Contessa (93 page)

“
Well,
”
she said kindly,
“
what would you like to know about him?
”

“
It
’
s not about him.
”
I sighed, dreading the question but knowing I had to ask.
“
Granna, is there any possible way that Nate...
”
I couldn
’
t even finish my thought, but I didn
’
t have to.

She turned to face me and shook her head.
“
No, Livvy. There
’
s no possible way.
”

“
But you said he was with a lot of girls.
”

“
Yes, but your mother didn
’
t even live here when she got pregnant. You weren
’
t even born in the state. You were born in Connecticut. And Nate rarely left the island.
”

I took a few seconds to process her answer, and it didn
’
t hurt as bad as I thought it would. In fact, I felt a sense of relief that surprised me, and although a few more tears squeezed out from my eyes, I smiled at her, and that smile filled me with assuredness and confidence. I felt at peace for the first time in years.

I hugged her so hard, I
’
d thought I hurt her. She cried, too, and told me I would always be her granddaughter–not because of any connection I did or didn
’
t have to Nate, but because she loved my mom as if she was her own child, and had grown to admire my dad in the same way.

Once I got that last burst of emotion out, I began to feel more like myself again. It was a new self. One I
’
d never known, but one I got to know intimately as I spent hours and hours alternating between reflection and creation.

As I painted, I realized that I
’
d never worked this long on one project. This one never seemed to be satisfied, though, always wanting more attention, needing more from me.

I poured my heart into it, painting and repainting, layer upon layer. I
’
d been through so many highs and lows since Jon broke up that I began to question my own sanity. Instead of worrying, though, I exploited it. If I was angry, I
’
d work on the first painting. When I was confused, and just couldn
’
t understand how he could walk away so easily, I started another one. When I couldn
’
t forget the good times, and in fact would dwell on them obsessively; when I was feeling love and longing for Jon, I began the third painting. The fourth one, though, I didn
’
t start until the night Granna drove me home.

All four paintings were self-portraits, perfectly stylized to fit my mood.

I
’
d put the finishing touches on the last one a few hours before the end-of-year Art Room banquet. The paint
’
s dry, and I meticulously apply a few pieces of cloth into a flowing pattern. What started out as paintings have become large multi-media pieces, so much more than the two-dimensional work I was used to creating.

“
Livvy, it is perfect,
”
Mom says from the
doorway
.
“
That
is the daughter I see. Confident. Independent. Creative. Happy.
”

I turn around and smile at her. I know this project has pushed me as an artist. I know that this is my aesthetic. Together, these four paintings are unlike anything I
’
ve seen before.

“
It
’
s beautiful,
”
my dad says. I glare at him playfully.
“
I was really worried we
’
d never see this side of you again.
”

“
What do you like about it?
”
I ask him. He grins, accepting my challenge.

“
The first one frightened me. Your rage came through loud and clear. I swear, every time I saw it down here, I could see with perfect clarity the way you looked at me that night.
”

He doesn
’
t need to tell me which night. I will never forget it.

“
Honestly, Tessa, I hated the first one.
”

My mouth drops slightly in surprise. A small laugh escapes my lips.
“
Good.
”

“
The second one just made me realize how much you needed us to guide you through this. It doesn
’
t make sense, I know,
”
he says.
“
Knowing you can
’
t be with the only person you think will make you happy? I know you
’
ve felt helpless, but you know deep down, you
’
re not. As much as it hurts, you know you
’
re stronger than this.
”

“
I do know that, Dad.
”

“
The third one broke my heart. I know that constant yearning that keeps you from wanting anything or anyone else. I hate that you have to feel that. I hate it, but in a sense, I can tell that the pain and the desire to be with him replaces the numbness, and you know that you
’
re alive.
”

“
You
’
re good,
”
I compliment him.

“
This one? I know you
’
re going to be okay. I know that you can handle whatever curveballs come your way, Contessa. I feel a sense of accomplishment. Like maybe we didn
’
t do such a bad job after all. This one is simply beautiful. It
’
s just as we see you, Livvy. And it makes me realize how clearly you see yourself, and how well you know yourself.

