Hi! So, it only took 48 chapters (and you might have noticed the change, depending on when you read Chapter 48, or if you're a super fan and did any rereading), but I have finally added "X Years Earlier" to all the flashbacks. It was the right call, especially with the forward jump in time (as noted by "Five Years Later" under the chapter title). There are, however, still flashbacks, and those are indicated with "X Years Earlier" (and anything that is unmarked is present day). I'm pretty good about mentioning ages throughout though, regardless of what timeframe we're in, but feel free to let me know if you have questions. This was a fun chapter to write. Lots of fluff – it's one of those set-the-table kind of chapters – and also, um, some smut (hey, these fools had to make the second kid and then celebrate their wedding SOMEHOW).
Chapter title is a lyric from "East," by Sleeping At Last
. .
. .
Chapter 49. Clouds March On
Five Years Later
Addison braces herself as she, Bizzy, and Clara approach the end of the wisteria trellis. The shade under the structure of the purple tunnel, as her children call it, has been offering a momentary reprieve from the heat. The mugginess that coats over them when they emerge from the purple tunnel and continue along the path to Bizzy's garden is just barely tolerable, but Addison knows it could be worse; she is grateful they left as early as they did this morning. The kids love to explore the grounds, and Clara especially likes to see the garden, so arriving early was their best bet to get this accomplished before they all end up wilting in the Connecticut humidity – not that August in Manhattan is any better. Thankfully, Addison's parents were pretty accepting of their eight am arrival, and honestly, Bizzy would probably show off her flowers at any time, even when the most captive member of this weekend's viewing party is only six and has no influence whatsoever with the local garden club.
"The cotton candy ones are right up there." Bizzy indicates the peonies at the end of the row, using the name that Clara has called the pale pink flowers for about three years now. Bizzy gestures with her left hand, because Clara is holding her other one. It surprises Addison how often Clara takes Bizzy's hand, because Bizzy is decidedly not a hand-holding person – or an affectionate one – but Clara has been a hand-holder with family members since day one.
"Bizzy?" Clara asks. "Do you still have blue hats?"
Bizzy. That's another thing for Addison. It still throws her off sometimes, that this is what her children call her mother. It makes sense, of course, but she never gave it much thought before she actually birthed a child; her expectations for how her parents would "be" as grandparents were low, which meant nothing about the subject occupied much space in her head. Bizzy was Bizzy for her children from the very beginning though. Addison can remember a few years ago when Clara and Phoebe were going back-and-forth, and some motherly intervention was needed to resolve the squabble, because Phoebe has a grandmother known as Bubbe, and each girl was certain the other was pronouncing the name wrong. Around the same time, Clara had asked Addison why she didn't call her mommy, "mommy." Addison was able to explain that not all parents go by the same name, like how Lucy calls her daddy "Papa," and Booker calls his moms "Mama" and "Melmy." The words felt fuzzy on Addison's tongue though, because the age-appropriate, pleasant account flouted one of the cornerstones of her childhood: Because Bizzy didn't want being a "mommy" to define her. Things are a little better now, but she couldn't be bothered to be a "mommy" to me when I was your age, Clara.
The truth is, every human is always healing from something.
"Blue hats…? Oh." Bizzy's features soften, and Addison refocuses on the conversation in time to hear her mother's answer. "I think you mean bluebonnets, dear. And yes, there are. I'll show you. They're close by. You know…" Bizzy gives Clara's hand a small squeeze. "I kind of like the name 'blue hats' better."
"Me too," Clara decides cheerily.
Addison smiles at this, able to feel warmth where she once felt – even though it ashamed her to have these feelings – resentment and jealousy. Bizzy was never this patient with her when she was a child. Too many questions, and too many lisp-riddled words annoyed her mother, but being a grandmother has chipped away at Bizzy's cold exterior. Not much, but enough that for the handful of times throughout the year that the Montgomery-Sloans visit, Bizzy is able to be patient, and a little less rigid. Addison knows it sort of helps that Clara has always unintentionally been the perfect grandchild for Bizzy, and not just because she loves to look at flowers. Addison doesn't think it's anything she and Mark have done or haven't done as parents, outside of their basic expectations that their children say please and thank you and treat others kindly, but it's just…who Clara is. It's not like their oldest child doesn't have moments where she possesses off-the-wall energy, or moments where her behavior requires them to step in and offer redirection, but for the most part, Clara is calm, and quiet, and agreeable. She is just so sweet, so loving, so imaginative, and still perfectly happy to hold their hands when they are out and about. She is hard on herself sometimes though, and Addison and Mark put a lot of effort into building up her confidence.
And the fact that Clara can be hard on herself always has the potential for Addison and Mark to be hard on themselves. Addison especially. She remembers when Clara first started ballet about two years ago. Her daughter was excited, and as a yearly attendee of the New York City Ballet's performance of The Nutcracker, Clara couldn't wait until she was big enough to start doing "ballet moves." But after her first class, she was teary-eyed and tugging uncomfortably at her little leotard when she approached Addison, who was waiting with the other parents outside the door of studio number three. Mommy, everybody was better than me. When Addison talked about it with Marie later, it was the hardest she had cried in a therapy session in a really, really long time.
"I didn't even know my four-year-old knew how to use 'better' in that context," she told Marie while patting at her cheeks with a tissue. "She knows the word because of things like saying she thinks that cookies and cream ice cream is better than mint chocolate chip, or Heckscher Playground is better than Ancient Playground, and things like that, but I didn't realize…I didn't realize she knew how to use 'better' to compare herself to others. To doubt herself like this. Mark and I are both sort of self-deprecating, so we're careful with how we talk around the kids."
"I'm sure you are careful," Marie replied, voice calm and reasonable-tinged. "You don't know that Clara picked it up from you. She's old enough now that she has a life that doesn't just include you and your husband. You're not the only people she interacts with. So what did you do, after Clara said that everyone else was better than she was?"
"I…I knelt down and gave her a hug and told her how much I loved her." Addison paused to yank another tissue out of the box. "I told her how proud I was of her, and that I thought she looked amazing out there…and that nobody's perfect, especially not the first time you try something new. And if…if she wanted to still do ballet, she'll get a little better each time she goes out there. Then…" Addison forced out a laugh. "Then I took Clara to get ice cream, because I knew that would make her feel better." Her smile expanded when she drew forth the rest of the memory from last week. "And actually…when we were walking down Park on our way home, she was doing little pirouettes whenever we had to wait to cross the street."
"Does she still want to go to ballet?"
"She does. She had her second class yesterday – she said she wanted to go back. And she interacted a bit more with the other girls this time…she's such a sweet kid, and there's never a shortage of play date requests, but it's more her nature to just hang back at first. And there weren't any tears afterwards. It seemed like she had fun. I just didn't think…" Addison took a deep breath. It felt like everything was falling into the realm of projection…or past projection, at least. "Clara needs a lot of encouragement. So much more than our other one does. She's shy, and worries easily, and isn't always very confident, and just…I want her to feel good about who she is. I don't want her to not stand up for herself if someone is being mean to her. And I don't want her to be so hard on herself." I don't want her to feel the way I felt as a child. Addison did not say it aloud, but of course her therapist understood what she was getting at.
