Episode 15: Talk to Me
(Back to the Present)
"For five months, you kept this from me...You didn't keep this from her, did you?"
"You tell me. I'm surprised that with the resources available to you, you aren't reciting her social security number back to me."
§
Olivia's intuition never lied. The intense forebody was inescapable no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the streaks of scenery whizzing by her window. Strong was the feeling that everything she had meticulously designed the evening to usher in would be washed away in the early morning tide of an impending confrontation.
Perhaps for the fifth time, her eyes returned to the evidence Huck had pinged to her phone. The collection he brought to her did not reveal exact details, but enough for Olivia to feel the barrage of rage, fear, guilt, concern, and disbelief. Pounding away inside the cage of her chest, causing her, occasionally, to forget to breathe. All because he lied. Had been lying… to her. But for how long?
The curled fist of her unoccupied hand was swaddled under the warm guard of Fitz's palm.
Huck came to a stop, and the couple exited the car. "I'll be here when you guys are done."
"We'll find our way back, " Fitz declared. "You don't have to stay."
"Nonsense," asserted Huck. "Take your time."
124 appeared smaller to Olivia now as she stared straight ahead. The night was cloudy, making the house's eggshell blue appear grey. Had she ever seen it in the dead of night like this? Those teen years when she might have snuck out, and later wandered home in trepidation, hoping to escape the wrath of her waiting father as he rained down on her warnings about adventurous teen girls going bump in the night, never materialized. No stumbling in before dawn smelling of frat house booze either. All of that happened in another land. So, no, 124 had never shown itself like this. Not to her.
An owl in the distance made itself known as Olivia stared at the brass lion's head affixed to the red portal of her childhood home. Her knuckles rapped against it thrice.
"Olivia," said the woman who opened the door a few moments later. "And you must be Fitzgerald." Her voice did not ebb with surprise, but a tone closer to weary expectation. Her half-smile was fit for the hour, but her dark eyes sparkled clear. Locked away under the olive headwrap she wore were strands of locs, save for a few peek-a-boo ones at the nape of her neck. The haphazardly tied bow of her waffle-textured dressing gown was drawn over her fleshy body. Not tight enough to stifle the aroma of a concentrated, artificial fragrance wafting across the door's threshold.
Olivia sniffed and sniffed and sniffed and then replied, "Coconut Hibiscus Illuminating Body Wash, right?"
At this, the older woman shuttered her eyes, understanding that she must have been careless at least once.
"Right," she acknowledged. Her hand still clutched the open door.
Olivia nodded gently, "Hmmph." Opening the Pandora's Box of Ms. Body Wash would have to wait. One thing at a time. "I'm here to see my father."
"It's 2 AM and he's— "
Olivia shouldered her way past the woman, bringing Fitz along with her. Olivia's eyes looked at the stairs, her body having already turned in that direction. She squeezed Fitz's hand and let it go as she moved toward it.
Fitz pulled her back gently. "Will you be OK?"
"I don't care about that. I need—"
"I do." His brow knitted with concern. "I care whether or not you'll be OK." A beat passed and he sighed. "But I also know when you're a woman on a mission."
"Fitz…" Her tone conveyed multitudes which he understood.
"I know. If you need me…" Neither of them needed him to finish that sentence. The caress of Olivia's hand along the side of his face put them on the same page.
He turned left into the sitting room as Olivia made her way up the stairs. The older woman, who had been observing them the entire time, followed Fitz.
§
When Olivia entered Eli's room, he was placid, propped imperiously against several pillows. With an open book on his thighs, he did not appear as if he were waiting for her, but as if she had interrupted his evening. That part, at least, was true. The lie of everything else was written on his face. The disrupted sleep in his eyes, the fatigue soaked into his skin.
"And what time do you call this?" Eli asked, looking at the carefully arranged words on the pages in his lap.
"The hour of truth," Olivia replied, crossing her arms.
Turning to her finally, removing his reading glasses, Eli let an amused chuckle escape. "Oh? Pray tell."
"You're sick."
Her father only blinked.
"Don't bother denying it. From what I've seen, it must be serious. The full extent, I don't know. But I do knowyou and that you have been hiding something from me."
