Contessa (35 page)

“
Livvy,
”
Granna catches me and pulls me back in.
“
You didn
’
t show your parents this before you gave it to me?
”

“
What is it?
”
I look around the room, intentionally avoiding the painting right in front of my face.

“
Your portrait of Nate?
”

“
Oh, um...
”
My parents both stare at me, awaiting my response. Dad looks hurt. Mom looks worried.

I feel sick.

“
He was hot,
”
Matty comments.

“
It
’
s just beautiful, Livvy,
”
my mom says.
“
I
’
ve never seen you paint anything quite like that. It
’
s extraordinary, honey.
”

“
It
’
s nice,
”
my dad adds on quickly.

“
Nice?
”

“
Very nice.
”

“
Thanks, Dad. Your opinion means
so
much to me,
”
I tell him sarcastically.

“
Emi, can you make sure our daughter makes it home okay?
”
he asks, completely put out.
“
I think Matty and I are going to go pick up Jackson and call it a night.
”

“
Jacks–
”
my mom tries to reason with him.

“
Excellent work, Donna,
”
he tells her with a hug on his way out.
“
You
’
re doing wonderful things here.
”

“
Thank you. That means a lot to me. Thank you for all of your contributions.
”

“
I do it for the kids,
”
he says.
“
But it
’
s nice to be appreciated.
”
He doesn
’
t look at me on his way out, but I can sufficiently read between the lines.

“
Good luck,
”
my uncle whispers with a grimace.

“
Donna, if you
’
ll excuse us,
”
my mom says as she leads me into her office in the corner of the second floor. She closes the door quietly.
“
Have a seat.
”

“
I don
’
t want to.
”

“
I don
’
t care,
”
she says back to me. I sit down on the sofa by the window.
“
This has to stop.
”

“
I
’
m not doing anything wrong! I
’
m just being who I am, and if he can
’
t accept me for that and for the things I do, then I don
’
t know how to fix it. How am I supposed to stop him from wanting me to be someone I
’
m not?
”

“
He doesn
’
t want that. And I can
’
t figure out what makes you think that he does.
”

“
He never even tries to talk to me!
”

“
Yes, Livvy, he does, but he
’
s greeted with silence or sarcasm. You can
’
t have a civil conversation with him anymore. You say things to him that are meant to be hurtful, and I don
’
t know if you realize this, but it hurts me, too. I hate being stuck in the middle here.
”

“
Nobody asked you to mediate.
”

“
Honey, I
’
m afraid if no one intervenes, you won
’
t have a relationship with him to work on anymore. I won
’
t sit back and watch that happen. I exchanged vows with your father to stick with him, through good times and bad times–
”

“
So you
’
re just taking his side?
”

“
I
’
m not taking anyone
’
s side. I
’
m trying to make you see that we
’
re all on the same side. You
’
re the one drawing a line in the sand, Liv. Not your father.
”

“
That
’
s not how I see it,
”
I mumble.

“
Well try to look at it differently.
”
I fold my arms across my chest and look once more at the park.
“
Livvy, why did you paint that portrait of Nate?
”

“
It was a gift for Granna,
”
I tell her.

“
That
’
s it?
”

“
Yeah.
”

“
Why didn
’
t you show it to me before you gave it to her?
”

“
I didn
’
t think you
’
d like it.
”

“
Technically, it
’
s perfect. I know you can see that, too. Why didn
’
t you think I
’
d like it?
”

“
Because I know you don
’
t like to talk about Nate in front of Dad.
”

“
Why do you think that is?
”

“
Because Dad doesn
’
t like him.
”

Mom laughs quietly.
“
That
’
s not the case at all.
”

“
Well, he
’
s jealous of him or something.
”

“
That
’
s not it either. Livvy, that night was the worst night of my life. I still have flashbacks of what I saw, and how he looked.
”
She gets choked up quickly.
“
He was broken, and dead in my arms. I lost a child in that accident. And no amount of therapy makes those memories or that reality go away. I don
’
t like to think about it. I don
’
t like to get upset about it, and your dad will do everything in his power to keep those memories at bay. The only thing he hates more than seeing me cry, Liv, is seeing you cry. And that
’
s the truth.

“
The painting of Nate was beautiful, but it feels like a slap in the face, Livvy.
”

“
Well I never knew how you guys felt,
”
I try to argue.

“
But you just said it
’
s because you thought Dad didn
’
t like him... that he
’
s jealous. If you felt like that, why would you paint Nate
’
s portrait? To hurt your dad?
”

I sit quietly, thinking hard about her question.
“
No,
”
I say softly.
“
I don
’
t know why I did it.
”

“
Well, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to start considering the outcomes of the decisions you make. Think about how they affect other people, especially when it
’
s your dad who
’
s going to be affected.
”

“
Fine,
”
I retort.

“
Okay. Why don
’
t you go say your goodbyes, and let
’
s go home. This has not been a banner night in the Holland household.
”

“
Alright.
”

I go immediately to my room and shut my door when I get home and set up a canvas to paint. The guest bedroom is dark, and I assume Matty kept his plans to meet up with some of his old friends. About a half hour later, I hear my dad and brother in the media room outside my door, setting up to watch my brother
’
s favorite cartoon movie. I know my parents had planned to go out after the show. My brother was supposed to stay over at Aunt Anna and Uncle Chris
’
s house. I knew I had spoiled their evening.

I paint for a few hours, but I can
’
t settle on what exactly I
’
m trying to paint. It
’
s just a mess of my emotions, haphazardly strewn on the canvas. I sit down and stare at it, realizing that I do paint the way Nate painted. It
’
s therapeutic for me, and even though the painting is nothing I
’
d dare show anyone, it makes me feel a little better when my arm starts to hurt and I
’
m too tired to continue.

I grab my pajamas and head toward the bathroom. It
’
s been so quiet, I thought everyone in the house had gone to bed, but my brother and dad are still on the couch, the television still on, but barely audible. Trey is curled up under a blanket, his head laying on my dad
’
s leg. The guest bedroom is still dark, everything the way it was when I went into my room.

“
Matty
’
s still out?
”

“
I don
’
t expect him back tonight,
”
he says.

“
Oh. I didn
’
t know you were still up,
”
I say quietly, standing just outside my door.

“
Yeah,
”
he answers in a whisper. I glance at the television. He
’
s watching an infomercial about some sort of pressure cooker.

“
Want me to put Trey to bed?
”
I ask.

“
No,
”
he says quickly.
“
I
’
m going to enjoy this while I can, because some day he
’
ll grow up and he won
’
t even have memories of nights like this, much less want to sit down with me and experience one again.
”
He doesn
’
t look at me when he says it.

“
I remember having movie nights with you.
”

“
Good,
”
he says. He finally glances in my direction.
“
Those are some of my favorite memories, Liv. When I
’
d try to pick you up and carry you to bed, you
’
d open your eyes really wide and try to convince me that you were awake and beg me to start another movie, even though you
’
d been sleeping for an hour.

“
I
’
d do it every time. You
’
d spend the first thirty minutes of the second movie staving off yawns, but then you
’
d succumb to your exhaustion and lean into my chest and fall asleep once more. Sometimes we
’
d get to three movies.
”
He laughs softly, careful not to wake Trey.
“
I just couldn
’
t say no. Your mom hated it. You
’
d be so tired the next day, but it was well worth it to me. She would punish me by putting me in charge of bartering with you–our grouchy and uncooperative daughter–but I did it willingly, knowing that your tantrums were only temporary, and that the next day, you
’
d be back to your old self.
”