Olivia (46 page)

“
Good play, Jackson,” Dad tells
Trey, patting him on the back. He passes Jon on the way to the
pitching mound. “I’m not going easy on you, son,” I hear him say to
my boyfriend, smiles spreading across both their faces. Mom puts
her arm around me.

Dad was the star pitcher in high school. I have no
doubt he’s out of practice, but he’s probably still better than
most people Jon’s played against. Jon claims the fourth position in
the batting line up. My brother’s first, and my dad knows the exact
level and speed of pitch Trey can hit.

“
Run, baby!” Mom yells once Trey
connects with the ball. It’s a grounder that bypasses my dad and
makes it to Finn on second base. By the time he has it in his mitt,
my brother is safe on first, giving a high-five to Matty. Jon walks
over to the base to coach him on running to second. Trey takes a
few steps away from the jacket on the ground, just as Jon instructs
him to do.

Eli catches us all off guard when he gets up to bat,
propelling the ball far beyond his father in between second and
third bases. Chris runs to get it as Jon and Trey run together to
second base. “Great hit, Eli!” Jon calls to him, clapping. My
cousin actually smiles at him.

Stevie is up next, and his dad insists on pitching
to him, so Dad moves behind the plate to be the catcher for this
round. “Hold the bat up more,” Steven instructs his son, even
though they’re on opposite teams. “Angle your body that way,” he
adds, watching him get into position. “Perfect.”

My cousin misses the first pitch, but bunts the
second one, making his dad run for the ball. With Jon’s guidance,
Trey makes it to third base. Dad assumes his position once more in
the middle of the field and throws the ball a few times to his
brother to warm up. Jon picks up the bat and practices a few
swings. He meets my eyes and nods for me to come over to him.

“
I could easily rattle him,” Jon
says. “I could drop this bat right now, take you in my arms and
kiss you.”

“
As much as I’d like that,” I tell
him, touching his bicep, “I think that would be unfair.”

He nods his head in agreement, pointing to his
cheek. I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick peck for good
luck. “I won’t think any less of you when you strike out,” I tell
him as I walk away.

“
What?!” he asks, laughing on his
way to the plate. “You don’t think I can do this?”

I stop and turn around to look at him, a little
unsure. I know my dad won’t hold back. I also know my dad is very
good. I walk back over to Jon.

“
We don’t have all night, kids!”
Dad calls to us.

“
Yeah, yeah!” I yell back, shooing
his nagging comments away. “I’ll tell you what,” I tell Jon. “If
you get a home run... a grand slam, by the way,” I add, eyeing the
loaded bases, “then you can drop your bat and kiss me like you want
to. I’ll be waiting at home plate.”

“
Now that’s some motivation,” he
says with a glint in his eye, taking his place behind home plate. I
go back to the side where my mom stands, taking her hand in mine
and bracing myself.

“
What if he hits him?” I whisper to
her.

“
He’s not going to hit him,” she
laughs. “Plus, Trey’s on third base, so Jon’s got that working in
his favor. You know your dad wants him to score.”

“
You think he’s going to go easy on
Jon, then?”

“
Absolutely not,” Mom says. “He’ll
make him sweat.”

“
Ready?” Dad asks my
boyfriend.

“
Go for it.”

The pitch Dad throws is insanely fast, and Jon
swings about a half-a-second too late. Dad calls the strike, and
Jon looks over at me in disbelief. Chris and Steven are both
laughing at Jon’s reaction from their bases, and the group that has
gathered is applauding.

“
That had to be at least eighty
miles per hour,” Jon says. “That’s impossible.”

“
He averaged in the high-eighties
in high school,” my uncle Matty tells Jon as Steven tosses the ball
back to Dad. Jon looks back at my dad, who’s got a smug smile on
his face.

“
Now
are
you ready?” he taunts Jon.

“
Sure,” Jon says, much less
confident than he was before. He strikes on the second pitch,
too.

