"Did you pack everything?"
"Yes mom." She answers in a high pitched voice, rolling her eyes.
"Hey what did we say about that?" She's trying to sound stern, parental, anything but amused.
"No eye-rolling on weekdays, and weekends before noon." The girl replies in a robotic monotone, then looks up at her mom, wide-eyed and smiles. She's trying to charm. "Did Tom call, can I go get the flowers from the lobby again?"
"Finish your breakfast first." And with that she's pushing a pancake face in front of her, with strawberry eyes and a banana smile.
"It's really nice of him to send you all those flowers. He must like you."
Olivia is desperate to change the topic of this conversation. She's successfully dodged it for the past two weeks, but Zoey's finally given up on subtlety.
"Grandma is coming tonight to hang out with you while I'm out, you remember right?"
"Yeah." A pointed look from her mother. An eye-roll. An apologetic smile. "Yes."
And then in her already-perfected know-it-all voice, "You're going with Edison, to his office party. You won't be back too late, but I have to be in bed in time anyway." Then a pause and, "Edison never sent you flowers." She says it while looking at her plate, innocently, but Olivia knows better.
"Look, I know you don't like him, because you think he's boring." She imitates her daughter's face, making them both chuckle. "But, he's nice. Boring is sometimes nice. It's good. It's normal. And you know, the reason he never sent me flowers – he never did something he'd need to apologize for." And as soon as the last statement is out, she regrets saying it, she knows what's coming.
"So what did Fitz do?" It took her a week to get Olivia to cough up his name, and in this particular moment Liv couldn't remember why she caved.
"You done with breakfast?" And she doesn't wait for an answer, she's taking the plate away. The girl can tell she's struck a cord, she's quiet, trying to think of what to say. "You can go down get the flowers from Tom now. And then we need to get you to school." With that she's slipping off the stool, running out, excited to see what her mom's admirer sent this time.
She comes into work, and there is another bouquet on her assistant's desk.
"It's the same card."
"Good morning to you too Quinn."
"I'm just saying that's one persistent guy."
"Any messages Quinn?"
"I mean, he's not even signing his name, just a Hi, and a phone number in case you want to thank him. That's smooth." And Olivia gives her a look, more like a death stare, really. Why is everyone so impressed, it's just flowers for God's sake. "OK. Sorry. None of my business. You have three messages from State, two from the Secretary General's office; one from the UNHCR, and your meeting got pushed to 10."
"Light morning then." And she sinks in her chair and starts firing instructions. It's going to be a long day.
"I forgot to ask, how was your ballet class?"
"Good." And she's bouncing as she walks, the way only kids do, before they learn how to contain their excitement, how to mask their feelings. "I finally managed to do a pirouette. And they're assigning roles for the Christmas recital next week."
"Zo, that's great. You have to show me that pirouette." And she's unlocking the door, they're finally home. She has an hour to get dressed and go to this event. She'd give anything not to, to stay home and have a girls' night; or just stay home and sleep, because Zoey was right, Edison is boring. He could talk for hours, and she'd nod her head, uninterested to even try and understand, but he never knew, he never noticed, he'd just go on talking. Zoey pirouetting her way around the room, breaks her out of contemplating her impeding doom.
"Wow, that's really good." And with that the girl is stumbling to the floor, dizzy. And Liv can't help but laugh; this little girl, she's her entire life. "Maybe you could use a bit more practice. Now how about you get started on your homework, while I go get ready."
"OK. But can I pick out your dress?" And Liv gives her a suspicious look, this is about as enthusiastic as she's ever been about anything involving Edison.
"Sure. We'll pick something out when I shower. But, until then, homework, now."
And she's pulling her books out, and she leaves her to it, going to shower while compiling a mental list of things she would rather be doing that evening – staring at the blank wall, making it just above watching the Real Housewives.
As soon as her mother is out of the room, Zoey marches over to this morning's bouquet and takes the card. She thinks about it one more time, but pushes her doubts aside. She dials the number.
"Wow! Liv, you look great."
She's wearing a white, backless dress that fits her perfectly, kissing her curves in all the right places, and falling softly to the floor. She feels practically naked, but Zoey insisted that she wear it.
"Thanks. You don't look to bad yourself." She smiles weakly, and he smiles back, leading her inside, into a very long night.
The music is loud, but not her type; the food tastes expensive, but not very nice; and the company is impressive, but not people she likes. They're talking acquisitions and mergers, markets and stocks and she just occasionally nods. She wants to leave, but it would be rude, so she just stands there, suffocating in the normal, in the complacency, in the privilege and the elitism dominating the general mood. Then the song changes, and she can't breathe; she has to leave. But a voice behind her stops her in her tracks, sending chills down her spine.
"May I have this dance?" And she tries to take a deep breath, but the air isn't reaching her lungs, no, she's drowning on dry land. And she can feel him looking at her; she can feel his eyes on her skin; in every fiber of her being. She turns around slowly, trying not to look at him, but he's all she can see.
