never trust me when i tell you how long something is going to be. this story is officially now a three partner - but let's be real, it might end up as four, just to wrap things up in a bow. either way, it's gonna be longer, but not much longer.

i know this whole story is pretty different, the whole "original character narrating in first person" thing, but, because of that, please let me know what you think! even if you dislike it, this whole thing is really new to me, too, so i'd love feedback.

and kind of replying to my anon review — the way i see it, this is alternate ending canon. everything up to 2020 happened, but tracy doesn't die and b/r get that Meaningful Look over the monologue. that's as close as i can get to writing finale, lmao. truthfully everything about the ellie storyline offends me so much that even writing that is difficult.

Okay, where were we? I was telling you the story of the day you were fifteen days old. That's for real how I remember it, by the number of days you were. I should subtitle it or something.

The story of how your dad and I kind of got to be friends.

The story of the time I fell asleep in your dad's apartment for two days straight.

The story of how you and I stumbled into a completely different story.

The story of the wedding of your dad's best friends who I have never met but know everything about for some reason.

The story of how I saved your dad's butt.

Oh, but, I'm going to skip ahead a little bit here.

Not long after Ted and Tracy's wedding (seriously, I've never met these people, why do I know their names? I seriously need to talk to your father about his newsletters.), it was your dad's birthday. He was turning some number that was, depressingly for us both, almost double my own age at the time, and in one of his newsletters he mentioned he was having a party at his place. I don't think he intended on inviting me, and I didn't plan on going. But the day of was just after the end of my maternity leave. I was working from home and exhausted beyond words and you wouldn't settle down and I couldn't focus on my computer. I was totally at my wit's end.

All at once it dawned on me: your father and I were coparenting now! What father doesn't want his daughter at his birthday party? Exactly.

So I bundled you up in your little baby Burberry jacket your dad got you and put you in your stroller, and before you could say Momma you are so smart we were on the E train. It was nice to be out of my apartment for once, and I remember it was a pretty nice day. You were sleeping by the time we got to your dad's neighborhood: I stopped outside of your dad's building to check your coat and make sure you were looking super cute for the party.

That was when Robin Scherbatsky said hello.

Actually, she didn't say hello. She kind of said "Oh my god, that's her, isn't it?" and sounded horrified and scared and upset and a ton of other negative emotions all in the same breath, and I was kind of like wow that's a horrible thing to say to my baby, random stranger lady, except that it was Robin Scherbatsky and I recognized her.

I had never met her before, obviously. Sure, I'd seen her on the news; she was pretty famous back then, plus she was really pretty so her picture was literally all over the city. In person, she was even prettier. Tall, shiny dark hair, perfect makeup, slender figure, cheekbones to kill for — and then there was me, wearing a puffy vest and sweats and a messy pony tail, with all on my baby weight, just, everywhere. I'd been living off of donuts and fast food since I'd had you and I hadn't yet gotten to the point that I felt self conscious about it… until right then, standing next to a freaking gorgeous celebrity. That was the moment I felt self conscious about it.

Also, I'd just found out like two weeks ago that she was your father's ex. That was weird too.

But Robin Scherbatsky wasn't looking at me — all of her attention was on you, her eyes wide and alarmed and her face pale. She kind of looked like she might throw up.

I probably should have said something like what are you talking about and who are you, stop staring at my baby, but I knew who she was and she knew who you were so the situation was already too awkward for pretending it was anything else. So instead I said, "uh, yeah, probably. I mean, not to presume! But yeah, that's my kid. Ellie. I'm taking her to see her dad." I remember distinctly not wanting to use your father's name. Even though I knew she knew and she knew you. The pronouns were even more confusing ten years ago, trust me.

Robin Scherbatsky (sorry, it's hard to not use her full name) looked up at me for the first time. I don't really considered your father my ex, since we just went on one, um, date, but I definitely felt that meeting my ex's other ex feeling just then. It was awful. "Oh god," said Robin Scherbatsky. "I'm sorry. I'm being super creepy right now."

Yeah, a little bit, I thought. "Um, noooo," I said, like if I added enough extra letters to it it'd be super convincing.

"I'm Robin," said Robin Scherbatsky. "You must be, um." I suddenly realized in that moment of complete blankness that even though she knew you by sight and name, she had no idea who I was. Your douchebag father had never bothered to tell anyone my name. I made a mental note to go upstairs and kill him.

"Jennifer," I said. "Jenny."

"Jenny," she repeated. I'm not proud of this, but I totally had a moment of oh my god a local celebrity called me by my nickname like we're pals! I kind of smiled because I had no idea what else to do. Robin Scherbatsky looked like she was terrified of me. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just standing out here and… Barney, I mean, Lily, my best friend Lily, she was posting all these pictures on Facebook of him and Ellie, and she was wearing that coat, and I just, you know, happened to see it…"

Even at the time I thought she was over-explaining a little.

