Thatcher Grey looked at his baby girl with complete awe, amazed at how her chubby little legs were beginning to move on their own without his guiding hands taking the balance. Her green eyes sparkled as her pale face filled with joy, her mouth gurgling in the adorable way which one year olds often did. Her golden hair, which sprouted late as a baby, had thickened and formed a frizzy bob, which, if she didn't refuse, would twine nicely behind her ear.
He was sure that he loved Meredith much more than her mother ever would; the only reason Thatcher guessed Ellis even had the baby in the first place was to give him something to do apart from whine at her how their three year marriage had become loveless. He could see the resentment in Ellis' eyes every time Meredith called out, "Mommy" in her angelic tone, or tugged lightly at her leg, hoping to be cradled in her mother's arms. Meredith deserved a mother who wouldn't scream whenever she came within a five mile radius.
Thatcher lifted out his arms as Meredith struggled to maintain her stability, edging closer and closer to her father's adoring, open hug. She finally collapsed just as she reached him; his hands ran forward to catch her and lift her high into the crisp and slightly damp air that had formed after the latest rainfall.
"Thatcher," a bitter voice that he instantly recognised shouted from the porch, "What are you doing with Meredith?"
He turned to look at his wife, who had changed into a fresh teal sweater and pair of trousers, and was fumbling around, irately, in her brown purse, undoubtedly looking for her car keys. He sighed, already realising what was happening, but asked, in hope that for once it was not true, "What are you, I mean, um, where are you off to, at, um, this time of day?"
Her head popped up, a cold look sat upon her stern face, before she replied, "Thatcher, don't stutter. You know how it annoys me when you stutter like that. It makes you seem incompetent."
"I, uh, I am sorry Ellis," he stuttered, flinching at the realisation that he had just done so again. "So, where are you going?"
"I'm going to the hospital. They paged me 911."
"So yet another evening, you are rushing back to the place where you spend all day. You never see Meredith anymore. I doubt she even knows she has a mother at this point."
Ellis retorted, "They paged me 911, Thatcher. Stop acting like a woman. And stop coddling Meredith, she's not a puppy, you know?"
Thatcher sighed, still unable to understand her lack of compassion towards her own daughter. "Ellis, just go already. I can tell you're never going to understand how to be a decent mother, even though it occurs that being a good doctor requires a certain amount of compassion."
Ellis cackled slightly, moving over to the car door and pulling the metal frame outwards. "I'm not a good doctor though, Thatcher," she said, a hint of smugness in her voice, "I'm a great doctor."
Thatcher watched her cream sedan pull out of the drive that slid down the side of the house. She claimed a 911 page was the reason she had to go dashing off on a Sunday afternoon, which was the first day she had been able to get off in a month, but in his mind he knew it had something to do with Richard Webber – the man Ellis worked with predominantly at Seattle Grace Hospital. He had heard too many stories about how they worked impeccably together; their techniques supposedly complimented the others, whatever that meant.
He looked down at Meredith with a look of pity on his face, aware that she was oblivious to the abandonment she was suffering at the hands of her mother. She looked up into his grey, aching eyes and reached out her fingers to his nose, which she cheerfully pinched. Thatcher wished that he could take her away from this, the life she would have to live, and it took all his strength to lay his daughter back down on the ground to resist running away with her and never turning back.
At that moment, a moving van tumbled down the suburban lane; a big red sign on the sign labelled "Smooth Move" came into view. Thatcher turned to see what the blaring vehicle was doing, curious as any suburban stay at home parent would be – that was what his life had turned out to be – and saw it halt to a stop outside the house opposite to the Grey's.
Out of the van stepped a caring looking woman, with whom Thatcher presumed to be her husband in tow. He waved over to his new neighbours as they cast a glance in his direction, although he was sure they knew he was more concerned with being nosy than neighbourly. They hesitated momentarily and flashed huge smiles back, before calling back into the van.
Then, as if clowns were emerging from a small car, out came three young girls, around the ages of six, eight and ten, with the oldest holding a new born babe in her small arms. A young boy was the last out, younger than the girls, easily, but at least four years old. He seemed discontent for some reason; Thatcher thought it might have something to do with the move but the annoyance in the boy's eyes suggested something else.
The new neighbours didn't procrastinate long before crossing the road to meet the inquisitive stranger they had just moved across from, and from the noise the huge family of seven made, Meredith crawled by the side of her father to try to see what he was startled by. Her father saw her pushing through the long grass that was long overdue for being mown, and picked her up gently in his arms resting her head against his shoulder. By this time, the mother of the family had arrived, the rest of her clan not far behind, and held out a hand.