"From what you've seen," he mocked. Slipping into a less facetious tone, he added, "It's not that I'm hiding anything. Everything isn't about you." How much there was that this child of his did not know. Did not need to know. How many unnecessary tribulations had he saved her from? "I know you, too, Olivia. Know that you feel entitled to information, even when it is not in your best interest to know."
Olivia's eyes widened and her heart began to beat faster. His ominous words caused her hand to instinctively drop against the blossoming swell beneath the coat she had not bothered to remove. "The only consistent family I've had my entire life. Yes, I am entitled. If you're sick, it's about me, too."
Reeling from his daughter's unwarranted invasion, he carried on. "You had me followed to appointments. Photographed, observed. Should not your efforts have yielded more than the vague knowledge of unwellness? Or perhaps you need better people with better skills!"
Olivia's father was the fog. The fog never changed. But only because it had no fixed form. It was always an oblique, dangerous grey mass, denying clarity to all who encountered it. Whatever it was he had declined to say before, why would he not set it free with her now? She was prepared to extend him every understanding she possessed. "Perhaps…" Olivia swallowed. She was trying to force herself to remain even in tone without compromising the menagerie of unprocessed emotions swimming beneath the surface of her skin, doing backflips in the cavity of her chest. "What I need is a father who doesn't force me to go behind his back for information he should have told me."
"What good would knowing do?" If silence was golden, then denial must have been platinum.
"I can help you. That's what family is for Dad. But only if you talk to me."
He saw the pain etched on her face and looked away. "Olivia," he sighed, and it had the depth of a Negro spiritual. "I don't need your help." He shuttered the pages of When Breath Becomes Air, tossing it beside him. "You can't help me."
There was not much she could not help a person overcome. Helping was her métier: purpose-giving, grounding and a balm of calm amid storms. People sought her out for help when no one else would do or had tried and failed. 'Can you help me?' was a Batman signal to her. 'Can't' was a clarion call to prove otherwise. Her father knew that much about her.
"Tell me so I can fix it. We can fix it." When he still did not answer, in the hollow of her discomfort, she added, "Dad, you're being dramatic."
He chuckled darkly before a plaintive, rhetorical response. "Have I ever."
Panic and fear multiplied, and their power felled her like an axe. The pieces of her landed on the edge of his bed. Temporarily she stitched herself together. Enough to try and see into him. The weight loss she had noticed months ago. Then came the slight limp, which he was very good at pretending was not there. And she let him pretend. She had grown used to his vanity and pride. Never let him see her eyes lingering or call out skips in the rhythm of his gait. Personality-wise, she could not say he had changed. He was the man she had known him to be since she was a teenager: imperious, fiercely protective, emotionally withholding. The man who put her to bed against the backdrop of an old Sam Cooke record whilst he blathered on about good music—that man and the softness he once contained had largely gone when three became two.
That man now looked away from her. She followed his eyes. It was then that Olivia looked over and saw the head-shaped indentation in the pillow next to him. The covers were casually tossed back. The Oudh-scented hand cream next to the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
Eli followed the path of Olivia's precocious eyes before turning back to look at his only child.
"I'm dying. That's the part you need to know."
§
With the hour so late, and Olivia having stormed through like an information-seeking missile, Fitz had wisely remained downstairs, out of the crosshairs of the Pope family. The in the living room had been less emotionally taxing. As the older woman and Fitz exercised patience, their conversation had been like a tide: flooding in and then abating, revealing ephemera beneath the surface. Little things they held up to the light for cursory examination. Fitz would be there in the immediate aftermath of whatever his wife managed to cull from her father. When the conversational tide was out, Fitz's mind cycled through a thousand things that she could discover and all the ways he would assuage each inevitability. Whatever it was, he worried for her sake and that of their unborn child. 35 weeks. Maybe his mind could be calmed after they passed that point.
"Eli says that Olivia is going to be a mother." The woman's voice pierced Fitz's thoughts.
"Guilty," he said, affably.
"Congratulations to you both." She was amused, and her face showed it. "She can't be that far on…I mean, it was difficult to tell…what with her coat and all."
