I have a work deadline tomorrow, so naturally I've been doing this.
"Zoey Harper Grant! What are you doing!" She is standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, just under her rounded belly. She experiences a moment of acute self-awareness – if she saw herself now she'd laugh, she's an image of a grown-up, a mom. She feels like a child playing dress up most of the time.
The girl looks up, a wide grin reaching her eyes. "We're painting." She lets it hang in the air, holding her breath. Nur imitates her, all a wide smile, the few teeth she has catching on her lower lip, chubby hands fanned around her face.
"We paint mama." And they both stick their bottom lips out.
"Oh, I see." It is taking every atom of her strength not to burst in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Is there a reason you're painting inside?"
"It was raining?" Zo replies, not losing a beat. Nur follows her, as if on schedule.
"Yeah, it was rain-nining, rain-ging, rain-" she seems lost as she helplessly looks at Zo.
"Rain-ing" she enunciates her mouth forming large circles. The toddler stares at her and then tries to repeat, getting lost in the word again, somewhere between the two 'n's. She could just watch them for hours, and this feeling of warmth that pools somewhere deep in her chest and then spreads slowly through her body would not go away. But she has to parent, it comes right hand in hand, with the joy and amusement and wanting to play with them the whole day.
"I clearly remember there being a rule about not being allowed to paint in the house." She crosses her arms on top of her belly, and tries to straighten her lips in a thin line, but she feels like they can see right through it. Damn-it! They look as amused as she feels.
"Well, technically," and she looks to the blackboard above the kitchen counters, where instead of food they've written all the house rules, "it says no painting on the house – meaning floors, walls and such."
She glances at the board quickly. It does say that. She looks at Zo quickly, she does not remember agreeing to this. She distinctly remembers saying no painting in the house after the last time they decorated the living room couch for Christmas. It still has Nur's handprints on the back.
Zo just shrugs, "It was Fitz' idea."
"What was my idea?" He asks from the doorway, a wide smile threatening to overtake his face.
'The board thing." She replies stiffly.
"Ah yeah. The painting on the house thing. I thought it made sense. They could pillage, but not destroy…" He smiles, waiting, but no one laughs.
"I'll take Nur upstairs to clean up." Zo says quickly as she picks the toddler up. "Sorry about the mess mom."
"What are you doing here?" She asks as she hears the upstairs bathroom door close.
"I've been coming every morning for the past 10 days Livvie," He says softly as he walks towards her, "Bringing you decaf coffee, because the doctor said-"
She takes the paper cup out of his hand, and swallows a smile. "I know what the doctor said Fitz, I was there." It's a test. He doesn't fail. He doesn't take the bait and says, "So have I." He seems to finally understand that that is what he is supposed to be doing, it's not optional, a side special. "Thanks for the coffee." She says as she walks over to the paint cans. To Zo's credit she did protect the floor with an old sheet. On the other hand they painted the wall, the actual wall of their actual kitchen.
"You're welcome." His tone is light, amused almost and she hates it. She hates that he's so certain they'll make it, that he's so cavalier about it, so confident that she'll just let him back in after everything. It bothers her, it bothers her because she's afraid she will, and because she's afraid she'll be too stubborn to. "I'll clean that up." He says as he kneels on to the sheet, before she has a chance to bend down.
"I can clean up after the kids Fitz. I am not an invalid." She says pointedly, but lets him do it. She's willing to throw the fight if it gets her out of the half an hour of washing the brushes. Actually, Zo should be doing it, but out of the two of them, he's in a lot more trouble than the teenager. She sips the coffee as she sits down and damn but how-is-it-this-good. She wants to ask where he gets it, she wants to, but she doesn't, no, her pride is too much.
"I was hoping I could take them for the day?" He asks tentatively and it breaks her heart that he's uncertain and unsure about this; for a moment she misses the self-assured cockiness.