Now, now that I know more about her and your father and that whole soap opera, I think I can understand her a little better. She'd been trying to avoid all reminders of your father after the divorce: not in the way I try to avoid my ex because I hate him, but because it hurt her, seeing him living it up, being happy, meeting idiots like me in bars. She'd been alone and miserable and seeing him happy had only made it worse. She'd tried to tell herself she was happy for him, that it was good, that it was proof she'd made the right decision, cutting him loose instead of forcing him to stay with her, fight for her when she didn't believe he wanted it: she'd told herself she'd made a good choice, a selfless choice, sad pop song lyrics 101: set the one you love free. Only through true selflessness can you be happy.

But it hadn't worked out that way. Truthfully, I'm not sure it ever does. Maybe she'd imagined him pining or begging for her back, taken some comfort in that sharp sadness, that 'look at the falling rain while listening to Adele' emotion. Maybe she'd thought she'd be happy alone, without him complaining and being a douche and saying thoughtless things. Maybe she was, and maybe she vengefully hoped he wouldn't be. I don't know. But I do know it changed. By the time you were born, it had been four years since your father and Robin Scherbatsky had divorced: four years of catching glimpses of him in Facebook updates by their mutual friends, hearing about your father's book deal and conquests and yours truly, and you. Four years of seeing him happy in all the ways she hadn't made him, four years of hearing stories and missing him. They were best friends, Robin Scherbatsky and your father, before they got married, and she'd lost that, too.

Instead of being happy he was happy, she missed him and wanted to be part of that life, those stories. I'm not sure it was love, that she was in love with him for all that time. She might have seen other men, had other relationships. I don't know. But I do know instead of hating him for being happy, resenting him for moving on, she missed him and wished she was part of it. And that says something, I guess. I don't know how much contact they had, those four years: I did find out at some point they'd agreed to be friends, but I also remember what she said when we met. She intimidated the heck out of me, all tall and statuesque and put-together, but then I'd picture her sitting on her computer in some room somewhere, clicking on her friend's pictures of your father and you, and I'd feel really sad about it.

I didn't buy it at all, that she just happened to see it. No, I think she went out of her way, pretending she didn't care, studying your little face for what looked like your father and what looked like someone else, telling herself she was happy for him and maybe imagining what your half brother or sister would have looked like.

When you were a toddler, Robin Scherbatsky was on the cover of Marie Claire, wearing a stripy top and looking way better than anyone has a right to. Feeling like a total creep I bought a copy. The headline was something like Robin Scherbatsky, amazing celebrity and hot lady, speaks out about life & and love & and infertility, like it's the sort of casual thing you throw in next to world travel and inspiring romances; I don't know, maybe it is. I remember she got a bunch of praise on Buzzfeed and the internet for it, what a role model to women, speaking out and not having kids and not being less of a badass for it! I mean, she probably is. Totally is. But I also remember standing there reading the article. There was a line about me and you. A daughter from another relationship, that's what it said, and my whole body went kind of numb because I knew it was you and I was the other relationship. The article made it sound like me and you were the side story, that we only existed in passing, that the real story was Robin Scherbatsky's incredble! bravery! and how she overcame her ex-husband's raging douchery and Child From Other Relationship. I mean, we're all main characters in our own lives, right?

I do know it was an article in a magazine, that some journalist wrote it and spun it into a positive role model shine. But even so, I think that to her, you are something she had to overcome. Someone she looked at on her computer on Facebook, someone whose face she studied and memorized, whose clothes she remembered, whose existence was proof that cutting your father out of her life wasn't something she could just wave her hands and erase, take away.

I mean, look. She's a human. She's always been really sweet to you, and honestly it can't have been easy for her, and maybe it even still isn't. It's not like she's like Dave, legally obligated to love you if he doesn't want me leaving his sorry butt, and I think she actually does like you anyway. Wait, let me rephrase that. She really likes you, for real, as a person, now that you're out of diapers.

And, just, uh, don't tell your father I just said all that, okay?

(Besides, I like you more out of diapers, too.)

Anyway, so, there Robin Scherbatsky and I were, eyeing you in your stroller, her word vomiting out some lame excuse for how she knew exactly who you were on sight.

"Cool!" I said. I get kind of chipper when I have no idea what is happening. "Hey, are you going to the party too?" Internally I was debating if it would be kind of weird or super weird if we showed up together.

"Oh, um," she said. She bit her lip. "I was just up there."

I'll spare you the mystery. A few minutes later, I went upstairs and dropped you off. Your father was thrilled to see you and didn't even notice I was just pawning you off on him to get some rest — that's because we both love you more than anything, sweetie! — and I didn't really stick around but I did wish him a happy birthday and chatted for a minute. Your father was practically bouncing off the walls — a party, just for him! Woo! — and I thought it was maybe a little weird he was so happy, since his ex wife he had been freaking out about not two weeks ago (I'll get back to that part of the story, in a minute, I promise) had just been there and left.

A tiny red-haired women I now know is your Aunt Lily came over and said hi. Actually, she said, "you must be Ellie's mom!" in this really, reaaaallly cheerful voice. Your father hadn't told her my name, either. I really hate your father sometimes.

