A/N: Thank you so much, for all the great response to this story and for putting up with Christmas tree shopping in July. This chapter is long, but I trimmed as much as I could and really felt I needed everything. I hope you'll enjoy!
Decorations
What's even more shocking, what causes Addison to widen her eyes even after all she's seen in this new world, comes when the door opens wider – more specifically, when she sees whose hand her mother is holding with unmistakable affection and possessiveness.
Addison stares. "…Mrs. Walcott?"
The older woman raises an nicely arched eyebrow, looking somewhat confused. "Well, that's a bit formal, but … it's nice to see you too, Addie."
"You know Addison and her little jokes," Bizzy intercedes coolly.
Addison is too busy staring to defend herself. Mrs. Walcott? She was a society wife of Addison's childhood, like Bizzy herself, but Addison hasn't seen her in years. No, not years … decades. She must have been thirty years younger the last time Addison saw her, but she seems to have aged with the same grace as Bizzy, her shining blonde hair neatly styled, her country-casual-chic garments perfectly fitted with flattering, classic tailoring.
Mrs. Walcott. Addison tries to summon what she knows about her. All she can recall is that she served on all the same boards as Bizzy and her daughter, Pippa, was Addison's classmate starting from their first day of kindergarten at Shelton Girls' Preparatory.
She and Pippa weren't friends, exactly, but their private school, like the country club, like the circles in which their families moved, was small. From the beginning, Pippa was one of the pretty girls, with perfect long blonde hair that never needed an iron to hang down silky straight, and naturally even teeth that would clearly never need braces, and normal-length legs that didn't require specially-ordered uniform skirts. But she was surprisingly nice, too, nice when she didn't need to be. Addison remembers Pippa was one of the few girls who'd choose her when she was field hockey captain instead of leaving her standing alone against the stone wall of the chapel pretending she was finishing her homework. She was a little disappointed when Pippa moved away so quickly in fifth grade. Addison didn't even know; one day she was there, then the next she was gone. To Chicago. Or … was it Dallas? People whispered for a few days and then Hollis Whitney was the first to get her period and interest shifted with lightning speed.
Pippa Walcott. Addison hasn't thought about her in years; their circles never crossed again. But what is nice, blonde, moved-away-without-warning Pippa's mother doing here in Connecticut … holding hands with Addison's mother?
There's no time to ponder, not with two eager little children.
"Grandma!" Ellie yells with delight and then Addison is even more shocked. The woman who wouldn't let her own children call her mother is Grandma?
But Ellie jumps into the waiting arms of not Bizzy, but Mrs. Walcott, who scoops her up and kisses her. "Oh, look at those pink cheeks, darling, it must have been cold at the farm!"
Addison just blinks, trying to make sense of this world.
Mrs. Walcott has set Ellie down and is showering affection on Nicky now; the children clearly know and adore her and …
…and Addison is, as she has been more or less unceasingly since she pushed open the door to this world last night, very confused.
Bizzy, though. Bizzy is still Bizzy, at least somewhat. Addison watches as her mother extends a hand to pat Ellie's head with what looks like borderline affection, or at least not disgust, but then Bizzy frowns.
"Ellie, dear … why is there a rodent on your head?"
Addison winces, but Ellie seems to find this hysterically funny. Between giggles she manages to get out an explanation: "It's a bunny, Bizzy! You're silly!"
Addison can't help inhaling sharply; surely this is the first time in Beatrice Forbes Montgomery's life someone has called her silly.
"A 'bunny,'" Bizzy repeats as if it's a new word to her. "Thank you for clearing that up. Why are you wearing a bunny on your head, then?"
"My bunny keeps my ears warm," Ellie says happily, "so they don't get cold. You wanna try?" She pulls the hat off and holds it out to Bizzy, beaming.
"That won't be necessary, dear, I believe you," Bizzy says hastily.
Addison is relieved – if somewhat surprised – to see that Ellie seems utterly undisturbed by Bizzy's critiques. The little girl is fondling the wool bunny-hat lovingly and smiling up at her grandmother – grandmothers? – without the slightest trace of hurt.
"Nicholas," Bizzy says in apparent greeting, but before she can comment further Nicky pulls off his own hat.
"Mine's a bear, see, Bizzy? Rrraaaawwr!" And he growls loudly enough that Ellie jumps, then starts giggling again. Nicky does it again, holding up his little brown knitted hat as if it's the bear whose roar is echoing through the front hall.
