Chapter Fourteen: Being Real

Olivia

We finally crawled out of bed, and you opted for the shower while I went to make your coffee, and scrounge up some breakfast. I thought about joining you, but I needed some space from you to collect my thoughts. As much as we both enjoyed last night, today's discussions won't be easy, and I need to start preparing for your questions. I need to start preparing my own questions too. There are things I want to know about. Things I need to hear about before we can really tackle this thing.

I listen to the water start running in the bathroom and take a glass of orange juice to my kitchen table. You bought it before we broke up, and I almost threw it out when you left, but now I'm glad I kept it, it goes well with the new paint. I lean forward in my chair, resting my elbows on the table, holding my glass with both hands. I picked up your glasses on my way to the kitchen, nearly stepping on them as I crossed the living room. I stare at the shadow they cast on the table across from me, waiting in front of your seat. I wonder if you checked the fridge before you surprised me in the bathroom last night. Did you notice there weren't any liquor bottles on the shelves? Did you notice I replaced my open liquor shelf with pictures of you? I did that before you left. Before you 'died.' You would have seen it if you'd come with me that night.

Did you see that I finally got the window replaced? The super was not happy at the hole in the glass in the living room where you'd thrown out my bottle opener, after you broke the pane with a wine bottle. It cost me almost a grand to get it fixed. I decided you were right; there are better ways to remind myself not to drink then looking at a broken window. That's when I redid the shelf. It stood empty for months, looking stark against my kitchen wall, empty of the things that comforted me for so many years.

I finish my orange juice and get up to pour you a cup of coffee, surprised that you're taking so long in the shower. As much effort as you put into your appearance you were never much of a shower-taker. You never seemed to enjoy spending an hour, an hour and a half under the falling water. Get in, wash, shampoo, condition, rinse, get out. You didn't understand that I used showers to wash away the filth of my job. I know you've seen your share of disgusting things working with us, but you don't usually have to see the scenes. You don't usually have to sit at the bedside of 5 year olds who've been molested by daddy, teenagers with venereal disease petrified of being found out. Sometimes spending 2 hours under a scalding hot shower is all that keeps me from jumping out a window.

I know you're preparing your arguments under the rush of water. I know how much you care about me, and I know that even though the immediacy of your anger has waned over the last two years, you're still incredibly hurt by how we left things. I don't blame you. I said horrible things to you. You said horrible things in return, but I was the one that started it. I was the one that brought out the big guns, the low blows.

I hear the shower tapering down; listen to you rustling with the towels I brought out for you this morning. I crack the first egg over the pan, remembering how much you loved it when your mornings left you time to watch me cooking. Those were some of my favorite times. Early morning, before my first page, or your first meeting with Branch or Liz. I loved watching you sit across from me at the table, papers from whatever case your working on in one hand, fork in the other… the glasses of justice perched on your nose, the black line of their rims bisecting my view of your irises, as you tilt your head towards your papers. This morning will be a little different. Same breakfast, different arrangement. I want to start talking quickly, get it out of the way. If I get distracted by your nearness I'll lose my nerve. I have so much to prove to you today. Now I know how the innocent people feel when we have them in the gray-room. I know how it feels to have to fumble around your fear to prove your innocence… or in my case, to prove my changes. I nearly lose my resolve as I watch you leaving the bathroom in my robe. Your hair is tied up in a towel on top of your head and I can't believe I've lived without seeing the curve of your neck, the contours of your profile for two years. Having you padding around my apartment seems so incredibly normal, finally so real that I can't help grinning again.

Just the sight of you eases my fears. It's time for me to tell you that… among other things.

Alex

I stood under the water a lot longer than usual. While I've been away I've come to understand why you always took such long showers. I spent a good part of my first night in Oregon under a scalding hot shower. It was the first time we'd stopped moving for an extended period of time, and as exhausted as I was after traveling off and on for 3 weeks with the ever-charming agent Hammond at my side, I wanted to wash away every minute of the last month. I was desperate to rinse away the things I said to you before I left. Desperate to rinse away the things you said to me. And mostly I needed to wash away the memory of those two final nights. I needed to shed the memory of the explosion, of the sight of Donovan's car blowing sky high with him in it, the force of it throwing us both off our feet. Mostly though I need to scald away the fragments of the night I "died." It's not just in my dreams that the sight of your face twisted with worry and fear haunt me. At first it seemed as if I couldn't close my eyes without feeling the pressure of your hands on my shoulder, trying to force my blood back to my body.

No. Stop this. I have more important things to think about right now. I keep having to remind myself that I'm not in Oregon. Reminding myself that Agent Hammond isn't watching my every move, or at least I'm choosing to believe he trusts you with my life. I think about the best way to start this discussion. I'm laying out my arguments as I rinse the shampoo from my hair, unable to squash a smile at the thought of smelling like you for a few days. The heady vanilla and cinnamon scent of your shampoo fills the shower and I find myself distracted again.. but only for a minute.

"Alexandra Cabot you have got to get hold of yourself."

I grab your soap and a washcloth and wash away the evidence of last night's pleasures. I can feel your hands in my hair as I condition it, I can feel you playing with its new length, burying your face in it last night as we waited to embrace sleep. You never seemed that interested in my hair before. Of course it could be because I had no idea where to get a flattering haircut. The pictures you have of me on what used to be your wine shelf can attest to that. I tell myself your new obsession is more about my return than my haircut.

Even as I get ready for this confrontation I can't help but smile, remembering waking up to you again. I really can tell that you've made changes. And not just because your wine shelf was still empty, not just because you fixed the living room window finally. You seem to be drawing out of yourself for once. Externalizing for a change. I thought I was dreaming again when you first said you loved me. I waited for three years for you to tell me what I already knew. Then I left you because you couldn't. And finally after two years away from you, away from the way you looked at me, away from the daily sight of you-- you find the courage to say those words.

I have a feeling that for once this discussion won't be one-sided. I hope I'm right, I hope that you're finally ready to talk to me.