"Zo, come out, let us see." She's sitting on the floor, needle with a thread, ready to go, in her hand; little pots of pastel beads sprawled on the floor in front of her; she's in full-on mom mode. He's in the kitchen, making dinner, glancing over the counter, trying to see what's happening. Zoey comes out, and they both make a whistling sound. "Do you like it?"
And there's no need for her to reply, her smile is a sufficient sign, and she's nodding her head ferociously, before lounging herself at Liv, hugging tightly.
"Thank you. It's perfect!"
"It's not too tight? Because if it is, I can loosen it up. I need you to be comfortable."
"It's perfect."
"Should I add a few more beads?" And she sees she's hit the mark, she's lit a spark.
"Can we?"
"Of course honey. You're the Sugar Plum Fairy, we will bedazzle the he-" and Zo's eyeing, smiling, waiting for her to say it, to break the mom-code, but she swallows the Ls and improvises the hell out of the sentence, "We will bedazzle the hem of the skirt."
"You will bedazzle the hem?" And he's smirking, he loves it when she slips up, the occasional imperfections making up for the perfect life. And Zoey cracks up, she loves having him around – he's fun. And he already knows the foods she hates, and the friends she likes, he knows the boy's name and her favorite dance class. She loves having him there; she loves that he cares.
"Both of you – shush! You, go change for dinner, and we'll bedazzle the hem after. And you, get back to dinner, I think I can smell something burning."
And Zoey disappears into her room, quite literally skipping, while she joins him in the kitchen.
"That actually smells really good." She's eyeing him, thinking of all kinds of things, food excluded.
"What?"
"Nothin'. I just like watching you cook. You look good. It's giving me all sorts of ideas."
"Oh yeah?" And he's stepping closer to her, she can feel his breath on her bare shoulder, his hands wrapping around her back and then slipping lower. "What kinds of ideas?" And she squeezes his ass, and she can see his eyes, they change their color; suddenly dark.
And she entangles her fingers through his hair, brushing them lightly against his scalp. She steps up, on her toes, and whispers in a seductive tone, "Oh, just that I really need to update my pot collection." And she's slipping from his embrace, and he groans in pain.
"That was just unfair."
"Payback for the hem comment." She says with a flick of her hair, while biting her lip, swirling her hips. She knows what she's doing. "If you behave during dinner I might –" And Zoey's out, so she just flashes him a smile, and there was definitely a wink, or was that in his head – he can't think.
"So, Zoey, tomorrow at 6 right?" He needs to re-rout his mind.
"Yes, 6 tomorrow. And then, dinner after right?" There's a hopeful smile.
"Yes, I'm taking the three Pope ladies out."
"And we can finalize our Christmas and New Year's Eve plans." She was never a big fan of holidays, but when she got Zoey things had to change. So she adjusted her attitude, she got into the holiday mood. But this year is different. She's not excited because she should be, because she needs to be; no she's excited because they feel like a family, because it all feels like a dream.
She's packing Zoey's stuff. They have to be there hours in advance. It's a madhouse. Her phone is ringing, she's digging through her purse, it's like chasing a wild goose.
"Hey." One word is all it takes.
"What's wrong?"
"Karen fell off her horse." And she stops. For a second her stomach is a bottomless pit, her mind a blank slate; but then she pulls herself together, and pushes the words out.
"Is she…?"
"She's OK. I mean she broke her arm, but other than that she's alright. Just traumatized. They're keeping her overnight in the hospital."
And she can breathe out. A sigh. Relief. A moment in time. Happy. But, then, the wheels start turning, the bulbs in her mind are burning – she understands. "You're flying to California." It's not a question, she knows. His silence spoke.
"I have to."
"I know." And she does.
But then, "Tell Zoey…" and she doesn't hear the rest. Zoey. The ten year-old who spent the last two weeks gushing about him coming, night and day, to all her friends; the ten year-old who's expecting him, waiting impatiently. The ten year-old, who for all her wisdom and brains, will not understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't care. He's saying things. Things to say, apologies to make – but she knows; she's going to break, her ten year-old is going to break and there's no apology to be made.
"I have to go." And suddenly her voice is cold. It's not intentional. It's instinct. It's protection.
"Liv-"
"Hug Karen for me." And with that she's hanging up, picking up the stuff, calling Zoey and heading out. She doesn't have time to fall apart.
And the recital is about to start, she's heading in just to say good luck, but at the door she stops in her tracks.
"So is he like your new dad?"
"I don't know. I mean what do dads do?"
"Well they take you places. And they buy you things. And they let you have the last of the chicken wings; and then they sneak you some candy. And they're fun. And they like to spin you around. And they come for things. And they make you feel like you're more important than anything."
And Zoey considers it for a moment, and then proudly proclaims – "I guess then he's kind of like my dad."
And it breaks Liv's heart. But, once again she shoves it aside and knocks on the door, pushing it in, entering. "I just wanted to say good luck."
