Olivia

  “And when were you ever going to tell me that?”

  “Never,” he says. “Because I’m not that selfish, but tonight, you’ve pushed me too far, so let’s just get it all out in the open.”

  “So, are you breaking up with me?” I ask him, swiping at tears.

  “I hadn’t planned on it, but is that what you want?”

  “That’s what it feels like already! You’re choosing to leave me behind for months without giving me any warning!?”

  “So then, yes? Because I always give you what you want, Livvy,” he says sarcastically.

  “No!” I answer him, moving out of the way for a patron.

  “Then why did you even bring it up?”

  “Because it feels like that’s what you want.”

  “I don’t want it, Olivia,” he says, “I just want some perspective. For both of us.”

  “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean! Does perspective mean time apart? Is this you taking the easy way out? ”

  “Oh, my god, Livvy, that is not what this is. Look at who you are. Look at what you’ve become.”

  “I’ve become the girl you wanted me to be. The woman you made me.”

  “All I ever wanted was for you to be you. Be Livvy Holland. Be the girl with the wild imagination and the independence to do whatever she wanted; to be whoever she wanted. Not what I wanted.”

  He looks at me with disdain. Producing the key from his pocket, he hands it to me and starts toward the exit. I follow him quickly, continuing our conversation when we get outside as he starts to walk in the direction opposite the parking garage.

  “Why did you wait a month to tell me this?”

  He doesn’t stop walking or even turn around when he answers. “Because I knew this is exactly how it would turn out, and I wanted as much time with you as I could possibly have.”

  “I thought you weren’t that selfish,” I reiterate, trying to hurt him.

  “Taxi!” he calls out, standing on the curb and waving down a cab.

  “Fine.” I walk in front of his cab into the street, stopping to wait for the traffic to clear.

  “Livvy, shit!” I hear the cab door slam as I have another clear lane to cross. Three lanes to go. “Livvy!” he calls from the curb, yelling over the horns honking at me. He catches up to me before I can finish crossing the street, putting himself in between me and oncoming traffic and eventually getting me across the street. We both start walking toward the parking garage, me a step ahead of him. “Livvy, you need to calm down before you drive home.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I spit at him. “You want me to be Livvy Holland? And do what I want to do? Fine. I’m leaving, so can you just get out of my way and go back to that wretched college that I don’t belong at?”

  “You’ve just proven to me that you can’t cross a street like you have any respect for your own life–or mine–so no.”

  “You don’t want me anyway.”

  “C’mon, Liv. That’s not what I said, or even implied.”

  That’s exactly what I heard, though. I start to sob, obscuring my face as best as I can while still making my way to my car. Jon’s footsteps cease when I make it into the garage, but I don’t stop or tell him goodbye. The sounds of my heartache echo off the walls of the building. I wonder if he’s watching me, or if he’s just decided to leave.

  I get into my car, starting it quickly and checking behind me before backing out. My head hits the steering wheel with force and a loud bang. Cloudy, it takes me a few seconds to realize what’s happened. I stop the car, discovering I’d put it into drive instead of reverse, hitting the concrete wall in front of me. “Shit!” I cry, putting my head in my hands.

  “Open the door,” I hear Jon through the glass.

  “Go away,” I sob, looking up, but not at him.

  “God damn it, open the door, Liv, you’re hurt.”

  “I am not!” Anxious to get away, I shift the gear again, this time correctly, and back out of the spot. I’m thankful my car still works, although I have no idea what kind of damage I’ve done.

  “Livvy!” I hear him yell once more as I drive away.

  Half of my family is waiting out front when I pull up. Only my mom and dad come to the driver’s side, waiting for me to get out. I glance out the front window, watching Matty and my grandfather inspect the damage.

  “Is it bad?” I ask, getting out.

  “My god, Livvy, honey, your head,” Mom says.

  “It’s fine.”

  “There’s a huge bump, Tessa,” Dad says, putting his thumb to it.

