SORRYSORRYSORRY! That's all I've got to say for myself. But I promise to update at least a couple of times over the upcoming week, because I love this story. And I really, really, really enjoy writing it. It's just that I've been crazy busy. But now that I'm back in the swing of things, I promise to update more regularly. I mean I updated Grow Up yesterday and this today, and I have a Chapter for 28 Rooms in my head, so things are already looking up :)
She drops her keys in the crystal tray on the small ebony table in the hallway. The door closes behind her with a dull thump, and the room is, once again, dark. She peels her coat off slowly, stretching her neck as she slips her arms out of the satin-lined sleeves. She hangs it, but it falls off the hanger and crumples at her feet. She sighs, heavily, and picks it up again, buttoning it around the hanger with shaky fingers. Fitz usually does this. At lest he had been doing it.
He'd go with her in the morning, and she'd rest her head on his shoulder while he'd run his hand along her back soothingly, as the car glides along the busy New York streets. Then once they'd get there, he'd hold her hand, and he'd squeeze it, right before they'd reach her mother's room. He'd squeeze it and smile, a smile that said I'm here, and I love you and You can do this. And she'd nod, because she'd believe him. And she'd go in. And he'd give them time, because that, that was the only thing they needed more of, not love, never love – just more time. Time that is so mercilessly running out. And then he'd bring her a coffee, and something to eat. And he'd bring Nur and Zoey in, for Diane to see. And he'd tell her a joke that would make her laugh, and her laugh would make Liv want to cry. And he'd know, just when, to slip his hand into hers and take her out of the room. He'd run his finger along her pulse, to keep her calm, until they were alone, until it was safe, safe for her to fall apart in his arms. And she would. She would cry, and he'd just hold her, his arms wrapped around her midsection, holding her up, as her legs gave out. And once she'd calmed down, he'd take a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his jacket, a handkerchief that smelled like him, and he'd wipe the traces of her tears away. Gently, the white silk following his thumb, as her cheek rested in his palm. And then, he'd kiss her temple. And he'd lead her to the edge of the roof, and she'd stand there, looking down – unafraid; forever safe in his arms, his chin on her shoulder, his eyes closed as he inhales her scent. And then they'd go back inside, and Cy would take the girls home, and they'd stay. He'd read in the corner, but she knew, she knew he wasn't reading, he was barely breathing – listening, just like her, to the thready breaths that were getting weaker by the day. And then some days, when it would all get to be too much, she'd sit in his lap, her body engulfed by his, the beeps drowned out by his steady heartbeat. They'd leave in time to get Nur ready for bed, and he'd hold her hand all the way back. He'd unlock the door, and open it for her; he'd help her out of her coat, and he'd kiss her cheek gently, before leading her in. Into the space where life went on, the space filled with familiar laughter.
Now, it took her five minutes to unlock the door, because her hands were shaky – form exhaustion, or maybe from the cold. And her coat is on the floor, and she sighs, because she is just so tired; so, so tired. And she slips off her heels and heads into the quiet. The tears streaming down her face, not disturbing the silence.
She takes out the bowl he left for her in the fridge, and she makes herself a cup of tea; she even adds honey – she promised him, and she knows – he'll ask, and she doesn't want to lie; she doesn't have the energy, and he'd know and it would hurt him; it would hurt him and he'd worry. She sits on the couch and pulls her knees up and throws a soft blanket over her body. She presses play on the remote, and his voice fills the room. Chapter 32. And she smiles. Finally able to relax.
She listens to the whole chapter, as she switches from tea to wine, and replaces the meal he left for her with a bowl of freshly popped caramel popcorn. She dials the familiar number, and bites her lip as she listens to the echo of the rings.
"Mom!" An excited voice comes from the noise.
"Gerry! Traffic signs are not a buffet table, where you get to choose which ones to follow. A STOP means you need to stop, not decide there's no need and then just drive."
"Dad. THERE WERE NO CARS." She can hear them bickering in the background and she smiles.
"So Fitz is still teaching Ger how to drive, huh?"
"Yeah," Zo laughs, "We already made three stops in the last hour, and dad had to take a fifteen minute walk at the last one."
"Is that Liv?" And she can hear the worry in his voice, and she feels guilty – for needing him, for needing him more than she ever needed anything; for letting him in, for letting him see the depth of her fear, her vulnerability. Maybe, maybe it's too much, after all.
"Zo, tell him he can call me later. Don't let him use the phone now. I'd much rather he stays focused on Ger and the STOP signs." And she hears the teenager relay the message, then ignore Fitz' protests as she speaks again.
"How's grandma?" She asks quietly, as if her tone will somehow make the question, the answer less painful.
