My Only (27 page)

Thursday night was a work night. Casey took me. We talked about Olivia the whole time. I made him swear not to tel anyone about her heart. I didn’t think it was off limits, but I knew she wouldn’t appreciate everyone knowing about it either. He agreed, but didn’t have much to offer during the entire exchange. In fact, the only thing he real y said was asking me to confirm our band practice Saturday.

“Of course I’l be there.” We always had Saturday band practice unless it was marching band season.

He said, “Cool.”

I put as much effort into my job as I could, but my heart wasn’t in it. Most of the night, I was preoccupied by thoughts of Olivia. I kept sneaking off to the bathroom to text her. If I wasn’t doing anything, I was in the Health section, flipping through books to see if there was any information available about a leaky aortic valve.

I found some, but I knew the Internet would have more to offer. I didn’t use my cel phone to look anything up, though. Perhaps I didn’t
really
want to know in-depth details. Olivia said she was fine—that it was no big deal.

Most of the books yielded information that wasn’t usable. I had no idea if she’d had anything—like surgery—done or if this was just a condition that she had to live with. The only useful information was about the symptoms. I could now see al of the times in the past where her heart condition had affected her.

Some main symptoms included: shortness of breath, fainting, fatigue, dizziness, and chest pain. Just reading it made me think about the night of the concert. She’d exerted herself so much. Maybe even to the point where her heart couldn’t take it. That was why she’d needed to rest before driving us back to Lakeside. And then there was the time at the bookstore. Al she’d done was run a few yards from that evil, orange furbal , but she was winded, pale, and tired from it.

I was disturbed the rest of the night.

Friday came and went. I hadn’t gathered up any courage to ask her about her condition. It seemed like she didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to upset her.

It was Saturday afternoon when I stood outside the Cartwrights’ house, listening to a family argument. Normal y, I wouldn’t have done it, but Olivia was yel ing. I couldn’t tear myself away.

She said, “It’s not going to happen!”

Next, I heard Mrs. Cartwright. She wasn’t yel ing, so I could only make out a few words here and there—like “healthy,” and “Ross procedure,” and then final y, “normal life.”

Things were quiet for a second, but then there was some rustling on the other side of the door. Before I could run back down the stairs, the door opened and I came face-to-face with Olivia. She was pissed.

Without so much as a hel o to me or a goodbye to her grandparents, she stomped outside, grabbed my hand and pul ed me down the steps.

“We’re taking a walk!”

“O-okay,” I said, trying to step up my cadence to match hers. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

I stopped. “Obviously
something’s
going on.”

Although she tried to continue to pul me along after her, she final y stopped when she realized I wasn’t budging. “They just want me to do something I don’t want to do.”

“What is it?” I drew her into me, hugging her tight. “Come on. Maybe I can help.” Olivia shook her head back and forth into my chest, “I don’t want to talk about it.” When she pul ed back, tilting her face up to look at me, I brushed back her dark hair with one sweep of my hand. My other arm stayed strong around her. “Can we please just go have some fun today? Let’s go to the lake.” She said, coupled with a hopeful expression, she made it seem like it was the only thing in the world she wanted. Al I had to do was agree and she was pul ing me back toward her car.

The air temperature at Lake Michigan in early April was cold, but we found a nice lightly wooded area to hunker down in. We didn’t go near the water after Olivia’s initial exploration of the gentle surf but from our little spot, we could see the white caps of the waves.

I sat with my back against a thin tree trunk. Olivia sat between my legs, her back to me, arms resting on my raised knees. It was perfect. We were silent, only talking when one of us observed something beautiful or interesting in front of us. I’d been to the lake many times in my life, but I’d never experienced it like this. Aaron had probably taken a few girls here, but I doubted he ever just sat with them to enjoy the view.

I now knew why Olivia’s grandmother was a bit of a freak when it came to cold weather. Every time I asked, Olivia responded that she was fine.

For the most part, I believed her. She had on her warm coat, and my arms were draped around her.

