A/N: Hey, folks. I apologize for the wait, but I had finals and graduated law school, and now I'm neck-deep in bar prep. So life has been a bit hectic as of late. Hope you enjoy!
Beca's grateful that she had the foresight to take the next week off from work at the label. At the time, she'd anticipated that she would need a break after the hectic opening of the Atlanta branch. Now, she figures it's just as well.
She knows she'd only be halfway invested in the work she'd be doing anyway, and that's not how Beca Mitchell makes good music. She prides herself on the way she can usually tune out the rest of the world when she sits in front of the booth, mastering the knobs and dials on the board until the track she's working on becomes a seamless composition of notes and beats.
But that damn flight attendant has her mind scattered in a million places.
She only feels like herself when she spends time with the little whirlwind that is Oliver Mitchell.
She almost feels a little guilty. That she's in some indirect way using her son as a distraction. But at the same time, she knows it's not in some weird, unhealthy way. She doesn't depend on him for her happiness. She's witnessed those kinds of parents, the ones who choose to have a kid for the explicit purpose of having someone to "love them unconditionally." She's seen the way that can really fuck up both parent and child later in life.
It's just that being with him makes her feel the way sitting in a studio makes her feel. It's where she belongs, where's she feels at home. And Oliver seems to have as much fun being with her as she does with him, so like a typical mushy, sappy mom, she appreciates the time she has with him until he eventually grows up and makes friends, and becomes a teenager who obsesses over girls. Or guys. Or both, or neither. It doesn't matter to her.
So she takes full advantage of the her time off with her son, coloring with him, giving him "horsey rides" around their living room, and watching his favorite Disney movies on repeat until he's reciting lines along with the film at about 30% accuracy.
This week his favorite is Hercules, and he's taken it upon himself to only respond to "Hunk-ules." She'd laughed about it with her dad until she and Olly had to go grocery shopping and he'd enthusiastically introduced himself to the cashier. As she swiped her credit card through the machine and shoved the bags haphazardly into her cart, she contemplated switching grocery stores entirely.
She thinks that's a bit of an overreaction, though. Oliver's in a bit of a "phase" phase, so she just banks on the fact that he'll move on from this one as quickly as he does the others.
He does. By the next week, his new favorite is 101 Dalmations, and everywhere he goes, he clutches the stuffed Dalmatian Beca got him in an attempt to placate his pleas for a dog of his own.
/
The nights are hard, though. After Beca puts Oliver to bed, the house becomes quiet but for the ticking of the clock hanging in the kitchen. Her mind doesn't wander to Chloe, it runs directly to her. And it ruminates on her until Beca eventually succumbs to sleep.
/
Jesse talks to her over Skype one night that week. He's in New York working on some new indie film that he expects will be a home run at Sundance. He rambles on about the poignancy of the cinematography on this project, the chances that they'll get picked up for distribution at the festival, and a riveting scene-by-scene replay of the script.
"And then the lead gets abducted by the CIA, where they implant her with a chip that lets her talk to animals, but she goes rogue and recruits squirrels to stage a coup to overthrow the government. And then everyone dies!"
"Oh, wow! Sounds awesome, Jess," she replies with a smile and a double thumbs up to emphasize that she was definitely listening, and not at all thinking of red hair and blue eyes.
"Seriously, Beca. Where are you tonight?" he asks with concern. She winces at the tone, feeling sheepish. She wants to be happy for him. She is happy for him. Really.
It's just that the heartbreak is still fresh, and still overwhelming, no matter how much she wishes it away.
"I'm in my house, on my couch," she deadpans, trying to deflect. Jesse only raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
"Sorry, I'm just tired," she whispers.
"You're a mother, Becs. You're always tired," he reasons, still unconvinced. He's not wrong.
She doesn't bother making any more excuses, she just spills the beans. When she finishes her story with the Band Aid incident, she sighs, running her hands through her hair.
"I dunno, Jess. It just...sucks. Like, that was the first night that I spent with her, the first night that we talked about personal things, the first time we even truly spent together one-on-one, in fact. And yet, I feel like I've lost something that I've had my whole life. And that doesn't make any sense! So on top of everything, I also feel...kind of, ashamed that it's affecting me so much. Embarrassed, I guess..." she trails off, her cheeks tinged pink from the embarrassment about talking about her embarrassment.
