by Lori L. Otto
“When I would see his work at the Art Room events, I was impressed, but wondered if there was really any demand for such artwork. He would draw scenes with such minute detail that you could study one for an hour and never see the same thing twice. They were quite impressive.
“As I’ve gotten to know Jon over the last few months, I’ve learned that his immediate dream is to go to Columbia University. He’s worked really hard over the years to keep his grades up, and he was rewarded this year with an acceptance letter to his dream school.
“When I heard the news, I wasn’t a bit surprised. He has a brilliant mind and such an appetite for knowledge. I would challenge you all to bring up a topic for him to talk about, and I know he’d have facts or educated opinions to discuss about each of the subjects. He is always learning and always hungry to learn more.
“At Columbia, he wants to go into Social Work and Urban Planning. Jon’s attention to detail–and his genuine concern of the welfare of others, especially those less fortunate–would make him the perfect student for both fields.
“We’ve never had an Art Room student go to an Ivy League school. But I am happy to say that Jon Scott will be our first. He is the Valedictorian of his graduating class, excelling in all honors courses and a few advanced placement courses, as well. Not only did he get into Columbia, but he received numerous scholarships from various organizations, so he’ll only have to get minimal assistance from the financial aid office. And he did it all by himself.”
I smile proudly at Jon, whose face is a bright pink as my dad continues to point out his accomplishments. He looks at me long enough for me to mouth a quick ‘congratulations’ to him. I couldn’t be happier for him.
“Jon, we think you’re an exceptional young man,” Dad says, genuinely emotional, “and we would welcome you back any time to tutor or mentor any of the kids here.” I glance over at my father, wondering if he means me. When I look back at Jon, he’s staring at me with a soft grin.
“You are most deserving of the Nate Wilson Memorial Scholarship this year. So come on up here and get your check for twenty-five-thousand dollars.”
“Oh, my god!” his mother exclaims, then covers her mouth with both hands. She’s in shock. The dollar amount of the scholarship hasn’t changed over the years, and it’s at this moment that I realize Jon’s mother never has accompanied him to one of these banquets. When his dad was alive, it was always him.
Jon hugs his mother before walking up to the front of the room. I feel his fingers deliberately brush against my back as he stands behind me, his breath on my ear as he whispers a single question to me.
“Mykonos?”
A blush warms my skin; a smile forms on my lips.
“You’ve earned this,” I hear my dad say. I look over to see him handing Jon the check.
“Thank you, Jack.” He shakes my father’s hand, then hugs my mom and Granna. “First of all, I accept the offer to mentor here. I have always loved this organization, and it’s done so much for me. I would love nothing more than to give a little back.
“I love this city,” he says. “You have the opportunity to see the world from a million different perspectives here. There is so much to see, to do, to learn. I’m so lucky that my parents decided to start a family here. I know a lot of parents retire to the suburbs when children come along, but there’s something about growing up here in Manhattan that truly prepares people for the world.
“I’ve been lucky enough to see beautiful sunrises over the bay. I’ve seen a skyline like no other in this country. I’ve seen different cultures. Heard different languages. Experienced different customs. Tried a million different foods. I’ve met so many wonderful people, and a few of the most inspirational share this room with us tonight.”
He nods to my father, my mother, and to Granna. He clears his throat before continuing.
“I’ve also seen discrimination. I’ve seen abuse. I’ve seen abandonment. I’ve seen loss. I’ve seen crime. I’ve seen things that most parents would want to shield their children from. But in those things, I’ve learned to see one more thing: opportunity. The opportunity to change, to be changed and to make changes.
“And the beautiful thing about this city, is that it’s so easy to do those things. People of New York are empowered to introduce change, and although the citizens here are tough, they aren’t stubborn. They’re reasonable, and when a suggestion is made to do something that will make this city better, they do it.
“I am meant to be here. I am completely inspired by my surroundings here. I know I thrive here, and I want nothing more than to be able to contribute to change–positive change–in our community. I know it can be done. And a lot of people think that they, alone, can’t make a difference, but I challenge you to look around. You are all capable of making a change that can make the world better. One man in this room has proven this unequivocally.”
Jon only briefly glances to my dad, who’s looking at the table, humbled.
“I’m so excited about starting classes at Columbia this fall. It was always my dream college before I even knew what they had to offer me. But a few years ago, when I started researching the different schools and programs, I knew that the dual degree that Jack mentioned was ideal for me. It will allow me to invent creative solutions to social problems here in the city. I hope to build more productive learning institutions, safer parks, better options for transporting children to and from schools, and proactive outreach programs that can identify issues before they have devastating consequences on our society.
“I dream big,” he says with a blush and a laugh. “But I hope to do even bigger things.”
The students and parents applaud Jon. A few are even moved to stand up. I’m one of them.
“So, thank you to Nate’s Art Room for instilling confidence in me at an early age, and for believing in me enough today to invest in my future. What you do for us here is nothing short of miraculous. I’m sure every kid in this room is as grateful as I have always been.” The kids all clap again. “Thank you.”