Addison waits for her mother to scold him, but she actually looks almost – amused?
"My, how … lifelike." Bizzy glances at Addison and Derek. "Roaring millinery. The world has certainly changed since I raised my children."
This isn't the world! It's …
But she doesn't know what it is, so she just smiles weakly as Bizzy stands between a giggling Ellie and a roaring Nick and says, mildly, "it seems the farm wasn't sufficient for burning off energy after all."
"Bizzy," Mrs. Walcott – Grandma – whatever her name is – reproves gently, smiling down at the children. "They're excited. As well they should be, because it's almost Christmas, isn't it, children?"
Nick and Ellie both cheer at this reminder, waving their animal-face hats pennant-style.
"Now. Come with Grandma," Mrs. Walcott says, "and we'll burn off of that wonderful energy preparing the table."
"I want to do the napkins!" Nicky turns and thrusts his hat at Addison, and Ellie follows in his footsteps. Addison barely has time to divest them of their little coats before they're chasing Mrs. Walcott down the hall, laughing merrily.
"She does spoil them," Bizzy sighs, but at least there's no malice in her tone. She holds out her hands and Addison, hoping she's not missing an alternate-universe signal, hands over the two navy dress coats and two animal hats.
"You've been known to send some pretty exorbitant gifts yourself, Bizzy," Derek comments mildly.
"Mm. And you'll even make the children wear them, if only for the walk from the car."
Addison presses her lips together. So this Bizzy, like the real one, apparently can see everything.
"We didn't want to get sap on that beautiful fabric," Derek explains smoothly. "They're still a little young and messy for such … fancy things."
"Are they? Addison always kept her things nicely as a child," Bizzy reminisces.
Addison decides now isn't the time to tell her mother it was because of how much she feared reprisal if she didn't. The one time the Captain actually did take her for ice cream, instead of just using it as a cover for one of his many dalliances, she refused the cone she desperately wanted because she was afraid the sticky sweet would drip onto her dress. She wasn't much older than Nicky that day, but she remembers feeling certain that the mess would be at least as bad as letting her mother know what her father was really doing.
"Addie?" Derek touches her arm lightly and she refocuses.
"Sorry," she says quickly. He's looking at her with concern and she reminds herself to straighten up before the loving, attentive Derek of this universe decides she's showing signs of a stroke or something. All she needs is an MRI that will reveal how bizarre her life has actually become.
Bizzy is studying her carefully and Addison has to refrain from asking the question that's threatening to burst from her lips:
Excuse me, are you my spirit guide?
Yeah, there's just no way to make that doozy of a question polite enough for Bizzy. She has to content herself with meeting her mother's eyes and searching for signs herself.
"Addison, dear," Bizzy says abruptly, "would you come help me in the kitchen?"
Bizzy, in the kitchen? Oh god, her mother cooks in this universe too? Between Derek, Addison's apparent but unseen skills, and now Bizzy, Addison wouldn't be surprised if it turned out her children catered weddings on the side. She tosses a desperate glance at Derek – all she needs is to be thrown into the kitchen with a Bizzy who expects her to know how to handle puff pastry – and he closes his hand around her upper arm, his touch reassuring.
"Actually, I need to borrow her first," Derek says apologetically to Bizzy, "do you mind?"
His request is perfectly polite. Sincere. Or it sounds that way, and Addison knows Bizzy can't exactly refuse.
"Of course, dear. Join me when you can."
She lifts an eyebrow in Addison's direction.
Spirit guide, that was totally a spirit guide move!
…maybe. It's not like she has a lot of experience in the area.
Meanwhile, Derek is steering her toward a large, open living room with overstuffed furniture, built in bookshelves, and a twelve-foot tree.
Bizzy's trees were famous among her circle, and this one is no –
Wait, this one is a definite exception. This is one of the strangest things she's seen yet.
"It's decorated," she says with shock. What she means is that there are actual … ornaments on it, not just perfectly symmetrical white and silver balls of glass interspersed with intricate antique figurines that got small hands slapped if they tried to touch their delicate surfaces.
Derek looks confused. "Of course it is, Addie … we were all here a few weeks ago decorating."
"I know that," she says hastily, hoping he can't see her blushing, "I just meant, uh,that it looks great."
"Are you sure you're all right?"
He lifts his palm to cup her cheek and she can't help turning her face into it a little. Screw the guilt that he thinks he's comforting his real wife, not her doppelganger, because it feels good. It feels … real.
