She turns and looks at me, a soft smile crinkling the corners of her eyes that are so similar to mine. “I know you’re new to this in a lot of ways, like the sex way.”
“Mom, stop.”
"But Crew is new to this in some ways too. He was with his ex for a long time. He's never dated divorced. He's probably got scars. This trust thing is valid." She pats my hand. "But two things can be true at once. His feelings can be valid and so can yours, even if they don't match up. If you really feel this is a hurdle you can't get past, then don't get past it. You are young Livvy. You are smart and brave and strong and drop-dead gorgeous. You deserve everything you want from life and from men. Leave him. There’ll be someone else.”
I yank my head back and glare at her. She’s still smiling sweetly at me, her face a mask of innocence. “Just like that? Just… what? Dump him? Because of a hiccup? Gee, Mom, I thought you understood that there were bumps in the road. I mean Dad didn’t give up on you and Uncle Big Bird says you were a total disaster when you and Dad started dating.”
Mom laughs. "Oh my God, I expected this reaction but I didn't think you'd hit below the belt. Uncle Big Bird? Are you siding with him? I could list you all the chances he had to beg your Auntie Jessie for but we'd miss this court date and be here in this parking lot all week."
“See, Jessie gave Jordan a bunch of chances and they’re happy,” I argue. “But you’re telling me to just walk out on the first truly happy, intimate experience I’ve ever had without even letting Crew have a chance to make it right?”
"Yes, I'm saying that, so you'll realize how stupid it would be, freak out on me, and follow your heart on this. Because you already know what it wants.” She squeezes my hand again and winks.
“Reverse psychology.”
“And you fell for it so quickly!” Mom looks mighty proud of herself.
I see the guards opening up the courthouse and I feel a quiver of panic slide down my spine. “We should go inside.”
We both get out of the car and walk toward the building slowly. She holds my hand the whole way. We pass through security and walk down the hall until we find the courtroom number I was given by the District Attorney. We’re told to sit on one of the long wooden benches in the hall and wait until the court opens so we do.
It's a long painful wait and I am fighting a losing battle with my anxiety. Finally, the courtroom opens and we file in, but before we can sit down someone calls my name. "Olivia Garrison?" A thin man with a narrow face and tired eyes wearing a brown suit extends his hand. "I'm Milo Suzuki, the state prosecutor for this case. We've had a development I wanted to discuss with you."
“Oh… okay.” I swallow. “Can my mom come with me?”
“Of course.” He motions for us to slip out of the aisle and we follow him down the hall to a small room with a bleak conference table and no windows. I feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience as he explains that my attacker has opted for a plea deal.
“He’ll get sixteen months, and then two years’ probation. He’ll also have mandatory psychiatric counseling and will enter a substance abuse program while serving his time,” he explains, looking proud of himself.
I get it. This is a win for an overworked public defender. But to me, it's not that clear-cut. I want him locked up and the key flushed down the toilet. Mom shakes her head. "Did he tell you why he did this to my daughter? Do we at least get that?"
Mr. Suzuki shrugs. "He's an addict. Painkillers. He was looking for money for a fix. Or for some drugs himself. College kids are often on medication of some sort. And your daughter is tiny and was walking alone. He hasn't said all this, verbatim, but it's been implied. He has a history of petty theft and nothing else so it fits.”
“And his likelihood of reoffending?”
“High.”
“If he comes after my daughter…”
“He won’t be doing that. He won’t even remember her name. He probably doesn’t now,” Mr. Suzuki says, and I hope he’s right. “So now you can face him in court and give an impact statement, but his sentence is already fixed. It won’t sway a judge or a jury but some victims like to do it to get closure. We welcome that.”
“I just want to go home,” I say. “I don’t need to prove anything to him, or you, or myself. I just want to forget this man the way he is hopefully forgetting me.”
“Well, he won’t entirely forget you,” Mr. Suzuki says. “His nose never set right after you broke it. He’ll have a bump on it that will be a gentle reminder that he picked the wrong woman.”
My mom smiles proudly at that. I hook my thumb in her direction. “I get that from her.”
We say goodbye to Mr. Suzuki and head back out into the hallway. Now I’m face-to-face with the couple who intervened. They’re sitting on the bench where I had been earlier. Their eyes light up when they see me and they smile. My mom drops her arm from my shoulders and rushes to them. “I’m her mom, Callie, I can’t ever express my gratitude for what you did to help my baby.”
She hugs them both in one giant sweep of her arms. They smile and hug her back and Mrs. Jackson reaches out and rubs my arm. “Are you holding up okay honey?”
“I am. He copped a plea deal.”
"We heard. I'm sorry. I wanted the rat bastard in jail for a century," Mr. Jackson says and frowns.
“We got your card,” Mrs. Jackson says to me. “It was a very sweet gesture and the flowers were too.”
“The least I could do. If you hadn’t helped me, I don’t know what would have happened next,” I tell her.