"Jennifer Marie Renard," I said with kind of grit teeth and cheerful overcompensation. "I'm twenty-two and an Aquarius. I'm a medical transcriptionist!"

Lily looked embarrassed, which was gratifying.

We talked for a little while after that and I mentioned as casually as I could that I'd run into Robin Scherbatsky downstairs. I'll be honest, I was fishing for gossip, I wanted to hear your father had had a big, dramatic confrontation and his current chipperness was overcompensation or something as he tried to hide his pain and broken heart. I love that stuff. Love it.

Instead, Lily just looked shocked. Totally at a loss, her whole expression open. "Robin?" Her voice dropped all low and secretive. "She's here?"

"I talked to her downstairs," I said.

"She said she couldn't come, I tried to convince her Barney would want her here but she insisted…" I don't think Lily was really talking to me as much as she was so overwhelmed by the news her thoughts were coming out as words: she turned away from me after that and rushed off to talk to two men by the punch table.

I was left standing alone and feeling kind of excluded. I also was totally aware that local celebrity Robin Scherbatsky had looked me and my baby in the eye and lied to our faces.

So no, she did not go to the party. But she was invited. But your father and their friends wanted her to.

Robin Scherbatsky is many things. A great reporter, super pretty, fond of big statement necklaces, Canadian.

She's also, possibly, kind of a coward.

Anyway. Fifteen minutes in the past, talking to Miss Scaredycat on the sidewalk outside. "Yeah, I'm just gonna drop Ellie off," I was saying, all cheerful and mid-celebrity encounter and oblivious to Robin Scherbatsky's lying ways. I was actually relieved we wouldn't be riding the elevator up together. "She only fell asleep on the train, hopefully she'll stay out for a while." Robin Scherbatsky was staring at you again. "I seriously underestimated how little sleep I would be getting after she was born," I rambled on. "I think I've reached this like, zen point of tiredness where I have surpassed my exhaustion and reached a new state of consciousness."

"She's beautiful," she said, clearly not listening to me at all. I shrugged modestly and beamed pretty wide. "Is Ellie a nickname?" she played with her hair. "On Facebook, everyone only tags her 'Ellie,' so I wasn't sure." I pictured her again, sitting there, too afraid or nervous to ask, looking at all your photos and trying to fill in the blanks.

"Her name's Elle. Elle Rose Renard."

She looked at you. Truthfully, I don't think she'd looked at anyone else the whole conversation. "That's a pretty name."

"Right?" I said, straightening up my shoulders and feeling better about my messy ponytail and yoga pants. This just in: local celebrity thinks I have good taste in names!

She kept looking at you, pensive, wondering what might have been, maybe, or trying to like you, or trying to hate you, or wishing you'd never been born. I don't know. I was trying to imagine it. A huge part of me wanted to ask her if she and your father's talk at the wedding had gone well, or even happened. I was assuming it had, because I hadn't gone upstairs and found out she hadn't gone to the party yet.

Then all at once she smiled, just a little, kind of shy looking. "She has his forehead," she said, tapping hers with one perfectly manicured finger.

I sighed. "I know, it sucks." She actually laughed at that, low and quiet, and I beamed and felt super funny and cool.

It doesn't suck, sweetie. Besides, with your bangs, you barely can even tell.

Robin Scherbatsky was smiling at you, just a little, hesitantly, and I kind of liked it, the look on her face, the mere fact of people appreciating how adorable you were. (and still are!)

"She has his eyes, too," I said. "Not really the shape, but the color." I thought that was kind of nice — everyone in my family, myself included, has brown eyes. You won the genetic lottery, kiddo.

"He really loves her," she said and I don't think I'm projecting when I say she sounded wistful.

I didn't really know how to reply, though. Yes seemed a little insensitive, maybe. This wasn't magazine covergirl, speaks out about her infertility and life adventures Robin Scherbatsky. This was clutching her elbows outside because she was too scared to go to a party she was invited to Robin Scherbatsky, trying to convince herself she's not lonely and doesn't miss your father at all.

"He's really starting to step up," I said, which was maybe a little too personal but this whole conversation was a little too personal, when you get down to it.

She looked up at me. Not judgey, which was great because I would have lost, but maybe a little confused. "Really?" Fair point, I thought. Who'd assume that ass would ever step up? But then she said, "I thought — as soon as I heard, I was all, well, I figured… he's always secretly wanted … to be a dad."

"Really?" I asked, because that was totally news to me. "Are you sure?"

This was maybe a step too personal — debating your father's secret desires with his ex-wife. Robin Scherbatsky seemed to think so. Her face closed down, she looked down, she scratched at her eyebrow. "Hey, I bet she's getting cold," she said. "I'll let you guys get up to the party. It was nice meeting you. The two of you."

"Yeah, nice to meet you too!" I said, kind of confused and kind of relieved it was over. "I'm actually a big fan of yours," I said like a cheerful moron, hey local celebrity, let's be pals!

Robin Scherbatsky looked surprised and smiled and looked kind of queasy as she said thanks and headed off towards the subway.

It occurred to me maybe two seconds later that she could not say the same thing about me.