Dear Jon (16 page)

“Max, seriously,” I plead with my youngest brother as he jumps on his bed, “please stop acting like the little monkey you are and go to sleep.”

“Will isn’t even home yet!”

“Will is at the movies. Remember? We took him there.”

“With a girrrl…” he says.

“Yes, with a girrrl.” After work, I’d rushed home to pick up both of my brothers and headed to the mall. Ellen met Will there to watch a double feature of some movie based on books she’d read. Max and I stayed for an animated picture he’d already seen once with my mom.

It was actually pretty good, but I’m regretting buying my youngest brother a slushie on our way out.
Too much sugar, for sure
.

“Max,” my mother says. “Stop giving Jonny a hard time. He’s had a long day. What if you read me a book?”

“The book Jon got me?”

“If that’s what you want.” He finally stops jumping and steps off the bed to grab the thin hardback with Mars on the cover. “Jonny, take the rest of the night off. I’ll go pick up Will and his girlfriend. And Aunt Patty can keep an eye on our monkey, if this book doesn’t settle him down.”

“You’re sure?” I ask my mother.

She reaches up and ruffles my hair, something I’m not sure she’s ever done before. “Go.”

“Thanks.”

I’d seen Livvy’s letter before we left earlier, and I’ve had a hard time keeping my mind off of it all night. She’d drawn a little heart next to my name. The second I saw it,
my
heart fluttered. Some reactions, I can’t control.

I’m starting to worry that one of these letters will be the last one… but I hope there is some sort of warning in one of them to signify the end. So far, I don’t get the impression she’ll stop writing anytime soon. I’m not sure what my reaction would be if she’d decided to end her communications with me. I think I’d probably reach out to her. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself.

Another reaction I wouldn’t be able to control.

I trace over her sketch a few times before turning the letter over to open it.

I love you, Jon.

I love you, Olivia.
What a relief, to allow myself to say what my heart has been screaming for months.
Years
.

I wonder what happened in your life to give you such confidence to stand up to people like you do. I wish I had the guts to say some of the things you’ve said to my dad. I know I should have been the one to say many of the things you talked about.

But I wasn’t brave enough to take such a stance. I still don’t think I am, but I’m seeing that as an option. As a way to respond to him. I’m figuring out that I don’t always have to do what he asks, or obey every rule. That, too, must be a component of becoming an adult. I still want to make my parents happy. I still want to impress them. I want them to think they raised a good daughter.

And that’s where I stop myself… using that logic, that would mean your parents didn’t raise you right, and I–of course–don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you’re one of the best people I’ve met.

I wasn’t raised by my parents, though. That’s one thing she’s forgetting. But I disagree with her assessment of what makes her good or bad. It has nothing to do with standing up for herself. I may have been raised poorly–possibly by myself and
definitely
by my lack of formal parenting–but being able to speak my mind is something that makes me think I’m a good person. I don’t feel like I’ve ever used my conviction or voice to defend anything bad or negative. I stand up for myself. I stood up for her. For us. Because I believed in us that much, that passionately.

You’ve been so resistant to the rules my father has set forth. He’s been so resistant to me growing up. All the fights were driven by how much you both care about me. My dad tells me he loves me every day.

Still.

And he says it even when we fight. I never doubt how much he cares.

…

The letter ends there, or so I think, but I
do
see writing on the backside through the paper. She leaves a third of the front page blank, though, making her point loud and clear. It hurts that she doubts my feelings, but what else
should
she feel? It’s what I’ve wanted her to feel since I received the first piece of mail from her. Since I walked away from her in Manhattan. I wanted her to think I don’t care anymore.

But do I really still want that? No… and in that same thought–that same moment–I don’t want her to know how much I
do
care, either. It can’t be like it was. I don’t want her to expect me to welcome her back with open arms as soon as I land in the city. There has to be a discussion. Many conversations. I need to trust that she’s grown up. I need to see it with my own eyes before getting more involved–
too
involved.

