"Gramma 'Livia, can I see your gun?"
"Max!" Nat barked, cheeks turning a little pink. "What did we say about asking Gramma Olivia questions about her job?"
"Not to," Max replied glumly.
"It's all right, sweetheart," Olivia said earnestly. "I don't have my gun with me today. I don't need it, right? Because we're all safe here."
Here was Gabi's apartment in Brooklyn; more specifically, here was the deeply cushioned sofa in Gabi's living room where Olivia sat, facing the elder of her two granddaughters. When Olivia arrived Ella had been down for a nap, and all parties had whole-heartedly agreed not to wake the sleeping baby. The little one had begun to stir, however, and when Gabi rushed off to check on her Olivia had been left alone with Natalie, and Peyton, and Max.
The two girls looked starkly similar; mini Gabis, the pair of them, with their dark eyes, their dark hair, their proud jawlines. They looked just like Gabi, and that meant they looked just like Olivia, meant that she was sitting there staring into the face of something she'd always thought was an impossibility. Her family, her blood, passed on to another generation, and one day perhaps another, and another. It was funny, really, she thought, that the two girls looked so like Gabi; Olivia hadn't taken after her mother at all. Her height, her coloring, the breadth of her shoulders, all these things she had inherited from her father, and lamented. She'd hated her brown eyes when she was small, hated them because they were not blue like her mother's, hated them because they were wrong, because they were a heritage she wished like anything she could deny. Looking at those brown eyes now, though, in the faces of her granddaughters, she felt nothing but love.
"Can you bring it next time?"
"Max!"
"Sorry."
Over the girls' heads Nat caught Olivia's eye, shot her an apologetic and somewhat helpless glance, but Olivia just smiled. Noah was like that, too. Fixated on the wrong things, prone to asking the most uncomfortable questions at the most inopportune times. It was the nature of children to be curious, she thought, and it was the nature of children to greet each new circumstance they found themselves in with questions, unfettered by the courtesies and shames that tempered their parents' tongues. This was probably the first time Max had ever been face-to-face with a real life police officer, one she could talk to, ask questions of, and her reactions had so far been perfectly normal. Noah had never asked to see Olivia's gun, but she had been teaching him gun safety from the time he was old enough to talk, and he'd always known there was a weapon in the house, locked up in Olivia's bedroom. Max had probably never seen one before, and her questions were not unexpected, but privately Olivia was glad she'd left her weapon locked in her glove compartment. She didn't want the gun to be the only thing her granddaughters remembered about her.
"Peyton, do you have any questions for Gramma Olivia?" Natalie prompted her oldest daughter then, obviously eager for a change in the topic of conversation.
The girls were sitting together on the floor around the coffee table. Ostensibly they were coloring, but Max was staring at Olivia in avid fascination, and Peyton was staring hard at the page in front of her, a crayon held stationary in her right hand. She'd not said much, since Olivia arrived at their front door; Gabi had introduced Olivia as just Olivia, but clearly she and Nat had prepared the girls somewhat, explained who Olivia was, because Max had added the Gramma at once. That was sweet, Olivia thought; it was more than sweet. As strange as it was, to think that she was now a grandmother, the easy, open way Max accepted her touched her heart. Peyton, however, seemed a little slower to warm up.
"No," she said very softly in response to her mother's question.
"I have questions," Max said imperiously. "Mama says you have a son."
"I do," Olivia agreed. "His name is Noah. He's just a little older than Peyton."
"Can he come play with us?"
"He will, one day soon," Olivia promised.
"Mama says you're her mama. She has two mommies, just like us. Is that true?"
Not just like you, Olivia thought; Gabi had the mother who'd given birth to her and the mother who'd raised her, but the relationships between the three of them, Gabi and her adoptive mother and Olivia, were nothing like the relationships between these girls and Gabi and Natalie. But if that made it easier for Max and Peyton to understand, Olivia wasn't about to confuse the issue by diving into all the nuances.
"That's true," she said.
"It's not," Peyton said quickly. "It's not just like us. Because you didn't want her."
"Peyton, please," Natalie sighed, rubbing her hand anxiously over the back of her neck, aghast at her daughter's bluntness, but this, too, Olivia knew how to handle.
"It's ok," she said, trying to keep the peace. "I did want her, very much. But sometimes we can't have the things we want. We can't keep them, even if we wish we could."
From the moment Olivia first learned she was pregnant, all she'd ever wanted was her baby. There had been a few short weeks when she'd fallen asleep with her hand on her belly, dreaming of that child, dreaming of holding her, keeping her. Reality had set in and that dream had died in the hospital room the day the nurses took Olivia's baby from her, never to be seen again, but even after that loss, some part of her had wanted, still. Wanted to find that little girl, wanted to explain herself, wanted to hold her child close, and never, ever let her go. And somehow, after years, after decades, of fruitless longing that dream had come true, and Olivia was sitting in her daughter's home, with her daughter's children. Even now, the thought alone was nearly enough to make her weep.
"Your Nana and Papa took care of mama when Gramma Olivia couldn't," Nat said gently.
"And I'm very glad to have the chance to get to know all of you now," Olivia added.
