Chapter 2

Sunday was Olivia's favorite day now. Her new rank as sergeant came with more obligation, but also more steadiness in terms of her work schedule. She always had the weekends off now. Saturdays were for chores; Sundays were for Noah.

Having spent the good part of the late night and early morning in the hospital, Olivia was a little less perky than her son come 8 AM. She scrambled together his milk, Cheerios, and banana – bypassing her coffee, skipping the high chair – and settled onto the sofa with Noah in her lap. As he drank from his bottle, Olivia unlocked her iPhone. She didn't have any text messages. None from her squad, and none from Elliot. She supposed he could still be sleeping, if he slept now. She didn't know. She wondered if maybe the phone number he gave in the email was not, in fact, his cell number. She didn't know.

Olivia checked her emails – nothing from anyone except Macy's, Bloomingdale's, Century 21, Pottery Barn, GrubHub, American Express, and her power company. She deleted them all except the coupon from GrubHub. There was nothing from Elliot. Nothing.

"Okay, my sweet boy," Olivia whispered to her son when he was done with his bottle. She sat him upright on her lap and let him get started on his Cheerios. Noah loved to eat. More than anything, he loved to eat. Sleep while the sun was up? Not so much, but eating he could do. Feeding him she could handle. She could do this.

"What are we going to do today, huh?" she asked. It was cold outside – blistering, face-numbing, disorientingly (was that a word? Or was it a feeling?) cold. Noah smacked his lips on a piece of banana and rubbed his pudgy gooey hands on Olivia's sleep bottoms as an answer. She didn't mind.

It was definitely a GrubHub, childrens' books, and block-castle building kind of day. It would have to be the best block castle ever built – a feat to last the entire day, something to keep her mind off her iPhone. She wasn't going to text him again until he responded. Maybe not even then. And she wasn't going to wait anymore. She'd spent enough time doing that for him.

She sat Noah on his play mat and went to make a cup of coffee. As the Keurig machine warmed up, Olivia powered down her cell phone and threw it unceremoniously (or was it a grand statement?) into the silverware drawer. It was Sunday. No one important was going to bother her, and she couldn't spend all day worrying over it, over him. Out of sight, out of mind – that's how she'd been living for four years. That's how it had to be.

Olivia watched Noah from the breakfast bar as she sipped her coffee. He was hauling his plastic ducks and cows in his fire truck. He had the right idea – stay in motion. Keep going, buddy, she thought. Let's keep going. As she drank her coffee, though, her mind couldn't stop reminding her of the iPhone in the silverware drawer. It kept making up excuses to turn it back on – maybe something would happen down at the station house. Something she wouldn't have to go in for, but something she needed to be consulted about. Shut up, she thought to herself. Everyone knew not to bother Olivia on Sundays. Maybe Elliot knew that, too. It didn't mean he wasn't bothering her, though.

She dug her phone out of the drawer (not as reluctantly as she'd wanted to), turned it back on, set it on the countertop, and went to work on building that monumental block castle.

The great thing about this plan, really, was that Noah was going to knock the castle over. A lot. She'd have to rebuild over and over.

By 3:00, Olivia had built about thirteen castles, read Noah more books than she could count, and was ready to order Chinese from GrubHub (lo mein only these days, because she could pick out the noodles, cut them up, and share with Noah).

While they waited on the delivery, Noah continued to play full force with his pile (landmine now, really) of toys, and Olivia clicked the TV on to Lifetime. As if she didn't have enough drama already. As if she didn't live out these devastating stories every single day of her life. But it was comforting somehow, for reasons she could not explain, to have these movies on in the background while she rested on the sofa, her eyes closing only for a minute – just resting was all.

She awoke to the sound of knocking on the door. Olivia scrambled over Noah and his menagerie of toys (thank God he didn't wander off. He was such a great kid, and she often felt like she was failing him. She didn't mean to fall sleep. She didn't mean to). She peeped through the small hole in the door (never too careful these days), and opened it for the delivery man. She signed her receipt, thanked him very much, locked the door, and took the bag over to her counter.