"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Becs. And it doesn't matter if it makes sense. Honestly, nothing about human emotion makes sense. The fact that you've only spent a certain amount of time with her has no bearing on how much or how little she makes you feel. You can't help it anymore than you can help how short you are," he says mischievously, and Beca only huffs in response.
"Really though, you feel how you feel, and that's it. There's no explaining it, no rationalizing it, and no need to justify it," he finishes with a solid nod of his head.
The straightforwardness of his words actually reaches her, and she knows Jesse said it that way on purpose, because he knows her. He's her best friend, and one of the only ones that had stuck around even when she was pregnant.
She thinks she should send him a fruit basket or something.
/
She goes to sleep that night and repeats Jesse's words in her head like a mantra. She's just going to have to accept that she's feeling what she's feeling, and there's nothing to do but let time work its magic, which it will. Hopefully.
Weeks pass, and before she knows it, months have passed. Oliver's hair is a little longer, and he's grown a little taller, and Beca? Beca still thinks of Chloe often.
It's in the little things. Sometimes she'll read an article that she thinks the redhead would really be interested in. Other times she'll look up at the sky and can't help but think that it's not quite her favorite shade of blue. Most times, it's Oliver doing one goofy thing or another, and she finds herself wanting to tell Chloe about it.
She doesn't though. She's gotten the message that the redhead wants nothing to do with her, so she restrains herself.
/
More time passes, and with each month, her grief gradually transforms into something else. Something else that feels almost akin to anger.
The passing time has actually given her the chance to put the whole situation into perspective.
She's angry with Chloe, and even though she hasn't seen or heard from the redhead in a while, she thinks it's okay. She thinks on her Skype conversation with Jesse, and accepts the anger.
She thinks on it, and thinks on it until her head hurts. She writes angry lyrics to angry songs that will never see the light of day.
She's angry with Chloe for her overreaction. She's angry with Chloe for thinking that Beca was someone who would even think about two-timing her, or anyone, for that matter. She's angry with Chloe for refusing to hear her out. She's angry with Chloe for not even reading Beca's texts or listening to her voicemails.
And moreover, she's angry with herself. She's angry with herself for letting such a little misunderstanding escalate to the point that it did. She's angry with herself for not just spitting out the words that could have prevented all of this. She resents herself for not refusing to let Chloe kick her out before she knew the whole story.
In the end, she concludes that she and Chloe are both at fault in mess. That makes the situation worse as much as it makes her feel better.
A few weeks before Oliver is set to start kindergarten, Beca's dad asks her if he can take Olly on a weekend trip to Boston to see the Dodgers play the Red Sox for some grandpa-grandson bonding.
Beca thinks it's a great idea, and immediately gives him the go-ahead to make the arrangements.
Olly, of course, zooms laps around the coffee table and up and down the halls in his glee when Beca tells him he's going to go on an adventure with Pappy Mitchell to watch baseball.
/
And that's how she found herself where she is now, driving home from a blind date with "Heather."
Jesse'd met her on the set of some project he was working on, and insisted that she take advantage of her freedom to "try and get out there" again. After some initial resistance, she'd eventually given in. She figured it couldn't really hurt.
And it didn't hurt. Heather had been nice enough. She was beautiful, with her blonde hair and long, slender legs. There's no denying that. And she was smart, but she didn't take herself too seriously. She'd proven to be witty, too. Beca had actually found herself laughing at Heather's jokes. What's more is that she wasn't the least bit put off by the fact that Beca had a kid, something she'd made sure Jesse had told the blonde before he set them up.
On paper, she and Heather should make an ideal match.
But when Heather kissed her on the cheek after Beca opened the passenger door of her car as they left the restaurant, her cheek didn't burn.
When the blonde dipped her head for a kiss when Beca walked her to her door, she didn't feel any spark or tingle spread through her. Only the base comfort of another person's lips on hers.
/
So when arrives back at her house, she throws herself on her bed and composes what she hopes is a well-worded text message explaining that she'd had a lovely time, but that she wasn't in the right headspace to dedicate herself to a relationship.