I’m still standing in awe as he starts back to his seat. He stops when he reaches me, and we envelop one another in a hug. He kisses my cheek before letting go. My knees weaken, and when his arms stop supporting me, I fall quickly back into my chair. Granna squeezes my hand under the table and grins proudly.
“He’s a good kid,” she says.
“He’s a good man,” I correct her.
“You are so smitten with him,” she whispers softly. I know I am, and in that same moment of realization, I have no assurance that he’s still interested in me in that way. I pick up my fork, but the sudden anxiety has killed my appetite. I push the food around on my plate in a daze.
But he just kissed me on the cheek! That means something, right? And wasn’t he telling me that he felt the same things I felt after we broke up when we were looking at my paintings? Mykonos? Does that mean that he wants to get back together, though?
“You need to eat something, Tessa,” my dad says quietly in my ear, his hand resting on my back.
“I can’t. Dad, can Jon and I go somewhere to talk after the banquet?”
I expect questions, like Why? or Where? or How long will you be out?, but after looking at Jon for a few seconds, he just answers a simple, “Yes.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Livvy,” Granna says after all the guests except for Jon have left, “you don’t need to stay and clean up. Why don’t you two run along?”
“Are you sure?” I look to both her and my mother for an answer.
“Go,” Mom says.
“You have your phone with you?” Dad asks. I nod. “Let’s say midnight,” he suggests. I look at my watch, noting that that’s four and a half hours from now. “If you still need a little more time, Jon can come to our place and stay a little later than that.”
“Okay. Thanks, guys.”
Jon follows me out to my car. My hands are shaking so badly that I drop my keys. He leans down and picks t
hem up for me. “You okay?”
“Nervous,” I explain.
“Can I drive?” he asks.
“I think so, yeah,” I tell him. He opens the passenger door for me, shutting it softly after I sit down. He has to adjust the seat back when he gets in.
“Where to?”
“I don’t know.”
“To the park it is.”
“Well, we can just walk then,” I suggest.
“Not Central Park. I’ve been volunteering at Fort Tryon. It’s so peaceful in the evenings.”
“Sounds good.” He loosens his tie before driving away from the Art Room. “What have you been doing at Fort Tryon?”
“Just stuff around the grounds. Making sure there’s no litter or graffiti. We’re trying to help maintain its beauty.”
“That sounds nice. What made you want to do that?”
“My boss actually suggested it.” After a few seconds, he finally looks over at me to see my response.
“Your boss?”
“Yeah. I got a paid internship at an architecture firm. I work there three nights a week. I’m pretty much the errand boy, but I get to sit in on meetings and brainstorming sessions. It’s pretty incredible.”
“Wow. Did you get married and have a family, too?” I tease him.
“No time for that.” He smiles mischievously. “Plus, I kind of lost my dream girl a few weeks ago.” A deafening silence fills the car, as I try to figure out what to say next.
“You didn’t lose me,” I say, and quickly realize that his idea of losing me may have more to do with whether or not he chooses me than the fact that I would welcome him back this very second.
“No, the dream girl’s definitely gone,” he responds. “You became real to me that day.”
“What do you mean?”
“It felt like things were too good, you know? I fell in love with you so quickly. It started to cloud my judgment. I started seeing what I wanted to see, and not what was really there.”
“Is that bad?”
“It wasn’t real. That’s all.”
I stare in front of the car, onto the road, but only see a blur of motion. My eyes refuse to focus on anything. I manage to stave off tears, but I can’t process what he’s said. After hearing his statements continuously echo in my head, I finally turn on the radio. We listen to local Indie pop the rest of the way to the park, but I really don’t hear anything other than, “It wasn’t real. That’s all.”
He takes his jacket and tie off after getting out of my car, tossing them in the back seat. It’s not until he closes the driver side door that I decide to unbuckle my seat belt and get out. I have to face this. I’m startled when he opens the door for me and extends his palm for me to take his hand. After he shuts the door, I attempt to weave my fingers between his, but he pulls his hand away.
I stop in my tracks, completely thrown. Had I really misread him that much? He continues to walk ahead of me, untucking his shirt, completely unaware that I’m not beside him until his hand drops to his side and he makes a motion to grasp at a hand that isn’t there. He turns around quickly, looking at me curiously. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m confused,” I tell him as he walks toward me. “It wasn’t real?” I ask him, the anger beginning to seep through in my tone. I take a deep breath in an effort to calm down. It’s a perfect night, in a perfect place, and the last thing I want to do is fight with him. “What I felt was very real,” I explain softly as he stops in front of me. He takes both of my hands in his.
“That’s not what I meant. What I felt was real, too. It’s where I thought we were going that seemed a little surreal. I had the rest of my life mapped out, and I’m only eighteen. It was a little crazy. After the fight with your dad, I kind of realized that you’re too young to be making those kind of decisions. I mean, if I feel like I’m too young, you definitely are.”
“I’m not too young to know that I loved you, Jon.” As much as I want to say it in the present tense, I’m too afraid to put my heart out there. I’m too afraid I’ll revert back to that first painting, and I don’t want to go back there.
