“What do you mean?” she asks.
“Manny, would you like to tell your mother about the photo Livvy snapped of you, or would you like me to?”
“It’s Emmanuel,” he corrects my father.
“The day you start acting like a man, I’ll call you that. What’ll it be, Manny?”
“Mr. Holland–” the dean tries to interject.
“Where’s the picture?” He asks the question while feeling the hair in his mohawk, looking agitated.
“Out of Livvy’s possession,” Dad answers. “I downloaded a copy to my hard drive for safe keeping, and I watched her delete it from the camera. No father wants his daughter carrying around a photo of an angry boy fondling himself.”
“I wasn’t fondling–”
“Save it, Manny. I can send you a copy, if you need a refresher.”
“What are you keeping it for?” his mother asks.
“I did a search on your son last weekend. He seems to be making a name for himself in some pretty significant circles. Lots of celebrities want to work with him. A few of them travel in my own circles,” Dad says evenly. “If you ever bother my daughter again, Manny, in any way that displeases me, I will let everyone know about your unprofessionalism. If I wanted this to be a full-page ad in the Times, I could make that happen, along with a story of how you took money from the tabloid media in an effort to smear my own daughter’s name when she was just trying to defend herself from a lowlife parasite like you.”
“Don’t talk to my son that way!” Mrs. Cortez yells.
“Jacks...” Mom puts her hand on my dad’s arm.
“My apologies, Mrs. Cortez,” Dad says after clearing his throat. “I just don’t like to see people taking advantage of my daughter. I’m sure you understand my need to defend my child. But we have been nothing but kind and generous to Manny. What he did is dishonorable and we deserve an apology.”
Silence settles over the room as all eyes go to Emmanuel. He looks across the table at me and mumbles an apology. I stare back at him, unwilling to acknowledge it.
“How much did you profit from that photo?” Dad asks.
“I got nothing,” he answers.
“Emi?” Dad watches as my mother pulls out a letter-sized envelope from her bag. She hands it to my father. He produces three pieces of paper and sets them down on the table in front of Mrs. Cortez.
“What’s that?” her son asks.
“These are sworn affidavits from two websites and one tabloid magazine, stating that you were paid over six thousand dollars for this photo. Would you be willing to sign one stating that you were not paid for the picture?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you still have the money?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I would like that money in the form of a cashier’s check delivered to my office by Tuesday of next week. My brother, Matty, works with an anti-bullying organization, and they need funds for some new supplies.”
“I believe you met my brother-in-law?” Mom asks pointedly. Emmanuel glares at her, unwilling to answer.
“We hope you won’t mind the money going to a good cause.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Cortez answers, surprised. “Manny, you send that check first thing in the morning.”
“Mom–”
“Emmanuel? You’ll do it and you’ll apologize to these people.”
“Fine.” We all wait for a sincere apology.
“Now, Manny!”
“Livvy, I’m sorry for selling the picture. Mr. and Mrs. Holland, I apologize. It was wrong of me. I was angry and did it out of spite. I never meant to seem ungrateful to you.”
“Thank you,” my parents say together. “Livvy?” Mom adds. I look at her briefly before understanding that she, too, expects an apology.
“I’m sorry I took that picture of you... and I’m sorry I made you so mad.” He seems to smile a little as he nods in acceptance.
“Friends?” he asks, outstretching his hand. I slide my hands off the table and tuck them in my lap.
“No, but I forgive you,” I tell him softly, but sternly.
“Thank you, Dean Taylor,” my dad says as he stands, essentially ending the meeting. “I appreciate you arranging this.”
“Mr. Holland, I thought you might be interested in his punishment–” Dad continues walking toward the door and signals for us to follow him.
“Just tell me, will he be in my daughter’s photography class anymore?”
“No, sir.” Dad holds the door open for me and Mom, but pauses in the doorway to finish the conversation.