"That's great that Clara wanted to go back to ballet. From what you've told me about her…she sounds like such a wonderful girl, Addison. And she might be like you, and share some of the personality traits that you have, or might have had as a child, but you understand what the difference is this time around, right?"
"Mark and I are the ones raising her. Not my parents, and not his."
"Exactly."
"And here are the cotton candy ones," Bizzy announces when they arrive in front of the glossy-looking peonies. "The pink and white ones I always have, but the yellow ones are new this year."
"They're so pretty," Clara says, voice almost dreamy-sounding. She traces a fingertip over a yellow petal, but does it lightly enough that Bizzy does not say anything. Addison wills herself to focus closer on the exchange. It is not that she is disengaged, as either a mother or a daughter while at her childhood home, but she finds herself consistently flooded with memories whenever they spend a weekend in Connecticut. And not all those memories are light-filled ones. She hears Clara ask what the "real name" is for the "cotton candy" flowers.
"They're called peonies," Bizzy answers. Clara draws in a breath and quickly looks up at Addison, who can already see the next question forming.
"Pea-oh-knees." Addison says it slowly, emphasizing each syllable.
The small cottage with its clapboard siding and gable roof comes next on the path they are following, and Addison looks after Clara, hoping for no comment from her on it, or at least not a comment that requires anything of Bizzy. Susan's cottage. No one has lived there since Susan, but the home is still in good condition and kept spotless, thanks to a combination of a landscaping crew for the exterior and a weekly cleaning service to wipe down the remaining furniture inside. Bizzy had a really good friend who used to live in the cottage, and she died before you were born. It makes Bizzy a little sad to go in there, so we're just going to look at the pretty outside when we see it, and not go inside, Addison has told both children before.
Bizzy gives Clara's hand a slight wiggle. "Are you still going to live here when you grow up?"
Clara had once asked Bizzy who lived in the cottage, which was what prompted Addison's gentle disclaimer of It makes Bizzy sad for future visits. She watched at the time as Clara reached up to hold Bizzy's hand, and Addison could see, just for a second, how her mother's lower lip trembled at the question, before her face went neutral again. But she did not let go of Clara.
"No one lives here," Bizzy replied quietly, and Clara told her that maybe one day she would live there, and Bizzy would come visit her, and they would have tea parties together. Bizzy's mood had brightened at this, and she usually brings it up whenever they are near the cottage.
Clara nods in response to Bizzy's inquiry about her future living arrangements. "But only if Mommy and Daddy come live with me, too," she adds with complete seriousness, and Addison grins. She knows there will come a day when Clara will be annoyed by her parents' mere existence, and will not want to reside in the same space as them, but it is so hard to imagine this.
"When I told her they were 'peonies' earlier…" Bizzy remarks when Clara has released her hand and wandered a few feet away to study a cluster of flowers under one of the cottage windows. "She thought I said something else, didn't she?"
"Oh yes." Addison tries not to laugh. "She was a second away from asking if they were boy flowers."
"She's so lovely." It is a regularly-occurring comment from her mother, and one Addison certainly does not disagree with. Clara is lovely. She is a good big sister – not a perfect one, of course, but she is patient with her younger sibling, willing to share her toys, and is not particularly bossy. She always asks to have an extra candle on her birthday cake, not to grow on, but for Grandma Jenny. She is an excellent reader, but still prefers to have Addison and Mark read to her. She scored her first goal last fall – quite an accomplishment for a midfielder who is speedy and has her father's athleticism, but is definitely the first one to freeze if she and another player are running towards the ball from opposite directions – and she giddily ran right off the field afterwards, skipping her teammates' jumping hugs in favor of hugs from Mommy and Daddy on the sideline. She loves to sneak folded-up drawings into Addison's bag so that she can discover them when she is getting ready to leave for work. And Mark recently taught Clara how to make paper airplanes, and now Addison finds them scattered all over their home, noses flimsy from overuse, the wings always decorated with hearts in a swirl of colors.
And it is not just Clara. Both their children are lovely. Addison watches as Bizzy shades her eyes and scans ahead, trying to track down the rest of the Montgomery-Sloan party. Addison's other little one had no interest in the flowers, and wanted to go straight to the pond near the edge of the property. "And so is your other one." Bizzy smiles fondly. "My Mini Archer."
Addison follows her mother's gaze, and soon enough, the skipping silhouette of her younger child comes into perfect view. Mark is trailing a few steps behind.
. .
. .
Five Years Earlier
Snow falls silently, gathering against the windows in lace-spun patterns and settling on the branches of trees nestled around their Westhampton property, the spiky greenery beginning to sag under the weight of this late winter snowfall. It is as cold outside right now as it is scorching inside when Mark retracts his fingers and crawls back up Addison's body, his kisses slow and teasing. She stretches a little, shifting beneath his questing lips.
"Wait…wait," she eventually gasps out, chest still sweat-dampened and heaving from Mark's earlier ministrations. He is propped on an elbow now, and his other hand is surrounding her hip, urging her towards him. And while stopping is the absolute last thing Addison wants to do, she is struck with a moment of clarity (a rare feat when she is naked with this man and they have time to enjoy each other) before they move on to the main act. "Mark, wait."
It takes him a second to understand. "Oh, fuck." His head tips forward, pressing into the mattress to signal disappointment.
"I'd like to," Addison replies with a small grin when he meets her eyes again. "But we're missing something, and the look of horror on your face makes it clear that I was wrong to trust that you'd pick up condoms."
"I doubled back for butter. And then I saw your text about getting grapes. And I apparently forgot to return to the aisle with condoms." Mark groans and shakes his head. "I'm so stupid."
Addison fights back a giggle, because the reality is, she could easily say, "I was stupid first." They were on the fence about coming to Westhampton this weekend, because Clara recently came down with her first cold. The congestion left her miserable, and Addison and Mark spent the duration of her sickness attempting to soothe her as much as they did in her newborn days when she was an angry potato who they did not always know how to help. Clara barely let Addison put her down most nights this week, and as a result, Addison missed two pills in a row while in a zombie-like state of rocking in the glider and whispering words of comfort to her weakly crying, snuffle-nosed child. Thankfully, Clara is feeling better now; she was happy and smiley enough by Thursday that they felt they might as well head out of town for the weekend as planned. Currently, she is sleeping peacefully at the other end of the hallway. And since Clara is once again sleeping through the night, Addison told Mark that if he wanted to do anything other than just sleep through the night, he needed to pick up some protection when he went to the grocery store this afternoon.
"Well, stupid though you may be, I can at least help you out." Addison's fingertips dance suggestively along one of his legs. "And then maybe you can help me out again -" she pauses when Mark sets a hand on her shoulder. His eyes are wide in the dimmed light covering them. "What?"
"Addison…what if we had another one?"
"Really?" She raises an eyebrow, surprised. "Already?"
"Yeah. I'd love to have another one." Mark buries his face in her neck, unable to resist paying more attention to her skin. He moves to the hollow of her throat next, and has to stop himself from straining towards her when he can feel the low vibration of her moan. "Sorry." He looks a little sheepish when he pulls away. "This probably feels manipulative to bring it up when we're naked and I can't stop touching you and it's clear how much I…want you."
This makes her smirk. "You always want me."
