“
I didn
’
t mean it! I swear, Mom, I didn
’
t. I
’
m so sorry.
”
My mother unlocks her door and opens it a few inches.
“
Livvy, please? I need some time to figure this out. Can you at least give me a few minutes to do that? And then we
’
ll talk.
”
I simply nod, the tears still flowing freely.
“
Dad left,
”
I tell her.
“
I know,
”
she says as her eyes dampen and her face crumples in sadness.
“
It
’
ll be fine. Just go downstairs. I
’
ll be there soon.
”
“
Okay.
”
I move slowly down the stairs, hearing the door close once I
’
ve made it all the way down to the main level. I go to the kitchen to grab some water. The invitation to Jon
’
s prom still sits on the kitchen island where my dad left it. I take it with me downstairs to my room.
What have I done?
I tuck the invitation in my top drawer and walk to my nightstand, taking out the sketch book. Still dressed in my school uniform, I kick off my shoes before crawling under the covers of my bed. I stare at the leather-bound book, but I don
’
t have the will to open it. Doing so feels like so much more a betrayal now than it ever did.
Nate would have been a better father? Please, tell me this is a bad dream that I will wake up from, and when I go upstairs, Dad and Trey will be making dinner pancakes in the kitchen like they do many Fridays.
But I already know it
’
s not a dream. This is just a nightmare–one that I brought on myself with stupid lies and hurtful words.
No
man–
no
father–would be proud of what I
’
d done today.
After throwing Nate
’
s
sketchbook
on the floor, I curl up in a fetal position and cry. I think about the way my dad had to look away from me to shield the pain I had caused. I consider Jon
’
s words, that he doesn
’
t know that we
’
ll be able to be together, and that he doesn
’
t know if he wants to. And who can blame him?
I take off the ring and set it on the nightstand. I
’
m not worthy of his love or commitment.
Mom was clearly hurt, too, and got dragged into a mess that Dad blamed her for. But it
’
s not her fault. It
’
s not Granna
’
s fault. All they
’
ve ever done is try to encourage me. Sometimes they told me about Nate, sometimes they didn
’
t. But there was never a hint that they wished he was my father or that Mom wished he had been her husband. Even Granna, Nate
’
s own mother, believed that Jack was the man who was best suited to be my dad.
I just chose to ignore them. If they ever did compare my work to his–and I can honestly say, it wasn
’
t often–I held on to that as a badge of honor. It was one more reason to believe in him, to want him as a parent who understood me better.
But Dad didn
’
t misunderstand me. He totally understood me, in fact, to the point that he
’
d give me space when I needed it, and rarely harped on me to be any way other than I was. Unless I was acting stupid, or childish, and he knew I could do better. Only then would he attempt to correct me or reprimand me.
He has every right to hate me. I succumb to the tears once more, burrowing my head in the pillows to mask the sound. It
’
s not fair for me to cry, but I can
’
t help it.
I thought I
’
d been dreaming the sound of soft knocks on my door, but I awake in a panic when I hear the creaking hinge.
“
It
’
s just me,
”
Mom says. She leaves the door open. Through the only windows in the basement, I can see that it
’
s already dark outside.
“
What time is it?
”
I ask her, still not quite alert.
“
It
’
s a little after eight.
”
She takes a seat on the bed next to me and rubs my arm through the blankets.
“
Is Dad back?
”
“
No,
”
she says and sighs.
“
Are you hungry?
”
“
No, I feel sick to my stomach.
”
“
Yeah, me too.
”
“
Mom, I am so sorry.
”
I sit up and throw my arms around her. She starts crying immediately, which makes me do the same. I didn
’
t think there could possibly be any tears left, and the last thing I want to do is make this pounding headache even worse with more tears.
“
I didn
’
t mean it,
”
I whisper softly.
“
I know, Livvy. There were a lot of angry feelings today, and a lot of things were said and done that shouldn
’
t have been.
”
“
How can I ever convince him that I didn
’
t mean it?
”
“
Are we talking about Jon or Dad?
