Contessa (75 page)

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Authors: Lori L. Otto

Tags: #Fiction, #Coming of Age

BOOK: Contessa
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Well, we can watch movies, or paint and draw
I brought my stuff by earlier today. Listen to music. Talk. I bought some groceries, so I was thinking I could try to make us lunch–


Olivia Holland
cooks
?


Olivia Holland will
try
to,

I respond.

But there are a ton of quick restaurants around here if I screw up too badly.


I bet we

ll do okay together.


Jon Scott
cooks
?


I microwave masterfully.


I didn

t know that was a thing. I mean, who doesn

t?


Hey, do you want my help or not?


I do,

I tell him with a smile.

You look nice, by the way. I like your hair like that.

It

s spiky and messy, but styled to be that way.


Thanks. I got it cut. It kept getting in my eyes.


I like it when it gets in your eyes, too. It

s cute.


Cute, yes. Just the adjective I

m going for.


Hot. Sexy. What was it... libidinous?


Look at you,

he says with a laugh.


I

m smart, remember?

I whisper, sidling up next to him and clasping my hands behind his back. I blink at him innocently.


How could I forget that?

He stares at me, as if he

s contemplating something. Suddenly, he picks me up and carries me across the room.


Put me down!

I squeal.


Demanding one, aren

t you?


Please put me down! I

ll hurt you!


Ouch, yeah,

he says as he settles me gently on a couch.

You

ll hurt my ego. What, am I weak?


Yeah, so weak,

I taunt him. He hovers over me, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes challenging mine playfully.


You mentioned music, little girl. Where is it?


Don

t call me that,

I instruct him, my voice lilting, as I throw a pillow at him.

My iPod

s on that dock over there.


Oh,
your
music. I was hoping for a better selection.


Hey!

He wanders over to my music player but starts rummaging through some CDs sitting next to it. He sets a few aside, making comments to himself that I can

t quite hear.


Let

s check this out,

he says, opening up the jewel case and putting it in the CD player of a large stereo system. Granna went all out to make sure this place was perfectly livable. Mellow guitar music starts to ring out from the surround-sound speakers.


What is it?

He shrugs.

It simply says

demo

on it,

he tells me. The lyrics begin, the man

s voice velvety smooth and perfectly on pitch.

Not bad. Wonder if this guy

s made it big by now. It

s act–


Shhh.

I stand up and move closer to the speakers, recognizing the words of the chorus.

Holy hell, it

s Nate.


No. Really?


Yeah. That poem is in his
sketchbook
. Look.

I run quickly to my bag in the guest room and pull the leather-bound book out, flipping to one of the first pages I

d studied. I start to follow along with the words as he sings them, pointing out each line to Jon, who

s watching over my shoulder.


Wow, what a find,

he says.


It

s beautiful. I wonder if Mom has heard it before.


You think it was for her?


I know it was.

I

m mesmerized.

I want to be loved like that.

I hadn

t meant to say it out loud, but I did. My cheeks flush bright pink as Jon moves toward me. I sit down on the guest bed, and he kneels in front of me.


What makes you think you aren

t?


You

ve never written me a song,

I say, shrugging my shoulders bashfully.


Is that the mark of true love?

He teases me.

Is that the only real proof that a man loves a woman? He has to put it in song?


It doesn

t hurt,

I tell him, but I

m not really serious. Just to have a man bare his soul to me like Nate did to my mother; that

s all I want. It wouldn

t have to be in song, but a poem, a painting, a photo, a letter...

Why would Mom choose my dad over Nate? What could he possibly offer that Nate couldn

t? Just then, I think of the ways my dad has shown his love. Gifts. Diamonds. Affection.

A toast.

Vows.

Still, I can

t even begin to compare him to the romantic that Nate obviously is. Or rather,
was
.

Jon picks up my left hand and presses the pads of his fingers against the red spots.

Are these the marks of true love?

he asks. It sounds like he

s teasing, but I know that there

s real curiosity behind his question.


No,

I laugh, trying to brush him off.


Are these for him? For Nate?

I don

t look him in the eye when I shake my head.

Of course not.

We

re both silent for a minute or two, listening to Nate

s song, and I can feel his doubt hanging in the air above me, but he doesn

t press for more information.


Note to self: write a song for the woman I love.

I

m thankful he

s changed the subject back.


You don

t have to,

I explain.

I was kidding.


I

m not. You know I like a challenge.


Have you ever picked up a musical instrument?


Picked up? Sure. Will plays the tuba.

I start giggling.

That

s going to be a lovely song.


The best tuba love song you ever heard.


The only one–


And wouldn

t that be special?

He jokes with me.


Yes, of course, dear.

I stand up and playfully tap the top of his head with the sketch book, walking past him. He follows me into the main room.


So I

m taking the SAT next month.


Really?

he asks as we both take a seat.


Yeah. My parents want to see where I stand so we can take a look at college options.


I thought you were set on Parsons.


I think I am. They

re not. They want Ivy League.


It

s your decision.


I

m just humoring them. But you know, it wouldn

t be too bad to go to Columbia with you.


I wouldn

t mind, but you should choose the school that suits you best for what they offer. Don

t just go for me.


It

s just something I started thinking about. But with the SATs, I

m really just curious how I

ll do.


I

m curious, as well. Your PSAT scores were ridiculously high–


I test well when I know the material.


I know. And if you want help with some prep work, we can start working on that on Tuesdays. Not today, though.


Definitely not today. And actually, I

m working with one of my teachers over my study hall period to prep. I

ve been doing it since the beginning of the year.


Look at you. You

re phasing me out,

he teases.

Is he cute?


Shut up.

I push against his chest.

But, yeah, me and the other four girls in my class do think he

s pretty hot.


Really?


Yeah.


I think I

m feeling a little jealous,

he says.

Tell me about him.


He

s twenty-five–


Way too old.


By whose standards?

I smile at him innocently.


What else?


Well, he

s obviously really smart. He wears these cute, nerdy glasses–


Oh, one of
those
guys.


What does that mean?


I

m just messing with you, Olivia. I

m not threatened. You

re wearing my ring, not his.

He wraps his arms around me and leans me back into the couch.

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