"I'm sure Nur would love that," she says it slowly, weighing the next part of the sentence, "I need to check with Zo though, to see if she has any plans." The thing is she knows she doesn't. They were going to have a lazy Sunday and watch Gilmore Girls in bed all day and then make pancakes later, but she is not pushing her on this, no. He messed up, and he hurt her, he hurt their daughter, and he needs to make it right. On her terms and at her own pace. He needs to work for it.
"Right." He walks over to the sink, paint brushes in hand. "Of course." He turns the water on, then turns it back off, "I am sorry Liv. For everything." And he turns around, leaning on the counter. God she misses him. She misses the way he used to hold her and kiss her, she misses talking to him, talking to him freely without all this garbage, this weight of hurt and shards of brokenness. "I know I fucked up big time, and I am so, so, so sorry."
"I know." And the thing is she does. She knows he is sorry, and she knows he regrets it, but she also doesn't trust him. Not anymore, not at all. She licks the foam off the lid, and lets out an involuntary moan. He tries to hide a smile, but she sees it, and she smiles back involuntarily. "I'll go check on the girls." She needs to get away from him, the smell of him and those eyes and the way they see right through all her defenses.
She climbs the stairs slowly, unsure, unsure of whether she should push Zoey, of whether she should push herself. She knocks on her door tentatively, then follows it with, "Zo, it's me."
"Come on in." She yells from the bed, where she's combing Nur's hair.
"Fitz wants to take you two out." Nur looks up, eyes darting between the two of them.
"Da-da!" She says triumphantly, followed with a big clap, her chubby hands nearly smacking her face.
"I need to study." The teenager replies, without lifting her eyes. "My exams are coming up."
"I thought we could just watch Gilmore Girls," And she looks up unsure, "Without this little noise-maker we might even get through at least half of the all-timers." Zo eyes her suspiciously. "Zoey, you've always had your relationship with him, always. And I've loved that. And that was always your thing. I am not going to force you to do something you don't want to. I think you'll need to forgive him eventually, because he loves you and he will earn it, but I'll let you decide when that time has come. I know you're hurt, just," she inhales deeply, "I don't want you to be angry with him, because I'm angry with him. Our fight, is not, and cannot be your fight. If you're upset because you're hurt, then that's OK, but you can't be angry with him for me. I don't want that."
"I'm not." She says slowly, as she taps Nur's back, alerting her that her hair is done and she can now ruin it with her hands. "I'm mad because he didn't let us handle this like a family. And that was always the deal. We're all a family. All of us and we decide things together. But he just… he… it's not that he left, it's not that. It's that he didn't explain."
And the thing is, she knows exactly how the girl feels.
"I thought pregnant ladies shouldn't be drinking."
"I'm thinking of no longer being your friend just for calling me a pregnant lady, old man."
He kisses her temple softly, "How are you doing kiddo?" He collapses into the seat next to her.
"Tired." She says with a small smile. It's been a long, day, a long week, a long month and a long year. She feels exhausted, tired, tired was months ago. "I just… I don't know how I'm going to do this Cy."
"Oh, come on, Liv! We'll all chip in! This baby is going to have the biggest village raising it."
"Yeah." She smiles weakly, the smile never quite reaching her eyes.
"It will also have a great dad, you know. A very tall, very big man, who's been sleeping on my couch for the past two weeks." She looks up, "Oh come on! Where did you think he was staying?"
"I don't know…" She chuckles lightly, "I was intentionally not thinking about it."
"Well, he's been on my couch, and don't get me wrong, I love him, he's family, but his socks are all over my damn floor and he keeps making coffee every morning and using that stupid espresso machine milk thing to fluff the foam, who even does that – just go buy the damn thing, and it's decaf, I mean, who-for-the-love-of-god-even-drinks-decaf."
Her heart feels like it might jump of out the cage that is her chest, "I do." She says it so softly, it almost feels like a breath.
"Oh." He takes a sip of her wine, and then disgusted, looks at her, "This is grape juice!"