It's only half a lie, really. Between Oliver and her job, she really doesn't have the time to give to a romantic relationship.
Beca lays in bed that night, thinking about her future. Eventually, Oliver will grow up, and she will have the time to find someone.
She knows that she can live without Chloe in her life. She's not so dramatic as to say that she'll never be able to love again. Because, really, that's what it had been. She loved Chloe. She didn't have enough time with her to know all the little things about Chloe that she'd have liked to, but she loved her.
She knows that eventually she'll be able to move on, and remember the redhead fondly.
She'll find someone compatible, someone "nice enough."
She's just not sure that she'll ever connect with someone in such an innate, palpable way as she did with Chloe Beale.
She can't help but think that whatever future she has that includes anyone other than Chloe will feel like she's settling.
Beca realizes it's a pretty dismal thought, but it's just where she's at right now. She figures that when she does finally meet that person, she'll be in a better place and will welcome whomever it may be into her heart without reservation.
She just wishes it could have been Chloe.
/
The next day, Beca spends her first few waking hours working on a couple different tracks in the makeshift studio she'd set up in the basement when she'd first been financially able to swing it.
After making some decent headway, she gets up and stretches her limbs before taking to cleaning up around the house to get it ready for her dad's and Oliver's return.
It won't make a difference to her dad, and certainly not to Oliver, but there's something about being a grown-ass adult and even more so about motherhood that just makes her feel like the place needs to be "presentable." She tries to imagine what teenage Beca would think of her, and she simultaneously cringes and chuckles.
When the doorbell rings that evening, the house is nearly spotless.
And then Oliver barrels through the door, and Beca's heart warms when he jumps up into her arms without any doubt that she would catch him.
She spins him around a few times, and he squeals as his little legs flail out behind him as they turn.
When she sets him down, her father is right there to hug her and thank her for letting him take the little man for the weekend.
She makes him a cup of coffee for the ride home, knowing how much of a handful Oliver can be sometimes.
Ethan takes it gratefully, and the three of them settle in the living room. Beca and her father are on the couch, and Olly is on the floor, rolling and scooching haphazardly from place to place.
He finally settles, and she asks him how his weekend with Pappy Mitchell was.
She's a bit surprised, because Oliver loves baseball, so she'd expected him to tell her about the game they saw, or the snacks they'd eaten, or the foam finger or whatever other souvenir he'd suckered her dad into buying him.
Instead, he talks of nothing but the plane rides to and from Boston. She glances at her father with a raised brow, slightly confused, but he just smiles, and shrugs.
Far be it from them to guess at the thought processes of a five-year old.
"Mommy, it was so fun! The plane was so big! When we was on the plane to Boston I got to sit by the window, and I saw everything from the sky. We were so high up, mommy. Higher than the top of our house, I bet!" he says, getting up from his feet and jumping with one hand in the air, to give an example of how high they were, Beca assumes.
"Wow, Olly! That sounds awesome!" she answers, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
"And, and, and...look!" he shrieks, pointing to his chest. It's then that Beca notices a pair of plastic wings pinned to his t-shirt.
He rushes over in front of her and puffs out his chest so that she can get a better look.
"He got to take a little tour of the cockpit before our flight back home," Ethan adds in clarification.
"I always thinked pirates drove ships, but, but, the guy who drove the plane said he was a pirate. So I guess they do both..." Olly says, tapping his chin with his index finger as though he's deep in thought.
Beca can't hold in her bark of laughter, and she squeezes him tightly before dragging him up onto her lap.
"It's 'pilot,' kiddo. They're the guys who fly planes," she explains, looking at her dad, who is much more successful at holding in his laughter.
"Oh," he answers, sheepishly. "I want to be a pi-lot when I grow up, mommy," he says, overemphasizing the syllables so he gets the word right this time.
"You can be whatever you want, little man."
/
The whole "pilot" thing turns into a new phase of Olly's, but Beca isn't sure this one is going to pass anytime soon.
In a few short weeks, the racecar sheets on his bed have been switched out for airplanes, and the plastic wings have barely been absent from his chest.
