Contessa (88 page)

“
Erotic?
”
I ask her, leery.

“
Yeah.
”

“
We haven
’
t had sex,
”
I explain, realizing the question–although not directly addressed to me–is still hanging in the air.
“
But I think I want to.
”

“
I can tell,
”
she says with a nudge to my side and a nod to the painting.
“
You
’
ve told the whole world.
”

My cheeks turn bright pink.
“
And Dad.
”

“
Yes, and Dad. Listen, Livvy, I want to talk about what you said to him–
”

“
I didn
’
t mean it,
”
I reiterate.

“
Nevertheless, I want to make a few things clear. I don
’
t want you to ever,
ever
question him like that again.
”

“
I won
’
t.
”

“
I believe you. I think what you did tonight was just defensive and childish. And a little selfish.
”

“
I know.
”

“
But we all do things that are a little selfish at times. Nate was pretty selfish. I can be a little selfish, although you kids have taught me some pretty invaluable lessons. Even your dad can be selfish.
”

“
Really?
”

“
Sure. I remember this one time. Do you remember when you were around six, and Dad sat you down to tell you that you were going to go to a new art school instead of the Art Room?
”

“
No,
”
I tell her honestly.

“
Well, I bet your dad would like to know that you don
’
t remember, because at the time, he thought he
’
d ruined your life.
”

“
What was the conversation?
”

“
Well, when we started sending you to the Art Room, it was more like a day care scenario for us. We were recently married, and we hadn
’
t had a lot of time alone by the time we adopted you. So Donna agreed to watch you at the Art Room a few times a week to let us go out by ourselves. We knew you
’
d have fun because you seemed interested in art, and you loved Donna, and you enjoyed the company of other kids, so it was a win-win for everyone.

“
Anyway, when you were six, and we realized how gifted you were artistically, we decided to get you enrolled in what was then the most prestigious art program in the city. We had to show them your art, and you even had to be interviewed by a few of their professors. You don
’
t remember that?
”

“
No.
”

“
Yeah, the interviews seemed like therapy sessions. They were strange. Anyway, you were accepted, and we were so excited to give you the news. Dad decided to take you on a tour of the school, but on the way, he took you on a walk in Central Park, and at the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, he sat you down and told you.
”

“
You cried. You screamed. You made such a scene that people were watching and photographers were snapping pictures that were in the paper the very next day.

“
It was very embarrassing for him, and not at all what he expected. But you loved the Art Room, more than either of us realized, and you had become attached to your classmates.
”

“
So did I have to go? Is that why he was selfish?
”

“
No, you never went. And I
’
m getting to that part. The charter for Nate
’
s Art Room had income requirements. If a parent made over a certain amount–
”

“
–then their kids couldn
’
t go, I know.
”

“
Right. So that meant, by the charter, you couldn
’
t attend, either. Jacks realized you were taking the spot of another child who was not as fortunate as you were. Even though no parent ever complained–and in fact, they all seemed to like you in the class with their kids–it didn
’
t sit well with Dad. So he had the charter changed to include any legal offspring of the founders of Nate
’
s Art Room.

“
Even then, he wasn
’
t okay with it. He struggled with the decision and he felt like he was being selfish, taking advantage of the time and attention that the instructors were giving. But he did it so you would be happy.
”

“
That doesn
’
t seem very selfish.
”

“
He thought it was,
”
Mom adds.
“
But then, you know? I
’
m not sure that time counts because he ended up giving a full scholarship for the prestigious art school to the little boy whose place you took. I think that finally made him feel okay about the charter change.
”

“
Yeah, that doesn
’
t count. Name another time.
”

“
Well, there was this other time that–
”
She stops and looks up at the ceiling, then starts shaking her head.
“
You know, I can
’
t think of another time. He
’
s the most selfless guy I know, Livvy. He
’
d do anything for you.

“
And Nate? Would he have been a good father?
”
Mom reflects.
“
I
’
ve always wondered, and I
’
ll never know. There are times when Jacks reacts to something, and I wonder how Nate may have handled the situation differently. It always seems to come back to that one point: Nate was a little selfish, and I have a hard time imagining him doing things for anyone other than himself, except maybe me. I
’
m sure if he had been a dad, he would have, but I never knew that side of him.

