Contessa (56 page)

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Authors: Lori L. Otto

Tags: #Fiction, #Coming of Age

BOOK: Contessa
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Opening my window, I carefully step outside. My parent

s bedroom is on the floor below, but it

s way across the house, so I know they won

t hear me. They retired to their room hours ago, as soon as Trey went to bed.

Lying down against the rough shingles, I pull my hood over my head not for warmth, but to keep my hair from being pulled against the material. Bundled in the blankets, I almost don

t feel the night

s chill. I lay the flowers on my chest, tucked under the top blanket so I can still see them by the moonlight. When I was learning to paint, I did a lot of still-life paintings. I challenged myself with different types of flowers, forcing myself to see subtle differences in their petals and leaves. I was a perfectionist, and would often paint the same flower over and over again until I got it right.

The camellias were my favorite. They weren

t the prettiest flowers, but I was fascinated how different each flower looked from bud to blossom. I had done one series of paintings over a few days that showed their progression of bloom. It was only about a foot wide, and maybe four inches tall, and I was so proud of it, I used to carry it with me in my backpack every day. The canvas began to wear after a month or so of being shuffled around with my books and supplies, so I eventually had to take it out and find a permanent home for it. I kept it in my locker in the Art Room, and every week, just during class, I

d set it on a small easel on the corner of my desk.

It also touched the corner of Jon

s desk, but he always said it was fine there. He

d told me he thought it was good. After a few months, I stopped taking it out of the locker, having moved on to other projects by then. I

d forgotten that Jon asked if he could have that painting when he left. Even though it was still one of my favorites, years later, the idea that this boy I thought was cute wanted to keep a memento of mine made me happy, and I gave it to him, no questions asked.

I remember that day, I

d hoped I

d hear from him, and that he

d come back to the school and see me, but he rarely did. When he would come, I never felt singled out, like he had come to see me. He

d mingle with everyone at the end of class, shyly say hello to me, and then he was gone.

He always kept his distance until that night a few months ago when he walked me home, marched up to my dad, and asked if he could take me on my first date.
Was that really only three and a half months ago?
It feels like so much longer now.

I study the petals. He loves me. I can

t stop the smile from spreading.

He loves me not.

I think about the silly game Clara used to play at the park when we

d stumble across a flower. There was always some boy on her mind, and she

d pluck each petal off, assi
gning each one to a

loves me

or

loves me not

status.

I get an idea for a painting, and it grips me tightly and moves me to go back into my room. I close the window, but keep my coat on, still warming up. I put up a small canvas on the easel over the drop cloth I keep out permanently and grab my tote full of paints. I set the flowers down gingerly on the windowsill, arranging them neatly until I

m ready for them.

With palette in hand, I start to knead the red tube of paint. It

s stiffer than it should be, and not only does the lid fly off, but paint splatters out of it, onto my coat.


Crap,

I mutter.

Red, too.

I

d left both of my smocks at home in the rush to get out this morning, but normally I don

t make such a mess before the brushes even come out. And it

s my good winter coat. I go downstairs quickly to the laundry room, looking for some sort of stain remover. I find a small stick, but I

m not sure it

s the best way to go about it. I notice the light from underneath my parent

s bedroom door. I decide to ask my mother how I should treat the paint stain.

Just before I knock, I hear them talking. I lean closer to the door to hear them better.


I

m glad you told her,

Mom says.


I don

t know,

my dad hedges.

Did I just tell her it

s okay to do it so young?


I don

t think so, Jacks. I mean, the whole point was to tell her how it made you feel. That it just wasn

t anything special because you hadn

t really developed true feelings for your girlfriend yet. You told her that much, right?


I don

t remember what I told her. I think I told her it was all about sex.


Well, that wasn

t quite the message we were going for. And I know that wasn

t true for you.


I know. I think I told her I just didn

t know anything at her age. It probably pissed her off more.


She seemed much better this afternoon. You must have said something right.


Or maybe we

re making too much of a big deal out of this. You know, maybe we

re overreacting, Em. Maybe we should just let it play out, I don

t know.


Maybe it

s just young love,

my mother suggests.

He

s her first love. It

s new and exciting, but she

s probably scared, too.


Puppy love, huh?


Maybe.

They

re quiet for a few minutes. I start to walk away, but return to the door when I hear them talking again.

Did your parents ever talk to you about it?

Mom asks.


My parents?

He laughs.

I was the one they didn

t have to worry about, remember? They never said one word to me.


Well. Maybe that

s what we did right. Maybe we

ve talked so much about it that it

s lost its taboo quality,

my mom says with a chuckle.

Or maybe we

ve given them both enough to think about that they

ll make the right decision.


She told me she

s not ready,

my dad says.


Well, Jacks, that should be enough for us, for now. She

s an independent thinker. She does what she wants. And if she doesn

t want to do something, she won

t.


But she can be impulsive, and you remember what it

s like... the feelings, the hormones.


Remember?

she asks.

What

s to remember? I still get that way.


I know you do,

my dad says. As soon as I hear them kissing, I take my coat and stain removal stick and head upstairs as fast as I humanly can.

Puppy love? Do they still call it that?

I soak the sleeve of my coat in cold water before putting the chemical on it. It

s on the inner seam of the sleeve, so it wouldn

t show too much if I can

t get it out. Leaving the coat on the bathroom counter, I head back to my room and pick the flowers up off the sill.

They

re still too pretty to pick them apart tonight. I decide to delay the art project until tomorrow, even though I know that the insane amount of family we

ll have here will keep me from doing anything like that. I think about texting Jon before bed, but I decide to curl into the blankets and try to get a good night

s sleep. It

ll likely be the last one I can get over this holiday weekend.


Livvy, Aunt Kelly

s here!

my brother says as he starts to jump on my bed, waking me up.


Trey, come on,

I plead with him groggily.


Dad says you need to get up and get ready.


What time is it?


I don

t know,

he says.

I reach for my phone on the
nightstand
, but it

s not there.

Trey, did you take my phone?


No.


Really?


Really.

I always keep it on my nightstand. I sit up and scan the room, but it

s such a mess I can

t really see anything on the surface.


I

m up,

I tell Trey.

Now get out so I can get ready.

He hops off of my bed and runs out the door.

Shut the door, Trey!

He doesn

t come back though, so I get up and stomp over to the door.


Good morning, my Olivia,

a guy

s voice says from just outside my room. I pull on my robe quickly and peek my head out.


Idiot,

I tell my cousin, Andrew, playfully.


Don

t we look pretty this morning?

he asks.


Shut up.


Who calls you

my Olivia?
’”
he asks.


Huh? Didn

t you?


I was reading this.

He stares down at my phone and reads it aloud again.

Good morning, my Olivia.


Give me that!

I grab for it just as a text alert goes off.


Another message,

Andrew says as he towers over me, holding the phone high above my head. He reads it to me.

I miss you.
Wow, Livvy, do you have a boyfriend?


Shut up!

I repeat.

Please give me that.


Andrew
,
give her the phone.

His older sister, Madeleine, appears at the top of the stairs.

Hey, Livvy! I was just coming to see if you were up.


You guys are really early.

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