"I'm fine, honey." She smiles as reassuringly as she can. "Really. I'm just a little tired."
"Understandably." He drops his hand to her shoulder, starting a comforting massage. God, his hands are incredible … in every universe, apparently. It's taking every effort not to purr like a kitten.
"Is your mother getting to you?"
She's not sure how to answer his gentle question. Not as this Addison, anyway. Her mother does nothing but get to Addison; her whole life, the colder Bizzy's regard for her, the more desperately Addison tried. No wonder she was so …
Oh. And then it clicks. No wonder she was so screwed up.
If this Bizzy is different – if this Bizzy is better – then maybe that's why this Addison is better too.
"Addie?"
"I was just thinking of something," she says quickly.
"What?"
She realizes too late what a terrible excuse that was. She's too used to being ignored; of course this Derek would follow up. And she has no idea what to say. No idea what to do … except what used to work on her Derek.
"This," she says simply, and she closes the space between them and captures his lips with hers.
He kisses her back, his free hand coming to rest on her hip and pulling her closer while her own hands slide into his hair.
Then he pulls back for a moment. "You're trying to distract me," he says knowingly, his voice husky, "and don't think I don't know your tricks."
His tone is going straight to her belly and igniting heat further south.
I'm turned on by a made-up version of my ex-husband in my mother's weird lesbian farmhouse. What the hell is wrong with me?
Whatever's wrong with her compels her to lower her eyes and let lust take over as she murmurs her response. "I have tricks you've never seen."
It works, based on how he yanks her back against his body, and then he's kissing her with more passion than she's felt in far too long to count, and they're entwined in front of the tree, it smells like fir and Christmas and she's-
"What are you doing?"
Addison jumps away from Derek, startled and guilty, sliding the back of her hand across her mouth. Nicky is standing in the open doorway, watching his parents with interest.
Oh my god, less than twenty-four hours in this universe and I've already corrupted a child.
Derek seems perfectly calm; she gives him a shaky smile, hoping he'll handle this.
"We're just talking, Nickles." Derek smiles reassuringly at the little boy.
"And hugging."
"And hugging," Derek agrees, his arm firm around Addison's waist. "Mommy and Daddy like to hug sometimes. Were you looking for us, buddy? What happened to setting the table?"
"I was helping," Nicky says with enough defensiveness that Addison assumes there's a story there. "But Bizzy said she needs to talk to Mommy and I should go find her."
"Oh."
Nick turns to his mother. "Bizzy needs you, Mommy," he repeats.
"Oh, but I need you too," Derek whispers into her hair so only she can hear him, and she feels a hot flush in her cheeks.
"Thank you, Nicky," she says quickly, "can you, um, can you tell Bizzy I'll be there in a minute?"
"Okay." The little boy ambles out of the room, tousled dark curls bouncing with his steps, and Addison turns to Derek, laughing with embarrassment and relief.
"Sorry," she says, wincing.
"You have nothing to be sorry about," he assures her, and then he pulls her close again.
She rests both hands against his chest, half caress and half boundary. "Derek. We're in my mother's house."
"So?" He waggles his eyebrows. "Is this reminding you of high school?"
"What? No. Definitely not." Did this Addison live here in high school? But that doesn't make any sense …
"Good." He grins and then she feels the warm pressure of his lips against the side of her neck – this Derek knows exactly where she's the most sensitive, and this is wrong, it's so wrong, but –
"Wait, stop," she says quickly, pushing him back.
"Now that reminds me of high school," he responds mournfully and she can't help smiling.
"I should … I mean, Bizzy needs me," she explains.
"Addie." He holds onto her when she tries to pull away. "You know you don't have to jump when Bizzy calls."
Right, I have to say 'how high?' first.
"I don't?"
Derek looks worried again. He releases her only to put both hands on her shoulders and wait for her to meet his gaze. "She's really getting to you today, huh."
"No, I just …" Her voice trails off.
"We can leave, Addie, we can go any time. We don't have to stay."
"We don't?"
"Of course not. Not if she's getting to you. You know that."
You don't ever have to stay here, Addison, I promise, not if she's upsetting you. That's what he said to her once. They were young and he was protective. Protective and so sweet.
"You don't ever have to stay here, Addison, I promise, not if she's upsetting you."
She blinks. "That's what you – what you said before."
His brow furrows.
"I mean – you just – "
So you and my Derek were alike, once. Before you … diverged.