“That’s the only consequence I want. My daughter should be able to attend school in a fair and harassment-free environment. Should your paths cross, I hope you’ll respect my daughter’s wishes, whatever they may be,” he adds, directing his last sentence to Emmanuel. Mrs. Cortez nudges him until he responds.
“Okay.”
“Good luck to you,” Dad says, exiting the room behind my mother and me. “That made me hungry,” he remarks, putting his arm around me and walking toward the exit.
After swinging by the dorm and picking up my roommates, we finally make it to the restaurant on the waterfront. The other time I’d been here was in the late summer, and we were able to sit on the patio and enjoy the sounds of nature. Tonight, it’s too cold, but we still get the best seat, situated next to a window and in front of a fireplace.
Rachelle is her normal self in front of my parents, but Katrina is clearly nervous and unsure of herself. I make sure she sits next to Mom, who has an uncanny ability to make just about anyone feel comfortable in her presence. Dad listens to Rachelle’s visions for the New Year’s Eve party she’s throwing this year at her parents’ estate. He meets my eyes a few times during the conversation, and I can tell he’s simply too polite to show her his true disinterest. She name-drops incessantly, listing the designer who made her custom gown, the world-renowned decorator who is planning the bash, and the top-notch Manhattan chef who’s agreed to cater the party on what will likely be one of the busiest nights of the year in his own restaurant. Although my roommate doesn’t discuss the actual dollar amounts, I can’t even fathom how much something like that would cost.
“Will your parents be there?” he asks her.
“No, they don’t like the fanfare of New Year’s Eve. They go to our beach house every year, provided the snow doesn’t keep them from getting there.”
“I guess this will be our first year without Livvy,” he says with a slight frown.
“You’re coming?” Rachelle asks me excitedly. I hadn’t given her an answer before because Jon and I weren’t speaking at the time. I’d envisioned my night would be spent watching my brother at home–if my parents decided to go out again this year.
“I haven’t asked Jon yet,” I tell her, avoiding my dad’s eyes, “but I think so. And Daddy, I’ll still be home on the second. I mean, maybe we’ll even drive back on New Year’s Day...” My thoughts linger on my plans. “If Jon even wants to go.”
“We’d welcome you any time,” he says. I nod my head in understanding and look across the table at Mom and Katrina.
“Liv, will you be spending the week with us at Thanksgiving?”
“I’ll be in Manhattan,” I answer. “Katrina’s coming with me. She can stay in one of the guest rooms at the loft.”
“I might not stay the whole week,” my roommate says. “I want to spend some time on my history project.”
“You can do that in Manhattan,” I suggest. “Plus, Finn will be there the whole week...”
She smiles and blushes. “Livvy...” she whispers.
“Katrina plays soccer,” I explain to my mother. “She and Finn hit it off at my party. They’ve been talking and emailing ever since.”
“Finn?” my dad says, hearing a familiar name and jumping into a different conversation. “What about him?”
“I’ll tell you later, Jacks. I don’t want to embarrass Katrina any further.” Mom pats her hand g
ently. I hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but I can see that I did.
“Sorry,” I tell her.
“Don’t be silly,” she says. “It’s fine.”
“Liv, you have to help me convince Katrina to come upstate to my party.”
“You have to come!”
“I wouldn’t have anything to wear.”
“That can’t be an excuse,” my mom says. “My sister-in-law has a way with couture bargain shopping. Oh, and if you’re with us on Black Friday, I have no doubt we’ll find something amazing for you.”
“A dress like that would seem like a frivolous expense,” Katrina says.
“I bet we could find something amazing for less money than any prom dress you’ve ever had,” Mom says.
“I didn’t go to prom.”
“Well, then,” my mother continues, unfazed, “you need to let us help you with this. Every girl needs to feel like a princess every once in awhile.”
“It will be fun,” I assure Katrina. “And if you don’t want to buy anything, I have a dress at home that would probably fit you perfectly if we took it up an inch or two.” I’d sacrifice my junior prom dress for my friend. It has good memories for me, but I know I’ll never wear it again.