It was getting late and I thought about cal ing it a day. We probably needed to get back home, but as the sun began to set, she turned in my arms and shifted her weight, forcing me to extend my legs. She sat on my thighs, then she kissed me. It quickly progressed to something more than kissing. I moved my hand from the smal of her back up under her coat and shirt. I brought it around to her bel y and began moving it upward. She took my creeping hand and moved it back out from under her clothes. She just held it while she kissed the very edge of my mouth.

It didn’t seem fair that she was denying me. She’d gone way further with Aaron, who gave her
so
much less. “Oliv—” She unzipped her coat and moved my hand over her breast. Under my palm, I could feel the round ful ness of it. Just when I began to whine about the fact that she stil had a shirt and bra on, her arms wrapped around her back, under her coat. She brought her hands back up, and tugged on her shirt. It remained in place, but her bra did not.

Now it was just the soft feel of cotton that stretched over her skin, separating us. I felt reckless. Her panting breath in my ear was so sexy, and so much more intense than I’d ever imagined breathing could be.

I tried to move my hand up under her shirt again, but she pul ed away, grabbing my wrist with both hands. “What?” I asked in between heavy inhalations.

“I’m not like other girls, you know?”

I didn’t understand why she would say that. I didn’t understand her point. “Wel , I think that’s a given.” Once again, she took my hand and moved it to her breast. Over the shirt was better than nothing at al . She kissed me again. We didn’t stop until the night had overtaken the day. In reality,
she
didn’t stop until I careful y pressed her back. I could’ve continued. I
wanted
to continue. But it was late and the cold day had already turned into an even colder night.

“Livie, we should go,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice under control as her mouth moved against my neck. It was distracting. I wanted to get lost in the distraction, but I didn’t want her to get in trouble. I didn’t want her grandparents to think I wasn’t a good influence on her. I didn’t want her to get sick again. So I pushed her back one more time. She licked her lips and flung her hair away from her face. God, she was beautiful. “Liv.”

“It was worth a shot.”

When we made it home, it was after eight. We said goodnight, but as soon as I saw her bedroom light come on, I grabbed my phone and texted her.
Are you in trouble?

She moved to the window and waved.
No. But probably only because my grandmother’s already in bed. Grandpa’s the best.

Through the course of being with her, I found I was able to speak my mind more. She seemed like she enjoyed it when I did. As I looked at her across the street, there was something I wanted to say to her, so I texted it.
I had fun today.

I chickened out. I hit send without putting the most important part in there.

Me, too. The beach is awesome
, she replied.

As hard as it was to believe, Olivia liked me. She made out with me in the sand as the lake waves crashed in front of us. It was safe to say that she was my girlfriend now. Knowing that for a fact gave me some peace of mind. It only mattered that Olivia brought out everything good in me. I felt confident around her. I felt fulfil ed and wanted and loved.

The beach was great, but you were better. I want to do that with you again. I liked kissing you like that.

It had been more than kissing. It had been ful -fledged making out. Her body had been pressed so closely to mine. I had touched her in places I hadn’t before.

Her reply back to me was quick.
I could tell. I liked it, too. We can do it again.

When I looked back at her, I could tel she was grinning. I wondered if she was blushing like I was. I wanted to tel her that I loved her, but letting her know by text for the first time didn’t seem right. I wanted to progress our relationship. If it wasn’t time to tel her how I felt, perhaps it was time to push the physical portion of our relationship. Even though we had a street’s worth of distance between us, there was something I could do to make that possible.

Maybe I was channeling my brother, but somehow I typed,
Take off your top
.

When I dared to look up, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. She was staring back at me. Without looking down, she returned my text,
YOU take YOUR

shirt off.

For a second, I felt like it had al backfired. My body wasn’t as defined as my brother’s. She’d obviously seen him—I stopped that thought. In fact, I stopped al insecure thoughts. What was it that Aaron had said? He made things happen, while I was nothing but theory? I
thought
, and he
did
.

Without any more hesitation, I set my phone down on the windowsil and pul ed off my shirt.