I want distance, still. The distance of acquaintances. The process of becoming friends again. Would this changed Livvy still even want the man I’ve become? Will I want her?

The only way I can see this happening is to keep my guard up. No assumptions of friendship, and especially no assumptions of anything more. I don’t think either of us could make that commitment at this point anyway.

I flip over the letter and see her continuation.

I am beyond sorry, Jon, but I’ve forgiven myself for the lapse in judgment. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I was upset. Yes, I was confused. No, I never, ever meant to hurt you. It was not vengeful. It was not done to make you regret our fight, or not coming to my graduation. I wasn’t even thinking about you… and I know that sounds bad, but be objective, please.

I was absorbed in
myself
, feeling immense sorrow
for myself
. I needed someone to comfort me, and no… I didn’t want comfort from just anyone. At the time, there was not a thought of the source of my comfort. It was a basic need for compassion… like people need shelter, or water, or air. That’s the best way I can describe it. I felt like I would crumple and collapse within myself. It was a melt down. It was a subconscious reflexive response.

Finn kissed me, but yes, I then kissed him back. I’m not trying to deflect blame or change the facts.

Do you know how, when you cuddle under a blanket on a cold night, your body curls up, and you gather all the folds of the blanket to create a warm barrier around yourself? You’re not thinking, “I want more blankets.” Your body just knows what it needs, and does what it has to.

I felt acceptance. I felt friendship. I felt support. I felt love. I needed more. I didn’t want more. I needed it. I took it.

I wish it had been you to comfort me… to provide me with that support when I had felt the world around me falling away. I wish it had not been Finn, because I know he took things farther than any other friend, family member, or stranger would have done… but I don’t think he was being mean or malicious, either. He was comforting me the only way he knew how to, in the moment. It was impulsive and unplanned.

And we both regret it.

I’ve replayed that moment a million times since it happened. I know I wouldn’t do the same thing if it happened again, because I know where I stand. I know that all the things that lead up to the turmoil of that day are small things that should not have rocked my foundation like I let them.

But I felt like I had no foundation at the time. I was lost, Jon.

I’m found now. I won't stray from my path again. I promise you that.

What do I need to do to provoke a response in you?

Is she kidding? I hang on to her every word… my
heart
responds to it all. Everything she writes, I take it all in. I haven’t let go yet. Every memory. Every promise of love. Every word of devotion. Every apology. Every explanation. Everything. It’s all contained within this one man that has no idea how to proceed.

What would I say to her? How should I respond? I don’t even know where to begin.

Dear Livvy,

I cannot resist you. I want you like I always have; like I will never want another person. I don’t know why, though. I don’t know how to reconcile these feelings of mine that won’t die; that won’t stop telling me I’m being stubborn and making the worst decision of my life. I
shouldn’t
want you like this. I shouldn’t trust you. No, I don’t trust you. I’m not sure I know you. I know the child you were when we met. I know the teenager you were when we started dating. I know the lost girl that I broke up with at the beginning of the summer.

I don’t know the woman you’ve obviously become over the past few months without me. You didn’t know yourself in June. I don’t know you now.

I don’t know what else I’d say to her… because I have this urge to make plans with her to figure it out. I can’t just take her back, I won’t.

Even if it’s all my heart wants.

Please let me prove my unfaltering devotion to you. Please. That tiny window of time spoke nothing about how I really feel, Jon. All the other minutes of my life–that’s what I want you to see, and hear, and feel. Please don’t let one stolen moment keep you away from me.

I know you love me like I love you. I don’t need a response from you to know that, because I’ve seen all the minutes of your life when you were devoted to me.

What we share isn’t fleeting.

We both know this.

We aren’t finished.

Resistance

I love reading her confident declarations. She knows me like no one can, or will.

I loved the girl I walked away from with all of my heart. How will I feel about her when I see her? Will the sight of her bring back the feelings from all the time we were happy together, or the pain I felt in those twenty seconds of watching her with Finn from afar.