"True, but right now I can hardly deny it."
Addison rolls her eyes permissively at his pun. "I know you're not trying to be manipulative," she comments. She does the math in her head. Clara will turn a year old next Friday. And while Addison would probably advise a patient to wait a bit longer before trying to conceive again, she knows her body, and her recovery the first time around was pretty smooth. She feels her heart flutter just at the thought of a second baby. God, she would love to have another one with him. So much. She knows better than to get ahead of herself, but starting now would mean two under two, and while that sounds like all kinds of exhausting – just the one kid is exhausting, honestly – it also sounds wonderful. She and Archer are only sixteen months apart. They were close all throughout their childhood, and Addison feels like there is something sweet about the fact that her brother is not able to recall a life without her. And Clara would be such a good big sister.
"I want another one with you." Addison raises her palm when she sees Mark's lips curve and split into a broad smile. "Just…" she feels the need to offer a warning, not wanting him to get his hopes up. "I'll be forty in two months. So having a second…it might not be as easy." She also does not think she has the stamina – not at this point, at least – to withstand fertility treatments. "Or it might not happen, so -"
"Hey." Mark's voice is firm when he cuts her off. "This is everything." He rests his hand against her flushed cheek. "You and Clara are everything. One more is just another layer of icing on top of an awesome cake. And if it doesn't happen…this is still everything." His lips are soft with reassurance when they skim hers. "Okay?"
Addison does not verbalize her yes, okay, but it is very much implied when she settles herself on top of him. "God." She makes a content purring noise as she guides him into her. "Every time I think you can't seduce me any more than you already have, you prove me wrong."
Mark grins and pushes up until he is sitting, one hand pressing against the small of Addison's back as she stoops to kiss him. As much as he loves everything about the visual of her writhing on top of him, the desire to be as close as possible this time wins out.
. .
. .
"Your Mini Archer," Addison repeats as Ruby becomes more visible. It's not that Ruby looks like Archer. She doesn't. It was so different, to birth a second child. With Clara, she and Mark studied her features, trying to find themselves in her, but when Ruby was born, all they could think was, "She looks just like Clara." And Ruby did look like her, at first, and even now, they share plenty of the same features, enough that it is obvious they are sisters. They have their mother's eye shape, eyelashes, and cheekbones, their paternal grandmother's nose, and their father's smile and ears. The key differences for the girls are that Ruby's face is a little longer, her eyes are darker – and like Addison's, more green than blue in certain lights – and her hair is a different color entirely. The tufted strands of blonde that originally crowned her head before she experienced typical infant hair loss gave way to hair that grew back thicker and darker, ultimately landing on a rich, deep brown with hints of red that are more prominent in the summer months.
"I have a date Tuesday night," Bizzy shares quietly, though Ruby and Mark are not close to them yet, and Clara is still far enough out of earshot. When Clara was a few months shy of her fourth birthday, and Ruby had just turned two, Addison's parents separated. But like any Montgomery matter, it is an intensely private one, and largely still a secret in the better part of Bizzy and the Captain's social circle. They are not divorced, and they still live together, so neither Addison nor Mark really understand what makes anything about the new arrangement different than what their arrangement as a married couple has been like for decades. Separation just puts a label on it, and maybe offers Bizzy the chance for her life to look different, if she wants it to ("I could probably single-handedly keep Marie in business right now," Addison informed Mark at the time, because even though it was not the most shocking development she had ever learned about her parents' marriage, it still rattled her). "Gwen knows I still live with your father," Bizzy continues. "So she understands that it's sort of…complex."
"Are you excited for your date?" Addison asks, voice equally hushed. She can tell her mother's statement is more for informational purposes, not because she sincerely wants to talk about it. Instead, Addison will wait until tonight when she and her husband are curled up in one of the guest rooms to discuss this news with him, and attempt to process it; this is the first time Bizzy has ever shared with her that she has a date, and from the way Bizzy said it, it seems like this is the first woman she has been interested in connecting with since Susan.
"Yes and no," Bizzy says, and although it has been a long time for Addison (and longer for her mother), she cannot think of a more accurate answer to describe a first date than that.
"I'm sure you'll have a good time, Bizzy. Just be yourself."
Addison looks at Ruby when she says it, who is close enough now that she can see every wonderful feature that comprises her younger daughter. Ruby is unapologetically herself, and for that reason, yes, Addison can understand why Bizzy has occasionally referred to her as "Mini Archer," and why her parents sort of get a kick out of Ruby. In some ways, her four-year-old is absolutely like Archer was as a child: bold, full of energy, confident, and able to make others laugh so easily. Addison worries about both her children – of course she does, as a mother – but if she is honest, she tends to worry about Ruby less. Clara might be tough in her own way, when she needs to be, but Ruby is absolutely fearless (which goes hand-in-hand with recklessness…they have easily used double the amount of Band-Aids with Ruby in a little over four and-a-half years than they've used with Clara in six). Ruby arrived three weeks early, because in Addison's experience, no one makes an entrance quite like Ruby. She is sure of herself, strong-willed, aggressive enough on the soccer field that they sometimes cringe as she barrels through the cluster of kids surrounding the ball, and when she disagrees with something Addison or Mark says, her debating skills impress even Savvy. She has plenty of friends, because Ruby views everyone as a potential friend, but she also marches to the beat of her own drum, and is perfectly content to play by herself if no one else at her preschool wants to join her in hanging upside down from the jungle gym. Ruby "I don't give a shit what you think of me" Montgomery-Sloan, Mark has jokingly called her before (not to her face, obviously). Right now, Ruby's sincerest wish is for a skateboard with "a glitter helmet," and when they finally cave, because Addison knows they will, she can only imagine how many quarrelsome rounds they will have to get in the ring for when Ruby discovers they intend to cover her everywhere they can with protective pads.
Ruby is much more likely to push limits than Clara has ever been, but with her birth, Addison and Mark knew their family was complete, and there are more than enough tender moments to savor when parenting Ruby proves to be a challenge. Her favorite color is rainbow. She gives hugs so freely, so willingly. She recently went through a period where every single outfit of hers needed to involve a bow tie as an accessory. Her favorite holiday is Halloween. She wants to either be a doctor like Mommy and Daddy, or a "roller coaster maker" when she grows up. And if Clara is "Here Comes the Sun" for Addison, her younger daughter is the liveliest, sparkle-from-the-inside-out version of "All You Need is Love."
"Clara! Clara!" Ruby yells as she gets closer, practically bouncing with excitement. Most of her sentences end with exclamation points. And she absolutely idolizes her big sister. "There are butterguys over there." She jabs a finger in the direction of some lavender growing outside the tennis court. "Come on." She starts to run when it is clear that Clara intends to follow her. "Come see!"
Butterguys. Addison and Mark exchange a look. They have both agreed they will be deeply sad the day Ruby starts to say it correctly.
. .
. .
Five Years Earlier
Addison is careful not to arrange the striped linen duvet cover over herself when she gets back into bed next to Mark. She turns her head on the pillow to look at him, and catches his eyes skate admiringly over the silky white slip she has changed into, purchased with this particular weekend in mind. He reaches out immediately, as she knew he would. He starts near the top, fingering a thin strap, before spending time on the embroidered lace below a triangle of exposed skin; the slip is low enough that the soft swells of her breasts are visible.
