AN: I am struggling a bit with the 'end' of this story (which is not too far). So if you want you are welcome to write/comment on ideas where you want to see Celeste/Jess go by the end of this - I have some ideas how to solve it (one way or another), but input is welcome so I don't just take the easy route which might be less fun. I am currently working on tieing up a lot of the open endings, then we'll see if I'll pick up the same universe a couple of years later or work on something new.
I love your reviews! Thank you!
Logan and Rory had taken the kids to the Zoo, just the two of them, having timed the visit perfectly so the twins would sleep a major part of it. It was not like five-month-olds would really remember any of it anyways. But it felt good to be out without nannies - almost empowering, but a little scary as well. Each time she or they did it, and managed with everyone returning alive and well and without freaking out themselves, felt like a victory, proving to oneselves that in theory it could be done. Of course it could be done - people did it all the time - just for them the idea of always having help at hand did make one feel on occasion less-capable, like their little secret that when they went out like that they were feeling much less confident than parents of three probably should. It was like they were cheating at the parent game, like using performance enhancers and were now going cold turkey.
They were just at the red pandas, Finny watching one of the animals climb on the snowy trees. It was fairly certain they'd end up buying a stuffed toy of this one, considering the boy seemed to be utterly infatuated with the animal for the past fifteen minutes already.
Logan was standing up front with Finny, while Rory held back, gently pushing the twin's stroller back and forth where the babies napped peacefully in their sleeping bags. Finny wasn't really doing anything other than watching, hence Logan really didn't need to do much. Rory watched his gaze linger on an empty spot within the enclosure, but not on the animal Finny was watching. He seemed thoughtful, and he did that a lot - just go somewhere in his head.
Truth be told, Rory was worried about him. With his show of uncertainty and fear of losing the things that were important to him in life, Rory had pondered more and more how he really was doing. He'd no doubt had a rough half a year, or an entire year, really, putting himself in the back seat in all of this. He always did what was expected of him, he stood for his family and his family company, he was a great father and a husband who always took her wellbeing into consideration. She also knew that he wasn't as well as he made it seem. He'd always been expected to put on the good front, and she couldn't help but to recognize some of those cues in his behavior again. She'd tried addressing it, but he was reluctant to admit anything - the night when he'd inquired Rory about Owen, having let his insecurities show, had been a sole occurrence.
Rory wanted him to be home - he needed a break, maybe even get some help - but she couldn't force him. She wanted to care for him for a change, and now with her not going off to work, she thought she actually might be able to do that. But she needed a plan. She even had an idea, but she wasn't sure how Logan was going to take it.
"Mommy? Did you see that?" Finny exclaimed, a little too loudly for comfort, not pronouncing all letters out fully, as he rushed up to Rory, who had for a moment zoned out as well, deep in thought. "The panda stood up on two legs!" he continued and raised his hands to demonstrate.
"Yeah, I did," Rory fibbed, having missed it, reflecting his excitement, and ran her hand over his colorful beanie hat. Finny took his position on the buggy board behind the stroller and they continued to walk along the boardwalk towards the next enclosure, Logan's hand briefly brushing the small of Rory's back.
Mitchum was at the Hartford Country Club having lunch with two of his old business associates, who by now were also retired, when his phone rang. The phone didn't rang very much these days, him having his standard appointments, if they could be called that, at the club and the weekly racket ball which he still wasn't half bad at. Sure, Honor checked in every once in a while, and on occasion also Logan on something work related, but this call he truly hadn't expected.
"Rory? What can I do for you?" Mitchum asked in a brisk voice, rising from the table with an apologetic gesture and walked over to the hallway, greeting a few acquaintances in passing with a nod. For a second he hoped it wasn't anything serious - after all this surely wasn't a social call.
"Hi, how are you?" Rory asked politely. The only time she'd ever called him was in fact when she'd been at the hospital with Logan after his accident and that phone call hadn't really been very polite at all.
"I'm well, thanks for asking," he replied shortly. "The kids doing alright?" he asked in return.
"Oh yeah, they're fine," Rory finished the small-talk part of this conversation. "I was actually calling to propose something," she began.