I’ll only know when I see her. I know I can plan all I want, but everything hinges on the moment we reunite. Only then will I know if I can forgive her and move on to meet this new person she’s become.

“You have a plethora of salads to choose from,” I tell Audrey as we unpack the cooler. “Dill and shrimp tortellini, mixed greens with vinaigrette dressing, and a fruit salad with strawberries, oranges, melons… frankly, anything I could find.”

“Perfect,” she says as she settles into the blanket she’d brought with her. We’d chosen a spot far enough from the stage that would allow us to talk to each other without having to scream over the music or the people around us. “What’s this?”

“Ice cream. To beat the heat, of course.” I pick up both pints to show her the varieties I’d chosen.

“Mint chocolate chip and orange swirl. You remembered my favorite shake flavors…”

“I figured if you hated the salads, you’d at least enjoy dessert.”

“Let’s eat,” she suggests as a jazz singer takes the stage with the band that was already assembled. I prepare plates for both of us as Audrey pours soda into two cups. “To our last date,” she says, holding up her drink.

It’s bittersweet. I’ve enjoyed her company, but I know it will be the last time I see her. I’m pretty sure she knows that, too. “To the memories,” I counter as we tap the rims of our cups together.

“What will you do when you get back to New York?”

“Move back into my dorm,” I answer. “And I have to find a new storage place for my family’s things. They've been in a temporary gallery space all summer.”

“Like an art gallery?”

“Yeah. Livvy’s a painter.”

“I didn’t know that,” she says. “You did say you met her at an art school or something, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“She has your stuff?”

“Her
building
has my stuff,” I say. “Her parents offered it to me before we broke up. I didn’t have time to make other arrangements before I left for Utah, so…”

“So you’ll have to see her?”

“Not for that, but I will eventually. She’s going to Columbia, so I’m sure our paths will cross.”

“How do you feel about that?” she asks.

“I didn’t want her to go to school with me,” I admit. “Even while we were together, but Livvy does what Livvy wants,” I say with a laugh.

“Why didn’t you want her to go to your college?”

“Because she’s not
just
a painter. She’s probably the most accomplished artist to come out of New York in years. She needs the best art school, the best professors, the best mentors… and she needs new experiences. I thought it would be good for her to go away. I thought getting out of Manhattan for a bit would be good for her.”

“But that wasn’t your choice to make.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I say with a wistful smile. “But her reasoning for going to Columbia was all wrong. She was going to be with me.”

“So were you planning on breaking up with her… anyway?”

I put down my food for a minute and think about the best way to handle this conversation. “Never,” I tell her honestly. “Did we need a little time apart? Yeah, but I never wanted things to end.”

“But now that she kissed that guy… how do you feel?”

“I think it was a chaotic mess of unfortunate situations,” I say. “If one element had been different in the twenty things that happened that morning, she wouldn’t have kissed him. She doesn’t love him.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know how I love her.” I swallow and clear my throat, maintaining eye contact with her. “I know she loves me the same way.”

Audrey smiles sweetly, surprising me. I thought she might be hurt or offended that I was discussing my feelings for my ex-girlfriend with her.

She lies down on her side, propping herself up on one elbow, still eating her salads. “What do you mean?” she asks. “How do you love her?”

“Ummm…” I start, a little hesitant. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Jon, I could tell you weren’t over her when I asked you about the break up. The way you defended her… but I really want to know
how
you love her.”

“She is alive, and present,” I tell her. “She’s clever and funny. She’s open-minded, worldly, and willing to try anything. When she was younger, she traveled all over the place with her parents. She’s gracious and giving. You’d think she was materialistic, being able to afford anything, but she’s not. She has nice things, but she doesn’t have a lot of anything. The Hollands aren’t wasteful. She respects people from all walks of life…”

Audrey nods her head. “Obviously,” I add. “Old or young, rich or poor, she never really distinguished between them. Her parents have always been philanthropic. They taught her well. Integrating her in Nate’s Art Room was probably the best thing they did for her–and me.