He and Beca spent one afternoon fashioning and painting a rudimentary airplane from a few cardboard boxes. She'd hardly found Oliver anywhere but sitting in that little plane, until she'd cut leg holes into the bottom. Then he spent most of his time "flying" his stuffed animals from place to place across the house and backyard.
She'd even heard him giving his own interpretation of the captain's greetings and farewells a few times.
/
When Halloween rolls around, most kids his age are dressed as their favorite Marvel characters and the like. But Oliver is Beca Mitchell's son, and therefore, he's predisposed to going against the grain, convention be damned.
So he trick or treats in a full-on pilot uniform.
Unsurprisingly, it had taken quite a bit of research to locate a child-sized pilot outfit, but she'd eventually found one that worked. And of course, because Beca doesn't do anything half assed, so she'd also found a piece of carry-on luggage small enough for him to use to collect candy, instead of a traditional plastic pumpkin or bag.
When he asks her if she'll be his flight attendant, it takes everything in her to refrain from a scowl. But he's looking at her through those thick glasses, with those blue eyes. She tells him that she'd "love to" through gritted teeth.
The pair of them receive a few confused looks throughout the day, but Beca figures that's to be expected. When the adults opening the door ask what he's dressed as this year ("I'm a pilot, duh!"), Beca says nothing, but only raises her eyebrows at them, daring them to give anything but a positive response.
/
Beca can't get out of her flight attendant costume fast enough that night. It had brought up far too many memories that she has been convincing herself to move past. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she also thinks that she certainly can't pull of the flight attendant look as well as a certain redhead.
Oliver's a different story, however.
"No, you can't wear it to bed."
"No, you can't wear it to school."
"No, kiddo, you cannot wear it everyday forever."
It's two weeks until Oliver's birthday, which is on December 13th. She'd been planning on throwing a small party for Oliver at their house with a few of Olly's friends from kindergarten, her dad and his new girlfriend, Sheila, and Jesse.
But her father puts the kibosh on that plan as soon as he walks in her house.
He flashes a sizeable packet of papers at her with a grin, after giving her a pat on the head. He lopes into the kitchen, leaving a confused Beca in the entryway. She follows him, and sees him putting a K-Cup into the Keurig.
"What's all that?" she asks, still confused.
"Surprise," he answers, nodding at the small stack of papers laying on the island.
She picks them up, and leafs through them, her eyes widening further and further after each page.
"What...dad?"
"It's a birthday present for Olly. And a mini-vacation for you. You've been working yourself too hard, Becs," he says plainly.
She takes another look at the papers in her hand. There are three round trip tickets to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, a hotel reservation, three tickets to a baseball game between the Dodgers and the Pirates, and tickets to a few other kid-friendly museums and activities.
"Don't worry," Ethan says, "I've already cleared it with your secretary," he finishes with a devious smirk.
"Well, you've thought of everything, I suppose," Beca says, astounded that her father cooked up a whole family weekend without her knowing a thing about it. "Looks like we're going to Pennsylvania."
Two weeks and three days later, they're packing up their hotel room in Pittsburgh, and getting ready to return home to Los Angeles.
Beca is glad that she'd thought far enough ahead to prepare for the mountains of souvenirs they'd be picking up over the weekend as she stuffs t-shirts and stuffed animals, and every other manner of thing into her suitcase.
She feels a little sheepish when Oliver is ready to go before she is, pulling her by her hand out of the lobby and into their rental car.
She feels a bit better when she realizes he's only so enthusiastic because they're headed to the airport, where they'll get on a plane to take them back to LA.
/
Beca and Ethan are similar in that they despise the actual act of traveling. But Oliver takes everything in with wide, excited eyes.
When Beca gets randomly chosen for an extra security pat down, Olly rushes to her after they release her and tugs at the hem of her shirt.
"They picked-ed you, mommy!" he squeals.
She only gives him a small smile and a nod before re-tying her shoes, putting on her belt, shoving her laptop back in her carry-on, and putting everything back in its rightful place.
God, she needs coffee. And if her son and father weren't here, she'd definitely stop for a scotch or two as well.