I found that I couldn’t look up at her, so I picked up my phone and typed,
Now you
.

Taking a deep breath, I final y glanced across the street. It took a moment, but I saw her hands move to the bottom of her little black T-shirt. It seemed like she pul ed it over her head in slow motion. Little by little, she revealed the lightly bronzed skin. I tried to take my time. I wanted to memorize every little feature. I wished I was over there, then I’d be able to see every little freckle and mole on her shoulders.

But when my eyes moved lower, the excitement of seeing her black-bra-covered breasts was muted when I saw the big red scar over her heart.

Now I felt like I couldn’t breathe for another reason. Just as I was about to text her, my phone dinged.

Goodnight, Adam
.

I looked up from my phone. Her right forearm was covering the scar and her left hand was pul ing the lacy curtain closed.

Now I understood why she wouldn’t let me touch her under her shirt, and why, like Aaron said, she hadn’t taken off her shirt when they’d made out.

I could think of nothing else for the rest of the night. I wanted to cal her. I wanted to text. I did neither. She’d shut her curtains—a sign of needing space. I could give her that, even if it caused me a poor night’s sleep.

Sunday morning I made breakfast for my dad and brother, but my mind was stil on that scar. Obviously that leaky valve had been repaired at some point. But if it had, why did she stil have the symptoms? I wanted answers, I
needed
them.

When we were alone in her room, I just came out and asked. “You had surgery?”

Olivia turned away, twisting a stuffed dog in her hands. “Twice.”

“Two times?” I felt like an idiot. Twice meant two times. I felt numbed by the shock of it al .

When she faced me, she was chewing on her lower lip. She didn’t look me in the eye. “When I was five, I had what’s cal ed a “bicuspid” aortic valve repair. It was supposed to last at least ten years, but my mom had hoped for a lifetime fix. Then when I was fifteen, I had a homograft valve replacement.”

That sounded scary. “What’s that?”

“They took an aortic valve from a donor and—”

“A ‘donor’?”

“A cadaver.”

I knew that stuff happened. I knew that dead people’s parts were given to live people, but for some reason thinking about Olivia’s beautiful body having someone else’s valve in it made me feel queasy. I sat down on her bed.

“So they replaced my leaky one with the donated valve. In some people it could last twenty years, but not for me. I guess young people don’t fare as wel with them.”

The way she said it set me over the edge. I was already on edge to begin with, but now it sounded like she . . . like she was saying there was something real y wrong with her heart again. I felt sick and spun out. The threat of something ruining Olivia seemed too much to bear. “Your grandmother wants you to have another surgery?” I asked when I final y pieced it al together.

“It’s cal ed a Ross procedure. I don’t want to have it.”

I felt the bed depress next to me, so I tilted my head and looked at my beautiful girlfriend. “What is it?”

“They’l remove my pulmonary valve and replace the aortic homograft with it. Then they have to replace the pulmonary valve. It’s a long surgery, and basical y the whole thing might leak anyway. I don’t want it done.”

I stood up and said, “But you have to.” Olivia looked away. “That’s why she doesn’t want you to dance, right?” She nodded. “So that whole thing after the concert was—” I couldn’t finish. I was hyperventilating, so I turned around and attempted to compose myself. When I’d calmed I said, “So you could’ve died that night or something?”

“No,” she said, but I could tel she was lying. “I’m not going to live my life in fear of dying, Adam. If I want to dance, I’m going to dance. What’s the point of living if I can’t
do
anything?”

“Because you’l be able to share your life with people who love you. I would never—”

“But it’s not your life!” she yel ed. “It’s mine! It’s
my
life, and I’m tired of having surgeries that can’t fix what’s wrong.” The anger drained from her face, and I was left looking at an emotional y honest version of my girlfriend. It was in this moment that I could see how tired she real y was.

I sat down next to her on the bed, laid my hand on her thigh, and took a deep breath. Maybe I could stil convince her to give it another shot. “I don’t want you to die. If a surgery can help . . .”