Livvy (54 page)

“Funny.”

“Come study with us. If you ace this quiz, you don’t have to take the final, remember?”

I sigh, but grab my World History book and sit next to Rachelle on the floor of our dorm room. I glance at the page number and catch up to the point they’d left off. I’m not worried about this test at all, but the distraction is needed tonight.

An hour later, Jon finally calls. “Where have you been?” I ask him. “I was worried.”

“I was at–” A beep notifies me of another call.

“Hold on.” I switch lines to answer my parents’ call. “Where have you been?” I ask them the same question.

“We were out back,” my father says. “Planting some flowers. It’s been misting on and off this evening, so we left our phones inside.”

“You guys scared me,” I tell them with a sigh.

“Well, we’re sorry, Liv. We’re fine. Did you need something?”

“I was just checking to see if we were still on for tomorrow night.”

“Yes, you’re picking up my mother, correct?” he asks.

“Yes. I promise I’ll drive slowly for Grandma Holland.”

“Tell Grandpa to take his pills with him to the lake,” he says.

“I will. We should be home by six-thirty,” I inform them. “I’ll drop her off and then go pick up Jon. We can meet you at the restaurant. Is that okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Okay, I have to go. Jon’s on the other line.”

“Alright, Tessa. See you tomorrow.”

I click back over. “Sorry, I couldn’t get ahold of my parents, either. You were at school?”

“Um, yeah,” he says, sounding distracted. “At the library, actually. Looking through some archives. You know how they feel about phones.”

“Okay,” I say. “How was your day?”

“Really good,” he tells me.

“Why?”

“Just... just because.”

“Because...”

“I don’t know, Liv,” he says with an obvious smile. “I just figured some things out today.”

“Things I can’t know?”

“Things you will know. In time.”

“Jon!” I plead. “What?”

“Olivia,” he says calmly. “Don’t be petulant.”

“Petulant?” I ask, not offended, but surprised he’d call me that. I mean, I guess I am. “Fine. I didn’t want to know anyway.”

“Good. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’ll get it out of you this weekend.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“You underestimate me.”

“
You
underestimate
me
. By the way, I have to meet with a study group late Saturday morning for a few hours. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine. We were invited to have brunch with Grandma and Dad at the Ritz. More Belgian waffles for me.”

“That’s right, Grandma Holland’s coming home with you tomorrow.”

“Did I tell you that?” I ask him. “I didn’t know I told you. But yeah.”

“Well, I think you mentioned she’d be at your mom’s dinner tomorrow night, so I just assumed.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’ve got some more homework to do.”

“I’ll see you in... twenty-two hours or so.”

“Can’t wait, baby.”

“Love you.” I hang up the phone and pull my hand up to my necklace.

“Can you stop with the giddy smile and help us with this chapter?” Rachelle asks.

“Sure, I’m coming. But the giddy smile’s coming with me.”

Saturday morning, neither Jon nor I want to leave the loft. It took me an hour just to get dressed, with him pulling me back to bed with him.

“Why are you so affectionate today?” I ask him, laughing with him as I sit astride him. I’m in my jeans and layered tank tops, but he’s still in his boxers, completely unmotivated to put anything more on.

“I just want to make as many memories with you as possible. That’s all.”

“Oh, see, when you’re sweet like that, it makes me really not want to go.” I start to take my shirts off, but he stops me. “But... I thought you wanted that. You’ve been pestering me all morning!”

“Pestering?” he says, acting like he’s offended. “This pesters you?”

“No, never. Nudging me in that direction. That’s what I meant to say.”

“I know, but you waited too long to give in, baby. I have to meet my group in fifteen minutes. And you have to meet your dad then, too.”

“So you’re going to leave me like this?”

“Like what?”

“Frustrated?” I say to him, raising my eyebrows to make sure he understands my meaning.

“Like you haven’t done that to me hundreds of times.”

“Yes, but that was before we’d had sex. And, you know, at my house, when we can’t.”

“The circumstances don’t matter. It’s the fact that you have at all.”

I put my hands on his shoulders, leaning into him. “So this is revenge?”

He chuckles a little, then surprises me by using his strength to roll on top of me. “No, but this is,” he says, unbuttoning my jeans, then unzipping them, and yanking them down mid-thigh. He drags the hem of my panties down a few inches and kisses the skin beneath my belly button softly. I start to kick my jeans off, but he moves his hands to my knees, stilling me.

“Really?” I plead with him.

“Really,” he answers, putting my underwear back in place and attempting to pull my jeans back up over my hips. They’re tight, so I have to work against my instincts and pull them back up for him.

“I’ll hurry back,” I tell him. “Can you study quickly?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Perfect.” I fasten my jeans and squirm away from him, giving him one last kiss before leaving him on the bed. “Two hours, tops.”

“Baby, I don’t know if–”

“Don’t keep me waiting. Please?”

“I’ll try, Liv.”

“Try hard.”

“Livvy, I didn’t get to hear much about your trip last night at dinner,” Grandma Holland says after we each get a plate of food from the buffet. “Can you tell me what you’ll be doing?”

“Sure. There are communities down in and around Floripa–”

“That’s Florianópolis,” Dad cuts in.

“Right. There are artists and builders that are trying to brighten up their surroundings. Some are undergoing significant revitalization, and others just want some artwork to distinguish their buildings from others. I’ll be working with this well-known artist, helping her with a few of her projects and working on a few of my own, as well.”

