Contessa

by Lori L. Otto

  “Yeah.”

  “He didn’t get you a diamond ring, Mom? That’s lame.” I glance at my own diamond ring and smile to myself. It’s obvious Jon loves me, forever.

  “The ring your dad chose was beautiful,” she corrects me. “It suited me perfectly. You remember the green ring, don’t you? With the butterfly?”

  “That was your engagement ring?” I’d always loved that ring.

  “It was. It just wasn’t the most practical ring to wear every day. So he surprised me with this a few years later.” She looks down at her finger and twists the large solitaire. It’s still bigger than most women’s engagement rings, but the green stone in her original ring was probably three times as big.

  “What kind of ring did Nate buy you?”

  “There was never a ring,” Granna says. “There would have been, I’m sure, but they never got that far.” My mom shakes her head.

  “His proposal was just an impromptu, spur of the moment idea. It wasn’t well-thought out. There was no romantic speech, but I’m sure Donna’s right. In time, he would have picked a magnificent ring and had the perfect poem to accompany it. I’m certain of that. Nate had his own way of being sentimental.”

  “Did Jackson have a toast prepared?” Granna asks, and Mom laughs.

  “I know he said something sweet and lovely, but to this day, neither of us really remembers what was said. I think he was nervous and I was completely caught off guard. I was crying. But we exchanged beautiful, personal vows at the wedding. I think we both said everything that needed to be said.”

  “They were wonderful,” Granna agrees. I’ve seen the videos, but I’ve never paid attention to the words they spoke to one another, always mesmerized by how pretty Mom looked and how romantic their first, second and third kisses were. When I was younger, I’d rewind and play those parts back. It seemed like a fairy tale.

  “So, would this have been the nursery?” I ask, changing the subject back to Nate. The response is silence. I turn to face my mother, whose eyes have teared up. She takes a seat on the guest bed and puts her head in her hands. “Mommy, I’m sorry,” I tell her sweetly, going to sit next to her.

  “I think we should go,” Granna says.

  “I’m okay,” Mom says, swallowing hard. “I just remembered finding the little toy giraffe. Nate gave it to me just before the accident, and he had recorded a message. I stumbled across it that day you gave me the key, Donna. I was all alone in here, on the floor. I heard his voice–that beautiful voice I hadn’t heard in months–talking to our baby, and I realized there’d never be a baby in this room. I knew he’d never come in here again.

  “I suppose it would have been the nursery, yes. But honestly, I realized it would never be one before I ever thought it might be one.”

  “I wish he had lived,” I tell her to comfort her. “And the baby, too. You loved him so much.”

  “I did, sweetie,” she says, “and every day I wish the same things, but Nate and I weren’t meant to be together like that, as husband and wife.” I look at Granna to see her reaction. She doesn’t look shocked. “I don’t know how things would have worked out, if he had lived.”

  “You would have made it work. For the baby, and for him.”

  “I don’t know, Liv. I can’t imagine my life ending up any other way. I wish Nate were still here, was still my best friend. I wish he could have met Jack. I know they would have gotten along, eventually.”

  I frown a little and get back up, disappointed that my mom isn’t willing to talk more about Nate in the context that I’d like her to. She always has to focus back on Dad, and that bores me. I’ve heard all of those stories. As she and Granna continue to talk in the guest room, I walk back into the main room and lie down on the huge bed. Through the window, I see clouds roll in over the bright moon. I can hear a little street noise, and understand immediately why Nate liked to listen to music when he slept. It would mask the other noises from below. I begin to imagine myself living here, as if this was my home after high school. I could go to school at Parsons and live here in my loft apartment overlooking Central Park. I could have friends over for coffee any time. People could stay over in the guest room. Jon could stay over, could share the bed with me. My heart starts to palpitate at the thought.

  Granna said I could come here. Mom’s stipulation was simply that I couldn’t come here alone.

