Chapter Twenty-Six: Reconciled

Alex

Christmas is over too soon, and I have to admit that besides the fact that I'm absolutely in love with our new place, it's nice not to have to stress over apartment hunting while I'm here. Instead I've spent the evenings watching you work on our apartment, struggling most nights not to interrupt your progress with my rather... physical desires. Some nights are harder than others, for some reason the sight of you finishing the floors, or working under the kitchen sink is irresistible. I love this masculine side of you, I got a glimpse of it when I was redoing your apartment, but it was limited to the putting up of one curtain rod. Here in your tank top, low-slung jeans held up with a boyish belt you look so... what is that word? Butch. I smile, that's it exactly. I love this butch Liv. My butch Liv.

New Years eve was nice, and although I'm not sure how you convinced Fin to take your shift I loved having the whole day with you before we celebrated with the guys at Maloney's. And now here we are again, the night before I go away, again. Only now I have a definitive date of return-- and a place to come back to besides. I sit on a counter in our new kitchen, sipping sparkling cider from a wineglass and watching you wield a wrench under the sink. With a satisfied grunt you emerge, greasy and coated in sweat.

"Try it now!"

I lean over and pull the faucet up. Success! Water flows easily, and for once, quietly from the spigot. You stick your head back under the sink and this time I don't hear any sputtering.

"You did it!"

"Don't sound so surprised!"

"Well, you're not exactly a plumber." You emerge once more and hop up on the counter next to me, stealing my glass and taking a sip.

"I thought you said I could do anything." You twist your face into a look of affected injury, and I kiss you chastely on your cheek.

"You can. I just didn't think that included things that would otherwise require a professional."

"I am a professional."

"Reading the manual four times and talking to the guy at the hardware store for half an hour does not an expert make. As evidenced by the flood we had to clean up only an hour ago, or did you forget about that when you dropped the wrench on your forehead?"

I kiss the goose egg that's already turning all kinds of fun purple tones below your hairline. You raise your hand to the bump and hand me back my glass, now empty. I swallow the last tiny drops and set it aside, sliding off the counter and turning to face you as you wrap your legs around me. You lean your head down to kiss me and I feel you shift your body to turn off the water.

"So, what now?" I break our kiss and you look down at me with that chocolate gaze.

"Well, there's the bathroom counter that still needs to get grouted, and I could probably finish painting around the edges in here, and I need to check the baseboards in the office and make sure the vents are working now and..." I stop your list with a kiss... home repair wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Olivia

Back in our now half-furnished bedroom you place a gentle kiss on the lump that's growing from my forehead. I hate to think how it'll look in the morning, and I try not wince at your tenderness. You settle in the bed next to me and I brush the hair back from your face. I like that you've continued to let it grow, and not just because I get a kick out of seeing your hair in those funky low slung pigtails while we paint. The added length gives an extra elegance to your features, an almost princess-quality to those incredible eyes and that delicate nose.

"Have I mentioned lately how beautiful you are?"

You blush and I smile, I love how you can still feel shy around me. "You are you know? The first time I saw you I just... couldn't stop staring. The line of your neck, the set of your jaw. The way your nose flares when you get angry. I remember the first time I saw you get really mad. Your eyes turned into ice and I just stared at you, trying not to lick my lips, trying not to let anyone see what that look did to me. And the first time I saw you smile-- really smile, not that fake for the jury smile. I thought I was going to fall through the floor, that I was going to melt into a puddle. I have never met anyone as beautiful as you are.

"And I had you memorized, knew your features, knew the shape of your face, the color of your eyes, the turn of your lips. And then when you came back in February, I thought for a while that you looked different, as if you'd turned into a different person while you were gone. The first night we were together again, when you were finally naked, when I finally got to see you, to touch you. And you were different, but not. Your skin was familiar to my fingers, the map of your body the same, but the topography had changed. You were fuller, livelier, healthier."

You're still fit, well toned, but there's a ... fleshiness to you now that's so deliciously feminine. Your blush turns a deep red, you've mentioned a few times that you felt like you were starting get a little pudgy, a little soft, and I want you to know how I see you... how much I appreciate the difference, how beautiful I find this new you.