Peyton didn't seem quite satisfied by that answer, but she didn't protest further. For a moment Olivia mulled it over, the problem of Peyton's reticence and how best to reassure her. It might be best, she thought, if she found some way to connect with the girl, to talk to her about her interests, to show her that Olivia was no threat, that Olivia had no intention of replacing the grandparents she already had, but before Olivia could formulate a plan of attack Gabi was walking back into the room, with Ella in her arms.
"Look who decided to wake up," she said, making a beeline for Olivia. "Do you want to hold her?"
"Yes, please," Olivia said. It had been a long time since she'd last held a baby, and her hands itched to reach for this one now. Ella was ten months old, and blinking blearily as Gabi passed her off to Olivia; her eyes were dark, too, and made Olivia wonder how exactly the girls had come into the world, if Gabi or Natalie had carried them, if they'd used a surrogate, if their resemblance to Gabi was just coincidence, the way Noah seemed to take after Olivia, but she knew such questions were hardly polite, and so she kept them to herself. It didn't really matter, anyway.
"Hello, little one," she murmured softly, smiling as she looked down at Ella. The baby was sweet, quiet, unperturbed at finding herself in the arms of a stranger, and the weight of her was a comfort to Olivia. Holding Ella reminded her of Noah when he was small; he'd been about eight months old, when Olivia first got to take him home, only a little younger than Ella was now. She remembered that frantic time, taking two weeks off work, scrambling to buy bottles and blankets and little outfits for him, remembered Nick bringing her Zara's old carseat, helping her haul the pack-n-play up the stairs and into her apartment. She remembered that first night, sitting on the sofa with Noah in her arms; she'd never felt so alone, and never felt so fulfilled, as she had then. It's just you and me, kid, she'd whispered to him, knowing that she would bear the sole responsibility for keeping this child alive, keeping him safe, raising him well. Though there was the same joy in this moment, holding Ella, there was no such sense of isolation; she was surrounded by her family, alone no longer. Alone never again, really.
"That reminds me," Gabi said, flopping down on the couch next to her with a sigh. "Who's Eli?"
"What?" Olivia asked, suddenly alarmed; try as she might, she couldn't remember ever mentioning Eli to Gabi, and it always concerned her when she was asked a question and didn't know why.
"You remember that first time we went out for dinner?"
The night Olivia had told Gabi about Burton; yes, she remembered.
"When I got there you were on the phone with Eli. I remember, 'cause I thought you were talking to your son. I thought it was funny, his name being Eli, since her name is Ella."
Olivia didn't really recall the conversation, but she was sure Gabi's memory was correct; she sort of wished Gabi had forgotten, but she couldn't be surprised. Gabi was a reporter, after all, and facts and figures and questions were her line of work.
"He's Elliot's son. His youngest son."
"How many sons does he have?" Nat asked curiously. She still hadn't met Elliot, but she'd no doubt heard enough about him; Gabi had met him twice, to disastrous results, and Olivia had spoken of him some, the first time she'd visited her daughter at home.
"Two sons, three daughters."
"Jesus," Nat said. "He's got five kids?"
"Catholic," Gabi said, like that explained everything. Which, of course, it did. "Do you talk to his kids a lot?"
"Well, I mean, not a lot," Olivia said, feeling strangely defensive. "The older kids, I've known them since they were little. Tried to help them, when they needed it. Eli, he didn't remember me-" though really, of all the children, he was the one she'd always felt most responsible for, since hers were the first hands to hold him - "but he went through a hard time, back around Christmas, and I've tried to be there for him."
She'd run interference for him with Elliot, when the occasion called for it. Elliot loved his son, desperately, but Elliot had been fighting through his own grief, and he'd needed help, and Olivia had never been able to turn away from him, or his children, when they were hurting, when she could do something about it.
"Noah says you're dating Elliot," Gabi told her then, slyly.
"You're as bad as Max," Nat grumbled.
"Gramma 'Livia has a boyfriend?" Max piped up, delighted, while Peyton pulled a face.
Olivia spluttered, for a second, caught off guard by this revelation, her cheeks going a little pink from the embarrassment. When did Noah even have a chance to tell Gabi? She wondered. Part of her thought it was sweet, the two of them - her children - bonding, sharing secrets, but a larger part of her felt flayed, somehow, exposed, raw and vulnerable.
"He's- he's- he's not my boyfriend," she finally managed, a little lamely. So far she had done no more than hold his hand, had kissed him precisely three times. They kept making plans for dinner and kept having to reschedule, and there were always people underfoot, children to take care of or his mother to tiptoe around, and nothing had happened, really, except that every time he looked at her now she saw it, the desire in his eyes, and felt the answering call of her own heart, eager to hold him, to feel his skin against hers again.
"I'm sorry," Gabi said, a little sheepishly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I thought you'd be happy."
"I am happy," Olivia answered, so quickly that it took her by surprise.
But she was, happy. She was sitting on a comfortable sofa with a baby in her arms, her granddaughter in her arms, and two more of them sitting on the floor, watching her with dark, familiar eyes. She was sitting with her daughter, and with her daughter-in-law, safe and well. And though Gabi did not know it, though Olivia had not mentioned it even once, Elliot was waiting for her back home in her apartment, keeping watch over her son, leaving the light on so that he could greet her when she returned. When she left this place, Elliot would be waiting for her, at home, and the thought of it blossomed in her chest, full of hope, full of joy. Yes, she was happy; happier than she ever thought she could be, and grateful, down to her bones, for the blessings she'd been given, for this second chance, for this family.