/
When they board, Oliver takes it upon himself to stop for a chat with the flight attendant at the front of the plane, earning a number of disgruntled looks from the passengers behind them. But he proudly points to the pilot's cap on his head that Beca had allowed him to bring for the flights, which earns him another pair of plastic wings.
They find their row, and Ethan takes the window seat and Beca takes the aisle, leaving Oliver to sit comfortably between them.
Beca had loaded her old iPod with a bunch of different games for Olly, for him to entertain himself with on the flights, and he plays happily on it while they wait for the plane to start moving. Her dad is already immersed in the Sports section of the USA Today he's picked up in the terminal.
She double checks that Oliver's seatbelt is fastened when she feels the plane starts its taxi out of the gate.
When she looks up, she's pretty sure her heart stops.
No FUCKING way.
Standing in the aisle is Chloe Beale, giving the safety demonstration.
Their eyes meet, and she can see the shock on Chloe's face as clearly as she can feel if in her own chest.
But the shock on the redhead's face disappears as quickly as it had appeared, only to be replaced with pursed lips.
She knows Chloe can feel Beca's eyes on her, because Beca sees redness creep up the redhead's chest and underneath the scarf on her neck, but she doesn't give Beca a second glance for the rest of the demonstration.
When it's over, Beca takes a deep breath and holds it in until Chloe passes their aisle to head to the back of the plane.
She really could have used that scotch.
/
When they take off, Oliver leans over into his grandpa's lap as far as he can so he can see the houses and cars become smaller and smaller, babbling on about the sights to her dad.
Beca, as usual, has her eyes screwed shut and her fists in tight balls.
When they finally level out, Oliver grabs her fist, and entwines one of his tiny, clammy hands into her own.
"Don't be scared, mommy," he says with a giggle.
"M'not scared," she huffs, though she gives his hand a small squeeze to let him know she's not actually mad.
At him.
/
Truth be told, the resentment Beca has harbored for Chloe Beale resurfaced the instant she laid eyes on the redhead. She can feel that her brow has furrowed and her heart thumps angrily in her chest.
Except that along with resentment, all of the other wonderful, confusing, overwhelming emotions have resurfaced too. She prays to whoever's upstairs that the airlines have cut their budgets even further so that there isn't any mid-flight beverage service anymore.
/
It would seem that there are a few other prayers to answer first, because soon enough, she hears that melodic fucking voice asking the other passengers if they'd like anything to drink.
She hopes that Chloe will be responsible for serving the other side of the plane, but Beca's life just doesn't work that way.
The cart reaches their aisle, but Beca doesn't look up, but she can feel Oliver squirming in his seat at the thought of soda.
"Can I get you anything, ma'am."
The voice that has haunted her, waking and sleeping, sounds downright antagonistic.
Beca wants to play along, but settles for a, "No, thank you," in a tone equally as unfriendly, not even looking at Chloe.
She's indescribably thankful that her father is sound asleep and isn't witnessing his daughter act so immaturely.
But unfortunately, her son is wide awake and completely oblivious to the tension between his mom and the "stranger."
She keeps her eyes focused on the seat in front of her when Chloe asks Oliver if he'd like anything to drink.
"Yes, can I have a Sprite, please?" he answers. Beca doesn't need to look at him to know that he's beaming at the redhead, or that the redhead is beaming at him when he makes the request.
"Well, with manners like that, you certainly can!" Chloe says, cracking a Sprite. "So, is that your grandpa you're traveling with today?"
Oliver giggles at the question. "No, that's Pappy Mitchell," he replies, as if this should be obvious. "And this is my mommy," he says, poking Beca's arm.
Once again, Beca's heart skips a beat, and she can't help that her eyes dart to Chloe's face.
She's kind of glad they did though, because she gets to witness an assortment of emotions pass over the redhead's face in rapid succession. Chloe's face pales, and the Sprite she's pouring over ice actually flows over the rim of the plastic cup.
"Your..." Chloe trails off, her gaze slowly making it's way to Beca's face. It lingers on her only for a moment before landing on Olly again.
"Is...is your name Oliver?" Chloe asks, swallowing harshly.
Again, Olly is unfazed by the tension. When Beca looks at him, his eyes are wide and he seems supremely impressed that this flight attendant just so happened to guess his name.