"I'm listening…," Mitchum replied, tucking his hand in his pocket, and glazed out the window at the snowy golf course.
"Logan needs a break," she said, having picked her words carefully. It wasn't about deserving a break, or wanting a break, or her wanting to have him home or, not even about Logan wanting to be home more.
"Well, the job is tough," Mitchum confirmed. He of all people knew it. And this was where Rory knew the real challenge laid - would Mitchum simply insist that Logan was a wuss for not handling it and should just put up with whatever was put on his path like he himself had, or not?
"He doesn't know I'm calling," Rory added, for a split second recalling the conversation at Logan's 25th birthday when Mitchum had insisted they should work as a team to steer Logan in the right direction, manipulating Rory into agreeing with him on something so sketchy. God, she hoped Logan wouldn't hate her for calling.
"Uh-uh," Mitchum noted.
"Would there be any scenario in which you'd consider taking over getting Owen acclimated in London? At least in part, perhaps?" Rory asked, hesitating slightly.
"Hmm..," he reacted, thinking.
"He's missed so much, he's put everybody else first…," was what Rory wanted to say, because that was what she felt. But she knew better than to lean on his compassion. He'd improved significantly in the past decades in that part - the kids mattered to him, sure - but Mitchum was always going to put himself first.
"This way you'd get to be back in the game, at least a little. I'm sure you miss it?" she suggested in a light tone.
"Well, I don't really miss it to be honest," Mitchum admitted, knowing it wasn't what Rory wanted to hear.
What Mitchum didn't way was that he was, in fact, bored. But he didn't miss the endless board meetings and flying at least once a week. He liked his own bed, his own chef that cooked him the kind of menu that Shira hardly ever let him have, while still keeping things moderately hearth healthy. He liked coming to the club but especially in the winter there really wasn't that much stimulating going on that he actually cared about. He didn't know how to be retired and really be content, work was all he knew.
"Oh..," Rory sighed, having not expected that.
"But I'll do it," he let out a rapid exhale in a smug tone. He was too proud to admit that reasons had much more to do with Owen than anything else.
"Thank you," Rory said, not quite believing he'd agreed.
Emily had been excited to fly to Paris - she'd been there nearly 30 times in her lifetime, though it had now been a couple of years since the last time, though she didn't really believe the city could surprise her with much anymore.
She'd seen the Louvre before its pyramids, before the flood of North-African immigrants, before every street corner had some American brand - Starbucks, McDonalds, Apple - just to name a few, and before when Paris had still been exclusive. But she'd somehow managed to avoid all major riots and strikes until now - this year her timing really wasn't ideal. She'd realized that as she was sitting in the black S class Mercedes, which wasn't moving along the Rue Gabriel Péri, cursing her travel agent, she'd used for decades, for this inconvenience not really knowing in detail what was going on. She'd never really had to look for information herself, unless it involved the type of mingling she was about to do for Celeste, or having to pay attention in a way a solo-traveler nowadays probably did, having the information usually served to her in the form of her itinerary.
But it wasn't the first time she'd ever had to practise patience, hence she simply took a deep breath and stretched out her legs, making circles with her ankles, and let her mind wander. She was going to be staying with her longtime friends the Aguillards in the 16th arrondissement. Though by now she just called 'them' that way out of habit as it was only her friend Isabel who was left, American born DAR member who'd now stayed in Paris for the sake of the one grandchild she had. There were certainly going to be New Years Eve celebrations, tea-parties, perhaps a couple of art show openings Isabel usually dragged her to. All in all it was about once again getting dressed up and clinking glasses together on New Years Eve with a broad smile. But since Richard's passing the excitement of that had just deflated - the evening had lost it's magic.
Not to get sentimental, she picked up the updated travel guide book and focused her attention on it instead, hoping to pick out at least a couple of interesting places she didn't yet know.
What Emily had no idea of, was that just a couple of blocks off from where her transfer was moving at the speed of a snail, G was helping her mother make creamy herb chicken.
G really was a lot more like Rory in the kitchen, worrying she might ruin the simplest meal. And it wasn't like living with her father or with Rory she had terribly many choices to learn. She had a little, of course, Logan having taught her in passing how to make salad dressings and Maya how to make tacos - she wouldn't starve, but dishes like creamy chicken, something one actually made using an oven, had always seemed near impossible for her.
