Chapter 40. Somehow We're Never Quite Prepared
October segues into a blustery November, at which point organizing and decorating their home shifts into overdrive to ensure everything is done before the holidays and before their baby comes into the world. As promised, they tackle Kate's bedroom first. Their daughter doesn't necessarily know exactly what she wants for her room, but she has very strong opinions about what she does not want, which leads to a lot of power struggles, online shopping, paint swatch collecting, and parental headaches. They eventually go with teal walls with dark purple trim, two-tone curtains in similar shades, wall decor with no obvious theme, an obnoxiously large beanbag chair, and a dome-shaped canopy tent in the corner to serve as a reading nook for Kate. They fill the tent with throw pillows, including a squishy taco one that Kate asks for very nicely. Addison initially went into the process thinking her daughter would go for more of a Frozen or mermaid-themed type room, but Kate throws her for a loop and ends up selecting unicorn bedding. Ultimately, the theme for Kate's room is just:this is a lot.
Kate's vision for Sprout's room is fairly nonspecific: "an ocean." Shortly thereafter, she pretty much loses interest, which is a blessing since it leaves Addison to place orders with fewer opinions and a lot less whining. They are able to reuse Kate's old changing table and crib, and purchase prints of various sea animals and ocean-ish things to hang on the walls. They leave one wall white and decorate it with wave decals, and the process of positioning each decal on a specific spot leads to one of the worst bickering matches between Mark and Addison to date (the make-up sex is pretty great though). The other three walls are painted a sky blue, which Addison is initially skeptical about because it just feels like such a predictable choice for the room of a baby boy, but she ends up being happy with the end result. The color goes well with everything else, is soothing, and the paint color itself didn't come with an annoying or misleading name.
Things became less predictable when Kate checks back in for a second and says they should paint the entire door green to "look like seaweed." They settle for painting the trim a color that instantly reminds them, rather fittingly, of sprouts.
"Hey," Mark says as he comes into the kitchen. Addison is about halfway through getting Kate's lunch packed for school tomorrow. "I took care of the outlet plug covers in Sprout's room, so I think that's it for the night…unless there's another issue with the wall decals?"
"That's a pretty surly tone for someone who got a blowjob out of that whole debacle."
"True," Mark laughs. "You need any help with lunch?"
"I'm almost done, but if you could fill her water bottle and throw some pretzels in a baggie that would be great. Look at this…" Addison gestures to her latest food art creation (lest she sound like Super Mom, she only manages this creative feat once a week, if that). "I used cookie cutters to make slices of block cheese look like flowers, and then I stuck carrot sticks through the bottom to look like stems. And the halved cucumbers are supposed to be leaves."
"Adorable. But you know she's just gonna eat the cheese and trash the veggies, right?"
"Which is exactly why she's going to get another helping of vegetables for dinner tomorrow," Addison says. "So, Friday night…"
"Oh, yeah. That black-tie benefit-gala-fundraiser hospital thing. Do we have to go to that?"
"That's definitely exactly what it's called. And yeah, since the entire board will be there and it was mentioned weeks ago at a staff meeting…we probably need to make an appearance. I spoke to Lauren though and she's available to watch Kate that evening. Our darling daughter, who overheard me talking on the phone with Savvy about how I don't have any maternity formal wear, so I'll need to get something…and Kate got it into her head that it's a costume party. She said I should dress up as BB-8 because my body is a 'big, round circle now just like BB-8's,'" Addison rolls her eyes. "That was a fun thing to hear at twenty-eight weeks. Kate is going to be in for a real shock when I keep getting bigger and bigger."
"Addison…" Mark says sympathetically. His wife looks more amused than upset about the comment, but he still feels the need to do some preemptive damage control. "You know that I think -"
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm okay. Although I have to say…I'm a bit surprised. I was expecting you to make a Baby-8 joke."
Mark's expression turns sheepish. "Already there, but I thought saying that might hurt your feelings, so I was just gonna text Sav later to ask her to give me some kudos for not saying it out loud."
