Livvy (19 page)

After pouring everyone drinks, we all sit around the living room, talking.

“How was your summer?” my mom begins.

“It was good,” Jon says. His expression, though, shows the remorse he feels. “My mom is doing really well. She’s sober and has a job. She’s even signing up for some courses at a local community college next semester.”

“I guess you got a lot of time with Will and Max,” my dad comments.

“Probably not enough,” Jon says. “I had a job all summer, but I did hang out with them most nights and weekends. I was building a house... this magnificent stone mansion that overlooks the hills. It was incredible. Grueling, really, but such a great experience.”

I realize the manual labor is probably the source of his newly sculpted muscles.

“But my brothers and I had a great time. They both seem settled, but they were sad to see me go. I know they want to come back to the city.”

“It’s a hard place to leave,” my mom admits.

“How has school been?” Dad asks.

“Wow. Since school has started, it has been a whirlwind. I don’t know if you remember, but the architecture firm I worked with last spring won that bid with the city.”

“I read about that,” my father says. “You had a hand in that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, and the second I got back to New York, they put me to work. In all my spare time, I’ve been revamping some designs I’d done and helping sketch some other schematics. So sleep has been a rarity. School’s been good, but I probably haven’t been giving it the attention it deserves.”

“Oh?” Mom asks.

“Yeah. But my part in the firm’s project is behind me for now. They released me last week to focus on my coursework. I still work a few hours a week with them, but I’ll get to start sleeping again now. I’m excited.”

Hearing all this explains more as to why it took him so long to reconnect with me. I’ve already forgiven him, but this makes that decision feel even better. My mom glances over and smiles, and I think it puts her mind at ease, as well. It seems like Dad has more to say to him, but he withholds any further comments for the time being.

Subtly, I signal to my mother. I hope she understands that I want to talk to Dad alone. She nods, asking Jon if he wants to see how strong Trey’s arm has gotten over the summer. He squeezes my hand before they all leave out the back door.

I produce the notecard from Granna and fidget with it nervously in my lap until my father takes notice.

“Liv, what’s that?” he asks. He lifts his eyebrows in curiosity.

“James brought this to me yesterday.”

“James who?”

“Schaeffer,” I explain.

“Really? From Donna?” Dad asks. I nod my head. “A birthday card?”

“Not really,” I tell him. “Listen, Dad, I don’t want you to read anything into this, okay? This changes absolutely nothing.”

“Contessa, what is it?” he questions nervously.

“Granna found my biological father.” I stop there, watching him for his response. He swallows hard before affixing his eyes on me. “She only told me his name, and that he was still alive.”

“When did she write that?” he asks. I hand him the letter, allowing him to read it in its entirety. “April tenth of last year,” he comments. He speaks the words aloud. He has to take a few breaks to breathe in between sentences I don’t think he was fully prepared to read. He passes the note back to me when he’s finished. “Livvy, we did everything we thought was right when we were trying to adopt you. I’m so sorry,” he says, getting noticeably upset.

“Daddy, please, don’t apologize about this. I’m sure you did.” I lean over and hug him tightly, trying to assure him that the question of whether or not they looked hard enough was not important to me at all.

“I wouldn’t have purposefully kept anything from you, Livvy. Especially your real family–”

“
You
are my real family, Dad. Period. Please don’t ever think otherwise, okay? Okay?” I ask again when he doesn’t answer.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“I have no idea,” I admit. “I found out a little more about him yesterday. I’m not sure he’s still alive... but he’s a sculptor, and had an article written about him in his local paper in Connecticut.”

“He lives in Connecticut?” I hear the worry in Dad’s voice, and I wonder if he’s regretting pushing me so hard to attend Yale now.

“Yeah. About an hour away from school.”

“He’s an artist,” he says, his words coming out as a sigh. Dad looks concerned, and turns his attention to the back window, seeing Mom, Trey and Jon in the yard. “The man you found... you’re sure it’s the same man?”

“I’m pretty sure,” I tell him. “I have his eyes.” In one swift movement, Dad stands and runs his fingers through his hair. He walks slowly to the basement stairs, descending them quietly.

“I never have to meet him!” I call out to him, feeling the tears forming at the thought of my dad being upset about this. I follow him quickly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dad. I’m sorry I brought it up, but I knew I couldn’t keep the secret from you.”

He’s in the game room, putting chalk on a cue stick. I lean on the table, waiting for him to speak.

“Does your mother know?” he asks.

“I told her last night. She didn’t want to keep it from you, so I had to tell you.” I feel bad for saying anything to her–to either of them. I swipe at a few tears.

“Don’t cry, Livvy. Don’t be upset.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m missing anything in my life, Dad. I’m not. You two have given me everything, and I don’t want anything more. I promise. I won’t meet him.”

“Livvy, that choice has to be yours, independent of our feelings. We will be fine, no matter what you decide to do. I’m confident in your feelings for us. I know you have enough love in there to give to more people without taking anything away from us. If you want to meet him, you should.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“He’s an artist,” he repeats his earlier statement with a sort of laugh. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“Absolutely not, Daddy.” I move against the wall across from him, willing him to look at me. He finally glances up, but just for a second before lining up his shot and taking it. I pick up the white ball before it comes to a stop to get his attention. He continues to shoot random balls into holes while I try to talk to him. “Dad, I didn’t ask for this letter, and I never would have. In fact, it’s fair to say I wish she’d never written it because it puts me in an awful position. It’s obvious you don’t like the idea of me meeting him.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, Liv. It’s that I’m not comfortable with it, that’s all. But it’s not my place to even give you my opinion. That’s not what Donna wanted, and I know it’s not fair to you.”