She smiles gratefully, trying to explain herself. "I mean ... I appreciate it, Derek. I really do. But it's okay. I'm just tired, like I said. And-" She takes a chance. "Now I'm a little … frustrated, too."
He smiles back, lifting an eyebrow.
"I'm going to go see what Bizzy wants, okay? I'm sure it's fine."
He nods, and leaves a brief kiss on her lips before he releases her shoulders.
"Wait, Addison-"
She turns around when he calls her name.
"Frustration is bad for blood pressure, you know."
She props a hand on her hip, amused. "Oh, really?"
"Really," he says, his tone serious. "So let's make sure we … take care of that tonight, okay?"
Oh god, now what have I done?
She braces herself. It's fine. She'll figure out a way out of it later.
Not that she doesn't want it – she wants it a little too much more than she can admit without losing what's left of her dignity, in fact – but it's not right, it wouldn't be fair to Derek, and…
And has the same look of lust in his eyes that her Derek would get, their color actually changing, and she doesn't have the self-control for this.
"Okay," she chokes out quickly, then turns and walks as fast as she can into the …
… bathroom.
Right. She has no idea where the kitchen is. Or anything else in this house.
She uses the facilities, if only because she's fascinated by the hunk of red-and-pink soap in a little marble dish; there are actual rose petals inside it, when she looks closely, and it's about as far from Bizzy's style as you can get.
The marble dish, not so much.
In fact, the whole bathroom looks like a clash of two styles: hearty terrycloth towels with richly absorbent fibers instead of the dainty, don't-you-dare-touch ones she remembers from her youth, but the delicately carved pine ringing the wall mirror is pure Bizzy.
Bizzy, who is still looking for her. Right.
Drying her hands on the soft, anti-Bizzy towel, she hastens to pat down her hair before her mother can criticize its tendency to fly away, and then makes her way out the door right into –
"Bizzy!"
"Really, Addison," her mother says with dignity once Addison has stepped back off her feet and sputtered a hasty apology. "You're not a bull and I am certainly not a china shop."
"Sorry! I didn't see you, and I was just –" She narrows her eyes. "How did you know I was in there?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"You answered me with a question," Addison points out, "so that's not an answer, it's a question."
"Addison, dear," Bizzy says with clearly waning patience, "if you want to be Alice in Wonderland you'll need to find someone else to play the Mad Hatter. I need to get back to the kitchen. I thought you might be coming to help me."
"I was," she says hastily. "I was just-"
"Yes, Nicholas told me what you were just doing."
Is that a twinkle in Bizzy's eyes?
"Regardless of your … antics, dear, I'd appreciate it if you could join me in the kitchen."
"Sure." She's still blushing, cursing the fair skin that doesn't hide any emotion.
Bizzy won't give an inch. So that's the same in every universe.
She waits until they're both in a large, open farmhouse-style kitchen, with windows that must drink in the sun when it's not December, to take a chance.
"I was in the bathroom, Bizzy," she says tentatively, "because I was looking for the kitchen."
"Well, dear, all you had to do is ask."
"But I should know where the kitchen is," Addison says softly, "because I was just here a few weeks ago decorating the Christmas tree."
"Were you?" Bizzy's back is to her; Addison can't see her face.
"No, I wasn't," Addison whispers. "But you know that already, don't you? Bizzy … please …"
"Don't beg, dear, it's so unfortunate." Bizzy turns around and props a hand on her hip. "Now are you going to help me, or not?"
"I don't know. Are you going to help me?"
"Addison…"
"Bizzy," she says firmly, "I'm not carving duck or plating asparagus or whatever else you wanted me to do if you don't give me something here, for god's sake, this is completely insane, I have no clue-"
"Thea," Bizzy says unexpectedly, cutting her off.
"What?" Addison is a little breathless. She tucks her hair behind her ears. "Thea? What does that mean? Is that more code?"
"It's not code, it's her name."
"Her name. Whose name?"
Bizzy lifts an eyebrow.
"Mrs. Walcott," Addison fills in slowly, realizing what she means. "Thea. That's what she was expecting me to call her." It rings a bell. Althea Walcott, that was her name. She glances at her mother. "My children – I mean, the children – they call her Grandma."
"Yes."
"So she's been around them, I mean, um, for a while at least, and so I guess I'm wondering if that means, or what it means, because … "
"Addison, if you have a question, please speak up and stop mumbling."
"How long have you been a lesbian?"
"Well." Bizzy takes a moment to adjust her scarf, which doesn't need adjusting – it's perfect, as always. "Don't hold back, dear."