I trace the curve of your body, the gentle rise of your breast. I cup a hand around your hips, "beautiful." I kiss you deeply, my lips lingering on yours, as I move my hand along your body, along this newer softer you. I love the fullness of your face, the way your features have softened from some of their previous sharpness.

"I love you. I love the old you, the new you, the you you'll be in five years... in ten... in twenty." I nibble at your neck; my hand finding it's way back to your breast, appreciating the roundness there. Your body arches to my touch and your flush changes from embarrassment to heat, the way I knew it would.

Alex

Morning is warm in our new apartment, and I'm glad my flight isn't until this afternoon, even if it means I don't get back to Oregon until late tonight. You're still sleeping, enjoying not having to be up for an early shift, taking full advantage of this day off. I know you're going to spend your weekend finishing up work on the penthouse so I let you sleep instead of waking you up for a repeat of last night's fun. I brush away the whips of hair that fell over your forehead and take a closer look at the now purple bruise below your almost-bangs.

It looks painful, and angry, and I trace a finger around it-- careful not to put any pressure on the actual bruise. I plant a soft kiss on the smooth skin next to the bump, and as your arm moves sleepily over my hips I smile and blush, thinking of last night's conversation. Somehow every time we're together I end up feeling shy. Why do you always go to the beautiful thing? Growing up I was always too lanky to be called beautiful, too bony and sharp-edged to be considered feminine. Mostly it never bothered me. It meant I didn't get asked out a lot in high school, which was fine with me. In college I was too busy studying to have much of a social life. The few times I did manage to go out, the one time I put together some sort of relationship with a man it was awkward, and most of the time unpleasant. I never had anyone tell me I was beautiful, never had anyone tell me I was anything other than a brain.

Trevor was just a classic example of a short line of failed relationships. He might have lasted longer if he hadn't tried to rape me. Ok, I guess it wasn't so much rape as it was that he didn't understand the word no. You stir in your sleep and I watch you smile as your body sighs and wiggles closer to mine, still unconscious and dreaming of something undoubtedly more pleasant than my current line of thought.

I've told you a little about Trevor, about how mom pushed me towards him, wanted us to make a life together. She loved the idea of having Trevor as a son-in-law, regardless of the fact that he made me ill. All those years together growing up, Langan and Cabot luncheons, and then having to compete against him in law school, the horrendous internship at his father's law firm. The last person I wanted to date was Trevor. But as you know, it's hard to say no to mother even when she's in the process of ruining your life, so when Trevor called for the first time and asked me to dinner I said yes.

Our first date was a lot like our second, and our third, and our fourth. We'd get dressed up, go to a Cabot-Langan approved restaurant (in other words high-brow with good wine and bland food), then I'd wait patiently while he kissed me on the front porch before returning to my law books. Each night mother would come to my room, talking up Trevor's accomplishments (as if I hadn't been there for all of them and bested him at everything) and then 'encourage' me to accept his offer of another date. We'd been going out for almost a month when he started putting the moves on me. Disgustingly classic high school stuff, an arm around the chair at the movies, a hand on my knee at dinner? desserts used as excuse to touch my lips, hugs that lasted longer than they should have. I managed to put off sex for almost three months of awkward dates. We had dinner then went to see the newest Grisham novel turned film, and instead of taking me home we'd ended up at Trevor's family-bought brownstone.

I went in for a drink; sat uncomfortably on his sofa and waited for the lunge I knew was coming. When it did I played along for a bit. I didn't object when he pushed his tongue past my lips, when his hand mashed unceremoniously at my breasts. I didn't object when he undid my shirt, pulled roughly at the closure of my bra. I didn't object when his hand slid up my skirt, when his other hand reached for the buttons, the zipper. When he moved to push his hand inside my panties I tensed, pulled away. Came to my senses. I grabbed for my shirt as Trevor protested,

"Come on Alex. Don't be shy now."

"Let go Trevor, I want to go." His right hand tightened around my wrist as he shifted his body, trapping my between his legs as his left hand returned to my underwear.

"You know you like it. Besides, isn't this what everyone wants? For you and I to get together, get married, have babies. Well, let's just get started shall we?"