“So this is artwork for inside the buildings?” she asks.

“No, Grandma. Outside. It’s called street art.”

“Like graffiti?” she asks, not understanding.

“Kind of like graffiti, but I won’t be, like, tagging.” She looks at me strangely.

“Livvy won’t be out in the middle of the night spray-painting her name or gang signs on overpasses, Mom.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I guess... think of it like billboards here in the city.”

“So you’ll be painting advertisements?”

“No, I’ll be painting my own designs. Just really large versions of my artwork.”

“How large?”

“Building-size,” I explain.

“Good heavens, how will you do that?”

“They have equipment.” I don’t bother telling her the specifics, already seeing the worry on her face. “I’ll have people helping me, working under my instruction, and there will be a
trazillion
safety measures in place, Grandma. Dad checked them out.”

“I wouldn’t let her go if I thought she’d be in danger. Ariana, the woman she’s working for, she’s been doing this for, what, eight years?”

“Something like that,” I agree.

“Is this, like, when they clean windows in Manhattan on the scaffolding?”

“God, no,” I tell her, feeling certain she’s referring to the people who scale the skyscrapers, washing windows. “I won’t be painting buildings like that. I think the largest one would be like, I don’t know–”

“Two stories tall,” Dad interrupts. He shakes his head at me minutely, not wanting me to tell her the truth. I didn’t think ten stories sounded that bad.

“Yeah, it’ll be like painting a house,” I continue Dad’s lie, kicking him under the table.

“That makes me feel better. Speaking of your paintings, Livvy, Jacks says that they’ve been working on your gallery space this spring.”

“That’s what he tells me, although I’m not sure why. I won’t be around to contribute anything this summer.”

“I think we have more than enough pieces to show. I was just thinking about having some viewings this summer. Since we still don’t have an agent for you, all of the calls for Olivia Choisie are going through my lawyer, and he says there’s a definite demand for your work.”

“Well... I’m kind of glad I won’t be here to see if that’s true or not.”

“We sold quite a few pieces last year. And those people seem to have some good taste and influence in Manhattan.”

“Anyway,” Grandma says, breaking back into the conversation. “I would love to see your gallery.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding my head. “Sure, I guess Dad can take you there.”

“I’d like you to show me your work,” she says, looking at me hopefully. “I want to understand your paintings. Your mother tells me you’re a very emotive artist. I want to hear what motivates you.”

“Well,” I laugh, “I’m not sure Daddy wants to hear all that,” I warn her.

“Oh, Jacks is a grown boy. He can handle it. Or he can plug his ears and ignore us. I would be honored if you would share this with me.”

I look at my watch, seeing it’s already been over an hour. When I glance back up at Dad, I can tell he’s waiting with a question. “Got somewhere else to be?”

“I just told Jon I’d be back soon,” I say.

“Well, he told us last night that he had plans until mid-afternoon. Remember? Jackson asked him to come over and play some baseball?”

“Yeah, but. I mean, yeah, I guess he did.” I pull my phone out to send Jon a message, but notice he’s sent me one first.

“It’s going to take me at least a few more hours. Meet me at three?”

“Grandma, I’d love to show you my paintings. Dad, why don’t you take us to the gallery?”

“I hope you like it.”

“I trust Anna, Daddy. She’s never wrong with her translation of what I like.”

When we get in the car, Dad starts driving north. “Dad, I thought this place was in Chelsea.”

“It is,” he says. “I’m just taking the scenic route. Grandma wanted to see the view over the Hudson.”

“It reminds me of when we were much younger,” she says. “Your grandpa would take me out to a nice dinner in Manhattan. Sometimes, he would pick a place in one of the taller buildings that had windows facing west. We would try to pick out our building across the river.”

“Well, isn’t Hoboken right across from Chelsea?” I ask.

“Yes,” Dad says, “but it was the approach that you wanted to see, right, Mom?”

“Yes, we could never actually see our home from the restaurant, but I was always certain I could see it from 12th Avenue.”

I look at Dad suspiciously in the rearview mirror. He winks at me, silently telling me there was no possible way, so I know not to question her. I’m sure she couldn’t see their old home from this road, but if it brings back some memories, far be it for me to mess that up.

After passing the Lincoln Tunnel entrance, both Dad and Grandma make a production out of looking across the river. “Dad, watch the road, please.”

“Yes, Emi,” Dad says sarcastically.

“Dad, isn’t this the street, though?” He finally looks at one of the signs, realizing he missed the turn onto 21st Street.

“We’ll double back,” he says as if he planned this. I relax into my seat, not understanding why I’m so anxious. I have hours to kill before Jon will be back at the loft.

Once we finally make it to the studio space, I inspect the progress, impressed with the choices Anna and my father have made. I suggest more lighting on a few paintings. Dad tells me he’ll remember, but he seems distracted, checking his phone every few minutes.

Grandma asks me questions about a few of the paintings, and after I tell her my inspiration, she gives me her own interpretation of the art. Dad and I smile at one another behind her. She keeps looking for literal items, recognizable subjects, in my abstract art. She reminds me of my father, a few years ago. I don’t bother to correct her, instead enjoying her ideas.

“What are you looking at?” I finally ask my dad, now feeling like he’s holding us up.

“Just checking the time. I guess it’s time for us to head back, huh?”

“Like, an hour ago,” I mumble to myself, careful to make sure he doesn’t hear me. I know he did this for his mother, and partly for me. I do appreciate him. I just have places to be.