  I bite my bottom lip, knowing that my blossoming plan would technically not break any rules, but would very much disappoint Mom, Dad and Granna. But only if they find out.

  When I see Jon again, I’m anxious but nervous to introduce my idea. “So then you haven’t made any plans yet?” I lean in to him as he waits for my response to his flashcard question. We’d been at the library for over three hours, but I wasn’t able to focus on my schoolwork at all. I couldn’t stop thinking about the date I wanted to have with him on Valentine’s Day, nor could I stop thinking about Nate’s loft, and the things I would hopefully discover.

  “What does this chemical formula stand for?” he responds, repeating the question he’d asked me twice already. He’s being playful, but I know he’s frustrated at my lack of attention to my homework.

  “I don’t care,” I answer, returning my focus to a large book of archived articles. I hadn’t found anything, and the excuse I’d used with Jon as to why I was looking through them seemed to be wearing thin, since I wasn’t ‘learning’ anything from them. “I’m never going to be a scientist,” I mumble.

  “Yes, but if you start getting bad grades, tutoring is over for me and you. That’s one less night a week I could see you. And that would suck.”

  “Sodium bicarbonate,” I tell him through a heavy sigh, “also known as baking soda.” I flip to the last page in my book, disappointed when I realize I’d gone through my fourth book with no answers, and shut the back cover, pushing the tome aside.

  “Nice. Good job.” He smiles and leans into me, kissing me as a reward. “And no, I haven’t made plans yet. I wasn’t sure I’d truly convinced you to skip school.”

  “I’m going to do it. But I want to help plan the day.”

  “Well of course. It’s Valentine’s Day. It’s our day. We should plan it together.”

  “Okay, cool,” I tell him, giddy. “Then don’t plan anything and I’ll work everything out–”

  “Now, no, that’s not the deal. We will plan–”

  “I promise, you’ll like what I have in mind.” He stops arguing with me and raises his eyebrows, curious. “You will.”

  “And what do you have in mind?” He tosses the remaining flash cards haphazardly to the side, his eyes searching mine.

  “I’m not gonna tell,” I whisper, his lips less than an inch away. We stare at each other, both challenging the other, our smiles growing. My phone starts to vibrate on the table. After a few seconds, I finally break the gaze and glance down to see who’s calling.

  “It’s my dad,” I tell Jon, looking at the caller ID on my phone. I stand up with the large book and start toward the shelves where I got it, hoping to make it through another one tonight before we have to leave.

  “Well, answer it.” He instructs me as I hear him shuffling the cards around, getting back to work.

  “They don’t know where I am.” I drop the next archive selection on the table and decline the call, sliding the phone back in my purse. Jon closes my chemistry book, creating a loud thud that echoes through the cavernous room.

  “What do you mean, they don’t know where you are?”

  “Lexi’s watching Trey, since my parents weren’t home.” I sit down and open up the book.

  “We always study on Tuesdays.”

  “I know, but I don’t think they knew we were going to get together since I’m not back in school until tomorrow.” The phone rings again as I start to flip carefully through the pages.

  “Livvy, answer it,” Jon urges me.

  “We’re busy,” I tell him brightly, looking up and leaning into him, kissing his ch
eek. “We were talking about Valentine’s Day, remember?”

  “We’re not that busy,” he says, sticking his hand into my purse. I struggle with him as he wrestles the phone out of my bag and hits the button to answer it. I promptly end the call. “Livvy!”

  “They know not to bother us when we’re studying!”

  “They don’t know we’re studying,” he says. “What do you think your dad’s going to think we’re doing?”

  “Well, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

  Jon grabs the phone from my grasp and calls my dad. “What the hell, Liv?” he whispers. “Here,” he says, handing me the phone when Dad answers. I keep my lips pressed together, not saying a word. He takes the phone once more. “Jack?”

