Read Dear Jon Online

Authors: Lori L. Otto

Dear Jon (4 page)

BOOK: Dear Jon
3.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
OLIVIA

 

The project has been moving along so quickly that we have been granted a day off. I’d gotten used to the long days and was actually disappointed when I found out last night. My family had already made plans to visit a few museums today, and they left before the sun came up, assuming I would be working today like I had to last Saturday. I should have informed them last night, but I wanted to be alone.

I’d expected the construction work to be physically demanding, but as I take on bigger projects at the site, I study the choices the architects made, looking for the reasons behind the materials or angles. It’s mentally fulfilling, too. There were a few instances this past week that I realized I would have done something differently, and I’ve been sketching those plans all day. I have no intention of showing them to anyone, but maybe I’ll take some of this new perspective back to my job in the fall. I feel reaffirmed in my interests, becoming more and more excited to return to the firm every day. They were bidding on a public works project in the city before I left. The outcome of that process should be announced mid-August, and I hope I will be able to work on it upon my return. I’d contributed to the plans. Some of the ideas presented were mine, and I was proud of my work.

I can pretend like Livvy hasn’t been on my mind all day, but it’s a lie. I fully expect a letter this afternoon, and with the blinds open, I’ve had my eye on the mailbox for the vast majority of the day. I’d even gone out to check it a few times when I had to leave my viewing post.

When the mail finally comes around five, I take the letters from the postman directly, not even letting him put them in the box. I avoid disappointment today, seeing Livvy’s letter on top. I make a sandwich for myself, pouring a tall glass of milk to go with it and emptying the carton. Looking through the refrigerator, I realize I’ll need to walk down to the store after dinner. I look forward to the fresh air, to stretching my muscles a little.

After taking a bite, I open the envelope. The mustard on my sandwich masks the smell. I move the food away and hold the paper up to my nose, taking a whiff. When I pull it back, I see that she signed her name… sort of. It’s this letter’s footnote.

Olivia

Appropriately, her name is etched in black. Maybe she
does
recognize the dark cloud she’s cast over me. And she doesn’t say Livvy. No, she says Olivia, and the reference isn’t lost on me.

I love you, Jon.

A week before our first Christmas together. Your apartment. On a blanket in front of a fire. All alone. You took your shirt off, and I had no idea what your action was leading up to. You turned around to reveal a quote disrupting the otherwise-unmarred flesh on your back. I’d never seen it
plain
before. Disrobed, in my eyes, the quote has always been there.

“If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!”

If you were here, I’d ceremoniously kiss it like I did that night, and many other nights that followed.

Not only would you not do that, Liv, I wouldn’t take my clothes off for you if I was there.

You were certain enough about me then to permanently mark your skin with a reminder of me. You were honoring me. You were honoring Olivia, the woman you wanted to be with, or so you told me.

I lost myself last year, Jon. I’m still struggling to find myself, and it’s even harder without you here to help me. Who is Olivia? Who is Livvy? Who am I?

Does Olivia even exist without you? You brought her to life. You helped her flourish. I don’t feel like her anymore. I don’t feel like myself either. And that’s part of the problem. Being Olivia to you and Livvy to everyone else made it feel like I was living separate lives. I couldn’t continue to give all of myself to both of these people. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t decide what was right for me.

Were you right for me? Were you good for me?

I suddenly feel like she’s blaming me for this. As if giving her a pet name gave her split personalities.
Is this what caused your unfaithfulness, Liv? Is this my fault?

If I could see her now, I’d make it easy for her. She’s no longer Olivia. Olivia
was
the woman I loved, the woman I wanted to be with, but Livvy is the inconstant teenager who cheated on me with a kid she’s known most of her life. Saying “I love you, Olivia” doesn’t have the same tempo or tone. It doesn’t roll off my tongue the way it once did. I’m not sure I could force the words out now if I tried.

It doesn’t matter what you were to me once upon a time. Right or wrong, I love you now, and I want to find a way to prove to you that I am good for you. Maybe I wasn’t over the past year as I struggled with myself. But I’m getting better, Jon.

