"A glowing ember, burning hot, and burning slow"

-Do What You Have to Do, Sarah McLachlan

Wednesday, June 7, 2023

Evening

She loves her son. She does. But she would very much like to scream at him right now. His first offense, which she decided was forgivable, was forgetting he had this rehearsal until last night when she'd literally just made plans with Elliot to actually have dinner, maybe even a date, and she'd only gotten to enjoy the excited butterflies for less than an hour before Noah remembered the extra practice. It's not Noah's fault that she'd made plans and it's certainly not his fault that she felt guilty canceling on Elliot nor was he to blame for the hurt Olivia read in Elliot's short response to her cancelation nor the way she felt like shit when he didn't suggest a different night.

But it's absolutely Noah's fault that he volunteered her to help with painting sets and thus ruining her new blazer because she didn't know he'd volunteered her to help until she pulled into the loading zone to drop him off and his teacher told her where to park so her car wouldn't get towed while she was painting. She's pissed off, but not about to embarrass Noah so she's slopping through the world's worst paint job and she manages to slash paint on her sleeve and she knows any other time she'd blame herself for not paying attention because she's thinking about how she could have been sitting down to dinner with Elliot and watching him fall all over himself to be charming and she wonders what sort of flowers he would have brought her because of course Elliot would have brought her flowers on their first date and she would have had to throw them out because Noah is allergic to everything but she'd still like see Elliot standing at her door with a bouquet he picked for her and instead she's ruined her jacket and has paint in her hair and all of this is probably not Noah's fault, but she's angry anyway and while she's making a bigger mess trying to salvage her blazer, her hair falls into the paint can and she doesn't realize it until after she's splatter-painted her shirt with her hair.

Having ruined a few hundred dollars worth of clothes, she decides she's done enough painting and she's waiting through the extraordinarily long lecture the teacher is giving about how the students should take their roles more seriously and she's annoyed that Noah and another boy are ignoring the teacher while he talks and she's even more irritated when Noah finally gathers his things and approaches to ask if he can spend the night at Aidan's to practice and study for a math test and Aidan and his dad are waiting expectantly like this was already planned and she's bitter about her ruined evening and she's really pissed because she didn't need to be here at all and she could have had her date with Elliot and let Aidan's dad paint the fucking scenery. She's tempted for a minute to refuse, to say no sleepovers on a school night, to ruin Noah's plans the way Noah had ruined hers, but it's only for a moment and she can't be petty when her sweet boy is smiling up at her with his eyes dancing and his dimples on display and she thinks it's important for him to have friends because she never did as a kid and she doesn't want him to turn out jaded and bitter like she did. So she agrees, of course she does, and she throws her ruined blazer in the trash can on her way back to her truck.

She washes her hair three times in the shower and she still can't get all the paint out, but she figures it's less noticeable than it was and probably not noticeable at all if she pulls it back and it's late for dinner and she's rummaging around in the fridge for some kind of food and daydreaming about a fancy dinner with Elliot at a restaurant with linen tablecloths while she's making a sandwich and staring at the kitchen counter and thinking how she'd rather be staring at Elliot and she's realizing that maybe she's ready for this to actually happen because she hadn't thought she was but now the man is taking up a fairly significant portion of her thoughts on any given day and she's really not mad about it and she's not ready to tell him she's in love with him and always has been but she's done pretending that she's not, at least to herself. She takes two bites of her sandwich before she realizes that it's not that late and maybe she can salvage some of the evening and she's getting those excited butterflies back just thinking about seeing him and she's halfway to his place with her hair still wet and wearing clothes she had every intention of sleeping in and her dinner abandoned on the counter and a bottle of wine riding shotgun. She's pulling into a parking place behind his truck and thinking at least he's home and realizing that she probably should have called first or texted or something to let him know she was coming except it wasn't even a plan, it just happened and now she's outside and it feels too late to back out because she's already here.

She's afraid for a moment that he might have company because he's Elliot and sometimes he's too sensitive and he gets pissed and hurt and does dumb shit, but then again, he's Elliot and he's probably watching the game or working out and wallowing in his disappointment because she'd finally agreed to a date with him and backed out less than two hours later and she was wallowing herself all day.

She has already knocked and is waiting for him to answer when she realizes she left the wine in the truck and she's going back for it when the door opens and he sounds thoroughly confused.

"Liv?"

She turns around and thinks she must look like an idiot because she appears to be changing her mind again about this when she really was just going to grab the wine, but he's got a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand and she decides the wine really isn't necessary. She turns back to face him and shrugs and tries to feel less like an idiot.

"I thought we canceled?" He's checking his watch, as though that's somehow going to help, and he's looking at her and her wet hair and her stretched-out leggings and her stained t-shirt with a hole in the shoulder that frequently double as pajamas and she really should have thought this through because he looks a little concerned at her appearance.

Nothing to be done about it now, she tells herself as she smiles at him. "Change of plans?"

He doesn't question her, instead stepping back and pulling open the door and motioning her in with the whiskey bottle. "Are you hungry? I can make you something if you want."

As she's walking past, she can smell the alcohol on his breath and she can see the pile of dishes in the sink from not tonight and she thinks he's probably too drunk to cook safely and she's suddenly very interested in watching Elliot Stabler working in the kitchen to make a meal for her. Not tonight though, not when he's drunk, not when she's dressed like a slob, not when it's already beyond when she'd be in bed normally anyway, not with how half-assed this plan already is. She shakes her head and walks toward the kitchen. "No, no, I'm good, I already ate." It's a lie, she realizes, as she thinks of the sandwich she'd made and left on her kitchen counter and she feels like somehow it's a bad omen to start off the night with a lie. She wants to correct herself, to say she's not hungry, because that's the truth since the nervous butterflies are definitely filling her belly at the moment, but instead she says nothing as she grips the edge of the island and chews on her bottom lip. She's not one for impulsivity usually and this uncomfortable feeling is exactly why.

He follows her, leaning heavily on the counter while she reaches for the glass he'd abandoned when he started drinking out of the bottle. His eyes are heavy on her as she takes a long sip of the whiskey and he's staring while the drink burns its way into her belly to drown those damn butterflies. There's a smirk on his lips when her eyes move to his. "So we're getting drunk together then."

"I think one of us is already there." She's honestly hoping to join him sooner rather than later because she's tired of being nervous around him and she just wants to get back to that level of utter comfort with him that she used to have and she assumes alcohol will help with that.

He smiles in response, the ease of his grin and his relaxed eyes telling her she is absolutely right as he repeats himself. "So we're getting drunk together then."

"It's one of the few things left we haven't done together." She realizes as soon as the words leave her mouth that while she meant they've known each other a long time and have done a lot of things together, he heard something entirely different and she can't blame him for that because her mind would have gone the same place if he'd been the one to say it. She takes a breath, fights the urge to even attempt to correct her phrasing because maybe she did mean it exactly like it came out. She knows deep down this is probably a very bad idea, and yet she feels drawn to it, especially with the way he's looking at her like she just propositioned him, which really should scare her and usually does, except somehow not tonight, because she just did kind of proposition him.

He turns away to pull another glass out of the cabinet, pours a generous serving for each of them and raises his in the air. "You sure about this?"

She knows something is going to happen. She hasn't turned into a psychic all of a sudden, but it's obvious. He's already half drunk, she doesn't drink much at all anymore so her tolerance is shit, they've been toeing this line between them for years, and fuck the last time they were alone together and not at work he'd tried to kiss her. She thinks maybe she should just fucking kiss him and stop worrying about it. The thought scares her a little, but entices her a lot. She lifts her glass again, taps it against the side of his and smiles. "Not at all."