Contessa (96 page)

“
When I would see his work at the Art Room events, I was impressed, but wondered if there was really any demand for such artwork. He would draw scenes with such minute detail that you could study one for an hour and never see the same thing twice. They were quite impressive.

“
As I
’
ve gotten to know Jon over the last few months, I
’
ve learned that his immediate dream is to go to Columbia University. He
’
s worked really hard over the years to keep his grades up, and he was rewarded this year with an acceptance letter to his dream school.

“
When I heard the news, I wasn
’
t a bit surprised. He has a brilliant mind and such an appetite for knowledge. I would challenge you all to bring up a topic for him to talk about, and I know he
’
d have facts or educated opinions to discuss about each of the subjects. He is always learning and always hungry to learn more.

“
At Columbia, he wants to go into Social Work and Urban Planning. Jon
’
s attention to detail–and his genuine concern of the welfare of others, especially those less fortunate–would make him the perfect student for both fields.

“
We
’
ve never had an Art Room student go to an Ivy League school. But I am happy to say that Jon Scott will be our first. He is the Valedictorian of his graduating class, excelling in all honors courses and a few advanced placement courses, as well. Not only did he get into Columbia, but he received numerous scholarships from various organizations, so he
’
ll only have to get minimal assistance from the financial aid office. And he did it all by himself.
”

I smile proudly at Jon,
whose
face is a bright pink as my dad continues to point out his accomplishments. He looks at me long enough for me to mouth a quick
‘
congratulations
’
to him. I couldn
’
t be happier for him.

“
Jon, we think you
’
re an exceptional young man,
”
Dad says, genuinely emotional,
“
and we would welcome you back any time to tutor or mentor any of the kids here.
”
I glance over at my father, wondering if he means me. When I look back at Jon, he
’
s staring at me with a soft grin.

“
You are most deserving of the Nate Wilson Memorial Scholarship this year. So come on up here and get your check for twenty-five-thousand dollars.
”

“
Oh, my god!
”
his mother exclaims, then covers her mouth with both hands. She
’
s in shock. The dollar amount of the scholarship hasn
’
t changed over the years, and it
’
s at this moment that I realize Jon
’
s mother never has accompanied him to one of these banquets. When his dad was alive, it was always him.

Jon hugs his mother before walking up to the front of the room. I feel his fingers deliberately brush against my back as he stands behind me, his breath on my ear as he whispers a single question to me.

“
Mykonos?
”

A blush warms my skin; a smile forms on my lips.

“
You
’
ve earned this,
”
I hear my dad say. I look over to see him handing Jon the check.

“
Thank you, Jack.
”
He shakes my father
’
s hand, then hugs my mom and Granna.
“
First of all, I accept the offer to mentor here. I have always loved this organization, and it
’
s done so much for me. I would love nothing more than to give a little back.

“
I love this city,
”
he says.
“
You have the opportunity to see the world from a million different perspectives here. There is so much to see, to do, to learn. I
’
m so lucky that my parents decided to start a family here. I know a lot of parents retire to the suburbs when children come along, but there
’
s something about growing up here in Manhattan that truly prepares people for the world.

“
I
’
ve been lucky enough to see beautiful sunrises over the bay. I
’
ve seen a skyline like no other in this country. I
’
ve seen different cultures. Heard different languages. Experienced different customs. Tried a million different foods. I
’
ve met so many wonderful people, and a few of the most inspirational share this room with us tonight.
”

He nods to my father, my mother, and to Granna. He clears his throat before continuing.

“
I
’
ve also seen discrimination. I
’
ve seen abuse. I
’
ve seen abandonment. I
’
ve seen loss. I
’
ve seen crime. I
’
ve seen things that most parents would want to shield their children from. But in those things, I
’
ve learned to see one more thing: opportunity. The opportunity to change, to be changed and to make changes.

“
And the beautiful thing about this city, is that it
’
s so easy to do those things. People of New York are empowered to introduce change,
and although the citizens here are tough, they aren
’
t stubborn. They
’
re reasonable, and when a suggestion is made to do something that will make this city better, they do it.

