this is somewhere I could see my parents frequenting, but I feel certain Jon’s never been here, nor to any place remotely like this.
Jon holds my hand tightly, and I can tell that he’s suddenly nervous. I’ve never seen him this way.
“Can I help you?” a hostess asks us quietly.
He clears his throat. “We have reservations under the name Jonathan Scott.”
“Of course, sir. Miss Holland,” she says to me, catching me off guard.
“Yes?”
“Good evening,” she says simply as Jon and I exchange curious looks. “I think, uh...” she begins as she signals to a man across the room, “that they’re working on your table. If yo
u’d like to wait in the bar–wait, no.” She laughs uncomfortably. “You’re not old enough to be in a bar,” she adds. “Here.” She leads us over to a cushioned bench, telling us it will only be another minute or two.
“You’re famous,” Jon says, looking surprised.
“They don’t know me.” And no sooner do the words come out of my mouth do I hear the hostess speaking softly into a microphone attached to her collar. She holds her hand to her ear.
“It’s Livvy Holland. Yes! I’m sure of it,” she says. “You can’t seat them in the back. No way.” She looks over her shoulder, back at us. Jon waves at her, startling her and causing her to turn back around quickly.
“It’s not like I told them who my date was going to be,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I say, letting all the air escape from my lungs. “This is weird.”
“This isn’t typical?”
“It’s typical when Dad’s around, yeah, but it’s just me.”
“There is no ‘just you.’ Like I told you, I don’t think you’re always aware of your surroundings. Did you know there were pictures in the society pages this morning of your birthday party from last night?”
“No there weren’t,” I say, shocked.
“You were wearing a red sweater, and your hair was pulled back.”
“We were in a private room.”
“Must have been a waiter or something,” he says.
“How did you see it?” I ask him.
“My mother follows your parents. She says she’s indebted to them, but really, she’s just fascinated with their lifestyle. She’d always hoped for something better for herself. For us.”
“They’re pretty normal,” I tell him. “I swear, they’re not newsworthy.”
“Said by a true insider.” He shakes his head, joking with me. “They really do shelter you, though, don’t they?”
“He does.”
“Miss Holland? Mr. Scott? Your table is ready,” the hostess carefully interrupts our conversation. She takes us to a small booth toward the center of the restaurant. “Happy belated birthday,” she says to me, handing me a menu before she walks away.
“Thanks.” I watch Jon across the table, slightly uncomfortable, now feeling multiple eyes trained on me. “I suppose you didn’t tell them it was my birthday either, huh?”
