Contessa

  “I had a great time, Livvy.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And I just want you to know, I’m kind of glad we had that conversation tonight. I’m not particularly proud of it, but I think it’s important for you to know about me. So you can make an informed decision, you know. When that time comes. If that time comes,” he corrects himself.

  “Okay.” I’d pushed that part of the night to the back of my mind. Learning that Jon had already experienced things with another girl wasn’t the highlight of my night, to say the least. I realize it was naïve of me to think he’d be a virgin, too, though. After all, according to the rumors at school, very few of the guys were, and especially not the attractive ones.

  “I’d want to know if you weren’t. Just to know, you know?”

  “Sure,” I tell him with a faint smile.

  “You are, though, right?”

  “Yes,” I assure him with a blush. “But so what if I wasn’t? You’re not.”

  “It’s not like that,” he tells me. “I’d just want to know who my competition was, that’s all.”

  “Oh. Well, who’s mine?”

  “Just trust me, Livvy. There is none.” He stops walking and holds me back, pulling my shoulder so we’re face to face on the corner down the street from the house.

  “Trust you, huh?” I ask him. He takes my hair in his hand and brings it toward him, dropping the curls so they dangle precariously over my heart. A part of me feels the need to shield myself, to be cautious of him.

  He nods and tips my head slightly to the side so he can kiss me. It’s soft and sweet and ends with a smile across my lips. He leans further down and presses his lips to the side of my neck. I gasp at the contact, feeling it in every cell of my body. Just when I think it’s safe to take a breath, he moves further still, and kisses the silver medallion he had given me that hangs in the middle of my chest. Overcome, I put my hands beneath his chin and pull him back up to me. It’s a need, to return his affections.

  When we part this time, we’re both breathing heavily.

  “Choisie,” he whispers as he looks me in the eyes. He moves my hair aside, placing two fingers over my heart, then tapping out its quick rhythm. We stare at one another, and I know I’m completely in love.

  “I have to go,” I tell him, knowing I’m probably late. He checks his watch and agrees, taking my hand once more and walking me to the patio steps.

  “Good night, Livvy. Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” I gush, wanting him to kiss me again but having no doubt that the only thing separating my dad and me at this moment is a heavy wooden door, and maybe my mother’s quick persuasion to give me a moment. “Good night.”

  It’s an ambush once I get inside.

  “Livvy, it’s three minutes past curfew.”

  “Dad, really? We were down the street. That’s practically home.”

  “So it’s okay if I wait outside for you after your dates, too, so I can make sure you’re on our street on time?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “You’re right, Dad. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, okay? We’ll synchronize our watches next time.” I roll my eyes with my back to him.

  “Liv,” he says to me, clearly losing patience. “Why were you down the street? Why didn’t the cab drop you off at home?”

  I turn around to answer him. “We took a bus.”

  He bites his lip as his arms tense up. He stretches his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Livvy, if money is an issue, please tell him that I will pay for a cab home–or, hell, I’ll even pick you up–every time. I don’t want you taking the bus again.”

  “Dad, it wasn’t bad at all.”

  “Livvy, I really don’t ask much of you.”

  “Right,” I say sarcastically.

  “Jacks,” my mom steps in. “Maybe we can talk about all of this in the morning. We’re all tired.”

  “Emi,” he starts. “When we give her rules, she needs to abide by them. How else is she supposed to earn our trust? Or this kid? What about him? I’m just going to let him ignore the limits I’ve set for my own daughter?”

  “I’m sure that was not his intention,” Mom answers calmly.

  “He’s just trying to show me things you never let me see,” I tell him.

  “Great. What a hero.”

  “Livvy, why don’t you go downstairs? I’ll be down in a few minutes,” my mom suggests as she puts her hand on Dad’s shoulder. She guides him up the stairs to their bedroom, but I can hear him continuing to talk over her as she tries to reason with him.

  I change clothes quickly and lie down on top of the covers of my bed, staring at the painting on my wall, wondering what the story is behind it. Mom mentioned a woman’s name when she saw it, and I can’t help but wonder whom this woman was to Nate. A friend, like Mom? A girlfriend? Someone he loved? Someone he didn’t? Who was she to him? And why did she make him so angry?

  I wonder what would provoke a person to paint something so passionate. It had to be something deeply personal to him. He must have loved this other woman, too.

  As soon as I think that, I wonder if it’s possible. He loved my mother. Could he love two people? More than two? And when that happens, does it feel the same every time? Or is there something specific to each person that provokes different feelings, a different kind of love?

  Did Jon love that girl?

  Was there more than one? My heart palpitates at this question. I didn’t ask how many girls he’d been with. That matters to me, doesn’t it?

  I pull my phone out and scroll through the few contacts that are pre-programmed in it. Mainly family members, but Jon’s name stands out to me.

  I struggle with the decision. Do I call him and ask him? Text him? Do I have a right to know?

  It frustrates me to feel this way at the end of what could have been a perfect night. Again, I get lost in the painting, beginning to understand the confusion that seeps out in the uneven strokes of black paint.

