Dedicated to all those people
who showed me the kindness and guidance of a mother
when it was not expected of them:
VF, KLB, CT, KF, FT
You know who you are,
I love you.
KT
Sweet Sunday
The sun rose gently over the spiking horizon, delicately cresting over shards of glass and sculptures of metal, before leaping proudly into the great expanse of washed-out blue veiling the city. It spilled fluidly into a soft, warm room in Tribeca, cloaked in flowing cream fabrics and laced with patterned area rugs, in which two people still slept soundly, Kate Beckett draped carelessly over the chest of her lover and fiancée, Rick Castle. Her hair hung in tangled curls from where her head rested on his rib cage to the rich cotton of the sheets below them. His naked skin warmed her through her loose nightshirt, which hung lazily from her shoulders and fell in waves to rest on Rick's toned thigh, exposing just a hint of the lace trim of her panties. Her legs curled on the mattress beside him, her feet hanging off the edge of the bed, yet to feel the wash of the new morning light. He lay on his back beneath her, one arm raised above his head and resting on his pillow, the other resting lightly on Kate's hip. His dark boxer shorts were visible now that only his calves were covered by sheets, the rest pouring onto the floor; her warmth was enough to keep away the chill.
She stirred awake first, forever an early riser, and stretched sinuously atop him, extending her arms and legs in a satisfying movement as she yawned. She lay still for a little while longer after that, drinking in the glowing softness of the morning, a smile playing at her lips beneath her still-closed eyes.
Moving to wake her partner, she had second thoughts upon seeing his perfectly peaceful expression as he slept, and so parted with him with a light kiss placed on his still lips. She shuffled into the kitchen, surely her turn to make to coffee, for once, and began searching the cupboards, seeking inspiration for a Sunday morning breakfast. She at last stumbled upon a bag of flower and found a jug in the next cabinet, and so started mixing up pancake batter. She added just a sparing dessert spoon of sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon for an added kick. She already knew where to find the pans and a spatula, and so went ahead with her cooking, leaving the mixture to brown as she hunted the refrigerator in search of anything fruity – she had a certain lust for a banana that morning. She scored a streak of yellow in a drawer at the bottom and found alongside it ripe strawberries, sweet blueberries and slightly sharp green apples – just the way she liked them. She brought everything to the counter, paused to flip the first pancake, and began chopping her breakfast fit for a king.
He was already awake and beginning to sit up in bed by the time she brought him a tray full of pancakes, geometrically decorated with chunks of fruit spraying from the centre like a firework, accompanied by a glass of fresh orange juice and sweet coffee, and a baby sunflower for good measure. She grinned at him and he looked up at her adoringly, his eyes creased into half-moons and twinkling with honesty and sincerity. Kate returned to the kitchen to grab her own tray, which had one less pancake but twice as much fruit, and sat at the foot of the bed. They ate silently, looking up at each other between mouthfuls, occasionally allowing their eyes to meet and that spark of knowing to pass between them.
Throughout the morning, both without a case and a deadline, they relished in each other's company, allowing the sun to arch over them without giving it a second thought as they spent the day locked in soft gazes and gentle embraces, at peace in each other's presence.
At noon they went for a walk through Central Park and bought ice cream and sweet waffles for lunch, and they skimmed a few loose stones across the lake before ambling under the Ramble Stone Arch, over Bank Rock Bridge and along through Strawberry Fields; they emerged on tired legs at Seventy-Second and Central Park West and they caught the bus back home in the spirit of alternative travel. By the time they'd climbed the stairs to the loft, Martha had arrived and was cooking a dinner which smelled amazing. Rick and Kate had their doubts though, and as Rick whispered, "Not it," Kate approached the saucepan and celebrated, "That smells amazing, Martha!" and dipped her finger in to taste the saucy contents. Tomato-rich, just the right amount of salt, and blooming with perfectly married herbs with just a zing of lemon. "Mm, that's good!" she approved. She and Rick shared a look that Martha could not decipher – nor anyone else, for that matter.
Rick quickly darted into his office and returned with a graceful orchid in full bloom, bright splashes of pink bursting unashamedly from a cyan ceramic pot, and a simple card bought from a friend who always custom-made his hand-decorated works. "Happy mother's day," he said and handed over the gifts. Martha smiled, much less her brash self as usual, but more the calm, collected Martha who prepared realistic advice for her son, even when all he could say in response was, "It's not about the books anymore." This was the Martha who always behaved as such to show him just how well she knew him. She opened the card and found that it was signed, "Yours, Rick and Kate," with a few kisses. She suddenly cried out an, "Oh!" and smiled more brightly as tears welled in her eyes. Her cards had never before been signed, "Rick and Meredith," or, "Rick and Gina." This was the first time. "Thank you, dears!" she said, and hugged them both in turn, starting with Kate, who then skipped off to continue stirring their dinner. She then came back and produced her own gift – Rick had chosen the flower and the card – which was far smaller yet just as special: It was a perfectly smooth, sound pebble, white with bursts of lilac pluming around it. Martha took it gently before looking up at Kate questioningly.