I struggled to keep my dinner down as he licked a slimy line up my neck. My hand still clenched my shirt, covering my bare breasts awkwardly as Trevor's left hand moved to pull down my panties.

"Let go Trevor. Stop." As his rough finger reached my slit I took the only chance I could see-- I raised my leg and brought my knee up to meet his groin. Shocked, he whipped back both hands and grabbed at the source of his pain. I quickly left the couch and started flinging my clothes back onto my body.

"Jesus Alex. All you had to do was say no." He rubbed awkwardly at his crotch, anger flashing in his eyes.

"That's funny, I thought I did." I was equally angry, probably more so and feeling predatory to boot. "What on earth gave you the idea that you could just... make me sleep with you? What part of 'stop and let go' didn't you understand Langan?"

"Fuck you, you uptight over-educated bitch."

"You wish."

He moved back to his liquor cabinet, quickly swallowing a finger of scotch before turning back to me. I cut off his coming tirade with something I knew he'd understand-- legal speak.

"Tell you what Trevor, I'll make you a deal. I won't press charges for attempted rape if you agree to leave me the fuck alone. That means that you stay the hell away from me, my life, and my home. And I'd appreciate a little more respect at the office too. In case you've forgotten, you're an intern too. I know it's your daddy's law firm but I think you can find someone else to do your grunt work from here on out. And should you ever forget any of these conditions, or feel yourself slipping back into bad habits-- I'll happily remind you of two words: attempted. rape. Not something that looks good when you're applying for jobs as a defense attorney."

I turned on my heel and marched from the room, shoving my bra in my bag and buttoning the last button on my shirt as I hit the street, hailing a cab and seething in the backseat all the way home. When I slammed my way into the house I was in no mood for my mother's pecking, and by the time I made it into my bedroom and collapsed on my bed it hits me that some people would consider what Trevor did only a step away from an actual crime, something I hadn't really thought about even when I was threatening him. When mother knocked I quickly wiped away my tears and moved to my desk, burying my head in a book and trying to calm my voice as I called for her to come in.

"Well, how was your evening Alexandra?" Her voice was gentle but probing and I really wasn't in the mood.

"Pretty bad mother, but fortunately I don't think Trevor will be calling again."

"Why on earth not? What did you do Alexandra?"

Her automatic assumption that the break is my fault was too much, and I turned to her, eyes blazing, no longer caring about the tears that fall hot on my cheek.

"I didn't do anything mother. Trevor decided he didn't have to listen to me when I said stop and tried to force himself on me. When he wouldn't-- I kicked him in the balls, which seemed to have the desired effect."

She looked shocked and angry, and for a minute I thought she was actually going to sympathize, until she opened her mouth.

"Alexandra! What on earth were you thinking?"

"Thinking mother? What was I thinking? I was thinking that Trevor Langan is a disgusting, vile, and particularly repugnant form of human being and I didn't particularly want his hands or any other part of his anatomy in contact with mine."

She looked scandalized and I knew better than to think she was concerned with how this would make me look.

"Alexandra that was a very foolish thing to do. You should feel lucky that a man such as Trevor Langan would choose to grace you with his affections. He would make you a fine match."

"A fine match? Jesus mother, what about me? What about what I want? I suppose you think I should have just let Trevor rape me and then married him so we could have one of those repressed, society-page gracing, purebred families?"

The argument went downhill from there. The next day I moved out, stayed with a friend from Harvard until I found and leased the apartment I lived in until I started working for the DA's office.

I'm saved from the rest of my memory by a tickling of your lips on my cheek. Your silky voice rescues me,

"Good morning baby."

Olivia

You don't notice me for a minute, until I kiss your cheek and you startle, turning to look at me as I wish you good morning. I wonder what you were thinking about.

"You ok Lex?"

You nod, "Just thinking."

Sounds serious. "What about?"

You shake your head, and I see a tear fall from the corner of your eye. I prop up on an elbow and use my fingers to guide your face so that you're actually looking at me.

"Lexi, what's wrong?"

An hour later, I'll wish I hadn't asked.

