A/N- just so you'll know, this chapter was a hell to write! Too much free time rots my mind. All those scenes and ideas were swimming all over my head but refused to arrange themselves together in a logical sequence. I tried my best. Reviews will sure make me feel better about this chapter (winks) Chapter 9 is on its way so wait for it!
Chapter 8
His bed was empty when he woke up the next morning. Once he got to this realization he sat up and looked around the room. His clothes were still scattered all over the floor, but that was it. He looked at the bed again. The pillow next to him seemed like it had been slept on, but… Where was she? His mind was still blurred from sleep, but he remembered as much. He remembered the way the other night ended. But now he thought that maybe he was making it up, maybe he had too much champagne, maybe he just wanted to believe it happened, maybe…
Maybe nothing. She was there, and now she wasn't.
Confused, he put on his glasses and got out of bed. It's not that he was bitter or disappointed about this. He wasn't even angry. It was just weird. Running away like this as if last night meant nothing was something that the old Maureen might have done, but not this one. She must have had a good reason. After a quick shower, he stepped into the living room, and there she was, now fully clothed, leaning against the couch Libby was still sleeping on. Her eyes were closed. She seemed to be asleep. How long had she been sitting here? And why? He walked over to her and knelt beside her. He touched her cheek gently and her eyes fluttered open.
"Mark… what time is it?" she sounded tired, but she managed a small smile.
"A bit after 7," he answered, then added hesitantly, "What are you doing here?" He didn't mean to sound accusing. He just had to know. He had to make sure she didn't regret it.
She ran a hand through his still damp hair. "It's not what you think. I just… wanted to be here when she wakes up." She glanced at Libby, then turned back to him and looked at him seriously. "We need to talk about this."
"Oh wait, isn't it supposed to be my line?" She laughed. This seemed to break the ice a bit. He took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. "I'll make some coffee and we'll talk, okay?"
"Yeah. That'll be great," she smiled and leaned over to kiss him. "I'll make it up to you… promise…" she murmured into his ear once they broke apart.
"I'm looking forward to that," he whispered and looked at her teasingly. By her expression, he could tell she wasn't expecting him to say this. He couldn't believe his eyes. Did he just make Maureen Johnson, the former drama queen of Avenue A, blush? Wow. He smiled and got up to get them some coffee.
She was waiting for him on the porch, on a small sofa he had there. They just sat there for a while, silently sipping their coffee and watching the city as it slowly woke up. There were few people on the street, probably going back from late New Year parties. It was so early it was even possible to hear the birds sing. This was strange. He couldn't remember a time when he heard birds singing in New York.
"I think I owe you an apology," she said all of a sudden, shaking him out of his reverie. "I didn't want Libby to wake up alone and not remember where she was. And I didn't want to risk that if it happened, she'd somehow find her way to your bedroom and walk in on us." He nodded. It made sense. He didn't think he could handle the little girl's enquiring if she did that. From the short time he had known Libby so far, one thing was clear to him. She was hard to fool at. Like mother like daughter. "You see, for so long, it has been just the two of us. Ever since Libby… well, you know how it is. Men don't usually go for the single mom type."
"They don't know what they're missing," he smiled.
She returned his smile, flattered it seemed. "Anyway, she loves you. I know she does. But all this is going to be new for her. I just didn't want her to freak out. Or get traumatized. Or something."
He nodded again. He would probably do the same if Libby was his kid. "That's okay. I understand." He hesitated, but then felt that he had to ask. "Did she… ever ask you about where her father was?"
"She did. God, I had no idea how to handle this. I mean, I was preparing to this moment almost ever since she was born. I knew I owed her an explanation, so I thought it was best to start planning this explanation, the sooner the better. She was about three when it finally came up, and no matter what I had in mind, I completely forgot it all once she asked me. She wasn't even in a kindergarten yet, but there were some girls she used to play with in the park and… you know. Kids notice these stuff. So one night right before she went to bed, she asked me."
"What did you tell her?"
"Well, obviously not the truth. How can you tell your three-year-old that her father didn't want her? I told her that he was gone, that he lived far away, and that he might not come back." She laid her coffee mug on a small table. "She still asks about him, but not as often as before. This is what scares me the most when she'll start school. I hate thinking what is going to happen if one of the kids will start teasing her about not having a father. I don't want her to get hurt because of my stupid mistakes. I don't want her to ever get hurt."
Listening to her, he realized that her change was greater than he thought. When he knew her before, it was all about her, every time. He smiled in spite of himself. Who ever thought of Maureen Johnson as a protective mom? If someone had suggested it to him ten years ago, he would have probably laughed at that someone's face.
"We really need to work things out though. Before I tell her anything," she added. She had that hesitant look. He took her hand. She looked at him seriously, almost desperately. "How the hell are we going to do this?"
Yeah, he thought about this one a lot. He still wasn't sure he had the right answer. "I can move to San Francisco, I guess," he said slowly. It would be a tough sacrifice, but he was willing to do it for them. He made himself a fine reputation in the passing few years. He could easily find jobs there, maybe open another gallery. That could work.