  “You okay, Liv?” Uncle Matty asks quietly from the doorway.

  I smile as best as I can. “I guess so.”

  “You guess so? Did you not have a good time?” He sits on the bed next to me.

  “No, we did. The place was so cool, and the food was awesome. People, like, recognized me–”

  “Did they leave you alone?”

  “Yeah. It was really just the wait staff, and they were attentive.”

  “Okay, that’s good.” He pats me on the leg. “So why the long face?”

  “I don’t know,” I lie.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. It’s just something we talked about.”

  “Something you have questions about?”

  “When did you lose your virginity?” I ask quickly.

  “What did I walk in on?” my mom asks, peeking her head into my room.

  “Just in time,” Matty says. “I think this is a mother-daughter conversation.” He ducks back out into the media room, pulling the door with him but not quite closing it all the way.

  I shake my head, ducking into my hands.

  I know she’s in my room, but Mom’s silent for a quite a few seconds before she moves closer and takes a seat on my bed. Matty turns the television on and starts watching a late-night show. “I guess my time for questions will come later.” She sighs heavily. “Had you felt comfortable enough to ask me, I would have told you I was nineteen. A sophomore in college.”

  Her honesty surprises me, and I’m encouraged to continue. “Was Nate your first?”

  “No, honey. I’ve told you that Nate and I didn’t start dating until we were much older.”

  “Were you Nate’s first?”

  She laughs out loud. “No.”

  “How old was he?” I ask her.

  “Nate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Younger than I was,” she answers plainly. “He was in high school.”

  “Were you his second?”

  Again, she laughs to herself
. “No, sweetie. I was his last, and that was good enough for me.”

  “Did he have a lot of girlfriends before you?”

  “Yes, Livvy, as a matter of fact, he did.”

  “Ones he was... intimate with?” She smiles softly and nods her head. I start doing calculations in my head. “And when did you date?”

  “In the fall and winter before he died.”

  “Did you know all of the girls he was with before you?”

  “Some of them. Not all of them, but I knew of most of them.” But not all of them...

  I continue with my original line of conversation. “Did it bother you that he had a lot of girlfriends?”

  “Up to a point, yes. But eventually, I decided they didn’t matter. I knew if I loved him enough, and wanted to have a future with him, I’d have to accept his past and move forward. And if I couldn’t, I needed to move on. People can’t change their past decisions.” She shrugs, looking a little sad. “Why are you asking all of these questions?”

  “Jon’s not a virgin,” I tell her quietly.

  “Oh.” I can tell she doesn’t really know how to respond. “Well, how does that make you feel?”

  “Kind of sad, I think,” I tell her.

  “Well, if you ask me, I think it’s kind of early in your relationship to be considering sex.”

  “We weren’t,” I explain. “We were just talking, and it came up. So you were a sophomore in college, Nate was in high school. How old was Dad?”

  “I could tell her!” my uncle yells from outside my door. “It’s a great story!”

  “You most certainly will not!” my mom hollers back at him. “You should ask your father himself,” she says simply.

  “Did he wait until he was married?”

  “Honey, he was thirty-five when we got married.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “That’s a no.”

  “Well, then, how old was he?”

  “That’s not my information to share with you. You’ll need to ask him.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I say, blushing. “Did Dad care that you weren’t a virgin?”

  “At our age, Livvy, it was kind of understood that, well... I was thirty-one when we started dating. I don’t expect you to wait until you’re thirty-one, let’s just put it that way.”

  “Were you sad that you weren’t a virgin when you got married? I mean, we’ve always talked about how I need to wait until I’m married, but you two didn’t. That seems a little hypocritical.”

  “I guess it is, but it’s just advice. It’s just something you should consider, and having sex isn’t a decision you should ever take lightly. It should be something special that you share with someone you really love.”

  “Should I care that Jon’s not a virgin?”

  “At this point, no. Because, again, I don’t think either of you are ready to make this decision.”

  “But he already has, once... at least once,” I mumble.

  I see my brother run quickly by my bedroom door. At this hour, that can only mean my dad is right behind him. His face is white when he appears in my doorway.

  “What decision?” my dad asks.

  “Never mind,” I say quickly. “I’m done, Mom. Thanks.”

  “What, um,” he stutters. “What are we talking about?”

  “Nothing, I was just going to bed.”

  My mom turns around and smiles weakly at him, giving him a subtle nod. He grabs a stool from the media room and sits down, shutting the door and blocking the doorway. “And why are we talking about this?” he asks. “You’re too young to even be considering that.”

  “That’s not what Mom said–”

  “Whoa, Livvy, that’s exactly what I said.”

  “Please, Emi,” Dad says, “enlighten me. What exactly have you told our daughter?”

  “She told me to use protection–”

  “Livvy, we discussed–” She stops addressing me and shifts her attention to Dad. “Jacks, we’ve discussed a lot more than that, but yes, we’ve had the talk. I told her to protect herself if she was ever in that position.”

  He glares at my mother.

