Brown Eyed Girls
New York, 5 years later
"Where are we going?"
Olivia Grant is laughing, breathless. She's full of anticipation for her husband's surprise, but it's not just that which is making her giddy: even after all this time, she's still exhilarated simply being in his presence.
"You'll see in a minute. We're almost there."
"But I want to know now."
Fitz stops suddenly on the sidewalk; tugs on her hand, pulls her against him. Her chest hits his with a dull sound and she giggles, gazing up into his blue eyes. They are dancing with streetlights, and stars, and love.
"You are so annoying," he says, amused - and she doesn't believe a word.
"I am not. You think I'm cute; I know you do."
He laughs; leans down, kisses her. "You are cute, Mrs Grant. You're the cutest thing in the whole damn world."
She can feel her heart fluttering, swelling, melting. "Cuter than the girls?"
"Where do you think they got it from? You're the original, baby."
"Fitz," she sighs, and he catches it in his mouth. She rises into him, her heels lifting off the ground. Through marriage, pregnancy and parenthood, the way she loves him has evolved over the last seven years, but its foundations remain the same: he makes her happy. And not just happy like a warm cup of tea on a cold morning, or getting lost in a really good book, or lying under the summer sun beside the ocean. He makes her happy in her bones; happy to the tips of her fingers, to the top of her head and beyond, so that she radiates it wherever she goes. So happy that sometimes, when she hugs him, her whole body shakes with the emotion of it; so happy she smiles whenever he walks in the room, even if he's only been gone a minute; so happy she can't explain it, to anyone, no matter how hard she tries. It's less of a feeling and more of a physical, physiological state: she is happy. She is joyful, all the time.
And it's something she is grateful for every day - especially days like today.
"Thank you for marrying me," she whispers when they break apart, falling into the tenderness of his gaze. "I can't believe it's been five years. Happy anniversary, Fitzy. I love you so much."
"Mmm," he hums contentedly, nuzzling his nose against hers. "I love you more."
"I love you most."
This is a contest they have often, and he grins. "Okay. You win. Which really means I win."
She shakes her head, laughing softly. "Now who's the cute one?"
He doesn't answer, just presses his smiling lips to her cheek, holding her tightly in the warmth of his embrace. After all these years, she still craves him: his body, his scent, his unconditional love. She still thinks about him in her daydreams; still can't get enough of their bedtime cuddles, of falling asleep in his arms. Their lives have changed in so many ways but, fundamentally, they are still Livvie and Fitz: the same two best friends who fell in love beneath an English summer sky; who married in The Hamptons exactly five years ago today.
And what a whirlwind adventure they've had together since then. Two babies in the first two years: Lila, conceived on honeymoon in Europe and then Evie, who came along just fourteen months after her sister. They're so identical they could be twins: both mini versions of their mother, with big brown eyes and lighter skin; their curly hair dark but soft, like Fitz's, with a tendency to lighten in the sun. And they're a joy. They truly are angels. Olivia still can't comprehend how blessed she is to belong to this family: to have this perfect man; these sweet, kind, loving daughters who adore each other, and who are so adored by everyone who meets them.
And the rest of her life has turned out pretty great, too. Just before Lila was born they moved to the suburbs, to a sprawling four-bedroom house with cedar wood floors and a huge backyard; now their puppy, Rufus the Golden Retriever, gets to run wild out there, chased around by his two best friends. She walks him with the girls every morning, around their close-knit neighborhood, and often she'll run into a friend and they'll stop for coffee, watching their kids play together in the park, catching up on life. She's aware that a lot of her female friends are envious of her: they think she's so glamorous, with her freelance editorials often featured in the glossy magazines they read; they're jealous of her beautiful, impeccably-behaved daughters and her husband… well, what can she say? He's the same Fitz he's always been: gorgeous, charming and still absolutely besotted with her. If she was anyone else, she'd be jealous of her life too.
He's been busy too, over the last few years. He gained a master's degree in portrait photography, graduated top of his class and finally left his father's company eighteen months ago to set himself up in business. So far he's done work for Vogue, Esquire and the New York Times to name a few, as well as his degree show which earned national acclaim. And he's exhibiting again, opening this weekend - which is where Olivia suspects they might be headed now, because they've wandered into Chelsea where his pop-up studio is.
"Are we gonna stand here all night?" she asks, enjoying snuggling him on the sidewalk but also impatient to find out if her guess is correct. She hasn't seen the studio since the day he booked it, when it was housing someone else's show and he brought her along to get her opinion. And, while she's approved all the photos he's displaying, she's only seen them on his computer. Edited, enlarged and properly lit, she knows they're going to be stunning.
"We might," he answers, a smile evident in his voice. "I like it here."
She looks up at him and he kisses her until she's smiling, too.
"How many times do you think we've kissed?" she wonders aloud, making him chuckle.