She shook her head. "No. No, you can't leave New York. Your work is here, and your friends, everything. I don't want you to give up all that." There it was again. This unfamiliar concern for anyone but her. It made him feel weird. He'd just have to get used to it, he figured. "Libby won't start school until next year, so it's not supposed to be a problem. I can't quit my job though."
"I don't want you to quit your job." According to what he had figured so far, she liked her job. She was good at it. He didn't want her to give it up.
There was a bit of silence, as if she was thinking it over again. He did too. He could go there every weekend, maybe every other weekend if things would be really tough. And she and Libby could too, if Maureen's job would allow her to do that. It was only several hours away by plane. But he didn't want to have them only for several days. He wanted to be with them always.
"Shit," she whispered after a while. "There's no way, right?"
Don't give up on that, he thought. He couldn't give it up. "We'll figure it out. Don't think about it now," he said, wrapping his arms around her. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest. They stayed like this for a while. It was chilly but he didn't care. He always loved these hours of the day, before the city got back to its usual tumult of crowds and car horns and other kinds of noise that could freak anyone out.
"What are you doing?"
He opened his eyes. He didn't even realize he closed them. They were lying on the small sofa, Maureen's head still against his chest. His arms were still wrapped around her. She opened her eyes as well, looking a bit disoriented. They fell asleep? He couldn't even remember how long they were sitting there. They both raised their heads, startled, to look at Libby, who was suddenly out on the porch, looking at them curiously.
"Your mommy was a bit cold," he improvised, and felt really proud as Libby slowly nodded, as if his explanation made sense. "And I guess we fell asleep."
"Come here, Munchkin," said Maureen as they sat up, gently pulling Libby's arm so she would sit in her lap. She held Libby, and he still held her. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Yes," the girl nodded. His heart melted. How could anyone resist her?
"So what do you wanna do today?" he asked. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to spend as much time with them as he could. Maybe he'd think of something. He had to think of something. He didn't want to let them go, ever. Not until he got her back.
"Want to go ice-skating."
"Ice-skating? I thought Robin took you ice-skating couple of days ago!"
"Want to go with you."
He looked at Libby and instantly knew what he wanted to do. He was surprised it didn't occur to him before. "Did Robin take you to Central Park, Libby?"
"No."
"So I'll tell you what. We'll make some breakfast, then we'll go over to the park, and we could go ice-skating this afternoon, how does that sound?"
Maureen looked at him skeptically. "Do you really have the whole day? Don't you have to be in the gallery today?"
"I'll call in sick," he said jokingly, then shook his head. "No, we didn't intend to open it today. It's New Year, no one will come anyway. So what do you guys want for breakfast?"
They made breakfast together. Libby asked for pancakes, so they spent some time getting everything ready. They let her help too. For a moment, just like dinner the day before, it felt as if the three of them were a real family. It suddenly made him realize how much he longed for this to be real. He tried to repress any thought about this, at least until they'd find a way to make this work, but no solution seemed possible at the moment.
He raised his head from his plate and caught Maureen's eyes. By her expression, he guessed she was thinking the same thing. He smiled at her sorrowfully. They gotta find a way.
After breakfast, he told them to wait for him in the living room. He went into the room where he kept all his filming equipment. He still kept his old reels, although there was no use in them anymore. Couple of years back, with Roger's encouragement, he converted everything he had on these reels into video tapes, once he could afford the right equipment for it. They sat for hours, watching scenes from their past, people and places they haven't seen for years. They both cried as the familiar memories flashed on the TV screen. He smiled sadly as he remembered this long week were they did most of this work. He was glad Roger had the chance to watch it all again before his death. He wished Roger could see Maureen again, and meet Libby, her teddy bear with whom he shared a name... He would have loved her.
He grabbed one tape and went back to the living room, where Maureen and Libby were still waiting.
"Hey, what you've got there?" asked Maureen as he turned the TV on.
"Surprise," he said, smiling mysteriously, as he shoved the tape into the video.
"You and your surprises," she frowned and moved a bit, so that he could sit on the couch as well.
"We watch a movie?" asked Libby curiously. She was sitting between them, her teddy bear in her lap.
"Yeah, we're gonna watch a movie," he said, pressing the play. The picture cleared in a second, revealing Angel in her Santa coat, doing a little drum show for the camera. He heard Maureen gasp and turned to look at her. She didn't look back. She didn't remove her eyes from the screen as the scene replaced, and it was now Roger with Mimi, on the roof of the loft… Collins in a middle of a wild laughter… Joanne and her sharing one peaceful moment…
"Mommy, who is this woman?" asked Libby all of a sudden.
"She's an old friend of ours. Her name is Joanne," said Maureen quietly, as if lost in memory. He wondered if she'd ever tell Libby the truth about the kind of a 'friend' Joanne really was for her.
The scene changed. Zoom in on Roger, who was sitting on their old couch in their loft in his shabby plaid pants and T-shirt. His guitar was in his lap, and he was singing, making seductive faces at the camera in his best rock-star attitude. He smirked. It's been a year since he lost his best friend. He missed Roger so much.