  “Ow! Don’t touch it!”

  “What happened?”

  “I hit a wall in the parking garage.” I try to step past my parents to see my car, but my dad shifts to block my passage.

  “Jon called us,” Mom says. “We know that part.”

  “We need to get her to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I tell him again.

  “We can let the doctors tell us that. Matthew,” he says, and I know he’s serious by the name he calls my uncle, “get my keys.”

  “Is she okay?” Grandpa Holland asks, struggling to hold my brother.

  “We’re going to take her to the ER to get her checked out. Looks like a pretty bad bump.”

  “We’ll call you, Dad,” Mom says to him, “as soon as we know something.”

  Matty comes to us, handing my dad the keys and wiping the skin beneath my eyes with a tissue. “Little Liv, don’t scare us like this,” he says, giving me a box of Kleenexes.

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’re sure?” Mom asks. “That doesn’t make sense, sweetie.”

  “Sure, it’s sure,” I tell her, blinking stars away from my eyes.

  “Come on, Jacks.” Mom helps me into the backseat of Dad’s car, sliding in next to me. Feeling dizzy, I lie down, putting my head in her lap. The pressure from her leg makes my head hurt more. I close my eyes, hoping the pain will go away with sleep.

  “Poppet, don’t let her sleep.”

  “I’m not, baby,” she assures him, running her fingernails up and down my arm. “You’re not gonna sleep, right, Livvy?”

  “I’m tired and sad, Mom.” I open my eyes to look up at her.

  “I know, but you need to stay awake now. Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?”

  “I hit a wall in the parking garage, Mom.”

  “I know,” she says with a very slight laugh. “Before that.”

  “I got in a fight with Jon. Did you know he’s going to Utah?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Remember, you get to go, too?”

  They did tell me I could visit him. “Oh, yeah,” I tell her, shutting my eyes once more. “My head hurts.”

  “I know. Open your eyes.”

  “Okay.” I blink them open, finding it difficult to focus on the leather seat in front of me.

  “Why did you fight again?” my dad asks.

  “Because he’s going to Utah for the summer. And he never told me. And he doesn’t want me to go to Columbia. And he never told me that, either. And he said you told him not to tell me not to go.”

  “Wait, he’s going for the summer?” Mom asks, obviously surprised.

  “He doesn’t want you to go to Columbia?” Dad adds.

  “I know!” I exclaim, my head pounding as I raise my eyebrows to emphasize my point. “Ouch.”

  “Keep her calm,” Dad says to my mother.

  “Jacks, I’m watching her. Just get us to the hospital.” I shut my eyes again. “Eyes open,” she says before I can get any relief from my inability to focus on anything.

  “I’m tired,” I explain.

  “Yes, but I think you have a concussion, sweetheart, so you can’t sleep until the doctor says it’s okay to sleep.”

  “We’re going to the doctor?”

  “Drive faster, Jacks,” Mom says as she runs her fingers through my hair.

  “That feels nice, Mom.” I glance up at her
and smile, seeing the worry on her face.

  “Are you sure Jon said he’s going for the summer?” she asks me.

  “That’s what he said. Ten weeks, he said. And then he got mad at me for wanting to go to Columbia to be with him. Daddy?”

  “Yes, Tessa?”

  “Did you tell Jon to not discourage me? About college?” I’m suddenly curious.

  “I did,” he admits. “But maybe I shouldn’t have. Can we talk about that later?”

  “Okay,” I agree, closing my eyes again but remembering I’m not supposed to. I open them back up before Mom says anything.

  “What movie did you go see?” she asks me.

  “I don’t know, we just go to the movies to make out,” I tell her. “What movie did you see?”

  “Jacks,” she says, her voice pleading.

  “Emi, I’m going as fast as I can.”

  Did I just admit to my parents that we were making out in the movie? I think I did. I feel the blush spread across my cheeks, hoping they didn’t hear me.

  “Maybe she’s just not making sense,” Mom adds.

