Hope Martin leaned back in her office chair, flipping through the latest issue of Nature. She knew it was a waste of paper and money to subscribe to the print version when everything was available online these days, but she liked the tangibility of the magazine pages, each thin glossy sheet containing dense, groundbreaking data that would likely change the world. Nature and Science were the only ones she read in print anymore, those two being the top scientific journals, the ones everyone strived to publish in, and the ones that required researchers to distill their findings into the shortest amount of column inches possible. She preferred Nature to Science because of its style. Maybe it was just the font and graphics used, but the British publication had a certain smoothness to its appearance, in contrast to the coarse American one. To Hope, Nature felt more sophisticated, and reading it reminded her of the years she'd spent living in England, where people were much more polite and not at all hostile.

She hadn't gotten through the News and Views section before heavy American footsteps came to a stop just inside her open doorway. She knew this woman, with the dark mane and chiseled jaw, but her lanky frame had altered since Hope and seen her last: she was heavy with child.

Hope stood to greet her. "Detective Rizzoli, what a… large… surprise. It's been… what, a year? Since the building collapse? I hope your brother is—"

The detective pointed a long finger at the chair. "Sit down, Hope. I'm not here for small talk." Hope sat, adequately intimidated, but the detective remained standing while she spoke.

"Maura wants to talk to you. I don't know what about, and I sure as hell don't know why, especially after the way you treated her—" The detective held out her hands, palms up, exasperated, and rolled her eyes. "A fucking thank-you note? For a major organ?—but she does."

Hope raised her index finger, trying to interrupt, "She told me she didn't want—"

"No, I'm talking now."

Hope was taken aback and, frankly, quite annoyed that this detective had the audacity to storm into her office, criticize her actions, and try to tell her what to do. Still, there wasn't much she could do about it at the moment, short of calling security, and extreme measures didn't seem called for just yet. Besides, she didn't want to be known to her colleagues as 'the one who had a pregnant woman escorted from the building.' Hope crossed her arms and waited for the tirade to end.

"She wants to talk to you. That's it. She already has a mother, she doesn't need you. But if she decides she wants you in her life, then you're a goddamned fool not to accept the offer. Because she's the smartest, sweetest, most amazing person I know. And if you say. One. Word. That hurts her," Jane's white-knuckle fist trembled with conviction, "I swear to God, I will make sure you regret it."

Hope's eyes narrowed and her arms relaxed a touch. Smartest, sweetest, most amazing person? If Hope was reading the situation correctly, Jane was there to act on behalf of the person she loved. If she and Maura weren't lovers when Hope had first met them (a supposition she now questioned), they certainly were now. And as offensive as Jane's tongue-lashing in that moment was to Hope, she began to forgive the offense. The part of Hope that no longer thought of her first daughter as an innocent casualty of mob wars, but rather as a smart, beautiful, successful woman, that part was happy that she'd found someone who loved her like this.

Jane tossed an envelope onto Hope's desk and went on, "So here's what you're gonna do. We're having a baby shower. This Saturday. This is Maura's baby." Jane gestured to her middle. "Our baby. We're together and if you have any opinions on that, you'd better keep them to yourself because nobody wants to hear any homophobic bullshit, especially from you." Jane's hands were flying now and she didn't see Hope's slight head shake, nor the hint of a smile at the confirmation of her hypothesis. "You show up, on time, with a gift. A good one. The first words out of your mouth are, 'I'm sorry I've been a shit, thank you for saving my other daughter's life,' and all the rest of the words you say are exactly what she wants to hear, and nothing more."

Hope nodded her tacit agreement. She'd already apologized for her initial reaction to finding out Maura was her daughter, so she didn't see the necessity of another apology, but she could certainly thank Maura for her kidney donation. When the operations were complete a year ago, she was relieved that Maura didn't want to see her—the meeting would have been terribly awkward, and she soon became occupied with Cailin's post-operative care. A card seemed like the appropriate course of action. Hope supposed an in-person thank you would be proper, though an apology might not be completely called-for.

"Oh, and your other daughter, Cailin, she can come, too, but she'd better— She'd better not—" Jane stopped, mid-rant, and leaned one hand on the desk, the other clutching her belly. "Dammit." She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a labored breath, almost a groan.

Growing concerned and no longer affronted, Hope began to stand. "Jane, are you—"

Jane held out her hand, palm toward Hope, stopping her from getting any closer. "Just. A second." Finally, she took a deep breath and looked back at Hope. "What was I saying?"