She smiles, relishing his touch, his interest, his pace as he takes his time looking her over and smoothing a hand along her torso. In the beginning, as much as it thrilled her, to be desired this much, the intensity of Mark's gaze sometimes embarrassed her and brought color to her cheeks. Not anymore though.
"As much as I'm enjoying this…" she murmurs when he flicks his thumb over a silk satin-covered nipple. "You're going to have to give me a few more minutes before we go another round."
"And possibly a throat lozenge." Mark leans closer. "I love getting to hear you again," he whispers in her ear. "You have no idea…you sound unbelievable. It turns me on so much." This does make her blush a little. He isn't wrong though. She was practically screaming with pleasure just a few minutes earlier when he increased the speed with which he was moving inside her (and he hasn't exactly been quiet himself since they got to Westhampton). They don't get to do this anymore. Sex is still great, and occurs pretty regularly, but they do everything they can to keep their voices down, because neither is one-hundred percent convinced about the reliability of the white noise machine in their daughter's room.
Addison lets out a relaxed sigh as Mark continues to survey the covered parts of her body. Her left hand is resting between them, and he presses his lips against her engagement ring and wedding band. Or engagement band and wedding ring…he is not certain on the classification. The ring he put on her finger last month – the halo ring with their birthstones – is the one he slid on first this morning at the Marriage Bureau when they exchanged rings. The one nestled beside it is a platinum, three-stone diamond ring with a pavé setting.
Addison was immediately drawn to the three-stone engagement rings, even though she never would have thought that would be her style. The jeweler who took out a few rings in a velvet display case for her to try on informed them that the three stones were meant to symbolize friendship, love, and fidelity. She turned in time to see Mark swallow uncomfortably at the last word. But then the jeweler – oblivious to the wave of awkwardness they both felt upon hearing fidelity – added that the rings can also symbolize the past, the present, and the future. And Addison did not waver from her original interest when she nudged Mark's shoulder and pointed out the three-stone ring she liked the most. Their history might have some indecency to it in certain chapters, but it is still their history.
"What is it?" She asks when she sees Mark's mouth open and close, words unsaid.
"It's just…" he gives her hand a light squeeze. His voice is low and almost wondrous when he speaks again. "You're my wife."
"And you're my husband. And I'm…" Addison starts to laugh as her eyes fill with tears. "Hormonal," she finishes. She knows it is more sentimentalism and love for this man than it is the hormones, but at ten weeks pregnant, she reserves the right to blame whatever she wants on being hormonal. As far as the pregnancy though, the nausea has not been as bad this time around, and frankly, it feels like Addison's second trimester arrived early, which has made for a very, very enjoyable start to the honeymoon for them both.
Mark uses his thumb to wipe away a tear. "Well, when you're a little less hormonal, I'm going to resume my husbandly duties." He smirks meaningfully. The pace they have set so far is pretty impressive, he feels. Record-breaking, perhaps. They have a small window to get in as many uninhibited encounters as they can, since they are only staying here until Monday. The thought of leaving their one-year-old behind – even though she is in good hands with Savvy and Weiss – for any longer than that just did not seem bearable. "I'm loving this…" he gestures towards Addison's outfit. "Whatever this thing is on you." All her curves are on display – both the ones that are familiar and the ones that are a little newer – and the material feels good under the spiral-like patterns his hand has been making. Mark rubs her arm for a few minutes, and when he can no longer see a hint of tears in her eyes, he moves closer. He fastens his mouth around her, capturing both fabric and nipple. She lets out a quiet groan at the new sensation.
"You're going to love everything else I've packed, too." This news is intriguing enough for Mark to draw his mouth away from her breast. "Next up is a lacy teddy that plunges…" Addison takes one of her fingers and trails it slowly down her torso. "All the way down to here." She stops just below her belly button, and grins when she can feel Mark responding, succumbing to her words and to all this close contact with her body. "And then I also brought along a new lingerie set in red. The panties have a red bow on the back." She lowers her voice seductively when she adds, "I know you love me in red."
"These visuals are not helping me practice restraint."
Addison gives him a look he knows well. It was all too familiar during her first pregnancy, when those hormone levels and increased blood flow left her insatiable. "Then…don't." She laughs at how hurriedly Mark is back on top of her after this statement. He pauses, moving a hand between her between her legs and cupping her flesh, careful not to apply too much pressure as he gauges her level of readiness. Addison offers a quick nod; his touch was definitely having an effect on her.
"Oh my God!" She moans loudly when he pushes inside her. "Mark."
It is over-the-top, and entirely for his enjoyment (and ego), but soon her noises are anything but performative when Mark does some rearranging, turning her over and scooping an arm under her stomach, pulling her up so that when he starts moving inside her again, they are both kneeling, her legs on the outside of his. Addison breathes in staggered pants from how satisfying the rhythm of his hips feels as she leans back against his chest, and he groans into the slope of her neck when her bunched-up slip caresses his stomach with every forward motion. Her throaty noises of enjoyment spur him on, and when he drops a hand between her spread legs, touching insistently, she cries out, unravelling around him.
Addison twists a little in his embrace, adjusting an arm so that she can stroke the back of his neck. She hums appreciatively when her head is angled enough that she can look at him. She tells Mark how good this feels, how good he feels, and then captures his lips, kissing him messily as he finishes with a few more thrusts. They collapse onto the mattress together, and their actions are slow as they separate, occurring in heavy-gasped increments. Mark shifts onto his side, staying close, and Addison remains on her stomach, too tired to actually make any significant movement. He kisses away beads of sweat dotted along the exposed ridges of her spine.
"I actually…" Addison swallows, taking a moment, but her words are still hoarse-sounding when she speaks again. She gives him a weak smile. "I actually might need a throat lozenge."
"We'll go to the store later. Well. No." Mark tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear. "I'll go to the store, and you're going to stay here and get into either the plunge-y thing or the red thing."
. .
. .
Water rushes around their calves as they stand four in a row at Island Beach. Also known as Little Captain's Island. Mark and Addison have not been here in at least three years, so neither of their girls can furnish any memories of the ferry ride over from Greenwich Harbor, the playground right on the beach, or when Clara said it was really nice that the Captain – their Captain – let all these people come play on his island. Mark smiled when Ruby made a similar observation this morning. It amused him as much as it did the time when she asked where the rest of the Captain's "pirate crew" slept.
Their time at the beach is meant to be a fun activity, but it also gives Addison and Mark a small break from Addison's parents (and her parents a break from them) before they head back to the house. It is a beautiful afternoon. A breeze lifts off the water, and clouds unfurl across the sky. Sunlight touches their faces.
Clara points in the direction of a few teenagers who are deep enough that they are treading water, wind-pushed moisture lining their throats. "I want to do that," she says longingly.
"You can do that by yourself when you're bigger," Mark replies.
"How much bigger?"
He gives her a conceding smile. "Let's give that sunscreen a few more minutes to soak in," he says, knowing that will be Addison's preference. The water here is a part of the Sound, so it is tranquil enough, but he can still feel cliché overprotectiveness starting to kick in, and decides that when they go further out, he will keep Clara on a hip. She will be able to keep her balance just fine. Both girls can. Mark has lost count of how many times they've played "Chicken" in the pool at their Westhampton house.