Mark glances at his watch as he steps through the front door, grateful to be running ahead of schedule. Addison left work about an hour before him in order to start getting ready for the gala (he is still unclear on what this thing is called, and what they're even raising money for…his guess is something charity-ish ahead of Thanksgiving). Mark smiles when he hears light chattering from his daughter and Lauren in the kitchen. (His is a genuine smile, but perhaps not as big as the smile he had earlier in the week when Addison told him Kate was going to sleep over at Lauren's house on Friday, rather than just being put to bed here…which implies a lot of things.)
"It isn't Halloween costumes, so is it a ball like in Cinderella?" Kate asks Lauren as she drops a disc into the Connect Four grid (she is always red). She has angled herself more towards the backyard, so she hasn't noticed her dad come into the kitchen yet.
"Well, I bet everyone will be dressed really nice, but I don't think your mom is going to run away at the end of the night," Lauren says with a smirk, catching Mark's eye over Kate's shoulder. "And no talking mice."
"And we'll be home way before midnight, I'm sure," Mark says, and Kate let out a happy shriek and wiggles around on full-backed bar stool flanking the center island in order for her dad to cuddle her in for a hug. "My limit for schmoozing with other doctors is about two hours," he adds. "Thank you again for taking her for the night."
"Not a problem. We're going to order pizza and watch some movies. Alright…" Lauren starts to put the game away (it's coming with them, so Kate doesn't protest that her nanny is disassembling the grid mid-game). "You're all packed, little miss. You want to finish saying goodbye to your dad while I grab my purse?"
"I already know to be good." Kate quickly tells her father.
Mark tugs on the end of her braid. "So I guess you also already know that Mommy and I love you and want you to have a fun time with Lauren, but remember to say 'please' and 'thank you.' And clean up after yourself."
The look Kate gives him is pure Addison. "Daddy, that's what being good means."
"Got it. You said goodbye to your mom already, right?"
"Yep. Daddy…you should go look at her. Mommy looks like a princess."
Mark hovers in the doorway that splits the master bathroom from the dressing room, observing Addison getting ready with all the excitement of a mother who gets to go out and do something. His daughter is right, which is usually the case with redheads Mark loves. Sequins cling to the navy blue Badgley Mischka gown Addison is wearing, and each subtle movement makes the length of the gown shimmer. He watches as the other side of the evening gown is revealed when Addison turns towards one of the closet mirrors to flick a mascara wand over her eyelashes – a draped cowl-back that shows off a generous portion of her spine and creamy shoulder blades.
"Hey, creeper," Addison greets, catching sight of him in the mirror. She recaps the mascara and turns around. "I hope you like what you're seeing." She playfully fluffs some hair behind her ear.
Mark chuckles. "I do. Kate said you look like a princess. And she's definitely right."
"Yeah?" She offers him a pleased look, and then points a finger towards Mark's evening attire, hanging neatly inside one of closet doors. "I started to get your stuff together for you."
"Thanks. And yeah," Mark adds, pulling his shirt over his head and reaching for the black wool dinner jacket and tuxedo shirt. "A very, very ridiculously hot princess. I love that dress on you."
"The maternity shapewear underneath definitely helps."
"Just take the compliment, Ad. You sure you want to go to this thing though?" Mark climbs into his tuxedo pants a little slower than necessary. "We could just stay here, and you can keep wearing that dress."
"Keep wearing it?" Addison looks up from a pair of earrings she has pushed to the side, now eliminated from contention. She has lined several dangling pairs up on the center island. "I would assume if you want to stay here, the dress would wind up on the floor."
"Nah, I'm too into it. We'll just hike it up over those thighs and hips of yours I like so much," Mark smirks. His phone lets out a little chime and he goes to reach into his pocket, but then remembers he set his phone and wallet on the island. He finishes getting his shirt buttoned and jacket on first before reaching for the phone. He blinks in surprise when he sees who the text message is from.
