Olivia (5 page)

“
Fail.”
I
only need to type that one word for Jon to know what’s going on. My
boyfriend is the only person who knows about the painting I’d
started with Granna. He took her picture for it.

“
It’s
okay,”
his text back reads. I put my phone in my front
pocket and cross the street to the park.
Is it
okay?
It’s been nearly three months since I painted. I worry
that I may have forgotten how by the time I start doing it again...
if
I start painting again.

As soon as people on the trails around me start to
do double-takes when they see me, I pull the hood over my head and
angle my eyes toward the ground. I wish I could just have some time
alone, where no one knows me or watches me or tries to talk to
me.

“
Excuse me, Livvy Holland?” Someone
taps me on the shoulder lightly. I look up and smile politely. “Is
it true that your parents are separated?”

“
I’m sorry?” I ask the woman. She
must be in her early-thirties.

“
I heard your mom had gotten her
own apartment. Does that mean your dad will soon be on the market
again?” Her expression is hopeful, and she bounces lightly on her
toes. I glance up at the penthouse apartment across the street, and
wonder if my mom is watching me like she normally does.

I process the woman’s question and stare at the lady
in disbelief. “I don’t mean to be rude,” I start, “but you’ve got
some audacity, asking me that. They’re my
parents
.”

She raises her eyebrows, looking suddenly
remorseful. “Oh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t think...” Embarrassed, she
backs away slowly. I watch her with contempt until she finally
turns around and starts walking at a normal pace.

Most Saturdays, I’d stay on the path through Central
Park, but today, I’m on a mission. The key to the loft tucked in my
pocket, I’m making my way to a small, independent hardware store to
have a duplicate made. I don’t want my parents to know, so I’m
hoping that the insensitive woman in the park is the only person to
recognize me today.

Sliding my sunglasses on and leaving my hood up, I
enter the shop. The man behind the counter looks at me
suspiciously, and I realize I do look like a common criminal caught
on camera in the middle of a bank robbery.

“
Hi,” I speak softly, making my
voice sound cheerier than I actually feel.

“
Hello, young lady. Is there
anything I can do for you today?”

“
Can you copy this key?” I ask,
producing it from my pocket.

He takes it from me, his fingers dark with dirt or
dust, flipping it over in his palm. “It says not to duplicate it,”
he informs me sternly.

“
I know, but I’m afraid I’ll lose
it. I just, uh, had my purse stolen last week... fortunately my
keys weren’t in there, but it reminded me how easily something like
that could happen.”

“
In most instances, people would
change their locks,” he counters my reasoning, looking at me
sideways, “and therefore get new keys.”

“
Right.” I smile. I had a feeling
this wouldn’t be an easy transaction, but I’d come prepared. “Could
you just do it for me?” I slide a fifty-dollar bill across the
counter.

“
Yes ma’am,” he says quickly,
grabbing the money before I even move my hand away. As he turns
around to his machine, I frown, moderately disappointed in the man.
People will do anything for money. Forget trying to help someone
out just because they want to do something nice for another
person.

He finishes the job quickly, taking a few steps
toward the register. He puts the keys in a small bag, folding the
paper over twice. After typing in a few codes, he looks up at me.
“That’ll be three dollars.”

I glare at the man, realizing he can’t see my eyes
through my dark glasses. I take the last bill out of my pocket–a
five that I’d planned to use to get a cup of green tea with on the
way back. I never go on a walk without coming back with that
drink.

“
Keep the change?” he asks as I
pick up the bag, afraid of what he’ll ask for next.

“
No, I’ll take it, thank you very
much.” Reluctantly, he holds out two wrinkled bills, which I swipe
away from him. “Thanks,” I mutter, exiting his store
quickly.

I nearly run into an old woman on the street, her
clothes dirty, her hand holding out a distressed paper cup. “Excuse
me,” I apologize to her. The two dollars still in my grasp, I hand
it to her.

“
Thank you, my child,” she says
with a near-toothless smile. I nod, sidestepping her and heading
back toward the park.

“
Got it,”
I text Jon.
“Fifty-three dollars
later.”

“
You’ve got to be kidding! Most
places will do that for two bucks.”

“
This key was special. It said not
to duplicate it.”

“
Most keys say that. And still,
most places will do that for two bucks. I wish you’d have let me
take care of that.”

“
Well, it’s too late now. And
you’re missing the point. I GOT IT!”

My phone rings, Jon’s smiling face coming across the
display. I’d taken the picture a few weeks ago when I went with him
to get a hair cut. I answer quickly.

“
So, we’re on for next
week?”

“
Definitely.”

“
Don’t do anything to get in
trouble. And don’t do anything to make them stay home.”

“
I won’t!”

“
Fifty-three bucks, huh? Which fund
did that come out of?”

“
It’s my weekly fun-money. That
means we’re slumming it tonight.”

“
I’ve got a little extra,” Jon
says. “I’m not missing movie night.”

“
I’ll just use my check card, don’t
worry about it. It seems dumb for Dad to give me that cash in the
first place. Anyway, I was afraid you’d cancel, today being move-in
day and all.”

“
Again, I’m not missing a night
with you.” This makes me smile.

“
What are your roommates
like?”

“
I’ll tell you about them tonight.
We’re going to go get some stuff for the dorm. See you at
five?”

“
I’ll be there.”

My mom hasn’t moved when I return to the loft.

“
No tea?”

“
I drank it already. I got it on
the way out.”

“
How was your walk?”

“
Good. But I think I’m ready to go
when you are.”

She frowns a little, and I see her eyes wander
briefly to the spare bedroom. “You don’t want to stay a little
longer?”