Alex

At four o'clock I'm watching the airport grow small in the distance from my first class seat, wishing we could have ended this trip without having to revisit the whole Trevor thing. Especially since you still have to see him when you testify next week for Casey. I only hope you don't go after him now, hopefully you listened to me when I asked you to leave it alone, that it was history. I know you're first instinct is as a detective, as a member of SVU. But the statute of limitations is up on Trevor, and bringing up the past is only going to lead to more trouble. We have enough of that without dredging up ancient history. I'd rather not have told you anything, but as always you notice even the tiniest shifts in my mood and I wonder if I'll ever be able to hide anything from you. You've always read me a little too well.

I lean back in the seat, clutching the armrest as we hit a patch of turbulence. I can't begin to describe how grateful I am that this is my last solo flight for a while. I'm tired of the back and forth and exhausted by the feeling of being split between two lives.

Thanks to a delay on my stopover and an accident on the freeway I don't get back to the house until after eight Pacific time, and after calling you so you know I've arrived safely I collapse into bed, cursing jet lag and falling asleep to fitful nightmares full of my past and pains that may never fully heal.

Olivia

I take out my angry energy over my weekend on the apartment, furiously sanding the office floor, and scraping the roughness out of the concrete walls in the guest bedroom and bath. At noon on Wednesday I pause my work and settle into the sofa to stare out at the city. My fury over your experience with Trevor bubbles, catching me off guard at odd moments during the day. Tomorrow I'm back at work, and in less than a week I have to testify for Casey. Langan is the defense on the case and I feel sick at the thought of seeing him, knowing what I know. I've never been particularly over-fond of Trevor, especially knowing how well your mother liked him, but now it's all I can do to keep from rushing to his office, making him pay for what he did… off the books as it were.

You've begged me not to though, and I know you're right this time. There's nothing to be gained from kicking Trevor's ass, except my own peace of mind. And knowing Langan and his equally sleazy father, I'd end up eating my badge in the end. I toss back a water bottle and move back to working on your office. The floor is almost done and I should be able to get it stained and sealed today. By next weekend I'll be able to start painting. I can't stop a grin at the thought of your face when you see what I have in store for your office. If all goes well and I haven't lost all my talents, I should have the mural done by the time you get moved back. At the very worst I'll have to hire someone to do it with some of the money you left for the improvements. I grab a new block of sandpaper and crawl back to the far corner of the room. I use the force of my sanding to wipe away my anger.

By the time I'm back at my desk on Thursday I'm not actively mad anymore. I'm not looking forward to seeing Langan next week, but at least my rage has subsided to a dull roar, and I decide to save the sharper edge of it for the suspect we're being sent after. When the kid runs, I beat Elliot to him easily, and slam him against the hood of a parked car. He raped fourteen women and called it dating, and when I get him cuffed and spin him to read him his rights I swear I see Langan's eyes laughing at me from his face. I shove him to Elliot and walk back to the unmarked, starting the engine as my partner gets Emanuel the multiple rape dater situated in the backseat. I don't answer the question in Elliot's eyes as he slides into the passenger seat next to me. This isn't something I want to share.

Alex

On the fifth the guys from Goodwill show up disgustingly early to take the sofa and end tables as well as some of the clothes I've boxed up, and a bunch of bedding and towels. I usher them in still wearing my mismatched pajamas, and while they work I make coffee, thanking the gods that I can finally have caffeine again. We're going to have to come to some sort of compromise about my caffeine intake when I get back. The all decaf all the time thing is gonna kill me. I thank the goodwill movers with fresh cups of coffee on their way out the door and collect my donation receipt. For the first time since I've been back I check my voicemail. I didn't bother when I got home on Tuesday night, and I was home all day yesterday finishing up my sorting, and doing a little more packing besides and I forgot all about my answering machine. There are two messages from Cass, asking for advice on a case, a gracious farewell message from Williams, and a surprisingly warm message from the local SVU captain. I erase all but one of the messages from Cass, and then I realize I've missed one. For a minute I think I'm dreaming when I hear the voice on the tape.

"Alexandra, it's... it's Juliana. Your mother."

I'm shocked, and despite my residual anger I feel tears welling in my eyes.

