I wasn't going to post this until tomorrow, but i literally have nothing to do at the airport aside from edit and publish, so enjoy :)
She's sitting on the floor surrounded by boxes – some being emptied, others being filled, surrounded by things in passing; things that once mattered, but no longer do and those that still hold sentimental value. He comes in, stepping over the cartons, through the maze of discarded items. He sits behind her, moving her hair from her neck so that he could start massaging her back.
"Mhhhhhm." Is all that she can come up with, leaning into his touch as she tilts her head to the side. "God that feels good." He kisses the base of her neck softly, sending shivers down her spine and she lifts her hands behind her head and runs her fingers through his hair. "Kids in bed?"
He whispers softly, his lips brushing against the soft skin of her neck, "Yes."
"And Ryan's gone?"
"Yup."
"Thank you for sorting it out. All the paperwork stuff."
"You're welcome." And he moves his lips to the other side. "How's packing going."
She chuckles softly. "OK. Well, actually, it was going OK, until I discovered a box of old magazines, then I started reading all of that, and well… that was an hour ago."
"Ooooh, let me see!" He says excitedly, as he reaches for the box, his arms at her either side. He pulls out a copy of Dance, looking at her quizzically. She opens it and flips through some pages, clearly looking for something. She finally pauses, and hands him the magazine, grinning proudly. Inside, a photo of a seven year-old Zoey, doing an arabesque in a colorful tutu, a small tambourine in her hand, ribbons weaved through it. "When was this?"
"She was seven going on thirty and she won second place in her category. And after they called it she walked up to the judges and asked them what would have made her Esmeralda better. And they gave her tips, you know the classics, keep your lines clean, toes pointed at all time, land your jumps softly. And she let them speak, listened carefully and after they were done, she said, "Thank you, but that's not what I meant." And they all just looked at her, confused, as she asked them how to make it about the dance, about the character and not the elements. And this one judge smiled and told her not to worry, she was already there. And later, he came up to me, said he was the editor and that they'd love to shoot her. She was so excited, so happy. It was pretty amazing. So when it came out, we went shopping and we had a deal that we'd buy one from every single stand where we saw it."
"You're an amazing mom." He says with a warm smile.
"She was a pretty amazing kid." Then she corrects herself, "She is pretty amazing."
"So is the rest of the box Dance magazines? Are we moving all of those?" She leans back into him and he wraps his arms around her, his hands resting in her lap.
"No, there's other stuff. I don't remember most of it. It's just stuff that meant something, and I didn't want to throw it away."
He reaches into the box again, then freezes when he sees the magazine in his hand. He can feel her body stiffen against his, and she sits up straighter as she reaches for the magazine. He utters, "Livvy…" but then he drifts off, unsure of what to say. Finally he breaks the silence, asking tentatively, "Why do you have that?"
She takes in a deep breath and then says. "I saw it on the newsstands one morning. And I just stood there, in the middle of the street. I just stood there. I mean you looked like the Kennedys. She's Jackie, I mean the style, the grace – everything. And you with all that hair, and that smile. And Karen and Gerry, all curly hair and deep blue eyes. All-denim-and-white. The Kennedys of 21st Century. I couldn't not buy it. It was the New Yorker, and you got your first Pulitzer. So I started at it for twenty minutes just standing in the street, nodding my head every time the vendor asked if I was OK. Then he just gave it to me. And I just held it staring at the cover, afraid to open it and read. Afraid of what reading it would make me feel. I was just standing in the street staring at this magazine, running late for my date, but not caring, I got there and he proposed to me. And I couldn't say yes. I wanted to. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to have a family, to have normal, to be someone's somebody. I wanted to marry him. And I just kept thinking about the fact that you were wearing my pin. I wanted to marry him and I just kept thinking about that damn pin, and you wearing it. And then I realized I didn't want to marry someone, I didn't want to have a family, I didn't want to have normal – I wanted you, and us, and this, him – it was just trying to fill a void. It wasn't fair, to him, to me, which is why I couldn't say yes." She laughs to herself, "At least that's what my shrink and months of therapy taught me."
"Liv-" he says tenderly, as he kisses her cheek softly.