“
Take some practice swings,” Dad
says to Jon before the third pitch. “You took your eyes off the
ball that time, by the way.”

“
I know,” Jon says, stretching out
his arms and shoulders. After swinging the bat a few times, he
walks back up to home plate. Eli starts to chant Jon’s name, and
the rest of their team joins in. Jon looks over at me, and I can
see the determination in his eyes. I bite my lip, hoping to draw
his attention there to remind him of the prize. He nods, letting me
know that he remembers. “All right, I’m ready,” he tells Dad,
getting into a batting stance.

“
C’mon, Jack!” a woman yells from
the crowd.

“
You can do it, Jon!” I holler
louder, clapping my hands.

“
Thanks, baby!” he calls back to
me, keeping his attention on my father. He throws the ball seconds
later, and this time, Jon not only hits the ball, but hits it far
over the heads of everyone on the field and our audience,
eventually dropping into a nearby pond. He releases the bat,
coaching my brother into home base before he takes off to first
base. “Come on, Trey! You got it!” He high-fives him, then takes
off in a slow jog. I’m cheering while Mom goes and gives Trey a hug
for scoring. Eli and Stevie cross home in quick succession, but Jon
takes his time running the bases as the crowd cheers for him. Dad
meets him at third and pats him on the shoulder once as he makes
his way to the final base.

As the audience yells when his foot hits home, my
cousins and brother gather around him to congratulate him. Jon
revels with them briefly, but then catches my eye and stalks toward
me. I glance at my dad, who’s eyes are trained on both of us.

“
He’s watching you,” I warn him
softly without being able to hide my smile. Jon puts his hands on
my cheeks and pulls my lips to his. His kiss is salty with sweat,
and isn’t out of control, like I expected it. It’s passionate, but
he’s clearly trying to be somewhat of a gentleman. “I expect a real
one later,” I tell him when he pulls away.

“
Of course,” he says. “He called me
‘son.’ I can’t very well disrespect him now,” he laughs.
“Especially not in front of all of these people.”

“
I heard. And once again, he knows
what to say to make sure he gets his way,” I tease him.

“
This one didn’t feel like
manipulation,” Jon says seriously, looking at me
questioningly.

“
No, I don’t think it was. He
does
like you.”

“
I guess the game’s over,” Chris
announces. “We have no ball.”

“
All right,” Dad calls out to our
family. “Cupcakes, anyone? Kelly didn’t want to be left out. She
should be at the house by now.”

The kids cheer as the crowd starts to separate, some
lingering while others continue on the sidewalk trails. Jon takes
my hand in his, holding it sweetly as we watch most of my family
take off toward my house.

“
Mom, we need to get our stuff,” I
tell her, nodding in the direction of the loft.

She glances down at her watch. “I expect you at home
in a half hour,” she says as she hands me her keys. “Take Finn with
you.”

“
Mom, no,” I argue. “I don’t want
to talk to him after what he did to Camille. Plus, you think
he
makes a good chaperone?”

“
Good point. Thirty minutes,” she
repeats to me and Jon sternly. “And get my bag, too?”

“
That’ll take at
least
another five minutes, Mom,” I joke with
her.

“
Twenty-nine minutes,” she says.
“You two better go.”

Once we get to the loft, there’s just enough time
for us to kiss the way I’d really wanted to in the park. He doesn’t
even try anything more, even though I’m sure he must want more,
like I do. He helps me gather our things and we lock up the loft,
saying good night to Francisco on our way out.

“
You’re not cutting them small
enough,” he tells me, barely looking over his shoulder from the
stove. “Quarter-inch squares,” he reiterates.

“
I don’t think they’ll taste any
different, Dad.”

“
You asked me to show you how to
make this,” he laughs. “Do you want me to, or not?”

“
To.”

“
Good. Quarter-inch.”

“
Okay. Well, what do you have going
on over there?”