I swear. I’m finally finding myself. I feel more like the girl you once loved than I ever did. I know you grew to feel differently for me as I changed. You probably accepted my changes as a progression of the woman I was becoming, but I wasn’t growing into myself. I was becoming who I thought you wanted me to be when I was with you; and when you weren’t around, I wanted to be the person everyone else wanted me to be.

I couldn’t live up to everyones’ expectations. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of being someone even I don’t know. I have my own expectations of myself, and while you’re away, I intend to live up to each and every one. When you return in a few months, I’ll be a better version of myself.

I see things clearly now. I can be your Olivia and my parents’ Livvy all at once. I’ve reconciled their differences and I’ve brought them together. Your Olivia and their Livvy just want me to be happy, and that’s what I intend to be. I’ll be ready for you. I’ll be better for you. I promise.

I’ll be happy for you. Will you be happy for me?

We aren’t finished.

I don’t buy it. My Olivia. Their Livvy. And who, exactly, is she to Finn? Who kissed him? Olivia? Livvy? A cheater. That’s who kissed him. I didn’t cause that. He didn’t cause that. Only she could kiss him like that. She chose to do that.

She had a
concussion
.

Emi had told me that when I spoke with her before I left Manhattan. Again, she wasn’t making excuses for her daughter. It was just a factual statement, something for me to think about. I’ve thought about it. Now, knowing more of the facts, a concussion seems to matter
less
. Finn kissed her over spring break. She kissed him after her graduation. They shared feelings. Those feelings didn’t involve me. My feelings were not once considered.

Why do I keep replaying this over and over in my head? Every few days, she brings me back to a place I feel something for her. Anger. Love. Confusion. Desire. I am tired of feeling anything for her.

On the days when I’m working, I can go hours without thinking about her. Livvy. Olivia. The beautiful artist I admired from the first moment she spoke to me. The second I leave the work site, my mind drifts back to her, and I feel sorry for myself. The pity overwhelms me until I can go back to work. Or the pity becomes some emotion tied to her when I read her letters. Why am I letting her control me this much? It’s pointless. It’s unhealthy.

I am wasting precious time with my brothers. Once the summer is over, I’ll only see them on breaks and holidays. This summer will probably be the last one I can be away from Manhattan for the entire three month period. I’ll have courses next year, and hopefully the job at the architecture firm will be waiting for me, like my boss told me it would.

I have to stop holing up in my room every evening and every Sunday. My brothers are the reason I’m here in the first place. The sulking ends today.

I run my thumb over the paint stripe. Goodbye, Olivia. You’ve done all the damage you can do to this man.

And I believe it. I believe it all evening. I believe it as I listen to my brothers recap their day. I believe it as I help Max get ready for bed. I even believe it as I settle myself into the sheets for the night.

It’s only when the dream of her awakens me that I doubt my conviction. The pain still carves away at me. There’s more damage to be done, and I hate her for it.

PROMISES

 

“How’s the book coming?” I ask my oldest brother as we do dishes together.

“I finished it yesterday,” he says, then looks around to make sure we’re alone. “And it was good, but I don’t think there was any sex in it. They had
almost
sex.”

“Almost sex,” I repeat softly. “Like, foreplay?”

“Yeah, I guess. The spy took this lady’s clothes off. He touched her
bosom
.” He says the word more quietly than the rest, and I laugh a little. “That’s what it said. Bosom.”

“And then what?”

“Then it was the next day and they woke up in bed together.”

“Ohhh,” I say to him. “The fade to black.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Like in the movies… when something is alluded to, but you don’t actually see it.”

“So you think they had sex?”

“I didn’t read the book,” I tell him, “but–”

“You didn’t read it?” he asks, nearly yelling at me.

“I was going to,” I lie, remembering the deal I’d made with him. “But every time I wanted to read, you had the book.”

“Oh,” he says, accepting my explanation. “Well I’m done with it now.”

“Good to know. But yes, if he took her clothes off and touched her
bosom
, and the author faded to black, it’s safe to say they had sex.”

“Is that what girls like you to call their boobs?”

It’s an odd question, but I asked for it. “You know, Will, it depends on the woman. It’s not really an everyday topic of conversation.”

“But they like to be touched there?”

“Some of them, yes. But all preferences in sex are based on the individual. What one woman likes, another may not. You can’t compartmentalize
women
as one entity. They’re all different.”