"She's holding on." That's not an answer, not to what she's asking anyway. The girl wants to know how many hours, how many days, if she's in pain; if she can still talk, if she can laugh and tell jokes. But all she knows, all she can muster is – she's holding on. Because each day she wakes up, and goes to bed expecting her to slip away, to just disappear into the nothingness. So for her, holding on – it's all she can hope for, all she dares want. And it's selfish, she knows; because she is in pain, and she can barely laugh anymore, and she's ready, ready to go – but still, she's holding on. "How's the cooking going?"
"Good!" She says excitedly, clearly happy to move on to a different topic. "Mellie taught me how to make pumpkin pie. It's a DAR recipe, so it's super special."
"Yeah, only the privileged middle class can make it." She hears Gerry chime in, and she can't help but chuckle. She misses them, all of them and their antics. But Karen hasn't been well, and she needed to go home, feel grounded, have the love and support of those closest to her around her.
Zoey ignores his comment and carries on, unfazed, "We also got this huge turkey-"
"Yes, to symbolize the slaughter of the Indians." Gerry interrupts.
"Fitzgerald Grant, how about you dial back on the sass." She hears Fitz' firm voice, but there's a tone of amusement in it, clearly he's enjoying the antics as much as she is.
"How's Nur?" She hears Ger ask, and she smiles into the phone, resting her head on the back of the couch.
"She's good. She's with Cy. He should drop her by any moment now. He's trying to teach her to say apolitical."
"How's that going?" And she finds it fascinating, truly fascinating, that his voice can still calm her down, and fill her up with warmth, even as it comes mixed with static through a speakerphone. She can imagine his eyes, the way they light up when he's around the kids, when he talks about them, when he thinks about them. She can see that dreamy smile that appears on his lips when he sees her. She can almost feel his hand on hers, his heartbeat in her ear. But almost, has never been good enough; never enough.
"Well, she's saying ethical." And his laugh makes her feel alive, makes her forget all about death, for the briefest blissful moment. But then she hears the familiar footsteps and the sound of small hands slapping the elderly man's cheeks. "I should go, Cy's here."
"We love you." All three of them say at the same time.
"I'll call you later." And she nods her head in agreement, forgetting that he can't see her.
"She's nodding." Cy yells from the doorway.
"I know." Fitz says, and she smiles, because – of course he does. And the line goes dead.
"Hey." And she gets up, setting the phone and the wine on the glass table. She walks around the couch and gives Cy a kiss on the cheek, before stretching her arms out to pick up the gleeful toddler from his arms.
"Mama." And she kisses her temple and inhales her scent – she smells like fresh fruit and warm cotton candy, like summer breeze and snow melting in early spring. Like their baby.
"Yeah, mama's here." And she tickles her sides gently, and the toddler erupts in a fit of laughter, her four teeth peaking from behind her full lips. She settles her on her hip, running her free hand down the girl's tender arm.
"Thanks so much Cy. Can I get you some wine?" And she doesn't wait for him to reply, before heading towards the kitchen.
"No, I'm OK, actually. I should get going." And she turns around giving him a quizzical look. "I… I have a date."
"Why didn't you tell me? I could have taken her off your hands earlier!" He just shakes his head, a shy smile stretching across his lips. "So, who's this man who managed to get your attention?"
"He's a political analyst. Teaches at Columbia part-time, and works as an advisor for investment banks."
"That's great! I'm so happy for you. You'll tell me about it tomorrow over dinner?" She asks, smiling. "I plan on making turkey sandwiches."
"Wouldn't miss it."
"Good! Now, go, can't be late for a first date!"
And he heads towards the door, then turns around as he reaches the hallway, "Liv?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." She gives him a confused look. "For… for bringing me back to life. I know it wasn't easy… I know I didn't make it easy, but, you, you and Fitz, saved me."
"Cy…"
"You did. And I want you to know… If I could, instead of Diane… If I could… I'm sorry she's dying."
A tear rolls down her cheek, and she inhales sharply. Nur reaches with her small hand and wipes the tear away, then licks her chubby finger. Cy walks back to where she's standing and wraps his arms around her, squishing Nur in the process, eliciting a loud protest. He feels her breathing even in his arms, and he gives her a moment before stepping away. "She ate."
And he kisses both their temples, before leaving.
She takes the toddler upstairs and runs her a bath. The little girl splashes in the warm water and scrubs the bottom of the bathtub with her toothbrush, charming her with the most adorable mischievous grin, digging her lone two upper teeth into her bottom lip. She blinks furiously trying to get the drop of water that's stuck to her long eyelashes to fall down. She shakes her head, in the same attempt, and Liv can't help but laugh, everything else temporarily forgotten. She wraps her in a towel and runs it through her curly hair. She puts her shooting star PJs on and lowers her down into her crib, as her eyelids fall shut, over the cerulean eyes. She presses the button on the baby monitor, turns on the pink lava lamp and heads downstairs to continue the conversation she was having with her wine.
Press play. Chapter 33.
/
She feels the pillow vibrate under her head, and she stirs awake. She slides her finger across the screen, and brings the cool glass to her ear.
"Hi."