“I know. But we didn’t have to commit our lives to one another to date, you know?”
“That’s what you regret? The promise ring?”
“I don’t regret it. I just think it was premature. Very premature.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“To convince your parents that I was serious. But Olivia, the only person I needed to impress was you. I put way too much stock into what your parents thought of me. I thought, by doing that, they’d see the guy they always wanted their daughter to be with: some squeaky-clean kid who could just erase his past transgressions by making lifelong promises to their perfect daughter–”
“I’m not perfect–”
“No, I know that now.” He laughs.
“Thanks,” I tell him, a little upset.
“No, Liv, that’s good. Neither of us are perfect. Nobody is, and to think that you were was just ignorant of me. It made what happened a huge disappointment. The way I saw you then, I was so angry at you. You shattered that image that night. Sure, I’d seen hints of your imperfections before, but I could write them off individually as little anomalies. But never were those imperfections so prominent than that night. I was honestly devastated.”
“I’m sorry, Jon.”
“It wasn’t your fault, is what I’m trying to say. I’d put you up on a pretty high pedestal. No one–not even the perfect woman–could ever live up to that.”
“I guess I kind of saw you that way, too.”
“And I’m genuinely flawed. You know I’d be the first to tell you that. I did, in fact. I showed you. You just chose to see someone else.”
“I know.”
“And I tried in vain to live up to that image, but I can’t keep that up.”
“I wouldn’t want you to be someone you’re not. But Jon, you don’t need to be. You’re pretty amazing, just being the man you are. If I fell out of love with you over the past few weeks, I have to be honest–”
I stop myself before continuing, debating whether or not I should venture down this path. I’m strong enough. I’m Livvy Holland, and I’m strong enough to move forward alone, if that’s what he wants. I decide to finally start walking down the sidewalk toward a bench overlooking the Hudson. He holds my hand loosely, but lets me walk in front of him. It’s good because, should he reject me, I don’t want him to see the disappointment on my face.
“I have to be honest,” I continue, “I fell in love with you all over again tonight.” His tightened hand pulls me to a stop. I look at my shoes, waiting for him to speak. He positions himself once more in front of me, and just like he did in the Art Room, he uses his finger to lift my head up so he can look into my eyes.
“Olivia, I kind of gathered from your last painting that you didn’t need me anymore.” It’s the first time tonight I’ve seen insecurity in his eyes. He’s seemed so confident and in control since the moment I first saw him this evening.
“I don’t,” I tell him. He lifts his eyebrows, obviously surprised. “I don’t need you, but I want you, Jon. I don’t want to be without you anymore, but if I’m not the girl you fell in love with, then–”
“You’re not the girl I thought I loved, but you’re the woman I want, Olivia. You’re not perfect, but you’re perfect for the flawed man that I am. What you are, who you really are, that’s who I love.”
“Still?” I ask him.
“Still,” he assures me. “If there’s one thing I know, Liv, it’s that I want to be with you.”
“I want that, too.” He smiles and draws closer, finally giving me the kiss that I’ve missed for a month. My heart flutters, my stomach jumps, and goose bumps immediately cover my skin. His hands move up and down my bare arms as we continue to kiss.
“Are you cold?” he asks when he slowly moves his lips toward my ear.
“No,” I tell him, out of breath.
“I
want to be with you,” he says once more.
I giggle, clutching tightly to his shirt. “You said that already!”
“No, Olivia,” he begins, then traces my jawline with his soft lips. I take in a quiet gasp. He pulls away and stares directly into my eyes, so there’s no misunderstanding his meaning. “I want to be with you.”
“Oh,” I sigh. I start to look away, but he puts both hands on my face gently, pulling my lips to his once more. This embrace is reminiscent of the one on the street outside the bar on his birthday. He thought it was the tequila that made me so uninhibited that night, but I knew all along I was only intoxicated by him, just like I am now.
“Okay,” I say when we both take a second to breathe. His arms move down my body, pulling me into him. I hold him as closely as I can, having missed the feel of him for too long. We kiss until I start to feel light-headed, nearly unable to stand on my own anymore. I guide him to the bench and take a seat. He squats in front of me, putting his hands on my knees.
I’m drawn to him again, needing his warm lips on mine once more. I put my hands on his cheeks and lean into him, hoping that my actions convey what I still might not be ready to say aloud. I know how I feel, though. I know how I feel about him. I’m sure about him.
Before I know it, he’s falling backwards into the grass. His hands now on my hips, he pulls me with him into a rather compromising position on the lawn. We both start laughing, and I can feel his hands run slowly down my backside, arranging my skirt. His fingers linger at the hem.
“Sorry,” he says playfully.
“Don’t be.” I press my hands into his chest. “You probably got grass stains on your pants, though,” I inform him.
“They’re dark,” he says, brushing off my concern. “No one will notice, unless they’re checking me out.”
“Then I suppose I’ll notice,” I tease him.
“I suppose you might. I have missed you so much, Olivia.”
“I missed you, too. I wish you had called me.”