“I’ll think about it.” I can tell from her smile that she’s a little excited by the idea.
“Maybe you can ride with us,” I tell her, already assuming that Jon will accept my invitation. I’ll sweeten the deal by finding a cool hotel for us to stay in.
“And you can stay in one of our guest rooms,” Rachelle says. “You have to come.”
“I said I’d think about it!” Katrina says, laughing. “Something tells me you’re not going to take no for an answer.”
“I’m not,” Rachelle says confidently, “but I don’t think that’s your answer anyway.”
Dad is so discreet about the check that I hadn’t even realized he paid yet. Katrina looks at me, wallet in hand, as we stand up to leave. “Dad never lets anyone else pay. It’s insulting to him,” I whisper to her. I know if I tell her that, she won’t worry about it, even though he’s rarely insulted by anything. Dad doesn’t have an ego, at all.
On my way out the door for Thanksgiving break, I look back one last time at my roommate. Rachelle had left the day before to go home, and Katrina had decided not to drive down to Manhattan with me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
“I’ve already purchased the train ticket, Livvy. There are some people staying here. Tim will be here,” she says just as our RA passes our room. “I’ll be fine. I have a lot of work to do on this, and I need to go to the library–”
“Um, hello? New York Public Library?” I remind her.
“I know this library,” she argues. “Plus, I’m afraid I’d just be distracted by Finn.”
“He was really looking forward to seeing you.”
“I’ll be there Wednesday. I mean, a whole week around him, I just... I don’t know, it seems like too much, and I’m already worried he’s expecting something–”
“Is that what this is about? I can talk to him, Katrina–”
“Please don’t say anything, Liv! I’d be mortified.”
“I won’t, but he’s pretty harmless... he grew up a lot over the summer. And if he really likes you, he won’t pressure you... unless you want him to...” She ducks her head into her hands and laughs. “If you change your mind, you can change your ticket. Or Jon, Finn and I will drive up here and get you. I’m sure we’ll need a break from the family at some point.”
“Oh, you love your family,” she says.
“I do,” I admit. “There are just so many members it can get a little hectic. Plus, there are four kids under the age of four right now. That’s a handful.”
“You’ll have fun.”
“You’ll be okay?”
“Mom has already scheduled video chats with me nightly. I’ll be fine.”
“Well, I’ll call you. And if you need anything–”
“Livvy, go!”
“Okay,” I laugh, spying my favorite pillow on my bed and going back in to grab it. “Love you. See you Wednesday.”
I have a hard time going the speed limit, knowing that Jon’s already at the loft waiting for me. Since most of my family won’t be in until tomorrow or Sunday, we’ll definitely have the loft to ourselves tonight. It may be the only night, though. Although nothing was set in stone, my mother had warned me that Dad was considering offering up my guest rooms to some of my cousins. It’s fine if he does. Jon had already agreed to stay with me, regardless.
When I pull up to my building across from Central Park, I grab only my purse and hand the car key to the valet. Francisco opens the door for me as I breeze past him, nearly running.
“Livvy? Do you have luggage?”
“It’s in my trunk!” I tell him.
“Should we bring it up now?”
“Yeah, just...” I insert my special key into the hole and press the H button. “Can you leave it by my door?”
He laughs at me and nods his head as the elevator closes. Jon startles me when I reach the top floor. The concierge must have informed him that I was here.
“Welcome home, baby,” he says as he pulls me into a hug. I kiss his jawline, eventually finding his lips with mine. “Where are your things?” he mumbles.
“They’ll leave them by the door,” I tell him, taking him by the hand and walking quickly toward the loft.
“You’re shameless,” he teases me as he secures the locks once we’re inside. “Your uncle’s home.”