He takes her hand and they begin to walk again. "I don't know. A thousand?"
"Fitz! In seven years? You really think we've only kissed a thousand times?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Okay, Little Miss Bossy. What's your guess?"
Honestly, she has no idea. But she does have the best answer: "Not enough. I won't ever have kissed you enough."
"Ugh. So cheesy, Livvie."
But he draws her against him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and she knows he loves what she said because the way he presses his lips to her temple and holds them there for a long time is so tender, so heartfelt.
"Just when I think I can't love you anymore," he muses, "You go and say something like that."
"Don't worry. I think your show might win you back the title of 'most romantic'."
"Ah," he grins, "You've figured out my surprise. And yes… I think it might."
It does.
Entitled Nurture, it's a collection of black and white portraits of his muse: her. Specifically, her as a mother. Borne of the thousands of photos he's taken of her since their wedding, through two pregnancies, births and the start of parenthood, he came to her one night eight months ago and asked if he could put her on show. He was so passionate about his idea, and had such a clear vision already, that she said yes straight away. She would never stifle his creativity; plus, she is still so flattered to be his inspiration, so awed that he wants to share her with the world. She's just a mother, and it's the best job ever but it's something that billions of other women do too - really, it's nothing special. And yet, looking at Fitz's photographs of her, so intimate and exquisitely shot, she feels like the opposite is true. She feels incredible. Extraordinary.
And she hopes other moms might see the images and feel the same way; that they might be empowered to embrace their bodies for the miracles they are, and those they've created. God knows the female population could do with a little more body positivity these days. She's already written the start of a piece for Elle magazine on her experience of (literally) baring herself, and she's planning to finish it off once she's seen the show. Now, with her husband's after-dinner surprise, that will be sooner than she'd anticipated.
He doesn't officially open until Saturday, in two nights' time, but he lets her inside and locks the door behind them. The blinds stay drawn, hiding them from the street, leaving them in darkness.
"Close your eyes," he whispers, moving past her, turning on lights. She's so excited her knees are shaking, and so proud of him she thinks she might cry. His grad show certainly earned its acclaim, but it was put on by the university. This is all him: his dedication; his long hours in his studio in their home; his labor of love. This is them: their family, on display.
"Are you ready?" he asks after a minute, standing in front of her. He sounds nervous. She feels his hands caress her face, his lips on hers. "I hope you like it, baby."
And then she looks - and she's blown away.
Firstly, the studio itself looks magnificent: polished wooden floor, pristine white walls, high ceiling. There's a column in the center, more surface area for photographs, and the lighting is low and clean, with spot lamps perfectly positioned to bring life to his work. To her.
"Oh Fitz," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "It's amazing. Oh my God."
She doesn't know where to look first. It's completely overwhelming.
"Let's start over here," he suggests, guiding her over to the wall on their left. And he doesn't draw his audience in gently. There she is, reflected in the large bathroom mirror in their old apartment: dressed only in her underwear and about four months' pregnant. He captured her in such beautiful moment: morning light, toothbrush forgotten in one hand, the other caressing her belly as she gazes down in wonder. The focus is on the reflection, not on her body, giving the image such depth.
The caption beside the frame reads: 'You and I', with the date it was taken and details of the camera he used. Then: 'Not for sale'. He was always firm about that: he wouldn't sell any which give away her identity, or their daughters'. This show isn't about making money, but about artistic expression - with the added benefit that it will promote his name, too.
Olivia wants to touch the picture; to fall into it, to relive such a precious moment all over again. The tears spill over her eyelashes, onto her cheeks, and she squeezes Fitz's hand tightly as she tries to hold onto control. She is so, so lucky. What did she ever do to deserve this life?
They move on to the next shot and she realizes they're chronological. This time she's sitting cross-legged on their bed, wearing a t-shirt and pajama shorts, reading a book to her growing bump. Fitz was standing above her, pointing his lens downwards so the image is just her torso, her hands, her bare legs. He's called it 'Teacher', and that makes her chest hurt. She used to read to Lila all the time, before she was born. Fitz would often come and sit behind her and she'd lean back against him, sometimes letting him take over. He used to change the words, to make it dirty, to reduce her to fits of giggles.
"We were so young then, weren't we?" she says softly, more to herself than to him. She can barely remember feeling so carefree; it was such a different time.
The photographs continue, various sizes and dates leading up to the birth of their first child. Olivia unpacking a teddy bear from a box in their new house and holding it to her chest, her eyes peacefully closed ('So I'll always be near'); a close up of a mug of tea resting on her belly, its surface rippled because of the baby's kicks ('Saying hello'). There's her at term, fast asleep in bed, the focus on a stack of pregnancy and birth books on the bedside table ('Ready for you'); pacing the living room, trying to walk off her contractions, unmistakable excitement in her eyes ('I breathe in your courage' / 'Not for sale'). One picture in the hospital, of his hand on her pregnant tummy for the last time ('Not long now, baby girl').