He has his mother-in-law's phone number, and she has his, but he does not believe Isabelle Montgomery has ever texted him before. He tenses at the words: Please call me. Don't say anything to Addie before you call. And Mark thinks he knows, but he hopes he is wrong. Because to be right would be heartbreaking. And everything has been so good lately. They've been so happy. Addison has been so happy. Hormonal at times, sure (he found her sobbing the other day while hanging up a wall print in Sprout's room that says "We love you more than all the fish in the sea"), but overall she's been relaxed. There really hasn't been a lot of stress or worrying lately.
"You can hike my dress up when we get back. As noisily as you want, since our kid isn't here for the night," Addison replies with a laugh, too busy moving to her next getting-ready task to notice Mark is no longer paying attention.
"I, uh…I have to call the hospital real quick," he manages to say, fighting off the thickness bubbling in his throat. "I'll be right back."
Mark pulls open the doors to head into the backyard. They haven't made any significant changes yet, but they've been talking about getting Kate an outdoor playhouse for Christmas – their daughter would love it. Mark shakes himself back to the present, counts to three, and then makes the call.
"Mark?"
"Hello, Isabelle," he replies. "I saw your text. Is everything…?" He can't finish.
"It's Henry," Isabelle's voice is softer than usual, lacking its clipped formality, but every word draws Mark deeper in. "He passed away this afternoon. He, um. He went into the kitchen to refill his glass of water, and I heard a crash…and when I got in there, I found him on the floor. I called 911 and he was transported to the nearest hospital, but it was…the doctor who tried to revive him said it was a heart attack. He said other things too, but…it was kind of hard to keep my bearings…I can give you his contact information though if you and Addison have questions and want more information."
"Isabelle…" Mark feels his voice catch. "God, I'm so sorry. I'm just…your husband was such -"
"Thank you. I'll plan to call and check back in tomorrow, but I was wondering in the meantime…I know this is a lot to ask, and it's not a fair position to put you in, but I was hoping you could be the one to tell Addison."
"Hey," Addison murmurs without turning around when she hears Mark shuffle back into the dressing room. "I'm pretty much done, so do whatever else you need to do…I know you don't like the vest or bow tie, but you're gonna have to suck it up. I just need to put these on…" she points out a pair of three-stone drop earrings that match the color of her dress. "And then grab my clutch and shoes. Oh, and you're gonna hate this, but I'm only planning on wearing a silk wrap with the dress…so I'll be stealing your jacket later."
"Addison…" Mark begins nervously. She relocated to the end of the island nearest to the door while he was gone, which leaves them separated by mere feet. "I need to talk to you."
She sets an Ippolita earring she has lifted back down, and turns to face him, loose curls falling behind her and her expression altering to one of concern. "What's wrong?" She rests her palms on the counter, fingers bending beneath the marble-topped edges.
"Maybe we should sit down first," Mark says. Predictably, his wife tenses at the worn-out phrase.
"Don't…don't say that, Mark," she shakes her head quickly. "Whatever it is, please just tell me."
"It's about your dad. I just got off the phone with your mom. She told me…Addison, your dad died this afternoon. I'm really sorry. It was a heart attack. He -"
"But…" she cuts in slowly, words feeling thick and fuzzy on her tongue. Her gaze shifts to the floor. "Tomorrow is Saturday."
"What?"
"It's just that I…I always call my parents on Saturday…ever since Kate was born. Mainly to talk to my dad though. And I always put him on FaceTime so Kate can say hello too, even though she gets bored on the phone so quickly. Tomorrow's Saturday. I always…I always call my dad on Saturday."
"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Red. Your mom is planning on calling tomorrow, but if you want to talk to her sooner, we can do that." He moves a few steps closer. The fragility of this moment, of her – Mark almost feels too nervous to touch her, as though one small movement will be what completely shatters her. "Maybe we should go sit down now?"
"He's my dad. Mark, he's my dad. How can he just…?" Addison's eyes fill with tears and her skin flushes pinker, heat creeping up her chest and neck. "We shouldn't go to the gala. We should…we should stay here."