Ruby tugs on his hand. "And me?" She adds hopefully. It is a question they are used to, because she does not want to be left out and certainly does not want to be told that Clara is old enough for something and she is not (there was a lot of crying from Ruby last fall on Clara's first day of Kindergarten, because she wanted to go too). The question is almost as common as the one Mark knows she will ask as soon as they pack up their things to leave: What are we doing next? They answer politely each time, and shut down any pouting that follows if the plan is to just go home, but it is a question that Mark feels sorely begs the response of, "We did lots of somethings all day. We aren't doing one more damn thing."
"We'll all go out together, Ruby-Ru," Addison says.
"Grandma Jenny got to swim in the ocean all by herself when she was four," Ruby pipes up. "Remember? You said." Addison is able to smile, but she can feel her heart breaking for Mark. She looks over at him, waiting for him to answer, but he gives her a small shake of his head, enough to reveal he cannot push any words out.
"We said a lake, honey…not an ocean. Your Grandma Jenny would swim in a lake. But even when she was your age, her mommy and daddy were next to her, supervising her. Grandma Jenny wasn't all by herself." She watches as Ruby nods, accepting this answer. Grandma Jenny wanted to be all by herself though, probably more than anything, she thinks. They sugarcoat Jenny's childhood. Her children don't have any questions about Jenny's parents specifically – they really just want to know what "Daddy's mommy" was like, since all they have of her are pictures – but Mark and Addison have introduced a narrative of a father who didn't abuse her, and a mother who did not die giving birth to her. They don't like lying to their girls, but it is the only option for the foreseeable future, given how young they are, and how scary the realties are. They are committed to several sugarcoating varietals right now: Jenny's childhood, what Jenny and Grandpa were like as parents when Mark was little, and what Bizzy and the Captain were like as parents when Addison was little. They do share what they can with the girls though. Clara and Ruby know that they have Grandma Jenny's nose. They blow out a birthday candle for her on her birthday. They refer to the gingerbread pancakes Mark makes for them on Christmas Day as "Grandma Jenny's pancakes." And they know that Grandma Jenny was a good swimmer.
Addison's voice is soft when she leans towards Mark, barely discernible over Clara and Ruby's squeals when more water rushes around them. "We're going to cuddle a lot tonight," she tells him. "And there's a back rub with your name on it, if you want one."
"We're going to do that until the two little crazies join us, you mean," Mark responds. Bizzy sets the girls up in Addison's childhood bedroom whenever they stay for the weekend, and while Clara and Ruby are giggly when they get tucked in because the idea of getting to sleep in Mommy's old room enchants them, they always find their way in the middle of the night to the guest room where Mark and Addison are. Usually Ruby first, and then Clara. They don't fault their girls for this. It's not their usual environment, for one thing, and they have always had an open door policy when it comes to bedtime. "Thank you, for answering for me, Red," Mark adds, throat still a little constricted. "We…we find a way to make space for pain." He gives her a faint smile. "That's what I've got. What is it your half of the therapy analogy duo says?"
"Humans are always healing from something."
He has heard this one before, in more generic situations when grief and pain bubble to the surface, and also on what he feels was his very worst day as a husband. They were at Bizzy's sixty-fifth birthday party (something they suspected her friends talked her into throwing, because Bizzy would have considered big birthday gatherings after a certain age to be on the tacky side). The girls were with them. Mark and Addison had mixed feelings about bringing them along since the party did not start until seven, which would mean unique sleeping arrangements for a toddler who craved routine and a potentially long night with a baby who was experiencing sleep regression. It was not like Addison's parents were ever the sort of parents who wanted to show off their grandchildren, so they did not feel a sense of obligation to bring the girls in that respect, but they have always stuck together whenever possible, so leaving them with Savvy or Lynette for the night just didn't feel right. There ended up being a stretch of time during the party where Mark got stuck talking to a few of the Captain's sailing pals in the kitchen, and when he returned to the family room, Archer was holding Ruby, and Addison and Clara were nowhere in sight.
"How could you just leave her alone in a room full of people we barely know?" He hissed later that night when he and Addison were getting ready for bed. It was the sort of tone where you aren't yelling, but you might as well be because the yelling is sort of implied. Both girls were close by, sleeping peacefully in their respective playards while Mark lit into her. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"She wasn't alone," Addison countered defensively. She could sense a subtle shift in Mark's mood when she came back downstairs, video monitor in hand, but knew that whatever it was – she thought it had something to do with her parents, honestly – was something they would discuss later. Archer had been standing next to her, so she asked if he could hold Ruby – who was awake enough that it was clear she had no intention of leaving the party – while she put her minutes-from-an-exhaustion-induced-meltdown older one down for the night. "Archer had her. It wasn't even that long…I know we can't stand when he does that toss-her-in-the-air game with Clara, and we'd rather he didn't have a drink in one hand and a niece in the other, but he wasn't just going to set our eight-month-old on the floor and leave her to her own devices." The accusation from Mark cut deeply enough that Addison teared up after sharing this. She turned away from him to attempt to cover her sadness, pretending to sift through tonight's discarded jewelry that she had placed on the dresser. It was clear he saw though. It was not like there were not disagreements, or times when they got frustrated with each other, but they have always made it a point to not raise their voices. And to certainly not criticize each other's parenting.
Addison understood why Mark was reacting this way though, why the specifics of the scenario were haunting him in the way it was, but her words were still edged with hurt when she added, "I couldn't find you, and Archer was right there, and he was fine with hanging onto her, and I trust him. Ruby was safe. No one was going to harm her. I didn't…I didn't do anything wrong." She felt herself soften though when Mark came up behind her and circled his arms around her waist, apologetic.
"Addison…I'm sorry." He buried his face in her neck, and she could feel his shuddery breath as the parts of his childhood he only became privy to as an adult started creeping back in. "God, I'm so sorry." It all came out half-finished as he murmured regrets against her skin. "I didn't mean to…I know that Archer wouldn't…you wouldn't…I shouldn't have yelled and I shouldn't have…you're such a good mom. I'm sorry." Addison's neck was getting wet, but she stayed still, not wanting to disrupt his thoughts. "I thought I was in a better place than this," Mark croaked out, and when he went quiet, she turned around in his embrace.
"You are in a better place," she said, "but that doesn't mean there won't be things that happen that upset you, or intensify the feelings about Jenny. Marie told me once that humans are always healing from something." Addison nuzzled her nose against his cheek, offering comfort. They stayed up late that night, finding their way back to peace just by looking at their sleeping daughters while Addison glided her fingers along his back.
The sound of Clara and Ruby's flute-like laughter ushers Mark out of his thoughts. He beams as they lift their legs up and down with purpose, sending chutes of water flying in all directions.
The water catches you. Jenny told him that, once. And the thing is, loved ones catch you, too. Because if anything is healing for Mark, it's the four of them, together.
. .
. .