"My mom and I found it," Kate explained, smiling. Martha's face grew sombre, but Kate did not look at all saddened, but rather hopeful. "We were up on Coney Island when I was about sixteen, and this guy I really liked had just broken up with me, so we drove up there and she picked up this pretty pebble and handed it to me without saying anything. And it's like my little Comfort Pebble. My Mom Pebble. So I wanted you to have it because you look out for me when this guy I really like is a jerk, too." She smiled. Martha at last allowed one sparkling tear to slide down her cheek.
"Oh, Kate," she whispered and leaned in for a long, comforting hug. Rick's turn to stir the sauce.
The two women smiled at each other, humbled by their new connection, and returned to the dinner arrangements easily, emotions dissipating to the warm cosiness of home. Martha poured rice into a boiling saucepan of water while Kate gathered the plates and cutlery and began to set the table. And for a moment their family seemed so domestic, like any other, without the slightly outlandish trials and tribulations they ended up facing so regularly.
The mystery sauce was being spooned into bowls, chunks of chicken slapping the liquid, and the minted rice was set at the side of the plates when the door opened and Alexis appeared.
"Alexis, sweetie, I thought your mom was in town?" Rick asked, approaching her and giving her a bear hug, happy to see her despite her obligations, and not feeling nearly as guilty as he probably should have for stealing her from Meredith.
"She was, but I encouraged her to take an early flight rather than wait with me," she smiled.
"I'll grab you another bowl," Martha announced, grinning.
"Thanks, Gram." Alexis returned the smile.
She and her dad walked over to the kitchen and grabbed glasses and soda for everyone, pouring them and setting them by the plates on the table as Martha brought over the bowls and a few flat breads she'd had in the oven and were no longer particularly flat.
Before sitting, Alexis looked shyly up at Kate. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.
"Of course," Kate smiled, and followed her over to the bookcases walling in Castle's office.
Alexis gazed at her feet for a moment and pressed her lips together as if thinking carefully about what to say next. Instead of speaking, though, she produced from her pocket a small, square card with a pink watercolour dairy painted on the front and a small strip of ribbon glued precisely along the bottom, just up from the edge, with a tiny bow tied perfectly in the middle. It was slightly curled from having been in her pocket all day. Kate took it as though it were a precious vase, millions of dollars moulded into something so easily breakable. She opened it and read the dainty scrawl inside on the white card, barely the length of her hand:
Kate,
You're not my mom, and I don't expect you to act like one or fulfil some role, but I do want you to know that I respect you like a mom, and I look to you for advice, and think to myself, "What would Kate do?" I will always be so grateful to you, and will always love you for being one of those voices in my heart that I turn to whenever I need a little encouragement.
So happy mother's day, and thank you.
I love you,
Alexis.
It took Kate a moment to collect herself as she read the message over and over, taking in the words and their meaning, and the home-made nature of the gift more precious than any million-dollar vase.
With it still clutched in her hand, she pulled Alexis in for a deep embrace, her arms locked around the other girl's neck and her face buried in silky red hair the smelled faintly of coconut. They held each other for a long time, and when they parted, both had glittering streaks down their cheeks. They let out quiet, nervous laughs, and smiled at each other, both feeling quite small and inexperienced, and young for the feelings of striking a bond welling up inside them like schoolgirls meeting their BFFs for the first time.
"I love you," Kate whispered and pulled Alexis in for a second hug, crying tears of joy into that red hair. Alexis was crying, too, her arms wrapped tightly across Kate's back. "I love you, too," Alexis whispered in return, her voice barely audible.
Kate set the card on a nearby shelf where she would be able to see it from anywhere in the room, and together they walked hand-in-hand back to the dinner table.
"Your dinner's getting cold," Martha chided them, having grown tired of waiting and started in on her chicken. Castle smiled, both apologetically and mischievously at the same time, somehow.
They ate as a family, exchanging small talk about the weather and asking Alexis how she liked her classes, Kate and Rick linking their hands on the corner of the table with no worries as to what Alexis or Martha might think this far into their relationship, and leaning in to kiss before standing to clear the plates. "Death by Chocolate" went down well for dessert and they sat bathed in the fading light of day for a while before cleaning up for the night.
"Remember the Pea-pod Bond?" Castle asked out-of-the-blue, and they all laughed at the Martha-ism like it was the funniest joke they'd ever heard, which, among such a tight group, it really was.
Alexis and Kate looked at each other across the table, smiling and laughing, sharing that moment like a mother and daughter.
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