Mark reaches a hand out, still a bit hesitant, but gently tugs one of her hands off the countertop. Her fingers vibrate beneath his. "We're gonna stay here. You're shaking, Addison. Is it okay if I give you a hug? We can go sit down and just -"
"Yes, but I need to get this dress off first," Addison distractedly jerks her hand out of his. "I need to get this…this fucking dress off." She bunches the material clinging to her hips between her fists, and pulls down. Nothing. She keeps trying, but the fabric does not yield under her frantic yanking, and just ends up straining uncomfortably against the curve of her stomach. She can hear Mark's voice, but it sounds so far away. Her ears are ringing.
"Addison…" Mark's hands push against her waist, attempting to steady her. His thumb locates a ridge on the left side of the material, a concealed zipper. "I can help you. We need to pull your dress up, not down. And I think there's a zipper, so -"
"Just get it off." She bursts into tears and leans forward into Mark's chest, hands clutching at his shoulders. "Get it off, get it off, get it off!" She is yelling now, and her bare feet stomp up and down like that of a child throwing a tantrum. "Mark, get it off me. I don't w-want to wear the dress anymore."
"I know, honey. Just try to stay still for a sec," Mark says, beginning to perspire from the effort of keeping an arm snared around Addison for support, and attempting to work open the hook-and-eye closure over the zipper with uncharacteristically clumsy fingers; Addison's trembling is making him tremble, too. The air is punctuated with her croaky sobs, and eventually, thankfully, Mark gets the fastener open and teases down the zipper. He is able to coax Addison into raising her arms so he can guide the garment over her head. It sails to the floor, landing in a crumpled heap. It continues to shimmer.
"Thank you." It feels like such a stupid thing to say right now, though she cannot pinpoint why. Instead, she desperately reaches for Mark's shoulders again when she feels her knees buckle. "I can't…" she gasps, certain she can no longer stay on her feet.
"It's okay," Mark grabs her under her armpits. "I gotcha, I gotcha." They sink slowly to the floor, and his support is strong enough to ensure it does not hurt when Addison finds herself kneeling on the hardwood floor. Mark gets himself settled against the end panel first, and then pulls her onto his thighs.
"He's really not…" she begins woozily. She feels herself being adjusted in Mark's embrace, tilted more towards his knees, and she doesn't like it because it's not comfortable and it feels like he's shoving her away, but before she can cry out in protest, she is guided back to his chest. This time, she feels Mark wrap his jacket around her bare figure, covering her exposed back and waist. "Oh," she says quietly.
"Really not what, Addison?" He prompts, holding her as close as he can. The jacket is not enough to keep her warm, but she does not seem strong enough to walk right now, and Mark worries that he might not be able to keep her balanced in his arms if she starts shaking again. Here works for now.
She pulls in an unsteady breath. "He's really not alive anymore?" And then her sobs increase again, aching and shrill, because she already knows the answer.
Mark hugs her tightly as her tears soak into his shirt collar. Everything is reflective. The mirrored closets on either side of the room are French-styled, and normally Mark likes this because it is nice aesthetically, and if he happens to see his wife getting dressed, it's essentially free pay-per-view. In this moment though, it is devastating. Whether he glances left or right, in each windowpane all he can see is Addison falling apart in his arms. In every panel, grief is breaking her wide open.
"Hey…hey, look at me," he says later, not at all clear how much time has passed. He tips Addison's chin up to meet his gaze. Letting her cry and limiting his words felt like the best course of action for a while because there really isn't anything he can say to help her in this kind of situation, but now she's gasping and has reached the point where he knows he has to intervene, not just for her sake. "I need you to breathe, Addison. I know this hurts, but try to take a few slow breaths, okay? For him." Mark circles a finger pointedly below her navel. Addison drags in a heavy gulp and nods. The mention of their son floats her back to the surface.
"Addie…" Mark whispers once her breathing has regulated and she has slumped against him, weakened. Again, no concept of time, but it is darker now. Shadows bleed around them. Mark strokes her cheek to get her attention.