“I don’t care,” I tell him as I pull off my boots and throw them on the rug by the couch. “He knows what it’s like to be in love. Why are you just standing there? We have to be at my parents’ house at eight, remember?”
“That’s two and a half hours from now,” he says as he slowly unbuttons his shirt and walks toward the bed.
“Right, barely enough time,” I tell him.
“Plenty of time,” he assures me.
“But you always want to sleep after...” I remind him.
“I always want to hold you after,” he corrects me. “I don’t fall asleep until you do. I’m always hoping you’ll want to go again.” He grins at me, challenging me with his quirked brow and slipping the shirt off of his shoulders to reveal a dark undershirt. “I just worked out,” he tells me.
“Let me see.” He removes the other shirt, showing off his firm stomach and chest. I stand a few feet away, admiring him dreamily. Eager, he charges me, lifting me up and throwing me over his shoulder. “Jon! Put me down!” He carries me to the bed with ease, touching my thighs beneath my skirt on the way. Supporting my back, he lays me down, immediately reaching for the zipper on my hip and lowering it quickly. Instead of just taking off my skirt, he completely undresses me from the waist down and leans over to kiss my inner thigh.
“Oh, god,” I say, surprised at his sudden impatience. I sigh again, realizing his tongue’s destination only a split second after it finds it. Months had passed–six months, to be more precise–since we’d done this. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this intimacy until now. “Jon,” I plead, already losing my breath.
“Why are you still wearing that sweater?” He stops only long enough to ask the question. I squirm out of it quickly and unfasten my bra, feeling an intense need from every inch of my body. As much as I like what he’s doing, I like when we time our climaxes together. I pull his hair a little to get his attention. He knows what I want, standing up and undressing the rest of the way. He reaches into my nightstand and takes out a new box of condoms that he must have just put there. He takes one out, handing it to me and letting me put it on him.
He slides onto the bed and glides into me gently, holding still to let me get used to the feel of him. I moan a little as he kisses me fully and our bodies start moving together in rhythm. “Is that good?” he asks me softly. I nod and smile, moving my hands to his rear and gripping him tightly. “Let me know when you’re close.?
??
“I always do,” I remind him, although I never have to verbally. He can read my body that well. His pace quickens gradually, and I can feel the heat start to swell and pulsate. With no warning, he rolls onto his back, holding me close to him and helping to guide me back into place when I’m on top. He touches my breast as I start to move against him, and when he senses that I’m nearing orgasm, he pushes himself up on his arms and crosses his legs. Propped up on one hand, he holds me close with the other, helping me keep tempo as he starts to lose control. I’m convinced that we both push the other over the edge, feeling the imminent climax. Our lips lock, keeping the air between us and making the moment last much longer. I always break away first, unable to hold my breath as long as he can, but I try every time. After a few quick gasps, he puts both hands on my face and plants appreciative, loving kisses–first on my wanting lips, but then on my cheeks, my nose, my forehead and ending on my eyelids. It was a routine that he’d recently started. It’s special to me, and after his lips leave my left eyelid, we both fall into each other in a tight embrace.
“Thank you,” he whispers in my ear.
“Thank you,” I whisper back, tracing his lobe with my tongue. He holds me for a few minutes, but eventually helps me onto my back while he excuses himself to clean up. When he comes out of the bathroom, he’s put his boxers on, but nothing else.
“Come here,” I tell him. He holds up a finger, telling me to wait. I lean up on my elbows and watch him walk across the apartment. He opens the door and retrieves my luggage for me, then stops by the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water on his way back to the bed. He takes a long sip of it before handing it to me. He watches me drink half the bottle before giving it back to him. He sets it on the night stand and lies back down next to me. I push his arm, nudging him to roll onto his side. Finally catching on, he does, and I kiss the words on his shoulder blade reverently. When he lies back down on his back, I sidle up next to him, resting my head on his chest. He grabs the edge of my comforter and pulls it over me, knowing that it never takes long for me to get cold as I lie naked next to him.