"Pregnant ladies shouldn't be drinking." She retorts playfully.
"What are you going to do Liv?" She sighs loudly, leaning back in the chair, her hand on her belly. She closes her eyes, but the thing is she doesn't see anything – no them, no life, nothing, just darkness, calm. "You… you need to figure it out Olivia." And for a moment he sounds like her mom. "If you want him back – good. If you don't – good. If you want a divorce – goo- well not good, but fine. Whatever you want is fine, but you need to decide. He cannot keep sleeping on my couch. And you cannot keep running around trying to prepare for this baby without a long-term plan. You need a game plan Liv."
"I know… I just, there's too many things I…" She opens her eyes and leans on her elbows, straightening her back. "I think I want to leave Cy. I think I-"
"Want to take that job." He says with a small smile.
"Yeah." She wraps her hands around her neck, her head bent, and exhales. "I mean god help me. I am 6 months pregnant and I want to move half way around the world to run the whole organization, but I just… After college, when Fitz and I broke up after college, that's where I went. It's where I healed, it's where I started my life and it was hard, it was so hard, but it was also magical. And I… I think I want to go back. I know, I know it's crazy. I have a teenager and two babies and a husband I… I don't know what, but a husband, and his kids and it's messy and complicated, but I want this."
"Then you should do it." And he takes her hand into his.
"Cy…"
"Liv, it's your turn." He kisses her knuckles. "You let him do his thing. You let him go to war zones and you didn't sleep properly for a year, you let him bring me in like a stray dog and nurture me, and I appreciate it, I do, but you let him do his thing. Have you, and have Karen and Gerry and California and this wonderful, full life. You let him and it was generous and full of love and amazing, but Liv, it's your turn now."
"It's complicated Cy. It's not as easy as just… I can't just pick up and leave."
"He might follow."
She lets out a bitter laugh, "He never has until now." She bites her lip, afraid to fully entertain this possibility, no she has to quash it before it grows into something she wants. "And Zo, she can't move, I can't do that to her, she's-"
"Been googling schools in London for a week now." He says with a wide smile. "You know her Liv. She'll fit in. She'll love it. She just doesn't want you to do this for her, she wants you to do it because it's what you want."
"Stop making me consider this!" She slaps his hand playfully, "God, Cy, I cannot be thinking of moving across the world right now, I just… how would it work?"
"You are Olivia Pope. I have never seen you shy away from a challenge. If you want to, if this is what you want, you will figure out a way. And London is-"
"She's finally asleep." He walks in, his eyes darting between their frozen faces, "London is what?"
"Fitz?" Cy says, his voice pitched with panic. Of course he's the one who's spilled the beans before she's ready to talk about it. He mouths a 'sorry' before getting up and leaving with a bottle of wine.
"What just happened?"
She inhales. This is the moment. To decide how she wants the rest of her life to look. "I've been offered a job in London."
"Oh." She swears she can see him physically deflate. "What's the job?" He asks as he sits down slowly.
"HRW's new executive director." She stares at her hands as they play with the rim of the wine glass. She can't bear to look into his eyes and see anger. He places a hand over hers, softly, gently, as if he's covering a feather.
"I am so proud of you." And the thing is – he sounds it. She looks up, and he's beaming at her, a soft smile stretching under his tired eyes.
"You're not upset?" She wishes she hadn't asked the moment the question is out, because she can see how much it's hurting him – the fact that she'd even think that, let alone believe it for long enough to have to ask.
"I wish you'd told me sooner," she lets out an exasperated sigh, "but I get it. You wanted to process and figure out which way you're leaning, before talking to me. It's a very you thing to do." And he smiles and she feels a pang deep in her gut. Because he's being so understanding, because he didn't expect more from her, because he's so used to her shutting down – when did they decide to no longer fight? "So which way are you leaning?" He tries to keep his tone casual, but she can sense the tension, she can see the way he's clenching his jaw as he speaks.