"Oh my God…" she says quietly, a weary smile straining at the corners of her mouth. "I'm crying in your arms while I'm wearing…pasties," she almost giggles. "And nude spanx."
"It's truly not the worst look on you. Will you be okay here for a minute while I go grab some pajamas for you though?"
She nods, and this time she does giggle, and Addison knows, she knows any way in which she is choosing to react or not react is fine because no one person's experience with grief is the same, but it still feels vaguely inappropriate.
"I told you I was going to steal your tux jacket," Addison says while peeling off the petal pasties so that Mark does not have to do that (not that he would be weird about it given these specific circumstances, but it is just another thing that feels weird to her right now).
Mark returns with a pair of maternity sweats and her favorite Yankees shirt that used to belong to him. He flips on the light and then crouches down by her right side. It takes her a moment to register that the other thing in his hand is a package of makeup wipes he must have grabbed off the bathroom counter on his way back.
"It's okay," Mark quickly angles her face back to him when she goes to look towards the set of mirrors his body isn't blocking. He doesn't know if gazing into one of the mirrors is going to make things worse for Addison, but he can't really see how it could help. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and the residual makeup mixed with dried tears on her cheeks reminds him of dirt and ashes. He uses his free hand to negotiate a wipe out of the package. "I'll do it."
"I must look pretty bad if you don't want me to see my face right now."
"Nah, it's about the Yankees shirt. I don't think I've worn this shirt once since you moved in with me, but technically it's still mine and I don't want any makeup getting on it," he says, and she offers him an eyes-closed smile at this obvious lie while he works on cleaning up her face.
Addison swallows. "Things have been so…good lately. I've been – well, I know I cried over the schmaltzy art print and then I cried again because you bought a throw pillow for Sprout's room that says 'I whale always love you, but…" she lifts a shoulder sadly. "I've been in a good head space and surprisingly calm and worry-free. Things have been good."
"Things will be good again, you'll see. Just not right now."
She sighs when Mark goes for a second wipe. "I think I just heard the used wipe you just set aside say 'yikes.'"
"No, he's being quiet. He's just hanging out with the discarded pasties. I didn't realize…it's not like I assumed every pair of pasties came with tassels, but I definitely didn't know they had ones shaped like flowers."
"Shame we're not going tonight," Addison sniffles. "We could have generated some business for you. Everyone knows you're in Plastics. And I'm pregnant and I already breastfed a kid, so I really shouldn't be able to wear a dress without a bra and look this, well, perky, regardless of what kind of padding is built into the dress…so you might have gotten to hand out your business card more than once. My breasts are kind of a revelation that way."
"I have never done anything remotely medical with your breasts, and unless there's something you're not telling me, you haven't had a boob job."
"True, but no one at the gala would have known that." Addison blinks when he pulls the wipe away from her face and makes some sort of noise to indicate he has gotten most of her makeup off. "I can stand and get my pajamas on, if you give me a boost."
Mark nods and helps her to her feet. He hands over the Yankees shirt and sweatpants, and she is able to get into both without a struggle.
"What a sad little pile," she observes, gesturing to the pasties, blackened makeup wipes, and bunched-up spanx. She glances back at Mark and changes the subject, voice brittle again. "We'd gotten…we'd gotten closer since Kate was born. Something about having a grandchild just…" she inhales shakily. "You know that Dylan Thomas poem?"
"The one about raging against the dying light?"
"Dying of the light," she gently corrects. "I'm just…I'm just trying to say that you better fucking fight to stay with me if…when…"
"I will. I promise."
"I promise too. I think I need to lie down now…" she mumbles, reaching for Mark and feeling his arms wrap around her, lifting her up and carrying her back to the bedroom. "Mark?" She tries to fight through the waves of depleting exhaustion. "I wasn't ready for this."
"No one ever is, Red."
A/N: I know this death seems unnecessarily harsh, but it is a contributing factor for what happens to Addison later, and stays true to the original fic. Also, as a reminder: this was written before PP, so the names/background on Addison's family members have not been changed to reflect what we now know.