“
Bye,
”
I tell him, cringing as I watch him make his way down the water-soaked sidewalk.
“
Be careful.
”
“
Don
’
t worry about me!
”
he yells over a clap of thunder, his pace picking up to a jog as he spies the nearest bus stop one block north.
The next five days drag by in anticipation of seeing Jon again. He joins our class in progress on Thursday night, having been invited by Granna earlier in the week. She thought he would be a good mentor to talk about perspective. Jon
’
s drawings are always very geometric and orderly–perfectly proportioned. This isn
’
t my style, so when the kids started struggling with this aspect of their art, we knew we had to ask someone else to show the kids different techniques. Jon was my first suggestion. Granna didn
’
t flinch. I turn the lesson over to him, watching him interact with the young children. He uses the dry erase board at the front of the classroom to draw some quick sketches, making it look effortless. The kids are in awe of him.
I kind of am, too. On more than one occasion, he catches me staring dreamily at him.
While the kids practice, Granna asks us to run upstairs to look for a specific painting of Nate
’
s she wanted to use as an example. There was an
airtight
closet next to my mom
’
s office that stored a few canvases of his that we would alternate into the permanent collection throughout the year. She thought the painting was among them.
When we get upstairs, there are two oddly placed chairs in the corner of the room.
I go to the closet, thinking Jon
’
s behind me.
“
The painting
’
s not here,
”
he tells me. I turn around to see him sitting in one of the two fold-out chairs.
“
Huh?
”
“
Yeah, Donna made that up.
”
“
Really? Why?
”
“
So I could get you up here alone for a few minutes. Your Granna is awesome.
”
“
Yeah, she kind of is.
”
Jon pats the seat next to him, and I make my way over to him quickly, nervously.
“
Were you going to give me a kiss?
”
I ask him, my heart pounding.
“
Nope,
”
he says.
“
I promised her I
’
d be on my best behavior. I wanted to give you something else, though.
”
He digs into his pocket for a small velvet pouch.
“
I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Livvy. I wanted to be the first.
”
“
Oh, thank you. You didn
’
t have to buy me anything. We
’
re going out Saturday. That
’
s all I want.
”
“
I didn
’
t buy it. A friend of mine made it for you.
”
He hands me the pouch.
I smile, curious, and open up the little blue envelope, getting a tiny glimpse of something silver inside. He stops me, holding onto my left hand and examining it closely. He touches the faint red splotches gently.
“
What happened?
”
he asks.
“
Nothing,
”
I tell him nonchalantly. I
’
ve carried the markings with me for so long that no one in my family or my close circle of friends even remarks about them anymore.
“
They
’
re just paint stains.
”
He laughs at me and shakes his head.
“
I believe you have some solvent downstairs that will take that off. I could help you with that.
”
“
I don
’
t want to take it off,
”
I explain.
“
I like it.
”
“
Oh. Okay.
”
He looks a little confused, but nods and lets go of my hand. I finish opening the flap from the envelope. Inside is a long,
lightweight
silver chain with a small circular charm hanging from it. Pressed unevenly in the medal is a word I don
’
t recognize.
Choisie
.
“
I don
’
t understand it,
”
I tell him.
“
It
’
s really pretty, but what
’
s it mean?
”
“
She says it
’
s French for
chosen
.
”
The gesture touches me deeply. After all, I
’
d been told all my life that I
’
d been chosen.
“
I would be honored, Livvy, if you
’
d agree to date me exclusively.
”
“
Of course,
”
I tell him.
“
I don
’
t want anyone else.
”
“
I don
’
t either. I
’
ve
chosen
you, Livvy. I really like you. A lot.
”
He takes the necklace from my hands and places it around my neck. The charm hangs evenly with my heart. I touch them both at the same time.
The conversation with my mother drifts back into my consciousness. She told me she had picked my father to love; she chose to be in love with him. They ended up getting married and are still very happy together. My imagination carries me five and a half years into the future, to a wedding day just after I graduate from Parsons. Or maybe we won
’
t even be able to wait that long. Maybe we
’
ll have to get married right when I get out of high school. Maybe we
’
ll be that much in love.
“
Thank you,
”
I tell him, nearly out of breath. I lean into him, unable to contain my emotions, and I kiss him softly.
“
I swore to Donna I would not kiss you up here, Livvy.