”
“
Dad,
”
I explain quickly.
“
Just Dad.
”
“
He
’
ll come around. Historically, he
’
s pretty forgiving.
”
“
How do you know? You never fight.
”
“
Now that
’
s not true. Everyone fights. We don
’
t do it often, and we try to never do it in front of you or your brother, but we
’
ve had some pretty bad arguments. A lot before we even got married. One very reminiscent of tonight.
”
“
What do you mean?
”
“
I slapped him,
”
Mom says.
“
I swore to him years ago I
’
d never hit him again, and I did.
”
“
You hit him?
”
She simply frowns.
“
I knew the second I felt his skin that I
’
d messed up.
”
“
What did he do?
”
“
He was stunned for a moment, and then I walked out of the room, shaking. A few minutes later, he came into the bedroom, packed a bag, and told me he was taking Trey to a hotel for the night. That was it.
”
“
You
’
ve hit him before?
”
“
I punched him years ago. I broke my hand. It was when we were engaged. We almost
weren
’
t
after that.
”
“
What made you punch him?
”
“
Insecurity,
”
she answers with a shrug.
“
Stupidity, I don
’
t know.
”
“
Has he ever hit you back?
”
“
He
’
s never made any physical threats whatsoever. That
’
s why it
’
s so unfair that I hit him. I know that he has no comeback for it. It was a cheap way to end a discussion that needed to be had.
”
“
I can
’
t believe I said those things, Mom. I was just mad at him. He has to know that.
”
Mom stares at me as her mind tries to formulate her thoughts into words. I can tell by the way she studies my face with a look of sorrow.
“
Livvy, your obsession with Nate has gotten a little out of hand lately.
”
“
My obsession?
”
“
Yes. Granna and I had been talking about it, hoping it would go away, maybe as you started spending more time with Jon, but obviously, it didn
’
t.
”
“
I
’
m not
obsessed
with him. And I love Dad, Mom, I do. So much, I do. But Nate and I have so much in common,
”
I try to explain.
“
There are so many links.
”
“
You look for those links, though. You
’
re caught up in the idea of him. You get dreamy-eyed any time we talk about him.
”
I look away from her, realizing the truth in her words.
“
He was just so talented. I want to be able to create paintings like he did. I want to be able to share what I feel with the world without having to say a single word.
”
“
You do that already, Liv. You do that on your own, and you don
’
t need him for that. You don
’
t need
anyone
for that. You have done that for years, and your art has gotten so much better as you
’
ve grown up to experience more emotions. In my mind, you
’
ve surpassed what he accomplished. As you learn more about yourself, your work becomes so much more engaging and sophisticated–just like you.
“
I think, had Nate lived,
he
may have been able to do what
you
do–but he squandered quite a few good years being a little immature and self-involved.
“
But that wasn
’
t really him. That wasn
’
t the Nate I knew or cared about.
”
“
I
’
m not that good,
”
I disagree.
“
You
’
re your worst critic. If you could see what I see, if you could hear what Jacks has to say about it–and believe it–you
’
d be astonished.
”
“
What does Dad say?
”
“
He says every painting you do is one that takes you further into adulthood–and further away from him. He loves your art, but it breaks his heart. He sees more than you realize. He sees more than
he
realizes. The reason that he doesn
’
t talk to you about it is... well, he just can
’
t. He wants to seem strong and balanced for you. And he knows you
’
re sick of hearing him complain about how fast you
’
re growing up.
“
We were down here a few days ago, studying your most recent piece. That one on the easel,
”
she says as she points in that direction.
“
Want to know what the first words out of your dad
’
s mouth were?
”
“
Yeah.
”
“‘
She must really be in love,
’
he
’
d said. After a few more minutes of quiet contemplation, he asked me,
‘
Do you think they
’
re having sex?
’”
I immediately start crying.
“
He thought that from the painting?
”
“
Come on, Liv.
”
My mom half-laughs.
“
It
’
s the most romantic, passionate, explosive–most
erotic
piece I
’
ve ever seen.
Ever
. It
’
s beautiful.
”