Mindful to pick out only the noodles, Olivia had a large pile (more really, probably, than was needed), ready to cut up for Noah. She opted, smartly – because she was by now an experienced mother – for the high chair this time.

"Here we go, big boy," she cooed to Noah as he resisted his restraints. She remained gentle and patient – no unnecessary force. When she put the plate in front of him, his demeanor quickly changed, as his attention zeroed in on the finger food. "There we go."

Olivia sat on the barstool next to Noah, and mindlessly dug into the lo mein container with her fork, now consisting mostly of chicken and vegetables and whatever kind of sauce that was. Who knew what it was, really? It didn't matter.

She tapped the home button of her phone, and saw she had a text message waiting. From Elliot. Elliot had texted her. And suddenly she wasn't so mindless, or tired, or calm, or anything like that. Her body felt panicked, as if in fight or flight mode. As if she was being held hostage again. As if she was freefalling into something she had no control over.

you got my email, the text message said.

I did, she replied, slowly. Very slowly – careful not to make any sudden movements. She had to be cautious, self-restrained. He had to make the rest of the moves.

can you come? He responded immediately.

I'm not sure yet, she shot back just as quickly. Damn. Slow down.

i want you to, he sent, just as she sent a follow-up excuse, I might have to work. Work. That was a passive-aggressive shot. You wouldn't know it, except if you knew that work was where he left her alone. It was what she was still bitter about, even though she wouldn't tell you outright. Plus, she didn't work the weekends anymore, so it was a lie.

you don't work weekends anymore, he said.

You stalking me? she asked. Ghosts. Ghosts. "Look, I'm not trying to stalk you…" Olivia felt sick.

how else would i know what's going on with you? Elliot asked.

You could call me, Olivia replied, and her phone rang.

"Jesus, I didn't mean right this second," she said into the phone. I meant like in the last four years.

"Hey, Liv," Elliot said. It was the first time she had heard his voice in all this time. How she'd missed that voice, missed him. Her throat was very dry, and she tried to clear it inaudibly.

"Elliot," she said.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Eating Chinese food."

"From where?" he asked.

She answered, "Jade Palace." Her answers were short, curt. She wanted answers first. Long, detailed, don't-leave-anything-out details of what the hell? That was the question, wasn't it? What the hell? Where the hell have you been?

"Nice pick." Olivia smiled at his approval (not that she needed it), and at the memories of all the times they'd shared a meal together from their favorite Chinese delivery restaurant. In his apartment or her apartment, or the station house, over files… work. Where they used to be partners, before he left her. Fuck she was bitter, despite all her effort not to be. Despite all the times she told her therapist she was over it. She wasn't. She never would be. It had been her secret beast of burden, for all this time.

"I don't know, though, El. About next weekend. I'm not sure yet."

"Okay," he said, sounding hurt, although he had no right to be. She wanted his pain to feel good to her—goddamn she was fucked up—but it didn't. His pain would never feel good to her.

"I'll see what I can do," she said to alleviate some of that ache (For her? For him?), some of that guilt—guilt she had no right feeling, really, if she rationalized it. "We'll try to be there. I'll try, El. I don't…"

"Good," he said. "Okay. Good. I…"

"I've got to go," she said, hurriedly, as if there was something she had to tend to right away. Like her emotions. Her life. She had to cut him off.

"Talk later?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I'll…I've gotta go, okay? Talk later."

"Bye, Liv."

Olivia hit the END button on her phone, put her head down on the countertop, and yelled, "fuck" into the granite. Noah laughed, and Olivia turned her head to smile at her son.

"Bath time! Okay, buddy?" She said as she slid off the barstool. "Bath time. Bubbles. Duckies. Doesn't that sound nice? Come on." As she lifted Noah out of his chair, and carried him into the bathroom, all Olivia could think was fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Elliot had thrown her life completely off balance, again. Forever. It would never stop.

TBC