Five Years Earlier
The veined red and orange leaves that swirled in gusty patterns near Mark's feet this morning as he walked into NYP are still there when he exits the hospital, but are now flattened against the concrete, dampened with rain. He waits until he has hopped into a cab on York to retrieve his phone from his jacket pocket – he learned early in his career that it is bad juju to text someone to tell them you're on your way before you're actually off hospital property. He stifles a yawn; it was a longer day than he would have preferred, but he still does the occasional shift as a courtesy for having surgical privileges, and at least Addison was off today, so Clara got plenty of time with a parent before bed. He smiles to himself when he decides that in addition to telling Addison he should be home by eight, he will also share with her that he announced their old address when he got into the cab, and then sheepishly had to pull a "Wait, actually…" on a driver who definitely seems like he is approaching the end of his shift, based on his response to the destination change.
The reply from Addison arrives within seconds: We're having company tonight.
She did predict this was going to happen, and in Mark's experience, his wife usually isn't wrong. It is going to be an adjustment for Clara to get used to being in a completely different living environment, no matter how closely the set-up of her new bedroom mirrors the one they had at the apartment. Last night – their first night sleeping at the duplex – proved to be an anomaly though. Clara ended up exhausting herself after crawling up the stairs dozens of times, and then carefully scooting back down, with Mark and Addison's hands hovering close as she tried out this new trick. Mark was not sure how the whole baby gate thing would go; they now have ones at the top and bottom of the stairs, and in a few other places. His only frame of reference is Phoebe, who used to sob if a gate prevented her from going where she wanted to go. But Clara did not object to her restricted access, or maybe she did, but just in a more passive way…or passive-aggressive; they recognize it might be both. She brought every toy from the living room that she could over to the gate at the bottom of the stairs, and then sat down and played deliberately in the middle of her gate-adjacent pile, which had both Mark and Addison laughing. They opened the gate and allowed her to get used to being in a two-floor apartment, figuring that even though they have no intention of un-baby-proofing anytime soon (especially with another one arriving next month), Clara might as well learn how to go up and down. She loved it, and all that time spent climbing concluded with her falling asleep in her high chair at dinner.
Addison thought tonight would be different though – that it would be what she actually expected it to be – and the text message makes it clear there will be three of them in the bed tonight. Mark knows how their typically happy, easygoing daughter can get sometimes, but Addison does not cave as easily as he does, so Clara must have been in hysterics if it was enough for Addison to give up on settling her in the crib. Plus, even if Clara was starting to drift off in her mother's arms, the fact is that Addison cannot transfer her as easily anymore thanks to a thirty-two-weeks-along baby bump that jostles Clara whenever Addison attempts to get out of the glider…which would have started the crying process all over again.
Mark is still smiling when he steps inside the building near the southwest corner of East 76th and takes the elevator up to the eighth floor. Their new home. They got the keys in mid-September. They had the apartment for an additional two weeks, so they had a back-and-forth routine going on at first, but now everything is here, albeit much of it is still in boxes. Mark kicks off his shoes and drops his keys on the entryway table, and then carves a path from the kitchen to the gallery to the living room, turning off a host of lights that Addison left on for him. He proceeds up the stairs, and can hear quiet voices coming from the bedroom at the end of the hallway.
"Stay here, please." Addison has an arm on Clara's shoulder, keeping her in place when Mark slips into their bedroom. Several books are fanned out on the bed. "Daddy will come say 'hi' to us." Clara looks incredibly pleased with her good fortune to still be awake, and to not be in her own room. She does listen to her mother, and does not attempt to crawl off the bed, but she stretches her arms out, fingers wiggling with excitement when Mark approaches.
"Hi, baby." He sits down on the bed and then pulls Clara to her feet. She leans towards him, and he wraps his arms around her. Her hair is currently smoothed down, a sign of a recent bath, and she is wearing her footed sleeper with the yellow ducks on it. Mark brings some inflated enthusiasm to his voice when he addresses her again. "Clara, are you sleeping with Mommy and Daddy tonight?" Not that he minds. Not even a little bit.
"She is. The meltdown she had was one of her more…impressive ones." Addison offers him a strained grin. "I'm glad you're back though," she adds as she collects the books and places them on her nightstand. "Because I missed you, of course, but also selfishly because -"
"Can't stay awake another second?" Mark interrupts. "It's fine. I've got her. Go to sleep." He gestures towards her pillow, and Addison lies down without objection, mumbling her gratitude. He can see the cloudiness in her eyes as she blinks behind lenses – her fatigue seems more established with the second pregnancy, and Mark is secretly glad that come next Friday, she will be on maternity leave. It is a little earlier than Addison originally assumed she would want to go out, but as summer gave way to fall, her sentimental side (or hormonal side) spiked, and she realized that she wanted to soak up as much one-on-one time with Clara as she could before they become a family of four. It also gives her more time to oversee getting their new home in order. Realistically, Mark thinks it is unlikely everything will be finished – no, styled, because he knows that is what Addison would call it – by the time their little one's due date comes, but they have everything they need for the kids, working utilities, a security system, places to sit and sleep and eat, Wi-Fi, and a fully-functioning kitchen, so the basics have been addressed. They started looking for a new home back in May…and did a lot of looking. They understood the importance of taking their time to make sure their "forever home" was the right one, but Addison was still calmer about the lengthiness of their real estate search than Mark thought she would have been, given that there was an extra push to get into a bigger place before November. Mark, when have the two of us ever done anything the right way? she said at one point, laughing when she leaned up to kiss him.
"Addie. Glasses."
"Hmm…? Oh." Addison feels his fingers graze near her temple, then lightly pinch at an end piece. She lifts her head so Mark can coax her glasses the rest of the way off. "Thank you." Her head slumps back into the pillow.
Resignation leave. That is what she referred to it as, and Mark can hear her voice in his head. It's not really a maternity leave if I'm not going back. When Addison returns to work next year, it will be at Premier Women's Health and Wellness, not NYP. It's what I want, she told Mark when she made the decision not to renew her contract and instead signed paperwork at a spacious but cozy-looking office building wedged between West 90th and Central Park West. And it's what's best for me, and what's best for our family. I know I'll be happy there. It's still going to be hard to leave though, so you can definitely expect to see some feelings the closer I get to my last day. Goodbyes suck. But I'm going to have really, really nice hellos at the end of each day, and I know that will help.
Mark's attention stays on Clara when she positions her hand over Addison's cheek, which is even more predictable than the idea that she wasn't going to go to sleep easily tonight. He can see the partial curl of his wife's smile beneath Clara's spread fingers.
"Clara…" Addison keeps her eyes closed as she guides Clara's hand away from her face. She slides her lips along dimpled knuckles. "Mama's sleeping," she coos. "It's night-night time." Clara immediately tries again though, bringing her hand back down on Addison's cheek. Addison manages another smile, but Mark flinches. The hand-to-face contact probably still qualified as gentle this time, but it was certainly not as gentle as the first time.
"Clara." Mark's voice is teemed with a warning that he knows comes across as mostly ineffective. "Let Mommy sleep now, okay?" Clara peeks at him, a little smirk teasing at the edge of her mouth – she knows exactly what she is doing – and Mark can't help chuckling, because that look is pure Sloan. He sees her raise her hand again, prepared to continue down this less-gentle road, and he scoops her up before she can make contact with Addison for a third time.