  I can’t hear my dad on the other end of the line, but I get the gist of his mood quickly as Jon stumbles over his responses, clearly shaken. “We’re, um, at the library. The main one. Yes, sir, the librarian was upset that the phone was ringing. We just wanted to get somewhere that we could talk.” And just as he says this, he gets up and walks toward the entrance, leaving me–and all of our things–behind. I’d follow him, except both of our laptops are set up and we have about a half-dozen books spread out between us.

  He starts to run his fingers through his hair, but stops, holding the pose as he listens intently. He nods a few times, then looks in my direction and begins to walk back toward me. He doesn’t look happy, pulling the phone away from his ear and covering the mouthpiece.

  “He wants to talk to you,” he says quietly.

  “Is he mad?”

  “Just take the phone, Liv.” He shoves the phone into my hand and returns to his seat, pulling my chemistry book in front of him and studying the page intently.

  “Hey, Daddy,” I say as innocently as I can. Jon glares at me and rolls his eyes as my dad speaks calmly in my ear.

  “Where are you, Livvy?”

  “At the library.”

  “Which one?”

  “The main one, by Bryant Park.”

  “Why aren’t you here watching your brother?”

  “Because it’s Tuesday, and we always study on Tuesdays, remember?” I say with a tinge of sarcasm.

  “But you don’t go back to school until tomorrow, Tessa. What are you really doing?”

  “Studying, Dad! I swear!” A nearby librarian shushes me, causing quite a few people around us to look in my direction. I tuck my head down and continue the conversation as quietly as my elevated temper will allow. “Just because I don’t go back until tomorrow doesn’t mean I don’t have homework to do. We have a chemistry test Friday and I’m supposed to write this essay on Hamlet by Thursday.”

  “And how much do you have written?” I ponder lying to him, but I know he’ll check.

  “The introductory paragraph.”

  “I want you home by six.”

  “But Dad, we haven’t eaten. We have until nine, normally.”

  “Well, normally your mother and I know where you are and what you’re doing. Normally we’re not greeted by our older and much more responsible niece playing checkers with your brother. Tonight, you’ll be home at six and we cooked dinner. You can eat here.”

  “Jon, too?”

  “No. I’m afraid this is the last you’ll see of Jon this week.”

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “We can talk about this tonight when you get home. Wrap up what you’re working on. You’ve got forty-five minutes.”

  “Dad!” I say a little louder.

  “Forty-five minutes,” he reiterates. I hang up on him before saying goodbye.

  “I have to be home at six,” I tell Jon, still angry with my dad.

  “I know. And you’re grounded for the week. Awesome.” I can tell he’s upset.

  “He told you that?”

  “Yep.” He grabs some index cards and starts writing notes on them.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get you prepared for your test. I’m going to write down the pages you really need to spend some extra time going over. If you have questions, send me an email, if he lets you.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  He puts a cap on the marker he’d been using and sets it down, hard. “What’s the rule, Livvy?”

  “Keep my grades up?” I ask him as I kneel in the chair with my elbows on the table.

  “No. Get your parents to see us as adults. Get your dad to trust me.”

  “Oh, that goal,” I tell him innocently, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work. “Well, you didn’t do anything wrong. They shouldn’t be mad at you.”

  “Well, you acting like a child isn’t working in my favor.” I raise my eyebrows and stare at him, shocked.

  “A child?”

  “I understand you’re trying to assert your independence with them. It’s all a part of growing up, but choosing to ignore his phone call when he has no earthly idea where you are? It’s just stupid. It’s senseless. If I was your dad, I’d ground you for a month. Two weeks for sneaking around behind my back, and two weeks for being a brat about it.”

  “A brat?”

  He laughs in disbelief at my outrage. “What would you call yourself?”

  “A girl who just wanted to spend some time with her boyfriend,” I tell him angrily, getting up and gathering my things. “That’s what I’d call myself. And yeah, I guess I’m stupid for wanting that.” I push away the archives and grab my chemistry book from him, sending index cards flying around his end of the table. “It’s a good thing I’m grounded, because the last thing I want to do now is spend time alone with you this weekend.”