“
Nate was an only child,
”
she continues.
“
And not just that, he was a wealthy only child who had a very lonely upbringing. He didn
’
t know any other way to be. I don
’
t blame him for how he was, and I never loved him any less for that, but your dad was the oldest of four kids–kids he was charged with helping to care for while his father was busy at work. Jacks was made for this. Being a father is his purpose in life. I could never, ever say that about Nate. Kids weren
’
t on his radar until accidents happened,
”
she says with a slight blush.
“
Jacks knew what he wanted, all of his adult life.
”

“
I know,
”
I tell her softly.

“
I know you know. I just think you
’
ve always envisioned someone more like you. Well, Liv, you
’
ve got me.
I
’
m
the someone like you. Not your father.
”

I give her half a smile.
“
I
’
m okay with that.
”

“
He would do anything for either of us. And because he
’
s Jacks, he
’
d do anything for us even if we say the most hurtful things or hit him when we swore we never would.
”

“
How are we going to fix this?
”

She looks around my room, considering her plan.

“
Pack a bag,
”
she says.
“
We
’
re going to the Ritz.
”

CHAPTER 1
7

I drive my mother and myself to the hotel. She still hates to drive at night. After she tips the valet, she gets out her cell phone and dials my father.

“
Jacks, we
’
re downstairs. What room are you in?
”
She smiles as she hangs up, relief softening the worried lines on her face.
“
Penthouse,
”
she tells me.

“
Of course.
”
It was Dad
’
s favorite hotel room in the city–not that he had tried many out. This one apparently had special meaning that my parents said they might tell me about
“
when I
’
m much older.
”
I decided I didn
’
t really want to know.

“
Your eyes are so puffy, Liv,
”
she remarks, looking at my reflection in the side of the elevator car.

“
Yeah, yours don
’
t look so great, either.
”
She leans in closer to the mirror, pressing at the bags under her eyes.
“
I
’
m kind of hungry, Mom.
”

She simply nods at me as the doors to the lift open onto the lobby of the top floor of the hotel. My Dad is standing in the doorway of his room, waiting for us.

“
Poppet,
”
he says in a gentle voice with a small smile across his lips.

My mom
’
s pace quickens until she reaches his outstretched arms.
“
I am so sorry, Jacks.
”

“
I
’
m sorry, too,
”
he says, leaning in to kiss her. My mom
’
s lips move to the right side of his face, which I think is weird until I realize that
’
s likely where he was slapped. Still, it goes on for too long, and I decide to slip past them into the suite.

“
Hey, Trey,
”
I say to my brother, who
’
s curled up on the couch with a book in hand.
“
What have you been up to?
”

“
I was reading a story to Daddy,
”
he tells me.
“
I had a cheeseburger and we played catch.
”

“
That sounds like fun. Sorry to crash your boys night.
”
I set my bag next to the sofa and sit down next to him. I feel like a stranger here, like an intruder who hasn
’
t quite been welcomed back into the fold yet. My dad hasn
’
t acknowledged me.

“
Trey!
”
my mom exclaims as if she hasn
’
t seen my brother in days. He crawls out from under the blanket and tosses the book in my lap, running to Mom. She picks him up and hugs him as my dad picks up her abandoned suitcase from the hallway and carries it to the bedroom. Every second that goes by without one of us saying something becomes more unbearable. I try to distract myself with Trey
’
s book, but it can
’
t hold my attention for long. I watch the bedroom door, waiting for Dad to return to the main living space.

Mom carries Trey back over to the couch, asking my brother about his afternoon. Dad did a good job of hiding the altercation from him. He seems to believe this was just a fun father-son outing.

After five minutes, I get tired of waiting and make my way to the master bedroom. The door
’
s wide open, and my dad is inside, unpacking for my mother.
So soon forgiven
.

“
Dad, I
’
m so sorry,
”
I tell him, taking a few steps inside.

“
Why don
’
t you close the door, Livvy?
”
he suggests.
“
Come sit down.
”
My nerves have brought the lump back to my throat almost immediately. Again, I feel selfish for wanting to cry, and try to stave off the tears as best as I can. I take a seat on the bed. Dad pulls the desk chair closer to me and sits down.