"Good afternoon, neighbour," she said cheerfully, looking into Meredith's eyes and cooing at the one year old.
Thatcher tried to juggle his daughter around to release his arm in order to reciprocate her handshake but failed, and laughed awkwardly to himself, "I'm sorry, I, uh, kind of have my hands full."
The woman nodded understandingly, before introducing herself, "I'm Carolyn Shepherd, and this is my husband Christopher," she gestured to the grown man to her right, who was trying, with no avail, to settle his children down. "These are my lovely children, Nancy, Kate, Lizzie, Amelia and – oh where have you gone – Derek."
The young boy was sitting on the sidewalk, looking defeated, only looking up to give a meagre, "Hi," then continuing to stare at the gravel road, while his mother tried to ignore the concern growing on Thatcher's face.
Thatcher looked away from the boy, introducing his own toddler to his new acquaintances, "My name is Thatcher. Thatcher Grey. And this is my daughter Meredith. I, I'm afraid her mother isn't here at the moment, but for future reference, her name is Ellis."
"Ellis Grey?" Carolyn asked, engrossed by the mention of her name, "As in the Ellis Grey?"
Thatcher laughed, guessing she had heard of his infamous wife. He was used to these kinds of comments referring to Ellis; almost every doctor alive or anyone remotely interested in medicine had heard of the revolutionary Ellis Grey. He, of course, had little understanding towards the fascination with Ellis; she had complained many times that his ignorance, although possibly bliss for him, was degrading to her status as the most admired female surgeon in the game. Meredith was supposed to be a game changer – with hope, Ellis would've taken to being a mother and relaxed on her hospital duties – but with no luck. He found himself leaving an almost uncomfortable silence between his new neighbours while dozing off in deep thought, before snapping out, "Oh, I'm sorry. Uh, yes, the Ellis Grey. That's the one."
Christopher Shepherd nodded politely, ignoring Thatcher's unease at the mention of his wife's name. "This really is a wonderful little cul-de-sac we have moved into. I hear that there is a wonderful view of the city from up there," he said, pointing to a far-away hill that Thatcher had not even realised existed, "My boy and I are sure to have fun hiking up there." He pointed to his one and only son, Derek, who had not moved from his position except perhaps to move further away from his family a few inches.
Thatcher looked at the miserable boy with concern in his eyes, asking Carolyn and Christopher delicately, "Um, is he, I mean I don't mean to intrude, but is he okay?"
Carolyn rolled her eyes, glancing over to her son, who may or may not have been blissfully unaware of his moodiness being asked about by the man who would live opposite him. "He's having a hard time since the move. You see, his best friend, Mark, practically lived with us since his own home seemed so unwelcoming. His parents would go on vacations for days on end, all the while leaving a five year old boy to make do by himself. It was a real pity. He's such a nice boy and all," she sighed, the eyes looking up into the cloudy sky that promised even more rain, "It's just, we had to move. There was no choice about it. But, Christopher and myself not being legal guardians of Mark – even though we damn well should be – meant that we couldn't drag him halfway across the country with us. It's not like his parents would have noticed or even bothered, but we're good folk; we do try to stay within the law."
Thatcher nodded sympathetically, thinking about how being taken away from your best friend could turn your whole life upside down. Meredith was wriggling persistently in his arms, wanting to be put down so she could crawl without assistance, and Thatcher willingly complied, all the while keeping a steady eye on her as she climbed through the long strands of grass, which caused the sweet dew to stick onto her checked pinafore.
She made a beeline for the sad looking boy sitting on the edge of the road, interested in grabbing his black, thick, curly locks with her stubby fingers, as she had longed to do with her mother's own hair several times. Unlike her attempts with her mother, she was unsure whether he would turn her away, and shout at her father for letting her run amuck. Her bare knees collided with the cool pavement on every crawl, and it sent a tingling feeling up to her brain, causing her to shake her mini curls around with a spasm of her neck.
Derek was unaware of her presence beside him, as she stared into his deep blue eyes, fascinated as any one year old could be. Without warning, she climbed onto his lap, resting her large, diaper clad bottom on his knee. He looked at her with inquisitiveness, unsure about why she had clambered onto his lap since he didn't even know her name, although he let her stay put.
Her tiny lips puckered as she tried in vain to get the words out of her mouth, yet without any knowledge of how to be articulate, she just whispered, "Hi."