“I
want
your opinion, Daddy. Granna isn’t here to make sure I stick to her rules. Your feelings mean more to me than some curiosity about a stranger that happens to share my genes with me. So what if he’s an artist? There are millions of artists on this planet–hundreds who inspire me. I don’t want them to be my parents. Your purpose in life isn’t to help me become a better painter–it’s to help me become a better
person
. That’s paramount to me, Dad. You’ve given me all the tools I need to go out into the world and make something of myself. You and Mom did all of that. And I don’t believe anyone in this world–a blood relative or not–could have done a better job than you’ve done.”

“You know, just when I have to come to terms with Jon coming back into your life–” He looks at me. “Are you getting back together?” he asks.

“We are.”

He smiles at me. “I hope he understands what he’s done. I hope he’s started his atonement. I have to trust that his apology was good enough for you. I still think you’re too young to make those decisions, but I know how much you care about each other. But just when I have to come to terms with the fact that I may no longer be the first man you go to when you want advice or need to vent, I also have to accept that a third man may get a say, as well?”

“Dad, it’s not like that.”

“It could be,” he argues.

“Don’t be threatened by him. Today, he means nothing to me. And it might stay that way. I don’t know what the benefit would be in me meeting him.”

“Or the harm,” he says. “You know how careful I am with associates, Livvy? You know how there’s a certain level of distance I put between our family and people who aren’t a part of it?”

“Yes.”

“I do that for a reason. When people know who we are, it’s harder to know true intentions. Do they want to know us for personal gain? Do they need money? Or a favor?”

“I know, Dad. I know.”

“What if you meet him, and he realizes who you are? Your emotions would already be so tied up in who he is to you–biologically–that your judgment may be off.”

“Dad,
if
–not when, but
if
–I decide to meet him, you have to be able to trust me to make my own assessment. Do you think I’d be going into this blindly? No. I’m weighing my options, Dad, and at this point, meeting him and satisfying that curiosity isn’t as important as protecting you.”

“My feelings shouldn’t play into your decision.”

“But you’re my family, Dad. So, I’m sorry, but they do. There’s no way to remove that from this decision. I won’t do it.”

“You don’t need me anymore,” he says softly.

“Don’t say that. I will always need you.” The tears drip from my eyes suddenly.

“You went to Jon with this first,” he says quickly as he leans against the pool table. “He’s been back in your life for a day and you went to him–”

“No, Daddy,” I say defensively. “When he came over yesterday, he found me while I was reading it. Had I been alone when I read it–had no one else ever known–I think I could have thrown it away and moved on. But he found me reading it. And he said he’d be there for me, either way. Whatever I decide to do.”

“And he’ll help you make that decision.”

“He has no staked interest in this, Dad.”

“That’s not true,” he says. “If you two decide to have children some day, knowing about your family history may be important to you both.”

“At this point, I don’t see that as a reason to meet him. Not today, anyway. I’m already at a higher risk for breast cancer. Isaiah outlived my biological mom. And Jon’s dad had cancer, too,” I remind him. “But, Daddy, Jon’s not the bad guy here. Jon respects you and wouldn’t want to hurt you any more than I would. And that’s the last thing I want to do.”

He sighs heavily, tapping his fingers against the dark wood of the table. “I know this,” he says. “I also know that he better not want to hurt you anymore, either. Did you talk everything through?”

“Yes, Dad. He forgave me.”

“Wait a minute,” he starts. “
He
forgave
you
? That was his apology to make–”

“No, I know,” I interrupt. “He apparently forgave me long ago. And his apology... it left me reeling, Dad. I never thought he could say the right words, but oh my God. If you’d heard him, Dad, even you’d forgive him.”

He laughs, disbelieving me. “Why’d it take so long for him to get back to you?”

“It sounds like he’s been busy, or maybe he just needed time, I don’t know.”

“I think you should demand to know. You deserve an explanation. Hell, Liv, I know I want one. We’re the ones that watched you suffer for months.”

“It was my fault–”

“No, it was his fault,” he says. “He knew it was up to him whether or not you two would be together–whether or not he could forgive you–and he didn’t even make a decision all that time. That’s worse than breaking up... because you had that lingering hope all summer long that kept you frozen in limbo. That wasn’t fair of him at all.”

“I’m okay with it, Dad. I accept his actions. I’m just happy he’s back.”

He lifts his brow at me, challenging me. “If he respects me like you say he does, he’ll give me a few minutes of his time tonight.”

“What are you going to say?”

“Nothing. I’m just going to listen.”

“I’m not sure he has anything to say to you.”

“I bet he does, Contessa. I know the kid. He
always
has something to say.”

The restaurant we had rented out for our large, family dinner is about ten blocks away from Columbia. I’d already packed my things and was going to leave for New Haven after dinner, and had offered to drop Jon off. My dad intervenes, though, asking if he and Jon can walk to campus. With my family watching, mine and Jon’s farewell is brief. After I tell Dad goodbye, Jon and I hug tightly and he kisses me on the cheek.

“Have a good week,” I tell him softly.

“I intend to talk to you, you know. Tell me to have a good evening or something.”

“Have a good walk, then.”

“Why don’t you call me to let me know you made it okay? Is that too overbearing?”

“Not at all. Seriously, though. Good luck.”