She's standing in the kitchen chopping, the knife hitting the board with a loud thump every single time. She's made her way though two bowls of strawberries, a couple of melons and has now moved on to cucumbers. She's been up for a few hours, before the sun had even dared light up the horizon; even now, it's barely upsetting the dark of the warm April night. She's chopping, it calms her down, and she needs to calm down, so she's standing in the kitchen, harassing the chopping board.
"Liv?" He's up. He's rubbing his eyes, trying to adjust to the light, his hair a mess, the curls are completely out of place. She loves it that way, especially since it's her doing. "Why are you up?"
"Oh, I just couldn't sleep. So I thought I'd start preparing some snacks, for tonight."
"For an army?"
"You're funny. You're a funny man. I especially love how funny you are in the mornings, before I've had my coffee."
"Livvy…" He walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her midsection, his head resting gently on her shoulder. "Put the knife down, and come back to bed."
"I can't. I really need to finish this." She knows, she's aware, of how ridiculous she sounds; how insane, but in that particular moment, she doesn't care.
'Livvy, they're going to love you." And she slows down, hitting the board a couple more times, before finally stopping, and looking up.
"What if they don't?"
"How could they not?" And he slowly pulls the knife out of her hand, and starts kissing her neck. "You're funny." And he kisses the other side. "And smart." And he's working his way down. "And you're a great mom." And his hand is moving up under her shirt. "And you're beautiful." And he's turning her, lifting her up on the kitchen counter, peppering kisses along her collarbone. "And you're sexy."
"Your kids are going to love me because I'm sexy?" Her voice soft, lost.
"Nah, guess that's just me." And he's back to nibbling her neck, but she's pulling his head away.
"We can't do this right now. Zoey could come out."
"She's asleep." Her hand rubbing his chest is really not helping him see her way. But then her hand is gone, and she's slipping off the counter, out of his embrace. He instantly feels her absence, the emptiness. But as she's walking away, she's pulling her shirt off, and slowly turns her head, just enough to see his shocked face out of the corner of her eye. "I'll see you in the shower, Mr Grant." And with that she's gone, and he's almost undone.
"Dad!" He can hear them, before he can see them – they're in a river of passengers, coming his way. But two smiling faces stand out from the crowd, and then they're running to him and lunging into his arms. He's kissing their heads, taking them in, remembering their smell, their grins.
"God, I've missed you guys so much." He's walking in the middle, a Grant child on each side, his hands draped around their shoulders, holding tight.
"We missed you too dad." And Karen's arm is wrapped around his waist and her head is tucked under his arm; she's glued to his side. Gerry's trying to walk tall, to act grown up – he's hit the thirteen mark, but he's also holding on tight, not trying to wiggle out of the hug.
"So where are we going?" And he knows what she's asking him, there's a loaded question behind her grin.
"We're going to my place. So that we can catch up, so that you can unpack and settle down. And then we'll go to Liv's for dinner."
"OK." She doesn't sound convinced, he knows she's not thrilled. The separation's been taking its toll on her; she's a daddy's girl, so not having him around has been difficult. He knows she's trying to pretend that she's OK, that she doesn't mind, that she's happy he's got a new life, but he knows his daughter and her eyes break his heart. She's quiet the entire ride home, staring out the window. Gerry's chatter filling up the air, filling in the silence. And as soon as he's through the door, Gerry dumps his backpack on the floor and disappears into his room, trying to decide how to decorate the walls. Karen stands in the doorway for a second, she needs a moment, a little bit of time, to wrap her mind around this, the flat, the fact it's his home, not theirs. He shows her to her room and she makes an excuse – she needs to call her boyfriend (and he makes a mental note to do all kinds of checks on this kid, employ all of his journalistic ability). He gives her some time, but then he's knocking on her door, asking to be let in, asking to talk to him.
"Kare, you've been quiet all day."
"Well we've only been here for 2 hours, so you wouldn't really know what I've been like, would you." Her voice has a funny shade – it's almost petulant. Juvenile; reminding him that for all her efforts she's still a child.
"So you're upset that I'm not around." It's a simple statement, but a complicated thought; it's a crack that she can't mask; a failure on his part; a failure tearing him apart.
"I'm not upset, I'm fine."
"Karen." And he's sitting next to her on the bed, slowly pulling her head into his chest.
"Don't." But she doesn't fight him.
"We don't have to go tonight if you don't want to. I can call Liv and cancel. It's OK."
"No, you want to go. You want us to meet her."
"Not if you don't want to."
"I don't mind." And it's a lie, but he lets it slide, because he does want them to go, he does want them to meet Liv, to meet Zoey; he wants them to realize that they could be a part of this life, that he wants them in this life.
They're standing in front of the door, all polished-shoes, and tucked-in shirts. Gerry's fidgeting, and Karen's smiling, trying to reassure him – she's fine. His hand is securely wrapped around her just the same, reassuring her he's still there, he will be there. And on the other side Olivia is trying to breathe, inhaling deep; closing her eyes, trying to calm down as Zoey gently squeezes her hand – "It's going to be OK." And she kisses the top of her daughter's head, and lets her take a step back. She's pushing down the handle, opening the door, two worlds apart no more.