"Braxton Hicks."

"What?" Whether it was the pain or her animosity toward Hope, the word came out sharply.

Regardless, Hope offered the comfort of a medical explanation. "Braxton Hicks contractions, commonly known as false labor pains. It's completely normal, nothing to worry about, as long as they don't occur regularly at decreasing intervals. How far along are you?"

Jane did a double-take, then sat in the guest chair opposite Hope, her threatening performance apparently over. "Almost 35 weeks." She sighed, "My feet are killing me." She gestured to them, clad in heeled leather boots, which she began to unzip, without a even hint of decorum.

Sympathy outweighing irritation, Hope commented, "Those can't be comfortable."

"I usually wear sneakers, a size bigger than normal, but I wanted the extra height."

"You wanted to frighten me."

Jane shrugged. "I could have worn my gun, instead."

Now that Jane's bravado had dissipated, Hope felt she could speak frankly. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

"You did anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"Tell her that." Jane sighed, then got up to leave. Turning back, she pointed to the invitation. "We're registered. Nobody has bought us the stroller yet."

Saturday morning Maura and Angela were preparing baby foods. Not food for babies to eat, but little versions of food. Mini wrapped-sausages. Tea sandwiches. Tiny tomatoes and baby carrots for dipping. Pea-sized bites of cheese. Somehow they even found small eggs for making deviled eggs. It was all too small to make a meal of, but it looked so good. Jane recoiled when Angela smacked her hand away. "It's for the guests, Jane!"

"How about the guest of honor, Ma? She's hungry! She keeps kicking me, sayin', 'Gimme a fluffernutter! It smells so good, Momma!'" Jane made a pouty face and pleaded, "C'mon, Ma. One itty bitty fluffernutter. For Echo."

Angela raised one eyebrow at her daughter's shenanigans and turned away, wiping her hands on a dish towel. When she wasn't looking, Maura snuck a small sandwich off the platter for Jane and rearranged the others to fill the empty space. Jane took it discretely and kissed Maura on the cheek, saying in her Echo imitation voice, "Thanks, Mommy!"

Jane popped the morsel into her mouth just as the doorbell rang. There was still an hour or so before the party was to begin, so she raised an eyebrow at Maura, who shrugged. Maybe it was a delivery. They'd been getting shower gifts delivered all week. But when Jane looked through the peephole, she gasped, almost choking on the fluff. Swinging the door open, she exclaimed, "Constnth!"

Maura's mother gave an amused smile and looked Jane over. "Jane, how lovely it is to see you. I trust you're taking excellent care of my granddaughter?"

Jane nodded, smiled, and swallowed.

"And my daughter?"

"Is taking excellent care of me?"

Constance chuckled, "Yes, I don't doubt it." She paused for a moment and raised her eyebrows, as if expecting something. "May I come in?"

"Oh!" Jane put a hand to her forehead and stepped aside, "Of course! Sure!"

Constance brought a small suitcase with her into the foyer. "I hope your mother informed you I was coming to the shower—"

Just as Constance was finishing her sentence, Angela called from the kitchen, "Surprise!" Clearly, Jane and Maura should have shared with Angela their plan to invite Hope and Cailin to the party. Angela was blissfully unaware of the potential train wreck that could happen that afternoon, if Maura's mothers were to meet.

Jane looked sideways at Constance with a sheepish grin. "Well, we're glad to have you anyway." She held her arm out to usher Constance into the living area. "Maura! Look who's here!"

Maura's face dropped when she saw her mother. It was a look of sheer horror. Her eyes shifted between Constance and Jane while she tried to figure out what to do. Just when Jane thought she might begin to hyperventilate and pass out, Maura's head lurched to the left and a smile appeared. She was putting on her hostess façade. "Mother, what a wonderful surprise! Will you be staying with us? I haven't had a chance to prepare the second bedroom in the guest house."

Constance saw it, too. She gave Maura a brief hug and a kiss on either cheek, saying quietly, "I wish you would think of me as family instead of company, darling. I don't mind a little mess."

Maura looked down, embarrassed, and Jane put a guiding hand on the small of her back. "We just want you to be comfortable," Jane explained.

"Thank you," Constance said graciously. "Unfortunately I can only be here for today, I'll be out of your way tomorrow."