Fitz had not bothered to put one on when they left the house. His velvet suit jacket had to be enough. "She's still early in the second trimester. Just over 16 weeks." He answered, and his face beamed as he said it.
"I can tell how excited you are to become a father."
Fitz kept it simple. "I've wanted this for a long time." Turning the question on her, he asked, "Do you…have children?"
"No," she said. Her hands were cradled in her lap. "That never happened for me."
Before he could think better of it, "That's a shame," tumbled out. It had taken him and Olivia nearly 18 months to conceive despite a lot of effort.
The woman looked to be several years younger than Eli. She was silent, blinking her way through a response. "I don't think of it that way anymore."
"I'm sorry if I— "
"No, no, it's not like that." She demurred.
Fitz did not enquire further.
"You two have been married for…" Her eyes flicked up as she paused to calculate. "Five years, right?"
"Almost. In April, it will be."
The woman blushed as she clutched the cushion shielding her ample bosom. She was still old-fashioned that way. "Oh, yes, that's right. It was April, wasn't it."
This, Fitz found strange. The familiarity in her confirmation. It was clear to him that besides her being intimate partners with Olivia's father presently, she either knew Eli back then, or his and Olivia's wedding had been a conversation between Eli and Sandra. A stunted one since Eli had not been present for the event. His magnanimous and bizarre gift stood in his stead.
"How sweet." Sitting on the sofa opposite the chair Fitz occupied, the woman crossed her legs, adjusting her flowing nightgown now exposed by the betrayal of her robe having fallen open. "Planning anything special?"
With a crooked smile, he let out, "I'm working on it."
Her smile was warm as she looked at Fitz. This man in front of her, husband to Eli's beloved daughter, was not what she expected. From what she could surmise, the cool and clipped manner with which Eli often spoke about him was undeserved. Or maybe the aperture of her lens was too narrow to judge after just one encounter. There was always time for people to be disappointing.
"Sandra," Fitz sat back in his chair. "I hope you don't mind me asking. But, how exactly do you know Eli?"
§
Olivia did not want to believe what was coming out of her father's mouth. The little of it that there was seemed unreal.
"It's bone cancer," he said.
Stunned by silence, Olivia could not respond. Not a gasp. Not even a slightly parted mouth. Her father had said words. Words she could not (or refused to?) process.
A valve inside Eli released itself into this staid air between them. His deep, dark, bordering on maniacal laughter filled the silence. "Isn't that something?" he finally said as his laugh petered out. "If I believed in any god, I'd say 'bravo, well done'." He wore an ironic grin.
Olivia looked up at him. "I…I…had lunch with you a week ago. Christmas." Her eyes pleaded with him. How? How could this be? How should she be in this moment? How could he not tell her? "Were you ever going to tell me, Dad?" The break in her heart broadcasted in the croakiness of her voice.
"You've been making that same face since you were a little girl," he said. "Like a puppy or one of those Precious Moments dolls if they were Black." His face almost betrayed him. The grin from earlier was gone, replaced by lips drawn into a line. It was his eyes that almost betrayed his stoic front.
Precious Moments dolls were never anything but meek and mild. Olivia felt neither. Annoyed. She felt annoyed at his infantilization and obfuscation. "Dad!" She said with force. It was the first time she had raised her voice since arriving.
"That's right, I am your father. Not your husband. So guard your tone in my presence."
Unmoved by his request, Olivia's nostrils flared like a bull's. "How long have you known?"
"A few months."
"What's a few?"
"Five."
"Months?"
A long, slow blink of his eyes was the only response Eli gave.
Olivia's chest began to cave in. "Bone cancer?!" she was incredulous, disbelieving and confused all at once. It was a type of cancer, sure. One that befell some people. But she had never heard of a person dying from bone cancer. About this cancer, she knew little. Her closest connection was with breast cancer. Years ago, she had been with Franceska for the results of her biopsy. That news had gone in a different direction than what her father was leading her to believe.
"For five months, you kept this from me." Her head shook gently from side to side, carrying in its soft swivel a mature disgust and an infantile plea. Reality ploughed on, closing in on her.
"You didn't keep this from her, did you? I bet she attended all your appointments." Olivia's venom was rising again.