She cuts him off, turning around and cupping his face, "It's fine."
"That's the thing though, it's not. It's not fine, but we never talked about it. I didn't want to bring it up, because I, I didn't want to open old wounds, and really, I thought there was nothing I could say to make it better. But, we talked to Zoey, you talked to Karen and I spoke to Gerry. We dug up the past for everyone, but for us. We need to talk about this." She drops her hands from his face and looks away. "Liv, we really need to talk about this. About me cheating, and Mellie, and the kids – we just glossed over all of it. And that's fine, but I can tell, I can see, the way you always leave the room when I talk to Mellie, the way you never talk about that time, unless it's Zoey-related. I mean you never told me you were engaged-"
"I wasn't." She cuts him off, anger evident in her voice. "I never said yes."
"Well you never told me he proposed. I just, I need you to talk to me, to tell me all the things I screwed up, so that you can stop hurting. So that you can finally stop hurting."
"I don't want to talk about-" She says almost pleadingly, but he cuts her off with an almost broken, "Liv."
"I don't want to talk about it, because I'm still so angry. I am so, so angry at you. I love you, I love you more than I thought was possible. I love the little things about you, and the stupid things, and the big things, like how you love the kids and how you love me. I love all of you, everything. And you make me so happy. And yet, when I think of this, I am just so angry Fitz!" She inhales deeply, a deep sob escaping, as tears start streaming down her face. "I just, I am just so angry. I am angry that you cheated, I am angry that you were so stupid, I am angry that I left without fighting. But more than anything, I am angry that we lost all this time. I look at these boxes, the memories I'm packing and it's photos from Christmases that you weren't there, birthdays I spent staring at my phone hoping you'd call; anniversaries of our first kiss I spent hating myself for the things I felt. I am angry about the mistakes, but more than that, I am just so angry that life got in the way. I'm angry that we missed out on so much that we'll spend the rest of our lives trying to catch up. I forgave you, I forgave you a long time ago, for hurting me, for breaking my heart, for making it impossible for me to trust anyone for years to come – I forgave you that, but the time, the moments we never got to have – it's a living regret. Staying up with you the night before your first book tour, and you helping me cram for my bar exam; seeing our friends get married; going to movies at midnight and wandering the streets until dawn." She says it all in one breath, barely inhaling. The words stumble from her lips, falling loudly, echoing. She looks at the floor as her tears drop, silently, before saying,"She got to have a life with you and I didn't." It's barely above a whisper.
He pulls her in, her tears soaking his shirt as he strokes her back gently. "Why didn't you tell me, Livvy? We've been together for four years."
"It seemed silly. I mean we got our happy ending. Seems silly to be regretting things, to be dwelling on it." She shifts her head on his chest, bowing it down, so that it's only her forehead hovering above his heart. "I mean I feel so silly, being jealous ofMellie. I have you now. We have kids. It's silly and childish."
He lifts her chin up, but she still looks down, avoiding his eyes. "Look at me." He leans his forehead to hers, "Look at me Livvy." She meets his gaze, her eyes red. "It's not silly. But here's something you need to understand. Mellie and I, we were friends; we were partners. But, we, we were never like us. We were never… When I see you, it's like I see light, literally, when you're around, everything just lights up. Becomesclearer, brighter, more real. When you're around I can breathe; my lungs, they just fill, breathing becomes so easy. When you're around I can sleep. When you're around I can dream; I can dream dreams and believe they can become reality. You give me strength, to do the right thing, to be better, to do better, every single day. You come into a room, and you're all I see, literally. I never had that with Mellie. We had an understanding, and a friendship at one point; but the way my universe just shifts, the way everything aligns when you're around – I never felt that for anyone. So the things you're feeling, the regrets, they're not silly, they're real. Because I shattered our dreams. And I am so, so, sorry. That's something I can never give you back; give us back. But the least I can do is help you carry a part of the burden."
She inhales and then lifts her head and looks into his eyes. She sees regret, so much regret in them, but more importantly she sees love; the two forever intertwined, because for great love no amount of time is enough. In that moment she knows she can tell him; she can tell him and he'll understand everything.