“
No. I can’t,” I tell her. She nods
in understanding and closes her computer, getting up to put it in
her bag.

“
Let me run to the ladies room,”
she says, heading to the restroom just off the kitchen. She always
makes a stop before we leave the apartment. As I’d planned, I take
the opportunity to return the old key to her keyring.

On our way out, I tell Mom about the lady in the
park.

“
Some people just have nothing
better to do than pry and gossip!” she says in the
elevator.

“
What’s worse, is... who says that
to a kid!?”

“
Honey,” she says softly, holding
the elevator door open as we make our way into the lobby. “I don’t
think people consider you a kid anymore after this
summer.”

“
I meant I’m
your
kid,” I mumble, not wanting to talk about the
media circus I’d lived through over the summer.

“
Oh. Yes, who would bring that up
with someone’s kid? You’re right. I’m just glad it’s not
true.”

“
She wanted it to be,” I tell
her.

“
I hate to disappoint her,” she
laughs. “Jack Holland is all mine. For all the days of our lives,”
she adds the words from her wedding vows dreamily.

“
Will we still be seeing you on
Saturdays?” Francisco interrupts, nodding apologetically for doing
so. “I know Livvy starts school again on Monday. I wasn’t sure if
the pleasure of your company was just a summer thing...” It’s true
that we’d only been coming here since the beginning of the summer.
I had set up a studio shortly after school let out last year, but
I’d actually only used it to paint twice before the trip to
Europe.

“
Of course we’ll be back,” Mom says
with a smile. “Have a good week, Francisco.” She squeezes his arm
warmly on our way out. Thanks to the excellent service of our
concierge, a taxi is already waiting for us at the curb. As mom
settles inside, I gesture for her to wait just a second, and I run
back inside to the lobby.

“
Aren’t you leaving for Argentina
on Friday?” I ask our doorman, having planned on his absence next
week.

“
I am, to visit my parents,” he
says.

“
Well, I hope you have a wonderful
time,” I tell him, “and a safe trip.” I genuinely do hope that, but
only I know I’m asking for purely selfish reasons.

“
Thank you for remembering, Miss
Holland. I will see you in two weeks.”

“
Goodbye, Francisco!”

Now taking a seat next to my mom, I realize
everything is working out as planned. Mom won’t be able to come to
the loft because Dad has a surprise for her, a weekend getaway to
our lake house with my brother. He’d wanted me to go, but I
didn’t want to be faced with visiting the place that used to
inspire me the most, creatively, only to have the same mental block
there that I have here. And I didn’t want the plethora of questions
I knew my dad would ask because of that. After I told him my friend
Camille invited me to stay with her next Saturday night, he finally
accepted that I wouldn’t be joining them.

Mom takes me to the loft every week with the hopes
that I will paint there. I have every intention to, too. I psych
myself up every Saturday morning over breakfast while Mom opens the
Art Room and gets the instructor settled in for the day. That used
to be Granna’s job. Mom had taken on most of her work, in light of
what had happened. She always had a plethora of energy, but these
days, I can tell that her impossible schedule is wearing her out. I
know she likes our Saturdays at the loft because it gives her some
quiet time to work, or read, or do whatever she wants to do.

Later in the day, Jon’s waiting at the curb for me
when I pull up. I’m thankful he is, too. The written instructions
to his dorm were confusing, but the drawing he’d emailed to me
somehow led me right to him–which doesn’t surprise me, with his
meticulous illustration that has Jon written all over it. Seeing me
dangling the loft key with a wide grin, he opens my door after I
put the car in park and leave it idling.

I get out and try to hug him, but his squeeze is
quick. “Let’s get out of here,” he says as he holds my hand and
leads me to the passenger side of the car. I glance around
cautiously after I sit down and buckle up, seeing two guys pointing
their phones in our direction.

“
Do you know them?” I ask Jon when
he gets behind the wheel.

“
Ben Shuman and Trek Hollis... two
of my roommates.”

“
How many do you have?” I
ask.

“
Three.”

“
Wait–Trek as in Star?”

He chuckles. “Yes.”

“
Who’s the third
roommate?”

“
Fred Wharrington. He seems normal,
and although he knows who you are, he didn’t seem to care. The
other two, though... I kind of wish I hadn’t stuck your picture by
my bed.”

“
Awww,” I say. “You hung up my
picture?”

“
I did,” he says as he pulls into
the street. “Hollis and Shu didn’t realize we were dating at first.
They just thought I had a picture of Jack Holland’s jailbait
daughter hanging for... well, for purposes I’d rather not
say.”

“
And so you told them?”

“
They’re my roommates,” he says,
glancing at me, looking unsure. “I just assumed they’d find out
sooner or later.”

“
No, it’s fine,” I assure him.
“What will they do with the pictures they just took?”

At a red light, he narrows his eyes and crinkles his
nose. “I’ll ask them to delete them when I get home tonight. Yeah,
I don’t know what the purpose of that was. But that’s why I wanted
to hurry and leave.”

“
You
were
in a hurry,” I say, leaning over the console and putting my hand on
his thigh. Taking both hands off the wheel, he puts them on my
cheeks and kisses me. “That’s better,” I tell him with a
smile.

“
What movie did you find?” he asks
when the light changes.

“
Framed by the Night,” I tell
him.

“
Good one. It had the worst opening
all year.”

“
So I read.”

“
You did your homework!”

“
I know the requirements! We’ve
been doing this all summer.”

Our routine is simple. The first decision is to pick
the movie least likely to have a crowd. Once we get to the theater,
we scan the room to make sure there is privacy on the back row and
no more than ten other people. We’d only had to pick another movie
three times all summer, and only once did we have to scout for a
new theater entirely.