  “Liv, I’m sorry,” he starts as he slowly begins to pick up the cards. “I just–”

  “I don’t care.” I slam the lid to my computer and drop my chemistry book on top of it. I hear a strange noise and we both stop everything. I hope that isn’t what I think it is.

  I move the book and Jon lifts the lid of the computer, revealing a severely cracked display. “Great,” I mumble, throwing myself back into my chair. “And now I will be grounded for a month.”

  “Take mine,” he says.

  “I’m not going to take your computer. You need it.”

  “Livvy,” he says sternly. “Take my computer. I don’t want you to be grounded for a month. I will figure out how to get this fixed in the meantime.”

  “It’s gonna cost a lot of money.” My eyes start to water.

  “Well, we both know I don’t have that.” He lets out a quick sigh. “Give me a few days to try to work something out. If I can’t get it done, maybe I’ll at least have a good story for you to tell your parents so they don’t ground you. My computer’s a luxury to me at this point. I’ll just go to the library to use their computers like I have been all my life. Just take mine for now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Hey, don’t cry,” he tries to comfort me. “We don’t have time for tears. Let’s try to move some files over.”

  “How?” I ask him, unable to make any sense of what’s on the screen. I stand up to let him sit down.

  “Good point.”

  “It was just the intro to my essay, which Dad is going to want to see.”

  “Can you rewrite it on my computer?”

  “Honestly, I wrote it before Christmas break; I have no idea what it said.” That, and I’m not good under pressure like this.

  “Hamlet?” he asks as he settles into the chair and opens up a blank document.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you pick up the cards?” he asks, smiling sheepishly, nodding to the mess I’d made.

  “Of course.”

  “Your dad’s not a big Hamlet fan, is he?”

  “I don’t know. He’s a voracious reader, like you.”

  “Was there a topic?”

  “My topic was to discuss the theme of suicide in the play.”

  “Good topic,” he says, his fingers making quick work of the intro paragraph. He bites his lip as he concentrates
, and every once in awhile I see the corners of his lips turn up into a self-satisfied grin. As he writes, I sort the index cards into blank ones and study ones. I don’t worry too much about my chemistry test, because if I have any questions this week, I know that I can go to my dad–even if I am mad at him. He wouldn’t let me fail my test. “Here, read over my shoulder and tell me if it sounds like you at all.”

  I scan his paragraphs–four of them, taking up a whole page–noting a few words that need to change. “It’s got a much better thesis statement than mine had,” I tell him. “And I can tell some of these are your SAT words–”

  “Better start learning them now,” he cuts me off, his warning sincere but sweet.

  “Maybe I’ll keep one or two in there.” I put my hands on his shoulders, and he promptly puts his on top of mine. “I’m sorry I got us in trouble,” I tell him. He looks up and over his shoulder at me, nodding.

  “I’m sorry I called you a child and a brat.”

  “And stupid,” I add.

  “I didn’t call you stupid. Your actions weren’t the smartest, though.”

  “I just want them to trust me,” I try to explain.

  “Well, you don’t earn trust by doing things behind their backs. Even if what you’re doing is completely legit and moral and something they’d be happy you were doing. I mean, you probably could have just told them in advance what your plans were, and I bet they would have been okay with them.”

  “In hindsight.” I take a deep breath. “Sometimes I just don’t want them to know everything about me. Where I am. What I’m doing. Who I’m with. It’s my life.” I shrug my shoulders as Jon stands up.

  “I know,” he says, turning to pull me into a tight embrace. “It’s your life, and you’re their life at this point. Until you’re eighteen and move out of their house. And even then, you’ll still have moments when you feel they’re too involved.”

  “Ugh,” I moan into his chest.

  “And you’ll have other moments when you’ll wish they were closer.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Try losing a parent, Livvy,” he says somberly.

  “I have,” I remind him stoically.