"I opened your Christmas gift Alexandra. I suppose I could have called your cellular phone but you know how I feel about those ridiculous conversations where you have to spend half your time yelling."

There's a pause and for a minute I think she's done, that she's lost her nerve. I'm about to hit the erase button when she continues,

"You were right Alex. I knew long before Trevor tried to... before he... you know. You were always different Alexandra, I just wanted so much to believe it was because you were smart-- smarter than everyone around you, your father and I included. You knew more at the age of four than I knew at the age of twenty-one."

My tears break free as I hear my mother use my nickname-- something she's adamantly refused to do, even after daddy started calling me Alex on a regular basis.

"Look, that's not important. I just wanted to say thank you for the gift. It's a beautiful photograph. You've... you've never looked happier."

I replay the message four times before I pick up the phone to call you, wanting to share this hole in my mother's armor. It's not the melting of a glacier, but it's something. You sound pleased, but wary and I can't say that I blame you. Luckily you don't chide me for seeing her without telling you, and I'm glad you sound a bit distracted so you don't have time to dwell on my omission. You talk briefly about a case and I hear Elliot in the background talking to Warner, so I let you go quickly, not wanting to keep you from your work.

When I hang up the phone I take a shower, trying to decide what I want to do. Once I'm clean and feeling refreshed I pull on a pair of your sweatpants that I hijacked, baggy on you but perfect on me and a tank top, forgoing underwear and a bra since I don't actually intend to go anywhere or entertain visitors. I turn the fireplace on against the January chill and settle comfortably in one of the two recliners I've decided to move with me to New York. Once I'm warm and comfortable I pick up the phone, dialing the familiar number almost without looking, amazed as always at the things that time doesn't erase.

"Cabot residence."

"Elena, it's Alexandra... is mother in?"

"Of course ma'am, one moment."

I take a sip of coffee, hoping the caffeine will calm my nerves-- a belief you insist is ridiculous and not scientific. Still I relish the warmth of the liquid, and imagine it giving me courage, and calm. I've just about convinced myself when I hear my mother's smooth and full of all the social graces she prizes so highly.

"Alexandra."

"Mother, I just got your message. I'm glad you liked the gift." It's awkward this start, and I find myself at a rare loss for words. We fall to a abnormal silence, then both begin to speak at once,

"Alex," "Mother,"

I pause and let her continue.

"Alex, I'm... not proud of the way I've acted. And as I said, you were right. I knew long before Trevor..."

"Tried to rape me?" I can't help the dig, as promising as this conversation may sound, I'm still angry.

"Yes. Before he forced himself on you, I could already see you weren't like other girls, other women. You always had an air of knowledge about you, an intelligence in your eyes that people noticed even when you were a baby. Your father and I knew you would never be a socialite, that you'd rather work than invest. When you chose law your father was thrilled. He saw the nobility of the profession, but when you chose prosecuting sex crimes all I saw was the banality, the grit. It was hardly the career I would have chosen for you, but you know that."

"This isn't about work mother, don't try to hedge away from what we're really talking about."

She falls silent, then concedes. "Yes, yes of course you're right. Once, when you were about six years old you came home from school and told me you'd gotten married. You sat in the kitchen and Tam gave you a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. I was checking on the dinner she was preparing and you told me all about your day, about how you'd made a new friend and how at recess you'd gotten married to an old one. Do you remember that?"

I shake my head, forgetting that she can't see me. She doesn't wait for a response though and I hold my silence.

"I asked you the name of your 'husband' and you looked up at me and grinned. You laughed for a minute and then stared me straight in the eye and said 'you silly goose. I don't have a husband. My wife's name is Leslie.' I was horrified."

Even now her voice is touched with a hint of the scandalous, and I feel a wash of memory flowing over me. Leslie Jestin. I haven't thought about her in years, not since high school, when we ended up in the same English class. As a child she was beautiful, incredible chestnut hair with these unbelievable almost golden eyes. She was my best friend all through kindergarten I adored her. In high school she'd become exactly like the high-society debs I despised after years of proper grooming, and we'd never revisited the friendship of our youth. Still I remember the way my head felt light as she passed in the halls, the way I lost track of the lesson as she answered questions in class. I'd forgotten all about our kindergarten marriage until now. Now that I think about it, she looks a lot like those pictures of you as a child. Funny... guess I always had good taste.