  “Wrong word,” Mom mutters. “Jack, she’s sixteen. She has a boyfriend. Let’s be realistic.”

  “A boyfriend? She went on her first date with him tonight. My, how quickly things progress these days.” He shakes his head. “It’s too soon for either of you to have sex.”

  “Well, he already has.”

  “Has he?” my dad says angrily. “That’s just fantastic.”

  “Lots of boys my age have, Dad,” I argue with him. “Nate was in high school when he lost his virginity.” My mom puts her head in her hands.

  “Nate?” he asks, standing up, seemingly bewildered. “Why the hell do I care about Nate’s sexual history?”

  “Because he’d probably understand better than you do. He might be able to have a rational conversation with me about it instead of getting mad at me.”

  “I’m confused, Emi. How is he involved in this at all?”

  “She asked how old I was, how old Nate was, and then how old you were.”

  “And you told her?”

  “I told her I was in college, I mentioned Nate was in high school, and I told her she should ask you herself.” He looks at me, as if waiting for me to ask. I can’t form the sentence. He looks back over to Mom, unblinking. I can tell he’s upset with her.

  My brother opens the door, only to have it bang up against the stool. “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Jackson?” he asks, but doesn’t even turn around.

  “Can I have a soda?”

  “Sure. Tell Matty I said it was okay.”

  “Jacks, it’s nearly eleven,” my mom says.

  “Well, I won’t be getting any sleep tonight, either.”

  “Honey, we’re just talking, okay? We were doing fine before you came in here.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving.” He shuts the door again.

  “Then tell our daughter how old you were when you first had sex.”

  He continues to stare at her. “I don’t think that’s relevant to the conversation. We’re discussing Livvy and Jon.”

  “Alright, I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t want to divulge that information, fine. But I want you to sit there and let me talk. That’s the deal. If you feel the need to speak up, you can answer her question and then you and I can explain double standards to her. How’s that?”

  My mouth forms into a smug smile. I love it when my mom puts Dad in his place.

  “Fine,” my dad says quickly as he takes a seat again, crossing his arms.

  “Great.” Mom turns her focus back to me and takes my hand. “You asked if it should bother you that he’s already had sex.” My dad puts his head in his hand, but stays quiet. “You know, I can’t answer that question for you, honey. But I want you to remember how it made you feel when he told you he wasn’t a virgin. Just remember that feeling of disappointment. Your feelings are valid, Livvy. If that hurt you, I want you to remember that, and keep in mind that if you have sex with the wrong guy, the right one might feel that exact same way some day. So you have to choose wisely, Livvy. You don’t get your virginity back.”

  I just nod at her and feel my cheeks turn pink again. My dad doesn’t look at me, but his face softens and he quietly leaves the room.

  “That was uncomfortable,” I mutter. “Is he mad?”

  “I don’t know. If he is, he’ll get over it. I’ll talk to him.”

  “He’s so controlling.”

  “He’s not controlling. He just wants you to have the best of everything. And where you’re involved, Liv, your dad will stop at nothing to make sure you have all the information you need to make the right decisions in your life. Would he like to make them for you? I’m sure. But he knows that’s not possible.

  “As much as he’d like to be in control of this decision, we both know that when the time comes, it’s just going to be a decision between you and a guy you really c
are about. And he better really care about you, too.

  “Dad loves you so much. He never wants you to be hurt.”

  “He was in high school, too, wasn’t he?” I ask her.

  She lets out a slight laugh. “We can talk about double standards another day,” she answers.

  “Why doesn’t he even try to relate to me?”

  “Livvy,” she says sadly. “He is trying. He’s doing the best he can do.”

  “I think other people could have done better,” I suggest.

  “Who?” She laughs, looking at me curiously and clearly not taking me seriously.

  I stare long and hard at the painting on the wall. “No one.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you back.”

  “How are you?”

  “Fine. Has your dad had any change of heart about Saturday night?”

  “No,” I text to Jon. “Granna says you’re welcome to come to the open house, but Dad says it’ll be too late after for us to go and do anything.”

  “I can’t even come over for a bit?”

  I mentally berate myself for the twenty-seventh time about deciding to tell my parents about Jon. Ever since then, he has been a constant source of tension in our house.

  “No, they won’t be coming home immediately after.”

  “Sounds perfect,” he texts, following it up with a winking emoticon. They will be home, and I don’t like that I feel the need to lie to him, but it’s better than telling him that I’ve shared his deeply personal news with two people he’s supposed to be trying to impress. I’m hoping they just need time to get used to the idea.

  “What are you doing over there?” Granna asks from across the table after dinner.

  “Nothing,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I’ll put it away.”

  “Your painting tonight was incredible. It reminds me of his.”

  “Really?” I smile, happy that she could see similarities. She nods at me.

  “His best work came when he was upset about something. He channeled that into his artwork quite well. He’d go through days of self-loathing, where he didn’t talk to hardly anyone–except your mother–and then he’d emerge from his loft with a masterpiece. I used to worry about him, about depression, but he always had a way to work out his own internal struggles without medication or drugs or alcohol. Art was his release.”