Addison doesn't say anything.
"Thea and I have been together … for more than thirty years," Bizzy says simply.
"Thirty – What? That's not possible." Addison shakes her head. "No, they – the Walcotts moved away, when I was ten or eleven. I assumed you just reconnected with her later."
Bizzy is looking at her, but she doesn't respond.
"Thirty years," Addison breathes. "What about the Captain? Who is he in all this?"
Bizzy's face softens. "He is my … friend. My very dear friend."
"But he's – but he's – "
"Yes, he's still your father," Bizzy says mildly. "You didn't get that … dramatic jawline from the Forbes side, dear."
Addison winces.
"He's your friend," Addison repeats. "But you're divorced."
"Yes."
"And you're with Mrs. – I mean with Thea." She pauses. "Are you married?"
"In Massachusetts."
It's too much. She's almost giddy with confusion. "Did you have a big gay wedding? And did you invite me?"
"Really, Addison." Bizzy looks like she's trying to be offended but her mouth is twitching with something like amusement. "We had a lovely gay wedding … and yes, we did invite you. Your manners were marginally better at the time," she adds, "or we might have reconsidered your invitation."
"Is Archer okay?" The words tear out of her suddenly with no preamble but Bizzy doesn't look surprised.
"Archer is fine."
"Is he … is he coming today?"
"Archer and his wife are living in London."
"His what?"
"His wife, Addison. For a married woman, you certainly seem to be finding it challenging to comprehend a very simple concept."
"I am finding it challenging," she says with dignity, "to comprehend that my mother married another woman from the garden club who disappeared from Connecticut in 1976 and I am finding it challenging to comprehend that my playboy brother married anyone. Wait." She pauses. "Is the Captain married too?"
"The Captain is … enjoying his youth," Bizzy says.
"He's seventy-two."
"Recapturing his youth, then," Bizzy corrects. She studies Addison's face for a moment. "He's not alone, dear, if that's what you mean."
"And neither are you," Addison says softly.
"And neither am I."
Before she can ask another question, a framed picture on the wooden butcher block catches her eye; she lifts it for a closer look. It's a simple group snapshot faded from the sun and already treated with the autumnal glow of photographs from the 1970s. But despite the damage of time the captured faces are clear.
There's Addison with the long hair she would stubbornly iron into submission, wearing a dress that would be a shirt today, and Archer, with the beginning of some impressive teenaged mutton chops, and Bizzy, looking … pretty much the same, just younger and smoother. Bizzy always transcended trends. They're clustered in a garden – not the intricately landscaped one on the Montgomery estate, but something wild and overgrown with fat tomatoes dangling from haphazard vines. She can almost smell the basil when she looks at it, mixed with honeysuckle into the heady scent of summertime.
They're not alone in the photograph. Next to Bizzy, arm around her shoulders, is a younger version of Thea, long hair parted in the middle like her daughter's. And the other teenager – that's Pippa, Thea's daughter, an older version of the girl Addison remembers with the same perfect straight blonde locks, smiling with her head tilted toward Addison's like they're sharing a secret.
All five of them are smiling, in fact.
"We … um, did we live together?" Addison sets the picture back down and glances at Bizzy.
Bizzy nods.
"I'm young there, I'm – " Addison stares at the frame in her white-knuckled hand, at the red-headed teenager in the wild green garden. "I'm fourteen or fifteen. We were all – we were a family?"
Bizzy nods again.
"I know you want to understand," her mother begins. "But there are things I need to-"
"No. I mean, yes, but first I have a question." Addison exhales carefully. "We look … happy. Were we? Were we happy, here?" She's pointing at the picture but she means something more than that even if she's not sure exactly what, even if the word we is ambiguous, but her mother seems to understand.
"Yes, Addison," Bizzy says quietly. "We were happy."
"Okay." Addison takes a deep, thick-throated breath. She won't cry, not when she has so much to learn. "Okay, now I'm ready. Tell me the rest."
To be continued. All of you who guessed it was Susan, it was a great guess and I hope you're not too disappointed. The reasons why it's not should become clear, but I know I teased you with a false cliff - or should I say, Addison really was shocked but she knows more people than we do. I'll explain more about my choices soon, but I hope you'll stick around for the ride. Thanks to birdieq, whose child characters crack me up and were in my head a bit when Nicky and Ellie were teasing Bizzy! As always, thank you for your support and being beautiful and awesome. Pretty please keep it up and review!