"You tell me. I'm surprised that with the resources available to you, you aren't reciting Sandra's social security number back to me. Since you're such a treasure trove of knowledge." Eli accused, still smarting over his daughter's invasiveness.
"Sandra." Olivia mouthed the name, tasting the shape of it in her mouth. They were both two syllables, but her mouth worked harder to form 'Sandra' than it did 'Maya', her departed mother. One extra letter changed so much. "The woman downstairs. That's her name? Sandra.
Father and daughter sat with their new shared realities, and those still to uncover.
"Dad, who is Sandra?"
An increasingly fatigued Eli said, simply, "The woman who should have been your mother."
The harsh slam of his bedroom door was the next thing he heard, followed by the same thing across the hall. Everything old is new again, except the motivation to sternly admonish the disrespect of his daughter's tantrum. And people? They don't change, he thought. Olivia would be back. And it will change nothing. Because he had decided. It is finished; it is done.
§
Olivia leaned back against the inside of the door. A trainwreck of unprocessed emotions. All prickly surfaces spinning in a sea of chaos. She had not been able to find words other than 'fuck you,' so the smash of doors had said it for her. The bathroom was a fitting retreat because her bladder was now making demands. And so was her phone as it buzzed inside the pocket of her coat.
Olivia's phone was full of text notifications. She swiped on the ones from Abby.
"Liv, what happened? You guys left so suddenly. I tried Huck, but he's a brick wall [eye roll emoji]"
"We had to go to my father's."
"Shit, is everything OK?"
"Everything is fine. Sorry we left so suddenly. Hope you carried on without us."
"Nothing that makes you leave your house after midnight is ever 'fine'."
"Trust me. We're OK. But, Abs…"
Olivia started to type, but her phone pinged again.
"Fitz texted Cara to tip the chef and staff for him but didn't say anything else. And Kenny is playing clean-up cop. Dani says we should skedaddle before you get back, which makes sense but…we don't know the stich. Will you need us?"
She smiled a little at her friends. They knew to say the things she didn't want to have to say. As Olivia fixed her finger to type, she was startled by banging on the door.
"Livvie? What's wrong?"
Olivia finished up and washed her hands, crucial seconds before she could open the door and assuage Fitz.
But not before her father had also emerged in the corridor. "What is the meaning of this? Must I remind you of the time?" he said in an aggressive whisper.
"Let's everyone calm down," Sandra said from halfway up the stairs.
"I think everyone's calm, thank you," Olivia said whilst glaring down at Sandra.
"You didn't see the look on your husband's face when you slammed those doors, nor the way he leapt up those stairs. He is not fine, and neither is your father."
Olivia jutted out her chin towards the woman, feeling a surge of loyalty. "I don't think this has anything to do with you…Sandra. This is a family matter."
The older woman's eyes cut over to Eli. "I told you this would happen, E."
Fitz ran a hand over his face, which had begun to flush pink with frustration. He stood in the middle of the thick web of fear and resentment." Someone needs to tell me what's going on since I'm the only one out of the loop."
"The world may cater to your every need and desire. But don't you ever need or expect to receive anything here. Not in this house. My home," Eli spat at his son-in-law.
Fitz bit the inside of his cheek, shuttering his words. Father-in-law and Son-in-law had exchanged words many times before. Years ago, before he and Olivia decided it best, more productive for everyone if he came to 124 Acacia Close less often. Until he stopped coming altogether. He had not been inside this house in nearly two years. He reminded himself that had insisted on coming here with Olivia tonight, so that she could get what she needed. And that meant biting his tongue…or the inside of his cheek.
Olivia tightened her grip on his arm.
"Did you get the answers you need," Fitz said to his beloved.
Eli was a gothic statue staring not at, but past the couple.
Sandra's observations flitted between all three. "Why don't we all go downstairs, sit, and talk this through?"
Olivia kept Fitz plastered to her side as she set her eyes on her father. "That won't be necessary, Sandra. We should let you two get back to bed."
Finally, Olivia answered her husband's question. "My father is sick with bone cancer." She paused. "Apparently. For months he's known and said nothing. And now he thinks he's dying."
The blunt truth had been exposed to the vertebrae. The elder man's eyelids drooped slightly.