“I remember one Monday a long time ago, we had an art class after school. It was the day after Easter, and she’d brought a basket of candy with her to the Art Room. I guess she was probably about eight years old, and when she set her stuff on her desk, she asked me what the Easter Bunny brought me as she unwrapped a chocolate duck.

“I told her nothing, and she whispered to me that she knew the Easter Bunny wasn’t real, and then proceeded to ask what my parents had bought for me. ‘Nothing,’ I’d answered again.

“I’ll never forget the look on her face. ‘Because you’re poor?’ she’d asked. I can remember feeling so ashamed that I didn’t answer her, and instead just started to draw.”

I chuckle a little, remembering that day and how amazing I thought she was in that moment.

“‘What kind of candy is your favorite?’ she asked me softly. I told her I liked jelly beans… and she plucked every last one out of her basket and put them on a sheet of paper next to my drawing. Then she went around the room and gave out the rest of her candy and little toys to all the other students. She even gave the basket away to the youngest girl in our class, who had told Livvy the green paint on the wicker was her favorite color.”

“That’s sweet,” Audrey comments.

“She always wants to learn things,” I continue. “And she often came to me with questions. When she was in middle school, she would bring a list with her of things to ask me… just things she’d been curious about over the week leading up to our art classes.

“When she’d ask philosophical questions, we’d spend time discussing things while we painted. Sometimes, she’d ask me questions about history or science, and if I didn’t know the answer then, I’d go to the library and find out, armed with the answers for the next class. I never wanted to be the reason she didn’t know something.

“She is beautiful beyond comparison. She was always pretty, but I loved her most when she’d come to class in the fall after spending the afternoon in the park. Her hair would be wild from the wind, and she didn’t care. Donna would try to brush it out with her fingers, but Livvy would wriggle away, sometimes messing it up even more. ‘Granna, I’m here to work,’ she would say. And as she’d work, I’d steal glances at her, wondering if she’d let
me
move strands of hair that were blocking her face from me. I never tried.”

“Wow,” says Audrey. “You’ve always loved her.”

I nod my head. “Pretty much.” So many times when I was younger, I’d wondered if what I felt was love. I always knew she was different. I knew she affected me like no one else ever had.

“What else?” Audrey asks.

“I love how she is with her brother… very much like I am with mine. Playful but honest. She’d do anything for him. And the same goes for her parents and cousins and aunts and uncles. They’re all so close. I love her family–with the exception of one opportunistic guy who took advantage of her that day. I still don’t really care for him,” I admit with a sigh. “But I care more about Olivia than I could ever dislike him.

“You sure you want to hear all this?” I ask my friend, feeling mildly awkward but enjoying the time I’m spending recollecting on old memories.

“Yeah,” she says. “Because I want someone to love me like this someday. I want a guy to talk about me like you talk about her. I want him to look as smitten as you do at the mention of
my
name.”

“Smitten, huh?” I ask.

“Totally. It’s adorable. Go on…”

“Adorable,” I laugh. “Know what’s adorable? The way Livvy curls her toes. Only eight of them do–not the two smallest on her right foot,” I remember. “She broke her leg when she was younger, and after the bone was set and the cast was removed, her foot muscles didn’t quite heal like they should have.” I think back to the first time I noticed this, which was the first night we’d made love in Mykonos. I was treasuring every moment and every inch of her body. I kissed a scar on her ankle and tickled her foot. I watched the reflexive action and noticed the two toes that just didn’t cooperate. I kissed each one separately, making sure she could still feel them. She could, and I was glad, because I wanted every part of her to know how much every part of me loved her.

I look up, realizing my silence once the band stops playing their song. I could go on about her all night, but too many moments and memories are private, and things I want to keep just between Livvy and me.

“And she was happy,” I add finally. “She was always happy before Donna died… when we were together, she would be smiling or laughing or perfectly content. For most of my life, I’d been at her side as she painted. When we were in art classes, I saw her work and create, and that is when she’s happiest… when she’s herself… I couldn’t help but become enamored with her. I was lucky I shared a desk with her and spent so much time getting to know her. I think I knew her in a way no one else did. I understood her process, because mine was similar. She could focus as if in another state of consciousness. I do that, too.”