“I know,” Will says. “I like the blonde ones.”

“Hair color isn’t all that matters in women.”

“I like blonde ones with big
bosoms
,” he adds, putting emphasis on the word even he thinks sounds silly. I wonder how old the author is, to use that terminology. It sounds old-fashioned. I’d expect it in poetry, not modern-day fiction.

“Let me be clear: looks are not all that matters in women.”

“Then why’d you pick Livvy Holland? I’d take her, even though she’s not a blonde.
Her
bosom–”

“We’re not going to talk about her breasts,” I tell my brother quickly. “We’re not going to talk about her at all, in fact.”

“Why’d she kiss that guy?” he says, drying a plate.

I stop what I’m doing and look down at my towel, pulling at the frayed edges. “I don’t know, Will. I wish I knew.”

“Are you broken up?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you wanted to marry her, though.”

“Things change.” I shrug and pick up the silverware, drying each piece meticulously before putting it in the drawer. “People change. All I can do is accept her decision and move on.”

“Does she like him better than you?”

“Does it matter?” I ask, because I think I can say with certainty that she doesn’t. No matter what she did, how could she love him like she loved me?

“If she still likes you, you don’t have to accept the fact that she kissed him. You could get her back. You could tell her to promise never to do it again.”

“Promises are too easily broken,” I say softly, thinking about the letter I’d left in my room. It’s strange that we ended up on this topic. It makes me wonder if Will had gone through my mail.

Before dinner, I only took the time to check out the footnote before joining my family. I know my brother put away some laundry in my room after that.

“Did you read my letter, Will?”

“Huh?” he asks, and I can tell from his face that he did.

“Will, those letters are private, do you understand?”

“If they’re so private, why do you leave them in your desk like that?”


In
my desk. Not
on
my desk. I put them
in
my desk to keep them out of sight. Stop going through my things.”

“She says she loves you,” he pleads with me.

“She says that all the time. They’re just words strung into a sentence that no longer means anything to me. But don’t change the subject! I respect your privacy. I expect you to–”

“Jonny?” my mom says, pouring herself a cup of coffee my aunt had made. “Stop yelling at your brother.”

I bite my lip as I finish my part of the dishes. “Stay out of my room from now on,” I tell him on my way out. “And where Livvy’s involved, just stay out of my business.”

“Jon!” my mother cries out to me, trying to summon me back. I can hear the pity in her voice, and I hate it. After quietly shutting my door, I find the letter placed neatly in its envelope in my desk drawer.

I love you, Jon.

Our first Christmas together was eventful, to say the least. The Holland family was going through its share of drama. You fueled that fire and got into a nice argument with my dad, too, and then I said some things that made my home life a little difficult for a few days. There were a lot of moments of passionate conversations, but there wasn’t a whole lot of passionate talk between me and you.

There was sweet talk, though; when I opened up the small box that revealed the beautiful promise ring. You wanted me to have a constant reminder of how much I meant to you. It was a promise to be mine, forever.

Do you remember the promise you made?

Of course
I
remember it. I never forgot it. I’d hoped the ring would always remind her of my promises, but why didn’t she think of me that day? Why didn’t she consider all she’d be losing by kissing Finn?

I may never understand.

Would you ever honor it again?

Does she have any clue what she’s done to us? Any clue at all? Honor? What does she know about honor?!

I’ll make you any promise, Jon. Any promise in the world. You just have to give me a second chance.

We aren’t finished.

Promises

I feel like I’ve already done that. Didn’t we break up once before? Of course we did. I was mad at her and broke up with her, leaving her to consider the hurtful things she’d done to her father and the awkward position she’d put me in. She was acting like a child; acting like someone I didn’t know.

Have we just come full circle? Again I find her acting like someone I don’t know. She even admitted in my last letter that she’d become someone she didn’t recognize. How could I possibly accept promises from someone who isn’t even true to herself?

 

 

BOOK: Dear Jon
3.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Beyond the Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
The Reluctant Duchess by Sharon Cullen
King of Me by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Deathworld by Harry Harrison
Vision of Darkness by Tonya Burrows
Wildflowers by Fleet Suki
Autumn by Lisa Ann Brown