"I don't know, honestly. I mean…"
"It's your dream job." He says with a small smile. "You'd be the new Kenneth Roth. But a girl version, which Zoey…. Oh god, she must be freaking out! Her mom's a rock star!" She smiles, trying so damn hard not to cry. This is not how they should be, this is not how she wants this conversation to be going. Why is it so damn easy for him to just let her go?
"Yeah. She's pretty thrilled. If it were up to her, we'd leave tomorrow." She feels his hand tense over hers, it is no longer gentle, it suddenly feels heavy.
"But you hate the timing?"
If he could only stop finishing her sentences and let her think then maybe she could make sense of this. But that's the thing, and she knows it, he's saying what she's thinking and that is the entire problem, the entire reason she cannot breathe right now is that the love of her life, the person who knows her better than anyone is holding her hand and helping her make a decision that will break them. "Yeah. I hate the timing. I mean, Nur's barely 2. The baby's coming and I just… it's a lot. And London, I mean it's hell to raise children-"
"New York isn't much better." He says with a grin.
"Yeah, but this is home."
"London could be too." She pulls her hand away and gets up. This is too much.
"Look, it's not that I'm not appreciating this, you being so cavalier about me leaving, I do, it's great, I'm thrilled, you're like a feminist wet-dream." He chuckles, and it just makes her more annoyed, why is he being so impossible. "How do you not care?" And she's yelling it, and suddenly his face is turning dark, a storm is settling in his eyes. "I mean I'm moving half-way around the world. Or planning to, with your kids and you just don't give a damn. You wouldn't see them for half a year, but –"
"What, do you mean I wouldn't see them?"
"Fitz, it's London. It's not like they'll be making monthly trips to California. It's 8 hours on the plane."
"Wait, you think I wouldn't come with you? For god's sake Olivia, what is wrong with you?"
"What is wrong with me?" They are now yelling, and she knows somewhere at the back of her head that she should lower her tone, because Zoey is upstairs and Nur just fell asleep and she knows, but her anger is just stronger than reason. "What is wrong with me? You left me, you left me, with the kids and went to California for 2 months, without discussing it, without agreeing on anything, without as much as a courtesy call letting me know you were planning on coming back. You disappear for 2 months Fitz, just leave, you talk to everyone but me, you only call me to get me to send the kids, and then suddenly you're back, you're everywhere, you're being charming and making me coffee and showing up to appointments, and what is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you? You do not just pick up and leave. I do no care how angry you are, or scared, or how much you think you hate me in any given moment, you do not just pick up and leave. That is not the man I married."
"I… I never called you because, after the hospital, after the way I acted, after the missed calls, I just… I thought if I called after all of that you just wouldn't pick up. I thought I should give you space. But see, the more space I gave you, the more scared I became, and as the time went by I became more and more convinced that you'd never forgive me. I didn't deserve it. So then, I just couldn't face that. I couldn't call you and have you tell me it was over. I tried so hard, so hard, to be mad at you for not telling me, I convinced myself that I had a right to be upset, because that meant that I was right to walk away, that meant that I hadn't fucked up big time, that meant that I could get you back. And then Karen told me you're the reason she's alive and of course you are, it all made sense and it just… Zo said she wanted to come back and suddenly I couldn't imagine letting her get on that plane alone. And I didn't call, because I was afraid. I am afraid Liv. I just, I bring you coffee and I ask about the kids and I leave because I'm afraid that if I try to stick around more, that if I try to get involved you'll just ask me to leave. And see, I'd rather have even a bit of this, a bit of us, than nothing, so whatever you need – if it's London, with, or without me, if it's here, if it's someplace else – I'll be there."