“
I am meant to be here. I am completely inspired by my surroundings here. I know I thrive here, and I want nothing more than to be able to contribute to change–positive change–in our community. I know it can be done. And a lot of people think that they, alone, can
’
t make a difference, but I challenge you to look around. You are all capable of making a change that can make the world better. One man in this room has proven this unequivocally.
”

Jon only briefly glances to my dad, who
’
s looking at the table, humbled.

“
I
’
m so excited about starting classes at Columbia this fall. It was always my dream college before I even knew what they had to offer me. But a few years ago, when I started researching the different schools and programs, I knew that the dual degree that Jack mentioned was ideal for me. It will allow me to invent creative solutions to social problems here in the city. I hope to build more productive learning institutions, safer parks, better options for transporting children to and from schools, and proactive outreach programs that can identify issues before they have devastating consequences on our society.

“
I dream big,
”
he says with a blush and a laugh.
“
But I hope to do even bigger things.
”

The students and parents applaud Jon. A few are even moved to stand up. I
’
m one of them.

“
So, thank you to Nate
’
s Art Room for instilling confidence in me at an early age, and for believing in me enough today to invest in my future. What you do for us here is nothing short of miraculous. I
’
m sure every kid in this room is as grateful as I have always been.
”
The kids all clap again.
“
Thank you.
”

I
’
m still standing in awe as he starts back to his seat. He stops when he reaches me, and we envelop one another in a hug. He kisses my cheek before letting go. My knees weaken, and when his arms stop supporting me, I fall quickly back into my chair. Granna squeezes my hand under the table and grins proudly.

“
He
’
s a good kid,
”
she says.

“
He
’
s a good
man
,
”
I correct her.

“
You are so smitten with him,
”
she whispers softly. I know I am, and in that same moment of realization, I have no assurance that he
’
s still interested in me in that way. I pick up my fork, but the sudden anxiety has killed my appetite. I push the food around on my plate in a daze.

But he just kissed me on the cheek! That means something, right? And wasn
’
t he telling me that he felt the same things I felt after we broke up when we were looking at my paintings? Mykonos? Does that mean that he wants to get back together, though?

“
You need to eat something, Tessa,
”
my dad says quietly in my ear, his hand resting on my back.

“
I can
’
t. Dad, can Jon and I go somewhere to talk after the banquet?
”

I expect questions, like
Why?
or
Where?
or
How long will you be out?
, but after looking at Jon for a few seconds, he just answers a simple,
“
Yes.
”

“
Thanks, Dad.
”

“
Livvy,
”
Granna says after all the guests except for Jon have left,
“
you don
’
t need to stay and clean up. Why don
’
t you two run along?
”

“
Are you sure?
”
I look to both her and my mother for an answer.

“
Go,
”
Mom says.

“
You have your phone with you?
”
Dad asks. I nod.
“
Let
’
s say midnight,
”
he suggests. I look at my watch, noting that that
’
s four and a half hours from now.
“
If you still need a little more time, Jon can come to our place and stay a little later than that.
”

“
Okay. Thanks, guys.
”

Jon follows me out to my car. My hands are shaking so badly that I drop my keys. He leans down and picks them up for me.
“
You okay?
”

“
Nervous,
”
I explain.

“
Can I drive?
”
he asks.

“
I think so, yeah,
”
I tell him. He opens the passenger door for me, shutting it softly after I sit down. He has to adjust the seat back when he gets in.

“
Where to?
”

“
I don
’
t know.
”

“
To the park it is.
”

“
Well, we can just walk then,
”
I suggest.

“
Not Central Park. I
’
ve been volunteering at Fort Tryon. It
’
s so peaceful in the evenings.
”

“
Sounds good.
”
He loosens his tie before driving away from the Art Room.
“
What have you been doing at Fort Tryon?
”

“
Just stuff around the grounds. Making sure there
’
s no litter or graffiti. We
’
re trying to help maintain its beauty.
”

“
That sounds nice. What made you want to do that?
”

“
My boss actually suggested it.
”
After a few seconds, he finally looks over at me to see my response.

“
Your boss?
”

“
Yeah. I got a paid internship at an architecture firm. I work there three nights a week. I
’
m pretty much the errand boy, but I get to sit in on meetings and brainstorming sessions. It
’
s pretty incredible.
”