"Liv?" And Edison is breaking her trance, breaking the charm. "Oh, sorry, I should introduce you. Edison, this is Fitz; Fitz – Edison."
"Fitz, as in Fitzgerald Grant? The Pulitzer winner?"
And he is blushing. She can tell, he never liked public praise. "Yes, guilty as charged." And he fires a smile, she's almost gone.
"I loved your book. I actually got it from Liv. Well I took it. She wouldn't stop reading it, over and over again. So I took it, hoping to get my girlfriend" and she flinches "back, but then I started it, and couldn't put it down." He looks surprised, she can see it in his eyes. There's a smile, but there's also something else, there's a flash of guilt on his face. And when he speaks, he is talking to her, looking at her – it's all about her, he is about her. "It was actually inspired by Livvy's work." And she's stunned, that can't be right, he kept tabs; she was on his mind. He's telling the truth. She can tell; she always could. And she looks away, trying to pull back the tears, she can't do this here.
"So, about that dance?" And she wants to protest, but Edison nods his head, and with that Fitz is guiding her to the dance floor. He spins her softly, then pulls her in, resting his hand on her naked back. His touch is like electricity, it sets her skin on fire, it numbs her mind.
"You remember this song."
"Of course I remember."
"I haven't listened to it in fifteen years." Her eyes are fixed to the floor, watching it spin beneath their feet.
"Look at me." And he's slipping his hand lower down her back, pulling her closer. "Livvy, look at me." And his face is an inch away, his breath burning her skin, his presence: overwhelming. She finally lifts her gaze, and she knows she can't stay away; not from him, not for much longer. He is bending his head down, his lips next to her ear, whispering, "I am so sorry." And he keeps saying it, it's a chant, a prayer, to be repeated until she hears, until she believes.
The song is over, and so is the moment. She steps away; tears at bay, emotions in check, and he knows he's lost her again.
Edison insists on taking her home, and she doesn't have the energy to fight him, she doesn't have the will.
"I didn't know you were friends."
"We're not."
"Sure looked like you were." And there's jealousy and accusation in his voice, and she knows he's right, but she needs an out, she wants an out – and no one is better at picking a fight than Olivia Pope.
"Well, looks can be deceiving."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means we're not having this discussion."
"Liv, you read his book like fifty times, he said you inspired it, yet you never even mentioned you even knew the guy. Don't you think that's a little bit strange."
"No, I don't."
"Olivia. You're not even pushing me away, because you never let me close, you never let me in. And for a while I thought that was fine, we were fine, because that's just who you are. But then one look at this guy, and you're coming apart at the seams. Talk to me."
"I don't know what you're talking about. And honestly, I don't have the energy for this right now." And he knows she doesn't mean the conversation. And he now knows he didn't lose her; he never had her.
Her mother greets her from the couch, as she's closing the door. "You're back early."
"I was tired."
"So, Zo mentioned something interesting when I asked about your flowers today."
"Is that so?" And her tone is clear, it's final, it's the end of the conversation. Or it would be, for anyone other than her mother. But not for her, she knows when to push, but not when to stop; she knows when to help, but not when to let go. And this, this she isn't letting go.
"She said it was a handsome man, the same one whose photo is on that book you're always dragging around. She said his name was Fitz." She's looking at her, waiting for an answer, but then proceeds, trying to read – her face, her eyes, the little signs. And then there's a sigh of contemplation, of understanding, of quiet revelation – "It is him."
"Yes." And her voice is shaky, a personal betrayal.
"He wants you back." It's not a question it's a statement, a beginning of a speech. "It's been fifteen years Olivia."
"He cheated on me!" She's almost yelling now, trying desperately to keep her voice in check. She can't wake Zoey up. Not like this, not again.
"It's been fifteen years."
"So what, that makes it OK? He broke my heart. He didn't just break it, he took it and I never got it back." Tears are rolling down her cheeks, she's saying things she thought she'd never speak. "He didn't like what I said, it hurt him and he just walked away. He didn't let me explain, he just… walked away. And then he slept with someone else. It was the one thing that he knew could break me, and he did it anyway. He broke me. He broke my heart and now he's here, he's everywhere, reminding me of what we never got to have."
Her mom is pulling her into an embrace, and they fall to the floor. She's wrapping her hands around Liv's head, pulling it into her chest. They stay that way for a while, until her sobs quiet down, and her breathing steadies; until her tears run dry. Then her mom pulls her face up, her hands on her cheeks. She looks into her daughter's eyes; the eyes she's never seen that broken, never that alive.
"He broke your heart. And I hate him for it. But I can hate him for it for both of us. He broke your heart, but you know, people move on. They mend the pieces, and they move on. People move on. But you, you never did. And neither did her. He broke your heart, and that broke his. You say he took your heart – well maybe it's time you let him give it back." And she kisses her forehead, and helps her up. "I love you and sleep tight."
But she doesn't. No, not that night. Instead she thinks of her mother's words. Maybe it is time.
Hope you liked that. The next chapter will be all Olitz, and you'll find out more about Zoey (an no, Fitz isn't her dad).
And thank you for the follows and reviews :)