And she turns on her back, and looks at the ceiling, a small smile appearing on her lips. "Hi."
"Oh, god, I woke you up." His voice is a mix of panic and guilt. "I'll call you tomorrow, go back to sleep."
"No… Fitz." She manages to say groggily, "just give me a sec." And she sits up, and shakes her head a couple of times. "I'm awake."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I was waiting for your call."
"Oh, god, that's making me feel worse. I got distracted and…"
"Fitz," she says softly, and he quiets instantly, "I love you."
He sighs heavily, he knows, understands – the statement is loaded. "I love you too. And I miss you. Like crazy." She doesn't say anything. She just breathes. Her breaths matching his. "How is she?"
"She's…"
"Holding on." He finishes for her.
The thing people mourn about death is the loss of life, the loss of memories, of dreams, of stories. And the thing about someone disappearing slowly – the mourning, it starts early, before death ever settles fully. She's alive, but she's not living – she's alive, getting ready to die. She's holding on. And Liv, she's holding on too, not to hope, but to the brief moments of life that come between hours of sleep, hours of pain and unconsciousness; she's holding on to the past, trying to make the moments of clarity last.
"She told me she wanted to be buried next to dad today."
"Oh, Livvy…"
"She said maybe he found happiness in death." She rests her forehead on the heel of her palm, then pinches the bridge of her nose with slender fingers. "She sounded… jealous."
"Liv…"
"I know." She manages to utter between sobs, "I know. She's tired and she's exhausted and she's in pain, and she's ready. I get it. But… I'm not. I'm not ready. And I see her. I see her disappearing. I see her suffer, and I can't let go. She's not holding on, I'm making her hold on. And I know it's selfish, I know I… I just… She's… She's my mom." And she can't breathe, her throat is closed; her lungs not expanding; her vision blurry. The room is filled with sharp breaths, with gasps for air.
"Liv, Livvy…" But she can't speak, she can't let him know she can hear him. "Breathe for me." She's trying, she is, but the air – it's just not reaching her lungs. And then, then he's singing, quietly.
Like sweet morning dew, I took one look at you,
And it was plain to see you were my destiny,
And she remembers the rooftop, and how his hand felt low on her back; as they danced, as this song played; she remembers the way her carried her through that hotel room door; how his fingers felt as he unzipped her dress. How happy, how infinitely happy she felt.
With arms open wide I threw away my pride,
I'll sacrifice for you, dedicate my life to you,
And she can hear the beats of his foot against the floor, and her breathing is falling into the steady rhythm.
I will go where you lead, always there in time of need,
And when I lose my will you'll be there to push me up the hill.
And she's humming absentmindedly along with him, finding solace in his velvety baritone. Comfort in the warmth of his voice.
There's no, no looking back for us,
We got love sure enough, that's enough,
You're all, you're all I need to get by.
"I'm sorry." She whispers, says it in a shallow breath.
"Never be sorry for letting me see you. Never be sorry for letting me help you. Never be sorry for letting me love you."
"I… I don't want you to… to think I'm weak. I… I was always, I was never weak. That's not who you fell in love with." And her voice cracks as she speaks her biggest fear.
"You're the strongest person I know Livvy. And that will never change. Strength isn't measured by the number of tears not cried, it's measured by those you let flow freely, by those you feel as they stream down your cheeks. It's measured by the times you let yourself fall apart and then pick yourself back up. And the only thing that's different this time is, you're finally letting me hold your hand, be there. That's not a weakness – trust, love – those are strengths. And this different strength – it's just making me love you even more. Every day. Just a little bit more.
"The grace with which you handle this, the grace with which you help her handle it – you're the epitome of strength Liv. And I love you for it. And for so much more."
"Nur scrubbed the bottom of the bathtub with her toothbrush." There's nothing she can say to him, nothing that would measure up to this – aside from I love you, and I miss you and she knows, saying either will make him want to come back; and she doesn't want that. She doesn't want him to run back to her rescue, she can do this, she can handle this, and Karen, Karen needs him to stay.
"Well, I'm glad she's found her calling." And they both chuckle.
"Cy has a date."
"Who with?" And she can feel the excitement in his voice.
"This political analyst. I will have the details tomorrow when you call."
"Dad!" She hears Gerry calling him.
"You should go." She says softly.
"No, I… They can wait for a while."
"No, go. Make DAR cakes. I'm OK." She corrects herself, "I'm on my way to being OK."
"Call me? If there's anything?"
"Of course."
"I love you."
"More than you know." She says, before pressing disconnect.
Writing this broke my heart a little bit (read: a lot). But I just LOVE that Liv is letting him in, and that he's helping her deal with everything. I just love how much they've both grown. She's not pushing him away, and he's not jumping on the first plane back - they're communicating and my babies are a team.
And just one more thing - THANK YOU SO MUCH for still reading this story, for reviewing, for asking about it and messaging me. I love reading all of your comments, so honestly, thank you so much.