And then suddenly there's their daughter, about thirty minutes old. Fitz didn't get his camera out any sooner, wanting to be present in the moment - and besides, he was crying too much to use it anyway. Lila is already breastfeeding, her tiny fist curled around Olivia's little finger, her dark eyes taking in the world around her ('You are our best thing' / 'Not for sale').
"Look at her," Olivia sighs, leaning in to her husband. "She's so perfect."
"I remember it like it was yesterday."
"So do I."
He doesn't let her dwell there for too long, leading her onwards instead. Maybe he can tell that she'd probably stay all night if she could, just gazing at her firstborn, feeling that rush of pure, indescribable love all over again. But it continues, because Lila is in all of the next images: the back of her head as she rests on her mother's shoulder after a feed, her wisps of dark hair just starting to curl at the nape of her powder-soft neck ('Three AM quiet'); her tiny feet and even smaller toes ('Tread softly'). Now they're outside, in the park: Olivia is pregnant again, her sweater pulled up, Lila's little hand pressed to the gentle swell of her abdomen as she gazes up at her momma with confusion in her eyes ('Who is this?' / 'Not for sale').
A few months later, Olivia is lying on their bed on her side, Lila curled around her protruding belly, breastfeeding. Olivia looks so calm, as if she's asleep ('Natural' / 'Not for sale'). Fitz tells her it's one of his favorites, which explains why it's also one of the largest photographs on display - almost six feet high, filling half of the back wall of the studio. She loves it, too. She can remember those days so clearly, despite her exhaustion. She was just so happy. Lila was such an easy baby, Fitz had decided to work part-time so he was around a lot more, and she loved being pregnant again - feeling her child's movements, seeing the bond Lila already had with her bump, as if she somehow knew that her sister was inside.
And then came the hottest summer on record, and being heavily pregnant was definitely not as fun this time around. In every picture in the few months before Evie's birth, she's barely dressed: the most she could manage around the house was a crop top and printed cotton shorts, or a bikini. But the photos Fitz has taken are still so interesting, capturing her in her day-to-day activities: washing up, folding clothes on her belly; resting a glass of water there, or a half-eaten apple. Standing in the kitchen in her underwear in the middle of the day, writing something on the calendar. He's turned the mundane into a gorgeous homage to his wife, and his appreciation for her shines through.
"I love this one," he says quietly as they pause beside another large black and white shot. She's sitting at her desk, typing on her laptop with one hand while simultaneously giving Lila a bottle as she lies across her tummy. It's taken from just above her shoulder so neither of their faces are visible, and titled: 'Writer, Nourisher, Nurturer (Wonder Woman)'.
"I do look like Wonder Woman," Olivia admits with a smile, proud of how strong she seems, of how infinitely capable.
"You are Wonder Woman, Livvie." He turns her towards him, his expression sincere. "This entire show is celebrating how wonderful you are; how powerful, how awe-inspiring. Most days I still can't believe I'm the one who gets to be with you; that my children get to have you as their mother. I mean, look at you." He gestures around the room, his tribute to her. "You're a fucking goddess."
She starts to laugh but he kisses her, long and slow, until nothing's funny anymore and there are tears in her eyes again. "Stop making me cry," she sniffs when he finally lets her go. "It's supposed to be our anniversary."
"Sorry," he grins, hugging her tightly. "I'm just being honest. Anniversaries are times for professing one's love, are they not?"
"Oh Fitzy. Most men buy chocolates, flowers, spa days. This isn't just professing your love. This is… something else."
He shrugs. "This is what inspires me. You are what inspires me. Now come on, we haven't even finished yet."
There are a couple more images of her still pregnant with Evie: a side profile of her bare tummy with Lila's squidgy little bottom sitting on top, Olivia's hand with her diamond rings holding her daughter's thigh ('Wife, Mother, Protector'). A series of thirty photos, in one large frame: Fitz had set his camera on a tripod, to take shots at intervals over a five-minute period. It's evening, just days before Evie made her appearance into the world. Olivia is sitting on the sofa, breastfeeding Lila before bed. The first shots are full of movement: Fitz moving to sit behind his wife, who is adjusting their daughter's position. Then slowly the pictures settle, and become utterly serene: Lila gazing into her mother's eyes as Fitz watches her little face with wonder. Then she's looking at him, her fingers curled around his against Olivia's chest. Fitz's other hand is caressing his wife's belly, his second child; then her palm covers his, Lila's eyes close, husband and wife gaze at each other lovingly. It's simply entitled: 'Love' (/ 'Not for sale').
Olivia didn't know he was going to put these photos in the show, but she's so glad he has. They're beautiful.