  “Right,” Dad says evenly.

  “She asked what movie we watched,” she explains. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  I follow her reasoning, hoping they convince themselves that I’m just speaking nonsensically because of a concussion. I try to refrain from talking the rest of the way, afraid of what I might say next.

  The doctor leaves us alone in the room after his examination. A mild concussion. I’ll have a nice bruise when I walk the stage at graduation tomorrow, but he says I’ll be fine. I already feel much clearer than I did in the car on the way here.

  “How are you feeling?” Dad asks.

  “Mad,” I tell him. “How could he just spring that news on me at the last minute?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “It surprises me to hear it. You’re sure that’s what he said?”

  “I’m positive. And what about the Columbia thing?” I glance over at him to see his reaction, knowing that I’ll see the truth in his expression. What Jon said was true.

  “Livvy, I didn’t ask him anything more than what I asked you. I just wanted it to be your decision, alone. I had no idea he would discourage you going to Columbia...”

  “He said he feels smothered. I don’t think he wants to be with me anymore.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Mom says.

  “I know. But he pretty much said that.” I remember his words and start to cry again.

  “He called to check on you, Liv. He was frantic. That doesn’t sound like a boy that doesn’t want to be with you anymore,” my dad says.

  “I thought we would, like, start a life together this summer,” I admit. “We’ve dreamed of the freedom. It was going to be perfect. And now he’s ruined it.”

  “You’re too young to be starting your life together as a couple, Livvy,” Mom steps in. “You still need to grow as individuals. He’s pursuing his dreams. It’s your time to do that, too. You can both do that, and if it’s meant to be, you’ll emerge from this experience as stronger individuals who can better contribute to a relationship. You’ll know yourselves better. You’ll understand what your wants and needs are, as individuals.”

  “You sound just like him. I already know I love him. I know I want him more than anything.” The crying overwhelms me again. She comes to sit next to me on the hospital bed, leaning over to hug me.

  “Shhh, Livvy,” she whispers before kissing the side of my forehead that isn’t covered by an icepack. The pressure still hurts a little, but I don’t let her know, preferring the comfort she brings me.

  “I could see me and Jon just like you and Dad in thirty years...” I explain.

  She shakes her head. “I can’t.” I look at her, surprised. “I depend on your father a lot,” she admits. “He’s my rock.”

  “I feel that way with Jon.”

  “You don’t need a rock,” she says with a little laugh. “I need Jacks to stay grounded. He makes my life feel safe and stable. I’ll readily admit I can be a little codependent. You, my dear... you need to take flight. You’re spirited and opinionated and stubborn and you have a mind of your own. You’ve always been one to stand alone. You and Jon are the same. You’re destined for a completely autonomous life, whether you know this about yourself or not. You both are. You and Jon are nothing like me and your father.”

  “I don’t want to be without him.”

  “You don’t have to be without him. You simply don’t have to be with him to be happy, either.”

  I nod, but I am starting to think she’s the one with the concussion... she’s not making any sense to me now.

  Later that night, Dad kisses Mom just outside the entrance to my bedroom. “Livvy,” he says, “if you start to feel sick or anything, wake your mother up. Got it?”

  “Dad, I’m fine, but yes. This is completely unnecessary.”

  “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I know,” I sigh, rolling over on my side and hugging my pillow. This isn’t how I’d envisioned this night ending. I was supposed to be curled up in Jon’s arms. Instead, he’s at his dorm, choosing not to respond to any of my calls or texts. I’d think he didn’t care at all if he hadn’t answered the earlier call my dad had placed to him, letting him know how I was doing while we were still at the hospital.

  “You’ll feel better about everything in the morning,” Mom says as she crawls into the bed next to me. “I’m sure he will, too.”

  “I hope,” I tell her. “Night, Mom.”

  “Good night, sweetheart.” Her fingernails scratch lightly on my back. When I was little, she’d put me to sleep that way. Tonight, it brings me to tears. Aside from a few sniffles, I manage to hide my emotions from her.