"It's no trouble, Mother, really—"

"Nonsense. I'm sure you two have a great deal of preparations yet to make before the baby arrives, and there's no reason for me to add to the work. I'm here to help. Now if you don't mind, I'll just stow my bag in the guest house and then I'll be ready for whatever tasks you need completed." With a satisfied smile, Constance turned and exited out the back door.

Stunned, Maura looked to Jane for help. "She doesn't know about Hope," she whispered. "I haven't told her anything about her. What am I going to do?"

Jane's eyes grew wide. "Nothing? Not even that… you found her? That she exists?"

Maura shook her head vehemently. "Not that she exists, not that she knows who I am, not that her daughter has one of my kidneys, nothing!"

Jane held Maura by the shoulders. "Ok. It's going to be ok." Jane tried to calm Maura down by leading her in taking deep breaths. She smiled. Maura tried to smile back. "You just have to tell her. That's all. Piece of cake. Right?"

Maura didn't look so sure.

Jane tried offering some alternatives. "You want me to tell her? Or— Hey, here's an idea. We could send her out to Worcester on an errand, then get rid of Hope before she comes back. Eh?" Jane raised her eyebrows and smiled, trying to sell the evasive scheme.

Maura sighed, resigned. "No, I have to tell her. I should have done it a long time ago, I just… I didn't know how."

Squeezing Maura's shoulders, Jane gave a relieved sigh and offered, "Just tell her the truth. She'll understand. And if not, it's not like she can take all that baby furniture back."

Maura frowned at Jane's attempt at humor, but before she could say anything, Jane had walked her to the back door and practically shoved her in the direction of the guest house.

Closing the door behind her, Jane accused Angela, "All these years and you choose now to keep your trap shut?"

"Whaaat?" Angela drawled, still decorating mini cupcakes. "I wanted it to be a surprise!"

"Ma," Jane explained, "Hope is coming."

Angela finally looked up from her work. "Oh. Ohhh."

There was no reason for Constance to be nervous. She was a highly-educated, well-traveled, aesthetically-pleasing, accomplished woman with numerous credits to her name. Certainly she wouldn't be out-witted by any of the shower guests. No, the only person in the room who would even approach Constance's station would be her daughter.

Maura had always surprised Constance with her ability to absorb information. Growing up, she would always have a relevant fact ready for any situation, whether appropriate or not. As if she'd memorized the encyclopedia. But more than that, Maura was kind, gracious, and smart, not just with facts and figures, but with analysis, problem-solving, and dedication. Constance wished she could be proud of raising such an esteemed woman, but in truth she probably had very little to do with it. She was such a darling, precocious child. While Constance was in her studio, teaching undergraduates, or simply sitting idly by, Maura raised herself.

Now retired from teaching, Constance wanted to be involved, to be of whatever assistance she could with the baby. She certainly wasn't the ideal mother, but experience had to count for something. She must have done something right to have Maura for a daughter, if only to stay out of the way. Constance believed that being a working mother, showing her daughter that women can find happiness and fulfillment outside the home, was important to her development. And the educational activities she engaged Maura in as a toddler probably helped, as well. In any case, there she was, having flown over 3,000 miles for a party featuring miniature wrapped sausages, in order to offer what little she could and simply to enjoy her daughter's company.

Her reluctance to return to the main house could surely be attributed to jet lag, nothing more. She took a few quiet moments to admire the changes in decor that Maura had made since moving the second guest bed in from the main house. Her index finger slid along the back of a carved wooden Indian elephant she identified as a new addition. The intricate jaali inlay bespoke fine craftsmanship that was not lost on the artist in Constance. She didn't hear the door open and close quietly behind her.

"I've been thinking a lot about elephants lately," Maura began, startling Constance enough to bring a palm to her chest. "I'm sorry, it's just me."

"No, dear, I was simply lost in thought; I didn't hear you come in." She noticed Maura's hands in motion, twisting a ring around her finger. "What were you saying?"

"Elephants. The females raise the young." She gestured to the carving. "That's an Indian elephant, and the piece is too delicate for the baby's room, so I put it here. It's an adult female. Perhaps a matriarch." She paused, then added, "It reminded me of you."

Constance was inexplicably uneasy about the sentiment. Was it a comparison to her work? Maura was usually much more discerning about art; this ethnic piece was of obvious quality, but it was nothing like the provocative modern sculptures Constance created. "It's lovely. The detail is exquisite." She waited for more of an explanation, but none came. "I'm sorry about the surprise, darling, I thought Angela would have said something. I know you don't like surprises."