"Thanks mom! Fitz here?"
"I just saw Aaron. He makes a very handsome prince." She's avoiding, deflecting, secretly praying that it works. And it does, the girls are chuckling, Zoey dragging out a whiney – "Moooooom."
She's back in her seat, her mother looking at her quizzically. "I couldn't tell her. Later." And the curtain goes up – it's showtime.
"You were amazing Zo!" And she's running into her arms, wrapping her little hands around her neck, holding on tight; but then she looks up, scanning the room.
"Where's Fitz."
"Oh, honey. He couldn't make it. Karen broke her arm, and she's in the hospital, so he had to fly to California. He said he's thinking of you though." And she can see her shutting away, trying to be OK, barely keeping the tears at bay. "We can still go for dinner, if you want to? Grans, you and I." She's hoping to solicit a smile, but she gets a weak curl of the lips instead, she's in her personal hell.
"No, that's OK. I'm not hungry anyway."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, let's just go home."
And she barely speaks, she barely breathes, she's taking it in – the realization that she's not the most important thing. They get home and she crawls straight into bed, her mom's chest rising and falling rhythmically under her head. She's kissing her temple and soothing her hair, trying to show her she's loved, trying to show her someone cares. She speaks for the first time since they came back, and the last time before she surrenders to the bed, "He's missing Christmas too, isn't he?"
It's late when she finally leaves the girl's side, only after she's been asleep for a long while. She checks her phone and there are four missed calls, and a few pleas to call him back, they need to talk.
"Hi. You called." A sigh of relief.
"Hi." And there's a pregnant pause, crossroads; neither sure of what to say, when there's so much to explain, so much to understand and comprehend. They were in their bubble for a while, and it burst; under the pressure of the world. They were childish and immature, she understands that now – they were selfish; loving first, thinking with their hearts, not their heads; believing love will make it all OK.
"How was it?"
"It was good. She was great. You would have loved her."
"Can I talk to her?"
"She's asleep."
"Didn't go for dinner?"
"No, she wasn't hungry." They're tiptoeing around it, circling the drain.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"But?"
"But, nothing."
"Liv. Come on."
"Fine. But, the fact that you're sorry doesn't make me feel any better. I can't believe I did this to her."
"Oh, come on. It's one time. She'll be fine."
"No, she won't. Because this afternoon she thought you could be her dad, and now she thinks she's not a priority. She's crushed. And it's my fault. I knew, I knew it in my gut that she was getting too attached, but I was so happy, so in love with this idea of us, of a family, that I just let it be. I let it be, and now she's crushed."
He doesn't know what to say. He's stunned. He hadn't realized. He knew she got attached, but he never realized how much. He never thought she could need anything, anything other than Liv, let alone him.
"Karen fell off a horse." And he doesn't know why he's saying it, it sounds like a justification, an explanation – but he doesn't know what he's trying to say, trying to explain.
"I know. And she's your priority. Your kids are your priority. And that's fine; it's as it should be. But she, she's my everything. Fitz, she's my priority. And being second-best, feeling second-best, I can't put her through that."
"What are you saying?"
"I don't know. I should go." She's waving her head, tears rolling down her cheeks; she's tired and she can't do this.
"Liv, we can't just leave thinks this way. We need to-"
"No, I'm tired and upset. And I don't want to say or do anything I'll regret. I just, please, I just need to sleep. It's been a long day. How's Karen?"
"She's OK."
"Good." It's warm, not curt; soft, but sad; she sounds hurt, not mad.
"Livvy."
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I know. I love you too." And she hangs up, before she can say – "I wish that was enough." And she does. She wishes it were simpler; she wishes she said yes 15 years ago; she wishes she never walked away; she wishes she fought and stayed. But he wouldn't have his kids, and she wouldn't have Zoey, and maybe life would have torn them apart anyway. Maybe sometimes love is just a losing battle, sometimes fate wins anyway, no matter how hard you try to get away. She wishes things were different; she wishes Zoey was less like her, less insecure; she wishes she could give her everything, every little thing she needs; she wishes she could make her believe she is a priority, more important than anything. But she knows the only way she'll truly believe is if she picks her above everything; if she picks her over him. It has to end. But first, she has to sleep – before shattering her family, shattering her dream.
So writing this, especially Zoey parts broke my heart. But, before you freak out - I am not pulling a Shonda on you and breaking them up after like two chapters of fluff. Olitz is not just the endgame, they're my "hallelujah, heroin and reason to breathe" to borrow a quote from Cyrus. Liv's tired, emotions are running high, and clearly they have issues they need to work out. He does have a family and kids, and I've intentionally kept that in the background for a bit, but it's something they really need to address. Having said that, I'm usually a few chapters ahead when I write, so really - do not freak out.
Thanks for the reviews lovelies, I enjoy reading every single one of them, you're so amazingly great!