Another scene. Collins and Maureen, in that long ago Halloween were they dragged him trick-or-treating all over the Village…
"Mommy, why are you crying?" asked Libby all of a sudden. He turned his attention from the screen to Maureen only to realize that she was crying. Silent tears were streaming down her face, but she was still watching.
"Mo? Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.
"Mommy?" asked Libby again. This time she sounded almost frightened.
She turned to face Libby, and gave her small hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm fine, baby, it's just… I haven't seen those people for a very long time."
"You won't see them again?"
"I will. Someday."
Something within him broke. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her. He thought she'd want to see all that again. Sure, they had hard times, but at the same time they had fun. They were happy. They tried to take the best out of life, no matter how little they had. He stopped the tape.
She turned to look at him, surprised. "Why did you stop it?"
"Because you're crying. That wasn't my point."
"Turn it back on, silly," she laughed in spite of her tears. He hesitated for a second, but soon pressed the play once again. The next thing was her protest in the lot. The dream, Benny, the moo's, the riot. This time she laughed aloud.
They spent the rest of the morning in the park and had a great time. Maureen was quiet at first, still a bit traumatized by the memories he assumed, but gradually she became her real self again, laughing and making snow-angels with Libby wherever the snow was thick and clean enough. He brought his camera with him and took hundreds of pictures, mostly Libby's. He had to have something to hold on to once they were gone, he figured. He watched through the camera lens as Maureen was pushing Libby on a swing. Libby giggled and said something he couldn't hear, probably wanting to go higher.
"Such a lovely family." He turned to the sound of the unfamiliar voice and met the smiling face of an old lady, holding the leash of a small dog. He gave her a questioning look. "She looks like her mother, but she has the same smile as you do." He opened his mouth to protest, but she and her dog were already too far for that. He looked at Libby again. Did they have the same smile? She was all Maureen, as far as he could tell. How could anyone even make such a mistake and consider her his?
He sighed. He wished she was his. It would have made everything so damn easier.
Although she insisted going back there, Libby got bored quite quickly once they got to the skating rink of the Rockefeller Center. She was getting tired and cranky. It's been a really long day. They had quick dinner and headed back for the hotel. It was six as they got there.
"I'll give her a really quick bath, so just wait in the living room for a while, okay?" asked Maureen as she helped Libby out of her coat and ushered her down the hall.
"Sure," he nodded and sat on the couch. He turned the TV on, but found himself dozing off. It's been a really great day, but he was exhausted. Maybe I'm getting old, he thought bitterly, closing his eyes. Just for a minute, he told himself.
He woke up with the strangest feeling. Something tickled him, gently and persistently. He slowly opened his eyes to find Maureen laying on top of him, spreading soft, light kisses on his neck. He smiled. She smiled back, her eyes glistening. "You're tired?" she asked in that low tone. He didn't trust himself to say anything smart when she used that tone of him, so he simply nodded. He leaned a bit up to kiss her slowly, and gently turned them over so that she would lay on the couch. He kept kissing her, slowly picking up the pace. His hands wandered from her hair to the soft fabric of her sweater. She gasped as his cold hands made contact with her warm skin. He just caressed her slowly, gently, leaving goose-bumps along upper body, deepening the kiss at the same time. His fingers drifted down her waist, until he could feel the material of her jeans.
And then, suddenly, she put her hands on his. "Don't," she breathed.
He tried to stir his mind back on track. He was so unfocused. "What?"
"We can't… do this… here." She touched his cheek. "I'm sorry."
He remembered their talk from that morning. I just didn't want her to freak out. Or get traumatized. Or something. He kissed her forehead. "Don't be. I understand. I care about her too."
She smiled, still somewhat out of breath. "I know."
As much as he wanted to spend the night there, he forced himself to get up from the couch. He didn't want Libby to find him there the next morning. They had to take things slow for her.
"I'd better go," he said, holding out a hand for her. She smiled sadly, but took his hand and got up as well. She walked him to the door. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
"You better," she said with a shy smile.
"I will," he smiled, and kissed her cheek before he left.
His cell phone started ringing just as he made his way out of the subway station and to the street were he lived. He smiled as he recognized her number.
"Hey," he said. He wondered if everything was okay. He was just there half an hour ago, why would she call unless something happened? Maybe Libby got sick or something? He didn't even want to think about it. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, I just realized that I forgot to tell you something."
He smiled. "Hmm… what is that?"
There was a short pause, as if she hesitated, but only for a second. "I love you."
He just stopped dead on his tracks in the middle of the street. He needed only half a second to take this in. He smiled. "I love you too."
"Good night." He could hear the smile in her voice. She hung up before he had a chance to say anything else, but there wasn't really much to say.
New York City had known a lot of weirdoes of all kinds in the many years of its existence, so the sight of him, skipping all the way home and smiling like an idiot wasn't exceptional. If someone had noticed him, they would probably think he was either drunk, stoned, insane, or possibly all the above. But the truth was, that he didn't give a shit. She loved him. That was the only thing that mattered.