"I'm happy you're here, I just… I need to tell you something." She gestured to the sofa, and Constance sat, her mind suddenly filling with frightful ideas of what Maura might have to say. That there was something wrong with the baby. That things weren't working out with Jane. That they didn't want Constance's help with the newborn. None of her thoughts compared to what she actually said, "I've been in contact with my… with the woman who gave birth to me. Paddy Doyle told me her name, Hope Martin. She's…" Maura paused and Constance's mind filled in the gap: Wonderful? Everything I'm not? Been here for you while I've been away? "…well, she's coming to the shower."

Constance let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. It was unexpectedly cathartic. Whether good or bad, the event Constance had been trying to avoid for almost thirty years had finally occurred, and she had no control over the repercussions. Maura had found Hope, and no amount of money was going to stop her from bonding with the woman, if she wanted to. Constance wondered whether Maura was angry at being kept in the dark for so long, and how much she had discovered. She swallowed her trepidation and tried to be supportive. "Your birth mother. That's… that's splendid, darling. How did you find her?"

Maura appeared concerned for a moment, but explained, "I had her name, her age, where she went to college. It wasn't too difficult." Maura shrugged, then added, "She didn't know about me. She thought I had died at birth."

Yes, Constance mused, that's what Patrick told everyone. Patrick could lie like a politician, but he had a weakness for women, especially the ones he loved. If Constance had recognized the truth within only a few years of knowing him; Hope must have had on blinders to have believed for a second that her baby had died. The blinders of an education and career in medicine free of parental responsibilities, no doubt. Constance tasted bile just thinking about the willful ignorance of that woman.

"Mother? I know this must be shocking. I didn't want to have to tell you like this." Maura looked down at her fidgeting hands, abashed. "I couldn't seem to find the right time."

Constance's heart broke for her daughter. She gently placed one hand over both of Maura's, stilling them and drawing Maura's eyes up to her. The last thing Constance wanted to hear at that moment was how wonderful Hope was, how generous with her relief work, how intelligent and akin to Maura she was. How Maura had finally made a blood connection that made sense. But Constance's reticence was making her daughter feel as though she'd done something wrong. Constance tried. "It's alright, Maura. Tell me. What is she like?"

Maura shifted their hands around so she could squeeze Constance's with love and gratitude. She gave a weak smile, then her eyebrows furrowed when she said, "She's… She's a doctor. A brilliant one. She specializes in burn victims and has worked all over the world." Maura seemed to be searching. Perhaps they hadn't grown close after all.

Maura continued, "She has a daughter, Cailin. She's nineteen. A typical teenager, I suppose." Maura was never a typical teenager. "She had some health problems." Had? "Due to a bacterial infection she contracted abroad as a child. Pyelonephritis. Untreated, the infection causes scarring on the kidneys, leading eventually to kidney failure." Constance felt a pang of guilt when she realized her small part in causing this innocent young woman's illness. "She needed a kidney transplant. So I…" Maura had always been generous. "I donated one of mine."

Constance wanted the kidney back. She wanted to find the girl, rip Maura's kidney out of her, and make her daughter whole again. "You must feel very close to them."

Maura looked away. "No. Not at all." Her quiet words and sad smile should have made Constance feel better, conveying that Hope had not usurped Constance's role in Maura's life. Instead, they made her even more angry. That Maura had wanted a connection and for whatever reason Hope had rejected her. Again. "It was the right thing to do."

Constance wanted to do something, to say something to make her daughter feel better. But she was at a loss. It wasn't like when Maura was young and she could make a phone call to the principal, insisting that the bully be moved to a different classroom. And no words existed to make her forget about the woman. Maura cared. She would always care. "Would you like me to stay away from the party? Let you have this time to get to know her?" It was the last thing Constance wanted to do.

Thankfully, Maura reacted vehemently. "No! Mother, I'm happy you're here. In fact, now that you are, I wish I hadn't invited her. I don't know why I did, actually. I suppose… I wanted to give her another chance."

Maura took a deep breath and stood up to leave. "Please join us in the kitchen when you're ready." Standing in the open doorway, Maura confessed, "I don't know if I'll ever feel close to Hope. I don't know if I want to." She glanced at the carved elephant. "You're that elephant. You're my mother." Then she took her leave.