”
I can feel the pout form on my bottom lip. As soon as our eyes meet, his lips are back where I want them, hard and fast and unrestrained. His hands cradle my face. He kicks his chair backwards and kneels in front of me. My fingers pull through the strands of his hair gently. He bows his head to the floor, sliding away from me slowly. He pulls up one leg, and I think he
’
s about to stand up, but he remains in front of me.
...down on one knee...
“
Livvy,
”
he says as he takes my hand in his.
“
I think I
’
m in love with you.
”
The corners of my lips turn up in the biggest smile they
’
ve ever formed.
“
I love you, too,
”
I tell him. I put my hands behind his neck and pull him back into me for one more kiss. This one ends in a tight embrace. I can feel his heart beat against my chest, and with his declaration, I know that he
’
s being completely sincere.
“
Let
’
s get downstairs,
”
he whispers before planting one final kiss near my ear. We hold hands as we leave the gallery, and we don
’
t let go until he delivers me to the front steps of my home. He only held on tighter when my dad saw us approaching the house.
Dad had glanced at our grasp, but looked away quickly as he engaged us both in conversation. I
’
d wanted him to go inside so that I could give Jon a proper goodbye, but of course he wouldn
’
t do that for me.
“
Have a great birthday, Livvy,
”
he tells me.
“
Thanks. It already is the best one ever,
”
I admit to him.
He smiles and touches his finger to my chin sweetly.
“
Good,
”
he says confidently.
“
We
’
ll see you Saturday?
”
my dad asks him.
“
Of course,
”
Jon says as he walks down the front steps.
“
Wouldn
’
t miss it for anything, sir.
”
“
Great,
”
my dad says, and I can
’
t miss the tension that seeps between his gritted teeth as he responds.
CHAPTER
6
The next night, my parents take my brother and me out to dinner to celebrate my sixteenth birthday. We meet my grandparents and aunts and uncles at the restaurant I
’
d selected, along with a few of my cousins and Finn and Camille. Granna had been invited, but she wanted to take me out to a special dinner, just the two of us, the following Thursday after class. The majority of my cousins were away at college, but we still had twenty-six diners in our party, so my dad had rented out a party room. As was typical for family gatherings like this, the adults sit at one table and the kids sit at another. As I look across the table at my 24-year-old cousin, Lexi, and my 20-year-old cousin, Clara, I wonder if we
’
ll ever be old enough to sit at the adult table. They don
’
t seem to mind, though. We
’
d all grown up in a very tight-knit family, going on family vacations and celebrating holidays together.
After we
’
re served dinner, something across
the table catches my eye. Lexi i
s wearing a sparkling diamond on her left ring finger.
“
What
’
s that?
”
I ask her. Her smile comes easily, as if she had been waiting for someone to notice. She was never one to flaunt anything, but I could tell that this was something she was very proud of.
“
I got engaged last weekend!
”
she tells me, Clara and Camille. Clara and I squeal loudly, both getting up to shower her with hugs. The adults look over to see what the commotion is. My uncle, Steven, fills them in on his daughter
’
s news, explaining that they
’
re getting married next summer after they both graduate from Juilliard. Lexi and Kyle, her fiancé, had met in middle school, but they didn
’
t start dating until their freshman year of college. They were both exceptional singers and had always concentrated more on their schoolwork and performances than on one another. No one knew how serious their relationship was until two years ago, when Lexi was accepted into a special program that allowed her to study performance art and music abroad for a year. It was a prestigious honor, but she almost didn
’
t go because her boyfriend had not received a letter telling him that he, too, would be admitted into the program. Even though we all told her she
’
d be silly to pass up the opportunity, she was adamant that she wouldn
’
t leave him behind. Her parents were relieved when, two weeks later, Kyle found out that he had been accepted.
“
We
’
re getting married at a really old church in England,
”
she tells us.
“
We did a Christmas duet there when we were overseas. It just feels like the right place to exchange our vows.
”
“
That
’
s so cool,
”
I gush, genuinely excited for her. Clara and I return to our seats, and Lexi asks us if we
’
ll be bridesmaids in her wedding.
“
Of course,
”
we answer in unison.
“
I
’
ve never been to England,
”
Clara says.
“
I can
’
t wait! Maybe I
’
ll meet a nice British boy,
”
she says with a glint in her eye. Clara has been boy-crazy for as long as I can remember. There
’
s always some new boy in her life. I can
’
t keep up with all of them, actually, and had internally hoped that I wouldn
’
t have a difficult time finding that one guy that I was supposed to be with.
“
Livvy, we
’
ll have to go find us some proper young men over there.
”