"My dad killed himself." Inhale. "And I found him." She doesn't look away, and neither does he. They just let their eyes speak.
He doesn't ask why she hasn't told him, it would be selfish, this, this isn't about him. He doesn't ask what happened, it doesn't matter; no, the details of death are not what haunts her; it's a tragedy of a wasted life that to this day paralyzes her mind. He doesn't ask anything, and he gives her everything. He cups her cheek and she leans into it, still looking at him, "I'm sorry he couldn't be the dad that you needed." She smiles. He understands. It's as simple as that. He's not trying to make it OK, because that's the one thing it can never be. And he's not making her re-live it for him. He's knows it's not about a tragic night; it's about tragedy of life. They stay like that for another moment, on their knees, between the open boxes. They stay like that, quiet, their eyes, their touch, speaking volumes instead.
Nur's cry echoes through the room. "I'll get her." He leans in and kisses her forehead, then disappears. He comes back, quickly, a bottle of wine in hand and she gives him a confused smile. "She just fussed. She's back down." She still looks at him, eyes questioning. "Oh, the wine," he sits down and hands her a glass, "we are going to unpack all of this tonight. We'll go through all the boxes, all the memories, and you'll tell me stories and I'll tell you stories. We'll catch up. We'll have a date night; memories, and great wine."
She looks at the bottle, then back at him, wide-eyed. "Fitz. We've been saving this, for when the book comes out."
"We'll buy a different one. This one, it was meant for tonight. The book, it's all about the stars, about the past, so this wine; it's meant to be drunk tonight." She smiles and nods her head, lifting up the glass.
He sits behind her and she positions herself between his legs, leaning into his chest. "Magazines again?" He asks smiling, and she just nods her head, pulling out aCosmopolitan from 2001.
"Oh, god," she laughs, "this was embarrassing. I had just gotten the HRW gig and they said that they wanted to interview me for their careers issue; add some diversity." She rolls her eyes at the word, laughing, "I showed up, statistics at my fingertips, you know, all ready to talk about global injustice; world hot-spots, the whole nine yards, and the first question she asked – So, what mascara do you use?" They both erupt in a laughter fit, as she proceeds to explain the incessant questioning that ensued, about make-up; her purse collection, and the type of condoms she preferred. They barely calm down, then she adds, "Then my mom framed it – a photo of me looking like a drag queen and the title "Wall Street's Rising Star and why she prefers glow-in-the-dark ones". He spits out his wine, burying his head in the crook of her neck, both of their bodies shaking uncontrollably, until tears are rolling down their cheeks. Happy tears.
"I think we should frame that one. Keep it above the fireplace." He tries to grab it from her hand, but she wiggles it out of his reach, throwing it on the recycling pile.
"Next one!" She exclaims victoriously. She pulls out Men's Health, blushing as his eyes widen. "This is from Abby. It was a birthday present. When I turned 30!"
"I'm sure it was." He retorts, grinning.
They make their way thought the box of magazines, then move to photo albums andscrap-books; then cheesy souvenirs and ugly gifts. They finish the wine, as they sort the past out, laughing as they go through it; holding each other as they recount the time they spent apart. Making new memories as they recount the old ones.
That's how they spend the weekend. On Monday morning they load up their lives into a moving truck. She picks the last box up, heading out. She pauses at the door, turning around. She takes in the emptiness. The tall windows, the city in the background, she remembers the way Karen looked out; the place where Zoey stumbled on her pirouettes; the place where she crumbled in her mom's arms; the place where he kissed her, where she smiled, her finger tracing her lips. Memories. She looks down at the box in her hands, a box of photos from the wall – the one of their hands on top. She smiles and turns around, leaving the place where she grew up behind
I just got a bit teary-eyed – my babies are growing up! I know you guys were looking forward to more jealous Fitz, but I had this chapter written already (and a couple of next ones) and it was really important for me to address the elephant in the room, because they never really talk about it; before they move on figuratively and literally. But now that I know jealous Fitz is a hit, I have a feeling there might be a birthday party – tipsy Liv – jealous Fitz – chapter coming up.