"Can we keep this one at home?" she wonders, again having to restrain herself from reaching out and touching the glass, trying to enter the memory, to have those five minutes all over again.
"I was thinking about the upstairs landing-"
"Next to the bathroom? Yes." They smile at each other. They read each other's minds so often, these days. "Is it time to meet Evie?" she asks softly, even as they're moving on.
"Here she is."
A very quick labor, this time. She barely made it inside the hospital from the car; several pushes later, still wearing her own t-shirt because there was no time to change into a gown, their second daughter was born amid a cacophony of noise and chaos - except for Olivia, who was the calmest she had ever felt. She just knew what her body was doing this time; she trusted it implicitly. And it gave her the most perfect baby girl, who suckled immediately and didn't even cry. She had never felt strength like it before. She could take on the world now. She was complete.
The photo Fitz took manages to capture almost all of those emotions, which is astounding. The entire hospital room is a mess, clothes and bags and medical paraphernalia all over the floor; and at the epicenter sits this new mommy with her little bundle of pure joy, in another universe altogether. 'Transcendent' / 'Not for sale' reads the caption.
She couldn't have picked a better word if she'd tried.
The final shots adorn the column in the center of the studio: eight shoes lined up beside the front door ('And then there were four'); Olivia holding two babies against her chest, both wrapped in towels after bath time, Evie's hand clasping her big sister's ('I've got you'); Olivia in her underwear in front of a different mirror this time, a few months postpartum, using her fingers to make a heart shape over her tummy which is softer now than it once was ('Thank you' / 'Not for sale'). And, finally, one of Fitz with his three girls, taken much more recently in the park using his tripod and a remote. He and Olivia are sitting on the grass on a bright summer's day, each holding one of their daughters who are wearing matching polka dot dresses, their curly hair in ponytails, with identical grins on their gorgeous faces. He must have taken fifty shots to finally get one where they were all looking at the camera, but it was worth it. This print is black and white but they have the original color version hanging on their kitchen wall at home, and every time she looks at it, Olivia is filled with love.
Its title?
'Family' (/ 'Not for sale').
"Fitz, it's… I can't describe how incredible this is. I am so proud of you." She reaches up to kiss him, to hold onto him as tight as she can. "How does it make you feel, seeing it all finished?"
"You know how I feel," he says solemnly, sliding his hands around her hips, pulling her against him. "What I want to know is, how do you feel?"
"Honestly?"
"Always."
She takes a deep breath; suddenly her heart is racing. "I feel… like I want another baby."
He blinks. "Really?"
"Yes."
She's trying to read him. They've vaguely discussed the possibility of a third child before, but not in the last six months and never really seriously. Is he pleased with the idea or not? She can't tell.
"How long have you been thinking about it?"
"I've literally just decided." She winds her fingers into his curls, gazing into his handsome face. Fatherhood hasn't aged him a day; in fact, he just keeps on getting sexier. "I'd love to be pregnant again. I'd love to go through all this one more time." She looks around the room, at the happiness contained within each photograph. "Wouldn't you?"
When she looks back, he has the biggest smile on his face. "I would," he says, pressing his mouth to hers. "I would, Livvie. Let's do it."
Their kisses rapidly become more heated as Fitz backs her into the wall, careful to avoid his artwork. He trails his lips down her throat, his hands kneading her breasts, and she starts to giggle. "What?" he asks gruffly, biting on her shoulder.
"Did we really just decide to have another baby?"
"Yep. No going back now. I want you knocked up and barefoot in my kitchen as soon as possible, Mrs."
She laughs, tilting her head back, letting out a long exhale. She can feel Fitz's palm on her abdomen, his breath on her sensitive skin. The thought of being pregnant again is warming her body, turning her on.
"I can't wait for you to grow another baby bump," he says, kissing his way around her ear. "You're so sexy when you're pregnant, Livvie. I've spent so many months looking at all these photos of you and wondering if I'd ever get to see you like this again."
Her dark gaze meets his and she knows they're both thinking about the phenomenal sex they used to have when she was expecting Lila.
"Are you sure?" she asks, one more time. It would be so easy to get carried away right now, but this is a life-changing decision - and on her part at least, a spontaneous one.
"I've never been surer of anything," Fitz replies. "Are you sure?"
She draws him closer. Every cell in her entire body is telling her this is what she wants; what she suspects she's wanted for a while now, even though she didn't realize until tonight. "I'm sure. Can you imagine how excited the girls will be if we're lucky enough to give them a baby brother or sister?"
"Judging by how much they dote on their dolls, I think any future children of ours will be well and truly spoilt."
She beams at him. "I think so too. Now, take me home so we can practice baby-making."
"Really?" He tugs on her hand, pulling her towards the door. "That's how you proposition me on our anniversary night?"
"Oh, sorry. Please?"
His laughter echoes through the studio and into the night - one which, like the rest of their lives together, is only just beginning.