"You cannot be saying these things to me." And she is crying now – the real, heavy kind of tears, that do not glide down her cheek easily. "You don't get to do this to me Fitz!" She is hitting his chest with her small fists, her hands shaking, "You don't get to leave and then come back and give me that speech and expect me to just drop everything and pretend nothing happened. You say you'll come to London, but I don't trust you won't just disappear again when we get into an argument, I don't trust that you won't just leave again. I don't trust you. I don't trust you with my heart anymore, and that's the thing that scares me the most. I love you, I am so in love with you I don't think there's even a word for it, and I will be, as long as I live, but I don't trust you and that terrifies me. Because I'll let you back in, sooner, or later, I will, and sooner, or later, you will leave. Just like College, just like Syria, and just like now. You will choose something else, you will go chase it and I will be left alone to pick up the pieces."
He is quiet for a moment. She needs him to speak, to say something, to fight for her, but instead, "I can't promise you forever Livvie." She looks at him, all doe eyes and a quivering lip, "Since your dad died that's all you wanted, someone to promise they'll stick around forever, and I can't do that, because sometimes, despite our best intentions life happens. I fucked up in college, but you also walked away; you told me to go to Syria, because you believed in that story too, because you wanted me to tell it and I left now, I fucked up, but I also came back and I am trying to make it right." He takes a step towards her. She doesn't take a step back. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you and that's been true since our very first kiss. That's never changed. But life got in the way. And we're both human, and stubborn and proud and we are flawed and we make mistakes. I cannot promise that from now until the day we die I will not waiver, or need time away, or need a moment – I can't, and you know that, you've always known that. Just like I know that there will be times when you won't be able to let me in, when you will shut down, when you will push me away, until you are ready. It's who I am and who you are, and those things won't change. No matter how great our love, we are who we are. So, no, I can't promise you certainty and easy sailing. But I can promise you that every single day I will try to do better, every day we are together I will try to be a better husband, and a better father and a better man. Every day I will strive to grow into the person you think I can be. I wish I could promise I will never hurt you again, but I can't. But I promise to do everything in my power never to hurt you this way, I promise to try and to keep trying for as long as you'll let me." He is standing in front of her, his head bowed, his nose next to her forehead. She is looking at his chest, the way it rises and falls steadily. He is holding his breath, afraid a sudden movement might scare her away. She lifts her head, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks.
"Why did I have to marry a writer?" And she breaks into a laugh, the sound that breathes life into him. She buries her face in his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. She hasn't felt this safe since the night before the hospital, this at peace, this at home in her own skin. And it scares her, more than she can ever fully admit, but even then, it scares her less than the thought of never feeling this way again. He is kissing her temple, and then her cheeks, and then her lips – and she lets him, she's kissing him back, her hands lost in his hair, his on the sides of her belly.
He pulls away slowly, but leaves his forehead on hers, "I should go," But he doesn't move, "Cy's couch is beckoning."
She kisses him, softly, tenderly, "You should. I need time to process this. I love you, but you staying tonight, wouldn't make everything right, it would just make it more confusing."
He understands, he does, but somewhere deep inside it stings, that she is shutting him out again. But he finally understands, that is hiss cross to bear. He has to learn to accept that there will always be a part of her that she will need to keep hidden, and that it is not due to a lack of love, it is how she survives. That little pocket of self that she keeps hidden is why she can keep loving him, despite everything. And he finally, after more than two decades of loving her understands that.
He leaves.
She is standing in the kitchen alone, looking out into the garden. Nur and Zo's handprints are on the wall under the windows. This is her home. Her comfort zone. Maybe, it's time to leave. Maybe it's time to grow. She climbs the stairs. She looks into Zo's room – she's asleep, a book open across her chest. She peeks into Nur's nursery, she listens to her sleep for a bit. She climbs up. She lies under the glass dome, looking at the stars. She smiles. She's built herself a wonderful life. Her dad would have been proud. She closes her eyes. She is done looking at the past.
Fun facts: 1) This chapter has (one of) my most favourite lines to ever write, 2) 1 chapter left; 3) guess the baby's sex.