"I remember her. She was beautiful, funny too. For a six year old anyway."

"Yes. Well. Her mother phoned me later that evening and we agreed the two of you were spending too much time together. The Jestin's put Leslie in another private school and we found you some new friends. By the time the two of you crossed paths in high school we weren't worried anymore. Leslie was dating a prominent young man destined for Columbia, and she was exactly the sort of person you turned your nose at.

"Still, I knew it wasn't out of your system. Every so often you'd make fast friends with a girl at school, spend all of your free time with her and then be devastated when they chose to spend free moments with their boyfriends instead of with you. Every time you went out with a boy I was flooded with relief, every time I thought maybe you'd changed, that you'd become... normal."

I cringe, not wanting to accept the idea of abnormality. We fall back into our awkward silence, neither of us sure where to go, or wanting to particularly to move into this next piece of my lifeline.

"Joshua Langan and your father met years ago at a shareholders meeting for one of their pharmaceutical stocks. Meredith and I became good friends and we took every opportunity to put you and Trevor together, arranging play dates when you were younger, and encouraging you to turn to each other for study help in high school. I knew you didn't particularly like him, and your father tried to convince me to back off, but as you know I don't take orders well. Every time he pushed me to back off I fought harder. When you ended up at Harvard together Meredith and I were thrilled. We thought maybe you'd be drawn to each other by familiarity, and she confided in me one day that Trevor had developed rather a crush for you.

"At your graduation he pulled your father aside, asked his permission to date you. I was so excited, I was sure that this would be the end of those hapless crushes on your female classmates, that you'd stop mooning over women who already had boyfriends, fiancées. It was never obvious enough that your father noticed, I don't even think you realized what was happening in your heart. But a mother knows."

"That's what you were so happy about. In the graduation photo with Trevor behind us? It had nothing to do with my magna cum laude diploma-- nothing to do with getting my law degree from one of the most prestigious universities in the country. You were excited because you thought I was going to be straight?"

She has the sense to sound ashamed, "Yes Alexandra I was."

"Was it so horrible to think that I might actually meet a woman and fall in love? I realize it doesn't fall into your perfect Rich WASP lifestyle mother, but what about my happiness? Didn't that count for anything?"

"Why do you think I was so determined to turn you towards Trevor? I never wanted this life for you Alexandra. Maybe you haven't noticed in your little bubble, but your lifestyle isn't exactly well accepted. Haven't you felt the pain of discrimination, of bigotry yet? You've been with Olivia for more than five years, and you've never been looked down on, never been turned out, turned away? You've never had someone yelling slurs at you? You've never been hated for loving her?"

"Not by anyone but you, mother. The only person in my life who ever had a problem with our relationship was you." My tears start fresh, my pain suddenly new again, thinking of all the acceptance we've found in every corner of our lives except where I needed it most. She's quiet, listening to my crying without comment. For once though I don't feel the wave of disapproval that usually accompanies our conversations, the stiffness that she usually uses to greet my sobs. I try to recover but I'm too broken now, too steeped in all the pain I've tried to shove away so many times when I think about her, about her hatred of my life, of our life together.

I'm not sure how long I cry before I hear my mother's own shuddering, before I realize that she too, is drenched in the pain of these last bitter years. Her voice quivers as she speaks words I've waited years to hear,

"I'm sorry Alex. I've wasted too much time trying to change you. The photo you gave me for Christmas, when I saw the way you looked at her, the light in your eyes... even as a little girl I never saw that. I was trying to realize when you'd been that happy."

I know the answer, and so does she.

"Anyone who can make my daughter that happy, who can light up your face that way, give that spark in your eyes... anyone who can do that is worthy of my acceptance... even of my love.

"I can't say I'll ever really be comfortable with it Alexandra, I'm well trained to think the life you've chosen is an abomination, that it's wrong. But you're my daughter Alex... you came from me. I've spent years trying to deny my claim to you, to separate myself from your relationship with Olivia. I was wrong Lexi, and I'm sorry."