It's awkward at first. There are small silences when the conversation fades. And little nuances, the shades of grey – what to do, what to say, is everything OK, is everyone OK. Karen is quiet, not sulking or pouting, just taking her time. She's taking it all in. Liv's place; the glass wall, with the magical view; the way city lights illuminate her flat; the way it's all one big room, no unnecessary walls, no broken up space, everything is in one place. Bedrooms the only pockets of intimacy, everything else is just togetherness, family space. She loves it, it's the perfect home; not for its immaculacy, or its class, but for the way it makes you feel like you're a part; like you belong, like you have all along.
Liv walks up to her, as she's looking down at the moving specs of life on the ground, and she stands next to her in silence, letting her feel her presence, before speaking up. "Thank you for coming."
And she's taken aback. She expected a speech, an "I love him", a justification, clarification; she expected courting and flattering; she expected a lot of things, but not this. Not gratitude just for showing up – she's been taught you get thanks for something you've done. She didn't expect this confidence, this air of assurance. And there's no need for an "I love him" it's in their every look, in her every move; there's no need for a justification or a clarification, they're meant to be, that much even she can see. There's no need to court and flatter, because she's got time, she's in this for a long run, and Karen likes that. She likes that she's confident, but not conceited; that she's assured, but not arrogant; she likes that she seems like a great mom. She likes her, and it stings, deep down, a little bit. But she looks up, into the stranger's eyes, this women who's now in her life, and she can't help but smile. "I'm glad I have.", is all she says. But it's enough, it's a start.
"I'll go help your dad clean up." And she turns around, leaving the teenager looking out, observing the specs of life on the ground. The way they come together, and move apart; the way there's light, the way there's love; the way it all makes sense when you're just looking; the way it fits; the way life just clicks.
And they're there for their entire holiday, the whole 10 days. By the end of it Gerry and Zoey are attached at the hip, and Karen is in love with Liv. She loves the way she talks to her like she's a grown up; the way they debate; she loves her clothes, and her style; she loves that she always seems to have time, for her, for them. She loves that she's so different from her mom, so incomparable; not trying to be a replacement, not trying to over-compensate. But most of all, she loves the way Liv knows when to step back, when to give her space; she loves that she takes the kids away and gives her some time with her dad; she loves that she gives them time.
They're at the airport and it's the final call. They hate leaving and he hates letting them go. The hugs are tight and drawn out. They're leaving, but then Karen runs back. She's on her toes and whispering in his ear, "I like her dad. You should use that ring." She smiles and with that they're gone.
He comes home – empty and quiet, he feels their absence; he hates their absence. But there's a figure; her side leaning against the window; looking out as the colors of dusk are being replaced by the lights. He smiles, of course she's come.
"Hi." And she turns around, the sound of his voice breaking her out.
"Hi."
"What re you doing here?" He's walking over to her – he needs to hold her, let her hold him.
"I thought you could use the company."
"Where's Zoey?"
"My mom's." And he's in front of her; her arms reaching for his neck; slowly pulling his head into her chest. And there's a quiet sob; a sharp inhale of breath; but she just holds on, never letting go. She's running her fingers through his hair. His breathing steadies: she's his air. She's whispering, "It's OK. They'll be back."
The thing about worlds colliding – it changes them; makes them shift; changes their trajectory. Pieces, when they fit together perfectly – they form a whole, and pulling it apart hurts more than he could have known, more than he wanted to know. The thing about him, having his family, everyone in one place – it showed him a dream he can't chase, a glimpse into a far-away place. But she's here, and they'll be back. And as he slowly moves up to kiss her neck, he thinks of what Karen had said.
A/N: For Oxford – I guess I just wanted to reply to your comment on the last chapter, because I feel it goes to the heart of the story. The short answer is, no Olivia doesn't mind being in the second place. And there are two reasons for that. Firstly, because Fitz is her second priority too. She was going to break up with him, for Zoey's sake, and she repeatedly says that Zo is always in her first place, and it's the most important thing in her life. So as a parent she understands where Fitz is coming from. The second reason, and this is just my characterization of Liv in this story; even if she didn't have Zoey, him choosing his kids wouldn't be a problem. Kids don't choose to be born, their parents choose to have them, and that means kids should always be their priority. I don't mean that in a spoil-them-rotten and allow their every whim way, but the actual needs of children become more important than anything else. At least that's how I see it, and well, how Liv sees it. If he was picking Mellie, or someone else over her, she would have a problem with it, but not with kids. And thanks for coming back to the story, although you have disagreements with how I handle some things :)
As for the proposal: it's just a hint, foreshadowing – it's still some way away :) And there will be more interactions between the Grant kids and Liv, but this chapter was really about Karen sort of the moment she becomes OK with things. As always lovelies, thank you for your reviews and support.