"Yeah, yeah it is! How'd you know?" he replies excitedly.
Beca turns her gaze back to Chloe, who's still looking pale.
"Just a guess," Chloe answers with a weak smile. Her eyes shoot to Beca's, and Beca only responds with the arch of her brow and an unimpressed face.
"Wow, you're a good guesser," Olly says. "Can you guess my birthday?"
Chloe shakes her head, and Olly beckons her towards him with his index finger.
The redhead leans toward him as far as she can, and Beca can tell that she's trying to figure out how close she can get without getting too far into Beca's personal space.
Beca simultaneously wishes she'd get closer and get farther away. That damned perfume is doing things to her.
But then Olly cups his hands around his mouth, and looks around conspiratorially, before whispering, "It's today!" in the redhead's ear.
Chloe's eyes widen, and she straightens herself, taking her place back at the beverage cart.
"Is that so? How old are you today?" she asks, seemingly having regained her composure.
Oliver nods enthusiastically, holding up six fingers. But then Chloe is being urged forward by the other flight attendant manning the cart.
"Well, happy birthday, Oliver Mitchell!" Chloe chirps.
/
Of all the things Beca expected from this trip to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (Really, what kind of vacation spot is Pittsburgh, anyway?), it was not in any way shape or form, on any planet, seeing Chloe Beale again.
But now Chloe knows truth.
And Beca feels smugly satisfied, in a twisted, vindictive way that puts a sour taste in her mouth.
Sure, Beca is aloof most times, and she can snarky. But she doesn't like being angry with people.
It hasn't been easy, being angry with Chloe.
It hasn't been easy loving her and trying to move on, either.
Seeing Chloe again has her in an unparalleled, unprecedented tizzy.
/
Not thirty minutes later, Beca hears a familiar voice echoing over the speaker.
"Attention everyone, we have a birthday on the plane today. Our esteemed passenger, Oliver, is turning six today, and we'd like you all to join us in wishing him a wonderful day!"
Beca nudges her son who's engrossed in a game of Fruit Ninja, and removes one of his earbuds.
"Listen," she says, smiling down at him.
They both smile widely as the whole plane sings a relatively off-key rendition of Happy Birthday and claps loudly when they finish.
Oliver bounces in his seat, and his tongue pokes adorably through his teeth the entire time.
/
When the captain announces their impending descent into Los Angeles, her dad is still dead to the world, and Oliver has fallen asleep with his head on resting on Beca's shoulder.
Before long, Beca can just feel Chloe making her way down the aisle to collect the last of the passengers' trash.
Chloe stops when she reaches their aisle, and Beca looks up at her to see the redhead's face full of remorse.
"Beca," Chloe starts, and Beca is pleased to see that Chloe doesn't think it's appropriate to use her nickname, "I don't know what to say. There's too much to say. But, I...I'd like it if, if you called me. Or texted me, or something. I...may have deleted your number from my phone," she say with a shameful shake of her head.
"Just...know that I'm sorry," she finishes, and Beca can see the pain in her expression.
As much as she's feeling right now, Beca can see that the redhead is feeling just as much. And she can see that Chloe's apology is genuine.
Beca can't figure out what so say, so she settles on a resolute nod and a, "We'll see."
"He looks so much like you," Chloe says, and this time, the smile on the redhead's face is authentic.
And then Chloe moves on towards the front of the plane.
From the back of the aircraft, Chloe fights back tears as she watches Beca and her family deplane.
She's spent almost a year telling herself that Beca Mitchell was a superb asshole for making her fall in love when she'd had a...husband...a boyfriend...an anything but a son, named Oliver.
And now? Now she feels like a superb asshole.
She only hopes that Beca will contact her. But she's not holding her breath.
Chloe would understand if Beca never wanted to talk to her ever again.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
A/N: Thank you x 1237486234 to everyone who's read, followed, and reviewed this story. It means so much to me!
Let know your thoughts and opinions, I love hearing them!
I also apologize because there was only a bit of Chloe in this chapter. But my fingers started flying, and I got a bit carried away. But let it be known that the next chapter will be mostly from Chloe's POV.
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