“I’m guessing she changed because this woman passed away?” Audrey asks.

“She changed because she stopped painting. She couldn’t get in touch with herself anymore, and she became disconnected. She stopped being able to make herself happy, and she looked to me to do that. It put a strain on our relationship–on all her relationships, really.

“I’m not the one to make her happy.” I remember Livvy’s letter about soul mates. She’s absolutely right. “She’s the only person who can do that for herself.”

“Hence the reason you simply wanted a break.”

“I thought she needed some time for introspection.”

“And now she’s had it, huh?”

“I guess. I wish it hadn’t been forced on her.”

“But maybe if it had been an amicable split, she still would have been overly reliant on you. There’s a reason for everything.”

“It’s quite possible.”

“She writes you letters?” Audrey asks. I look at her, wondering how she knows that. “Your brothers told me the day we met… that’s what you were reading when you were in the waiting room.”

“Yeah,” I admit.

“What does she say?”

She tells me she loves me. She tells me she’s sorry. She tells me she was lost. She tells me she’s found. She tells me she’s painting. She tells me she’s happy. She tells me she doesn’t need me anymore. She tells me she will always want me.

“Nothing really,” I lie, not allowing her into that part of my life. It’s one thing for me to tell Audrey how I feel about my ex-girlfriend. It’s another thing to tell this girl I’ve only recently met about Livvy’s deepest emotions. I won’t do that to her. I
will
protect her privacy–
our
privacy.

“I see,” Audrey says. “I totally understand.”

“Thank you,” I say with a smile, finishing off the last of my salad. We talk for another hour. Most of that time is spent giving her advice on ways to get assistance with money for college.

“Ready for dessert?” I ask, reaching into the cooler now filled with mainly cold water and a few chunks of ice.

“Sure,” Audrey answers, sitting up and taking one of the pints out as I grab the other one.

“This isn’t good,” I say, squeezing the container. “They’re a little melted, huh?”

“Perfect,” she says, putting the orange ice cream up to her lips and sipping off some of the liquid. “It’s so good,” she laughs. “Go ahead!”

I open the chocolate mint pint and take a drink, getting ice cream on my upper lip. Audrey hands me a napkin and takes the container from me.

“Where are the spoons?” she asks. I realize I never packed any.

“Yeah, ummm… I guess we’re supposed to enjoy them as shakes,” I respond, admitting to my unpreparedness.

“Can we share?” she asks.

“Of course,” I answer, picking up the orange swirl pint and tasting it, encouraging her to do the same with the other flavor. She holds up the mint container and gestures for another toast.

“To you, getting what you want… whatever it is,” she says.

“And the same to you,” I respond.

At around ten, Audrey and I have had enough of both the music and the heat. The drive to her house is quiet, and I struggle to find words to say to her. She picks at her pink fingernails, only looking up periodically to tell me where to go.

When we reach her parents’ home, I get out of the car to get the blanket out of the trunk.

“Today was fun,” I tell her.

“Thanks. I had a great time, too. And I think that’s how I’ll eat ice cream from now on.” We both chuckle a little, leaning on the back of the car.

“Audrey, I think you’re pretty incredible.”

She blushes in the light of the street lamp. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she says back to me. “But I hope to meet someone like you again someday.”

“You’re going to make some guy very happy. Make sure he loves you like you love him.”

“I hope he loves me like you love Livvy. And I really hope things work out for you.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what that looks like at this point, but I hope we can work something out. Thank you for listening… and for your empathy, and friendship.”

“You, too.”

“And, you know, I have been working on Will, so… if you like younger guys,” I tease her, nudging her in the side with my elbow, “he loves blonde girls.”

“As tempting as that is, I think I’ll branch out… maybe meet a nice college guy,” she says with a smile. “If you’re ever in town again, though, I’d love to meet for some poor man’s food.”