“
I’m just heating up a pan, that’s
all. I won’t do anything important without telling you. I’m writing
it all down as we go, anyway.”

“
Cool. Thanks.”

“
We can’t send our daughter away to
college with no life skills,” he says. “I feel like we’ve got to
cram a lot into a few months. And here I thought we had done a
fairly good job.”

“
You have. I can do my own laundry.
Most of my friends can’t do that. And you did show me how to check
the oil levels in my car.”

“
As if you’ll do that,” he laughs.
“You made it very clear that you believe that to be a man’s
job.”

“
I do,” I confirm. “But at least I
know how.”

“
Yes, I do appreciate the time you
spent listening, anyway. For you, Tessa, I’ll check the levels
every weekend you come home.”

“
Thanks, Dad.”

“
How often do you think you’ll be
home? Oh, careful, Liv, don’t hold the knife like that.” He comes
over and picks up another knife, demonstrating a better way to cut
the tomatoes.

“
It’s fine, Dad. I’m
watching.”

“
All right.” He goes back to the
stove and holds his hand over the pan. I haven’t forgotten his
question, but a part of me hopes he has. I decide to change the
subject.

“
You don’t mind going to the
airport early tomorrow?”

“
Not at all. Jon’s flight is at
eleven?”

“
Yeah. I told him we’d pick him up
at eight.”

“
Is he excited?”

“
Of course. I think Max has the
whole week mapped out. He says Will hasn’t been very talkative
lately, so he’s anxious to get some time with him to see what’s
going on.”

“
And his mother’s still doing
well?”

“
That’s the report from his aunt.
But he needs to see it for himself.”

“
Of course. Are you excited about
Wyoming?”

“
Actually, yeah. I can’t believe
it’s been five years since I’ve been there. But what are we gonna
do there for a week? In the middle of nowhere?”

“
Your guess is as good as mine. I
don’t like going into spring break vacations without a game plan.
You know me.”

“
I know.”

“
But I couldn’t say no to your
grandma and grandpa. They have a way with guilt trips.”

“
You had to get it from someone,” I
tease him.

“
I do not give guilt trips,” he
argues, turning around and smiling. “Ready for the
onions?”

“
Bring ‘em on.” He sets down two
medium-sized yellow onions on my cutting board. “Same size. You
know how to do this?”

I roll my eyes and nod my head, picking up one
onion, setting it on its side, and slicing through the middle of
it. Looking at half of the onion, I try to figure out the most
efficient way to slice it. I decide to balance it with my right
hand–

“
Shit!” I exclaim, feeling searing
pain in my right hand. I look away as soon as I see the deep cut in
the muscle beneath my thumb. Blood seems to gush out of
it.

“
What’d you–” Dad takes one look
from across the island and immediately brings over a dishrag and
wraps it around my hand. “Stitches,” he mumbles. “God, Livvy, I
told you to be careful,” he says.

“
I was,” I say through the lump in
my throat. “It hurts, Dad,” I whine, seeing the red seep through
the cotton. I watch him turn off all of the burners and grab his
keys.

“
I’m sure it does. Hold that towel
tight,” he says as he pulls it tighter. I do as he says, hurriedly
following him to his car. I half-whine, half-cry all the way to the
emergency room as he tries to say comforting things to keep my mind
off the pain.

He gets me settled in a seat and gauges how much
blood is on the towel. It looks like a lot to me. “How do you feel?
Lightheaded at all?”

“
A little.”

“
Okay, just stay still. I’m going
to get us checked in.” I look around the waiting area at the other
people seated in small clusters. In each group is a person who
appears to be in just as much pain as I’m in. I catch the eyes of a
few of them, smiling sympathetically. Curious, I unwrap my hand and
check out the deep gash and...

I’m being pushed through a hallway in a wheelchair,
closely behind a nurse in pink scrubs. Disoriented, I look around
until I see my dad behind me, steering me through the hospital.

“
There she is,” he says, keeping up
with the nurse.