Our conversation dissolves into mutual tears, apologies. I look at the blank space on my wall where the photo hung until I boxed it up and wrapped it for mother for Christmas. I changed the frame so that it would match the tones of her sitting room, hoping that maybe she'd find it in her heart to put it on the wall, with photos of my Aunts and Uncles, of my cousins and their husbands, my cousins and their wives. Maybe it's not so farfetched a thought as I once imagined. I don't think we'll be invited to a family reunion anytime soon, but when we finally hang up we at least have an invitation to dinner upon my return, and mother tells of her intention to speak with you before I get back.

It's evening by the time we end our call, and I force myself out of the chair, stretching the tautness from my limbs, tipping my head from side to side to crack away the stiffness. I move to the bathroom and hold a washcloth under the cold water before bringing it to my face, hoping to chill away some of the puffiness that's invaded my features from a lengthy cry. I debate calling you again, knowing you'll be at the end of your shift, but decide against it. Choosing instead to resume my packing, more anxious than ever to return to the city, because now I have two reasons to return.

Olivia

Most of my first week without you is uneventful, with the exception of a dinner invitation from your mother that you encourage me to accept. You don't say much about it, except that you think I'll want to hear what she has to say to me. I stay skeptical, but when Juliana calls me a third time I accept the dinner invitation with reservations, although I request that we wait until the week before you're due to return. I'm not sure what she has to say that I could possibly be interested in, but for your sake I don't dismiss her outright.

I'm anxious for you to come back, and the night before my dinner with your mother I finally finish the work on your office in the penthouse. I've had to redo part of the mural three times, I'm sorely out of practice with a paintbrush, but I'm pleased with the end product. With Elliot's help I fix an unexpected hitch in the pipework in the guest bathroom and for the first time since I signed the lease I enjoy the view of the city from our completed apartment. It took two months and more money than I care to think about, but it's finally finished, and awaiting your decorator's touch. I watch the city lighting up as the sun fades from the sky, and reach for the phone even before it rings, knowing it will be your voice on the line.

"A week and a half."

You laugh, "How did you know what I was going to ask?"

"I just know." I twirl my ring on my finger, knowing somehow that you're doing the same.

"Ready for tomorrow?"

"Are you sure I need to do this? Your mother and I don't exactly have a good history together. Besides, I thought you'd finally given up on her."

"I did. But when I got back she called again. She had some important things to say Liv, things she needs to say to both of us, and to you. That's what tomorrow is for. Just hear her out alright? I think you'll be glad you did."

"If you say so. Are you all ready to go?"

"Yup. The movers come tomorrow morning and I hit the road the day after bright and early."

"Are you sure I can't talk you into flying instead? I don't like the idea of you driving all the way across the country on your own. It makes me nervous."

"I'll have my cell phone with me the whole time and I promise to call you regularly. I have hotels all lined up every step of the way, and I got the car checked out just like you asked. Clean bill of health with no foreseeable problems. If all goes well I'll be there in eight days."

I'm worried, and I wish I could have gotten time off to drive with you. But even when I thought I might be able to con my way into the time you demurred, saying you wanted a week of complete independence, where you relied only on yourself before we move into this new chapter of our lives together. I understand the desire, but still I'm not comfortable with you making the trip alone. I swallow my objections though and listen to you talk excitedly about your cross-country trip. You sound like a girl fresh from high school, planning a road trip before college, and despite my worries your exuberance is contagious and I let you talk me to sleep with plans of landmark stops and tourist sights.

I wake at 3am to the sound of your gentle snore on the line and I whisper an I love you before I disconnect and head back to my half-empty bed, wishing you were here now and not just preparing to come my way. I push my apprehension about dinner to the back of my mind and focus on the thought of having you back in my arms for good as I drift back to sleep.

In my dreams you're here, your fingers in my hair, on my skin, your lips on mine, tongue seeking mine. Even in my sleep I feel my heat rising at the thought of you and I wake hours later feeling happy and content, and more than ready to face whatever your mother has in store for me tonight. No matter what she says, you're coming back to me, and that's really all that matters.