Remi was stretched out on the couch, a wine glass in hand, like he had on most evenings, watching Marvel's Jessica Jones.
"So what do we need? Thyme?" G asked her mother, as she glanced over the row of potted herbs they kept on the kitchen table under the plant light.
"Or we could mix it up a little - Tarragon and Parsley? Garlic maybe?" Sherry suggested.
"This one, right?" G asked, unsure which one was Tarragon.
"No, that's Rosemary, honey, just smell it - I'm sure you recognize it then," she advised.
"Oh right," G chuckled insecurely, sniffing it for a sec.
G used a mortar and pestle to grind the herbs, while her mother buttered the large enameled cast iron pot and placed the already seasoned chicken thighs on the bottom of the pot. Sherry then poured the last of the milk into another pot that she was thickening with a little cornstarch, adding some salt.
"Just dump that in there," Sherry instructed G.
G complied, and watched her mother stir the sauce just until boiling and then poured it over the chicken thighs, making sure the herbs were scattered evenly around the meat.
"Yum, this is going to be good," Sherry commented and it really was evident from the scent already.
"Looks good," G exhaled, feeling a little proud of herself.
"Now I just need to go out and grab some milk for tomorrow morning," Sherry sighed, and placed the milk bottle she'd just emptied into the recycling bin. "You wanna come with me?" she asked, glancing briefly at Remi. That gesture, which only really was a very brief one, seemed somewhat odd to G, but she didn't think much of it. Surely that was just their own way of communicating whether she should get something else from the store.
"Nah, my hair is still kind of wet," G shrugged, not really feeling like going out that evening, having recently showered. "I'll just get started on the salad or something, that I actually know how to do," she added, with a closed-mouthed smile.
"Well, okay," Sherry shrugged, grabbing her wallet, phone and keys from the hallway side table, and pulled on her sneakers and coat, heading off. The store really wasn't far - just ten-fifteen minutes return trip by foot.
G prepped the baby spinach, mandarin and pomegranate salad in no time, sprinkling some sesame seeds on top of it. She was just about to use the jar method to make the sauce, and poured roughly six spoonfuls of olive oil into the empty glass jar, when Remi spoke.
"Tu sais, tu ressembles un peu à Jessica Jones avec tes cheveux comme ça," Remi commented, saying that she looked a little like Jessica Jones with her darker hair color, having frozen a scene of Jessica Jones on the screen.
"Ses cheveux sont bien plus foncés que les miens," she dismissed the comment - her hair was much lighter than Jessica's. It was like comparing oranges to apples in her mind, but hell what did Remi know about hair color.
"Oui, mais c'est la lumière," he added, gesturing towards the kitchen where the kitchen worktop was just illuminated by the lights underneath the cabinets. The lighting in the kitchen was making her hair appear darker than it really was - as an artist he noticed things like that, and that was nothing too out of the ordinary, Remi often wanting to take photographs of people and object in interesting light setting.
"Peut être," G shrugged, not thinking much of it.
"Et tu sais - c'est assez drôle comment tu es habillé de la même manière," Remi gestured at the tv screen, pointing out how she was dressed a little similarily as the protagonist on screen.
G stepped a few steps towards the screen, getting a better look, deciding to entertain him for a moment. Jessica Jones stood there, frozen, in her signature jeans and a grey tank top. It was then she noticed her nipples protruding through the tank top, making her swallow for a moment.
"Je suppose," she commented with a shrug, recognizing indeed herself also wearing jeans and a random grey tank top. For a moment feeling uncomfortable, she didn't dare to look down right away, unsure if her nipples were showing as well. She'd just been to the shower and was simply wearing a light sports bra underneath, making it entirely possible and for a moment she scolded herself for not having paid more attention to things like that. She swiftly moved on with the task at hand, pouring white wine vinegar into the jar but mixed up the ratio and ended up dumping the whole thing, having to start over. But it was weird, wasn't it?
Remi pressed play on the tv show and continued to drink his wine, not saying another word until Sherry returned.