"Hey…hey. It's okay," he soothes when Clara begins to whimper into his neck. He can feel the way her limbs tense when he stands back up, as though gearing up for battle. "You're stickin' with us tonight. You wanna go to the window and see the rain?" He asks, wanting to keep her calm. "Go window?" Clara gives him a small, teary-eyed nod. She loves to watch the rain, and the bay windows that are available in each bedroom make for a perfect viewing opportunity; the windows were a selling point for them when they first toured the duplex.
Mark grabs a blanket from the storage bench at the end of the bed first, and then gets them situated on the seat cushion. He wraps the blanket around Clara, and adjusts her so that she can rest her head on his chest, but still look comfortably out the window. He can feel the change as soon as she is situated in his lap; she is instantly docile and heavy-limbed, too tired to even move her hand over his face or grip the fabric of his shirt. Mark knows he should just let her drift off, but his time with her today was limited, so he can't help wanting to interact with her for a little longer. The glass is fogged over, and he reaches out, deciding to draw a duck in the condensation. He feels utterly ridiculous doing it, but he knows Clara will like it, and as soon as his finger has made a final swoop, completing the duck's body, his daughter lets out an excited gasp.
"Clara…what is that?"
"Duck," she shares cheerfully, and Mark hears a quiet, one-breath note of laughter, a sign that Addison has not fallen asleep just yet. He glances at her, and she presents him with a drowsy-looking grin before her lashes flutter and her eyes droop closed again. He peeks back down at Clara next, who looks just as tired as Addison when she blinks up at him, all sweetness and charm and so much of her mother. Clara's appearance definitely favors Addison, but Addison says that Clara has his smile. And his eye color. For a long time, it felt like Clara's particular hue was somewhere between their respective ones, but now, at almost nineteen months of age, it is evident that the light, marble blue of her eyes matches his.
"Yeah?" Mark says when he hears Clara whisper Daddy. Alternating between Daddy and Dada and Mama and Mommy is a more recent development. No response from her though, not even when Mark prompts her again. "Are you just being sure of me, kiddo?" He remembers hearing Addison say that once. The phrasing felt a little unnatural to his ears, so knowing his wife, it's from a children's book. "Okay." He kisses the top of Clara's head.
There is something profoundly humbling to Mark about how much his daughter trusts him. Because when she does things like this – completely relaxes in his embrace – it is not just love. It is trust. The whimpers ceased as soon as he offered up the opportunity to look out the window, and he likes to think that Clara has remained calm because she knows this is how the night ends; she will stay here with him, and will not be taken back to her crib.
She is also the one person who – at least for a little longer – cannot see his flaws. And she knows Mark as he is now, not who he was before. He doesn't feel that he's changed, if only because that feels like such a cliché and dramatic assertion. The simpler classification is just that he is able to be the best version of himself around Addison and Clara. He likes to think this is who he was supposed to be all along.
Mark rises carefully once Clara has fallen asleep. He lies her down next to Addison, and positions a pillow near the edge of the mattress, just to be safe. He needs to get ready for bed himself, but he watches Clara sleep for a few more seconds first. He knew he would love her; he just didn't know he would have the capacity to love her this much. But then, he knows the same can be said about his wife. And their next little girl.
Addison makes a short, sleep-filled noise when she feels Mark drop down beside her. He nestles an arm over her waist as she stirs a little more. "Crib…?" She asks. She arches her neck, and then opens her eyes, looking at Mark over her shoulder.
He shakes his head. "On your left." Addison fell asleep more towards the middle of the mattress, so it seemed easier and more comfortable to just slide in behind her rather than attempt to move her over, and then move Clara over.
"Oh." She smiles at this development. "I'm in the middle."
"You are." Mark puts a hand on her stomach. A series of kicks are being executed with enough force that Addison's skin ripples beneath his palm. "Well," he tacks on. "And Ruby, who seems to be making her presence known right now."
"Trust me: I'm aware." Ruby has proven to be an active baby, and it feels like she kicks so much harder than her big sister ever did. They have joked that maybe the hard-hitting insistence of these kicks means she has zero intention of overstaying her welcome in her uterine home.
"You know," Addison adds softly, "I would have been happy either way – and I know you would have, too – but there was a part of me that was hoping for another girl." She looks at him over her shoulder again. "I know it's a lot of estrogen under one roof, but I liked the idea of it being 'Mark and his girls.'"
He kisses her on the nose. It is an idea that he quite likes as well. "Me too."
"Good night, Mark. I love you."
"I love you, too. More than Clara loves ducks."
Addison fights back a giggle, not wanting to wake their resident duck-lover. "That's really sweet, but I don't know if anyone loves anything as much as Clara loves ducks." Their daughter loves other things, too. Playing in the bathtub, or honestly, any body of water. Swings. The Balto statue in Central Park. Dancing when they put music on. Bubbles. Her play kitchen. Books. But Clara doesn't love any of those things anywhere near as much as she loves ducks.
"It's pretty close though, Red."
. .
. .
"It's going to be an early night," Addison intones while scooping rice and potatoes onto four dinner plates. They got back from Connecticut this morning. The bone-tired feeling of a weekend away has worn her out, and she knows this is true for the girls, too. Luckily, they will be able to sleep in tomorrow – no work, and no scheduled activities. They do little weekends away here and there throughout the year to visit her parents and Mark's dad, or take adventures just for their nuclear family, but the two-week stretch of time they always take off in August has finally arrived.
"If you say so." Mark's jaw twitches, revealing the start of a pleased smile. "I'm sort of…puzzled over how we're going to get them to take a break from their new activity."
Addison shakes her head. "That might be your worst one yet."
"I knew you'd hate it." Mark chuckles as he takes a glimpse at Clara and Ruby, who are at the table working on a puzzle together. At five-hundred pieces, it is an incredibly ambitious undertaking – certainly the largest puzzle the girls have ever had, and much above their skill level at this point – but they saw it in the display window at Mary Arnold Toys when they were walking back from their usual deli place this afternoon, and they were reasonably polite when they asked Mark if they could get the colorful sea-themed puzzle. And they did actually keep their word when he said that if they went in and got it, that was all they were getting, and they weren't going to spend time looking at anything else, since they needed to get back home with the sandwiches.
"Mommy, guess what Daddy got us!" Ruby had made the announcement when they arrived back at the duplex, but Clara was the one holding out the puzzle box to show Addison. Mark had them take turns carrying it on the way back, trading at the end of each block in order to curtail any fighting. "We're going to make the dolphin first. And then the purple octopus."
"That's so nice," Addison replied. "And what a fun surprise – I thought you were only going to get lunch." She had stayed home to handle some of the unpacking while Mark went with the girls to the deli. "Softie," she whispered to Mark, but she was grinning when she pecked his cheek in greeting. He couldn't help buying Clara and Ruby the puzzle; they were so excited when they noticed it. And if nothing else, so far they have been playing nicely with it. Why they chose to do it at the kitchen table though, rather than a less traffic-heavy area, he isn't sure. Thankfully, they haven't gotten much done, so it won't be difficult to transport the pieces to the seldom-used dining room table at the end of the day.