“
It
’
s beautiful,
”
he repeats.
“
You
’
re a beautiful young woman, Contessa, and I couldn
’
t be more proud of you than I am right now.
”

“
Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom.
”

“
Will you be ready to go in a half hour?
”

“
I will.
”

“
Poppet, you better get going,
”
my father says.
“
Even though Donna says she
’
s got it handled, I know she needs you.
”

“
I
’
m going, Jacks. Don
’
t worry.
”
They kiss on her way out.

“
We
’
ll be there soon.
”

“
No rush. You have time,
”
she assures us, smiling at me knowingly as she waves goodbye.

“
What more do you need to do?
”
he asks.
“
I
’
ll start packing up your painting.
”

“
I just need to change,
”
I tell him.
“
Five minutes.
”

“
You heard Mom. She said we have time.
”

“
Yes, but Dad? I need to pick something up on the way–something from the loft. Is that okay?
”

“
Of course it
’
s okay.
”
He puts a protective cover over my art and takes it with him upstairs.
“
I
’
ve got my key,
”
he brags, looking over his shoulder at me. I give him a dirty look, but laugh. I
’
d long ago accepted their rules for the loft.

“
Alright.
”
On my way to the closet, I see the two pieces of fabric I
’
d put aside for my mom. I
’
d meant to give them to her before the banquet. I tuck them safely in the nightstand.

I find a nice skirt and blouse and put them on quickly, applying lipstick one last time before shutting the lights off.

“
I
’
m ready, Dad.
”

“
Can you drive?
”
he asks me.
“
Mom took the sedan.
”

“
Of course.
”
He picks up the painting carefully and takes it out to my car. I help him nestle it securely in the trunk.

“
Liv?
”
I stop backing up suddenly, thinking he
’
s warning me of something behind me. When I check the mirrors again, I don
’
t see anything.

“
Yeah?
”

“
I just wanted you to be prepared. Jon is coming tonight.
”

I lose my breath. I
’
d considered his presence, but since no one ever said anything, I assumed he wouldn
’
t be there.

“
They
’
re giving him the scholarship?
”

“
Yes. The board approved it.
”

“
Well, good.
”

“
You don
’
t even have to talk to him if you don
’
t want to.
”

“
I know. I guess I figured I
’
d have to see him sooner or later. Did you talk to him? Or did Mom?
”

“
No, Donna coordinated with him and his mother. We thought it would be best if we let her do it.
”

“
Did she say how he was?
”

“
No, Tessa. We didn
’
t ask.
”

“
Cool.
”
I
say
cool, and I
’
m trying to play it cool, but my heart begins to beat faster and harder in my chest. I
’
m nervous and anxious and scared and excited. My only hope is that he won
’
t ignore me. My only fear is that he will. I push those thoughts out of my head, deciding it
’
s pointless for me to worry about it now. What happens, happens. Right now, I have more important things to do; more important relationships to mend.

I park the car in the drive out front of the apartment building, letting the valet know we
’
ll only be a minute.

The ride in the elevator is awkward and quiet, and I catch myself holding my breath in anticipation all the way up. Once the elevator doors open, I finally speak.
“
I really appreciate you coming with me today, Dad.
”

“
It
’
s not a problem. Your mom says you
’
ve been working on something pretty incredible,
”
my father says,
“
so I
’
m hoping to get a glimpse of it.
”
He sighs before inserting the key into the loft door and holding it open for me.
“
After you,
”
he says with a smile.

“
Thanks.
”
I set
down
my purse in the dining area, watching my dad take in his surroundings.
“
It looks different.
”

“
Mom says it looks just the same.
”

“
We always did see it differently.
”
He leans against the kitchen island and pulls out his phone. As he starts to type something, I realize he
’
s probably letting my mom know where we are. Of course, she already knows. We
’
d planned this for weeks.