  CHAPTER 25

  Finn stands close to me among the rest of our graduating class. I’d grown tired of answering everyones’ questions about the bandage on my forehead, and he was tending to their curiosities now. I was happy to have him around today, even if he told everyone a different lie about how I hurt myself. My favorite was that a pigeon had flown into my head. Finn’s favorite was mud wrestling. Of course.

  Most read about the public fight and the ensuing parking garage mishap online last night or this morning on one of many Manhattan tabloid sites, so I can’t understand why everyone feels the need to bombard me when they already know the story.

  Schadenfreude, I guess.

  “Do you see him?” I ask Finn. I can’t see over most of the people around me, so my friend’s height is a definite asset. It helps that our families are sitting together, so he knows where to look. Surely Jon would find my parents and sit with them.

  “He’s not with them.” He delivers the news softly. “What happened?”

  I shake my head. “It took me two hours to stop crying this morning to put my makeup on. I’m not going to ruin everything just before I have to walk across the stage in front of hundreds of people.”

  “You can’t tell. You look pretty. Bandage and all.”

  “Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You look weird in a collared shirt.”

  “Thanks,” he laughs, pulling at the knot on his tie underneath his black gown. “I don’t know how your dad wears this getup every day of his life. It’s uncomfortable as hell.”

  “He always wants to make a great first impression, with everyone he meets.”

  “Good thing I don’t care about that,” he mutters.

  “Yeah, I don’t think a suit really helps your cause anyway. You have bad manners to deal with,” I start teasing him, “and horrible language, and the smell of grass stains is always hovering around you.”

  “Hmmm...” he considers what I said with wondering eyes. “Soccer, soccer, and... soccer,” he explains away all of his flaws with his favorite pastime. “At least I don’t have the stench of paint fumes and turpentine in my hair all the time.”

  “It’s lovely,” I say sarcastically. I sniff a strand of hair,
smelling the coconut conditioner I’d used on it this morning. I was so used to the paint smell that it never really occurred to me that it might be offensive to other people. To me, it’s a comforting smell.

  “Now?” I ask him. He strains to look over the crowd seated in the auditorium. He shakes his head. We both look at our watches at the same time, and look up at one another after realizing the graduation ceremony is supposed to start in three minutes. I swore I wasn’t going to call him again, but I can’t stop myself. I reach into the tiny purse that I’m wearing under my gown and get out my phone.

  For the first time all day, it doesn’t go directly to voicemail, and I’m hopeful. I grin at Finn, waiting for Jon to pick up. My smile fades a little more with each unanswered ring. Finally, his outgoing message greets me. I sigh, listening to his confident voice, missing it.

  “Jon, it’s Olivia. I hope you’re here, and I just can’t see you. If you are, meet me by the magnolia tree in the west lot across from the auditorium after the ceremony. This is killing me.” I hang up, sliding the phone back into the bag.

  “Killing you like the pigeon tried to do?” Finn asks. I laugh a little, fully appreciative of his attempts to cheer me up.

  “Something like that.”

  My science teacher is tasked with lining us all up alphabetically. She’d been through the line twice, but Finn kept coming back to me. “Mr. Reese,” she says to him, “can you please find your place in line? We’re about to take our seats.”

  “Oh, I thought I’d told you. She has a concussion, so she needs someone to be with her.”

  “Finn,” I whisper, trying to stop him.

  “Oh, of course,” Mrs. Taylor says, blushing. “I didn’t realize that’s what you were doing. So you’ll accompany her to the stage, make sure she makes it back to her seat, and you’ll come back to the stage when it’s your turn?”

  “Yes, that’s the plan.” He winks at me as our teacher continues down the line, checking her list. He shrugs his shoulders, surprised she bought it. “The bandage helps.”

  “Please don’t go with me to the stage,” I tell him.

  “He’ll be jealous?”