"Can you girls take a break for a sec and pick out your cups, please?" Addison gestures towards a lower cabinet where they keep a host of child-friendly eating wear. She watches as her daughters squat next to each other, heads tilted in the same way as they study the contents in the cabinet. They make selections Addison could have anticipated – a solar system-themed cup for Ruby, and one with bright pink watermelons for Clara. "Thank you," Addison comments once they have their cups in hand. "Now go ahead and sit down. Dinner's almost ready." She looks at her husband for confirmation, because the easier tasks – plating and getting out the utensils, mostly – have been assigned to her. Tonight's dinner features roasted chicken served with lemon-roasted potatoes, garlic butter rice, asparagus, and steamed carrots. Most nights they keep it simple, or just do takeout, but Sundays have somehow turned into more of a lengthy experience in the kitchen. Mark has always enjoyed cooking, but having kids – both of whom are naturally suspicious of anything leafy and green – has only heightened his interest in home-cooked meals. He considers himself sort of an expert on getting the girls to try new dishes (or if not, he is at least pretty proficient at hiding vegetables in things).
"If he does all this…" Savvy teased Addison once when she came over, distinctly impressed with the meal Mark was preparing while the two women sipped their wine. "Remind me, what exactly do you bring to this relationship?"
"A sparkling personality. And…" Addison winked at her friend as she gestured to the ruched dress she was wearing that day. She made sure the rest of her comment was loud enough for Mark to hear. "You've seen what my body looks like in designer clothes, right?"
"Amen to that," Mark murmured, but his eyes were adoring when he met Addison's.
The girls are back at the table now, and when Mark glances over, Clara is separating puzzle pieces again, seeking out all the edges (they were able to convince them to do this before the dolphin and octopus), and Ruby has her head down, one cheek pressed into the wood surface. "You tired, Rubes?" He probes sympathetically.
Ruby immediately sits up. "Daddy." She scowls. "I am never tired."
"Okay," he replies evenly. "Cool. Sounds good. Hey…" he makes eye contact with Addison, and then points towards her cell phone; it is on silent, but the screen just lit up. They try to limit time on their phones once the day has started to come to a close – and when Addison is not the Premier doctor who is scheduled to be on call – but they are trying to get a few things lined up before they depart for the Hamptons on Wednesday.
"That might be Kinsley's mom," Addison reports while he takes care of getting everything else on their plates. She dries her hands, and then walks over to the other side of the island to check her phone. "She said she could feed the fish while we're away. And we were talking about maybe going to…to…" Addison's gasp is sharp enough that it captures his attention. "Mark." Her eyes are wide when she looks at him. "It's Derek." She keeps her voice low, but the girls are too busy poking through puzzle pieces to notice. "It's, um. It's Derek. Derek called me."
"Wait…really?" Mark can feel himself becoming short of breath, his body cold and hot all at once. It surprises him, how immediate and how ridiculously intense his reaction is to this news, but then, it has been almost seven years since they last spoke to Derek. And Mark assumed, as sad as it is, that they would never talk again. "Do you think it was just -"
She shakes her head, cutting off his proposal that it could just be a mistake, a pocket dial. "It's two missed calls. And a voicemail. And…oh." She gives an uncomfortable little wave of her phone to indicate another incoming call. "I'm going to answer. Just in case…" Addison shrugs faintly, and he can sort of follow her logic: it must be a family thing. Mark cannot think of any other reason why Derek would feel compelled to reach out after all this time. There is no way he wants to talk to them…it must be rooted in obligation, in I just thought you might want to know parlance. Mark feels himself tense at the possibilities, none of which are optimistic. Something might have happened to Carolyn. Or one of the Shepherd sisters. He and Addison are close enough to Amelia that she would have told them if…no. The claws-sinking-in feeling inside Mark's chest is starting to become painful. Please don't let her have relapsed. Please, please don't let her be hurt. He manages to get out some sort of affirming grunt when Addison rushes out of the kitchen, telling him to start dinner without her.
She remains on the lower level, but gets as far away from Mark and the girls as she can, winding a path that takes her to the corner of the living room. From her high vantage point, she can make out some of the blurry greenery of Central Park. The closest notable piece of art to them is the large sculpture of Alice surrounded by her Wonderland acquaintances. Addison has a picture from last winter of Clara standing on the middle mushroom, and Ruby close by, sitting at Alice's bronzed feet, and for some reason, Addison can see the image so clearly in her head right now. Ruby was pointing at the Cheshire Cat, who in his polished-over, not-real silence, had no advice to offer young Alice as she tried to determine what she should do next: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
Addison already has another missed call in the time it took to get to the living room, and just as she is trying to work up the nerve to listen to Derek's voicemail, his name is once again a flare of bold white letters on her screen. Addison stares out the window once more. She thinks about how the eastern side of the park belongs to her recent memories, to her family, to this life. In contrast, anything and everything with her ex-husband is a life Addison said goodbye to years ago. It is a life that, in most respects, she feels she has healed from.
She tries to clear her voice of uncertainty when she accepts the call. "Derek…?"
. .
. .
Notes/Nods to Various Episodes
Slight nod to Mark's record-breaking/earth-shattering/mind-blowing comment from 3x21, Addison's "sparkling personality" from 3x05, and a late season 2 juju mention. Also a reference to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
If you were a from-long-ago reader, you might remember I had a fic kid named Ruby. It was a 6-chapter fic though, and not the one I felt I was most ~~known for, so I felt comfortable recycling the name. The reality is that when I was putting the pieces of this story together, I knew I wanted two daughters, and once Ruby popped into my head as a name for the younger one, no other option I thought of just "fit" in the way Ruby did. Also, at some point there will be a wedding flashback (they got married at the end of April, if you wanted to know but didn't feel like doing any pregnancy week-related math :)).
Next chapter picks up where this one left off. As far as Derek (and Meredith!) coming back into the fold, everyone gets a chance to talk, but it's fairly low on drama, medical issue aside (and the medical thing gets wrapped up pretty quickly – everyone is fine). It's been almost seven years since the trio last saw each other (September of the year Derek came to New York to sign the divorce papers) (Addison does know a little about his life though courtesy of Amelia, and also because of an Addison/Savvy flashback I am excited to share next chapter). I do feel that if there wasn't some sort of medical event or something else considered serious that brought them all together, they probably wouldn't have reconnected. Derek is too stubborn, and Mark and Addison are too self-loathing to push the issue for too long, and everyone has just sort of…moved on, you know? Their lives are full. It doesn't leave much room for anything else, especially anything in the past. At a certain point, you don't want the things that were incredibly painful – all that history – to keep having a hold on you, especially when you have such good things in your life. That's my take, at least…which will be expounded upon in actual words from the characters next chapter, instead of just me rambling on.
I've worked hard to create a nuanced Derek Shepherd. And I do feel sympathy for Derek, because no matter how bad their marriage was, Addison shouldn't have cheated, Mark shouldn't have screwed over his best friend, and there were also many instances throughout my version of their marriage (and canon too, I'm sure) where Addison could have communicated better and been honest about what her needs were, etc. However, although it's easy to feel sympathy for Derek throughout the course of this fic, and you can, there were plenty of instances I wove in Atlas where not only was Derek indifferent, but also downright cruel to his wife in the back-half of their marriage. And I think with so many chapters, and the length of said chapters, it's easy to forget that…or I get worried people forget that, at least. But examples are there. Plenty of them. So please try to keep that in mind! Thanks as always for reading, and for your support!