"I'm so sorry," Fitz empathized as he looked between father and daughter.
Soberingly, she intoned, "There's nothing to be sorry about because he's not dying. I won't let him."
"Olivia, this is above you."
His response was the quietest thing he had said all evening. And it frightened Olivia. Her eyes welled, but she refused to let the levy break. She palmed the minor bump containing the force majeure inside her, "Only because that's how you want it."
Father and daughter stood there, both resigned in their ways. Separately and differently. The elder's resignation was fueled by stoicism and refutation. The denial of mercy, a thing too close to pity. How he loathed both.
The engine of refusal revved inside his daughter, too, but its composition was entirely different.
"This is not over."
§
Two days later, Olivia was back in her office. Back to a domain whose outcomes she directed. Back to problems which, by comparison, were much easier to navigate. Still, she was resigned to solving the dilemma of her father's health. She clung to that fact. She could not lose him. Would not lose him. Not now.
When she saw Quinn passing by her open door, Olivia called out. "Can you tell Huck to come see me, please? Tell him it's about next week."
Quinn looked up from her phone. Her face was a scrunched ball of confusion. Olivia rolled her eyes.
"He'll know what that means."
Quinn shrugged, but before she could depart on her mission, Olivia's voice drew her back by the collar. "You, too, Quinn. You'll be joining Huck."
"Roger that," she said as she gave a soldier's salute before disappearing down the hall.
In the interim, Olivia's mind wandered back to the night her father casually shattered the start of her year.
…
The car ride home was full of unrequited expectations. No one said a thing. They returned to a blissfully silent, tidy, near-empty home. Save for the twinkling lights, the candle sticks that were burnt down to mere nubs, and Cara's presence, the Grants had so easily forgotten that they left a night of festive cheer and revelation of good tidings to come, only to return drenched in a metaphorical bucket of pig's blood. The stain, the acrid smell of impending death—the fear of it—detectable only to them.
"You're back. Thank goodness," Cara said, as she rushed to greet them both, swathed in elegant loungewear.
"You didn't have to wait up," Fitz said as he gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for taking care of the staff."
"Please," She dismissed. "Is everything OK, Fitzy?" Her eyes darted between her cousin and Olivia.
As Fitz went to open his mouth, Olivia beat him to the punch. "It's been a long evening. Why don't we talk in the morning?" Her arms opened for a hug.
"Oh. Yes, of course. Mommy-to-be needs her sleep. Night, night, you two…three. Sleep well."
In the haven of their bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Grant communicated wordlessly. Olivia looked up at Fitz like a lost puppy before her forehead sought the harbor of his chest.
She breathed.
He breathed, too, embracing her as tightly as her emerging bump would allow.
"Thank you for being there tonight."
"No place else I'd rather be." He chuckled.
The vibration of it caused her to turn her face so that her cheek nestled into its warmth, grateful to feel something other than a floating plane of numbness which had enveloped her as soon as she left 124.
They stayed like that for a while. Wordless and wrapped around each other. A million things running through each of their minds.
"It's going to be OK."
She stiffened against Fitz and drew back, a sense of betrayal written on her face. "Don't say that. You don't know that."
"You're right. I don't know if your father's going to be OK. I don't control that. And neither do you."
Olivia's arms dropped from around him, but his embrace would not relinquish her. "The only thing I know is that I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you and our child make it through…" He paused briefly to consider how he should say this, based on the very little that was revealed to him just over an hour ago. "Livvie…Eli's death. I know how difficult this can be. You'll want him to get the best care, the—"
Those words being said by someone other than her father overwhelmed Olivia's ears. She stopped listening. Stopmakingthisreal. Stopmakingmethinkaboutunanswered questions. Stopmakingmethinkabout time. Juststopjuststopjust...
"Stop. Talking. Please!" It was not yelled. But the adamance was unmistakable. Fitz let his arms fall away from her, and Olivia sidestepped him, unzipping the side of her dress as she approached the bathroom. Stopping before crossing its threshold, in a quiet, cool voice over her shoulder, she said, "My father is not dying."
The door closed, signaling to him that she did not want to continue this conversation.
…
The folder Huck placed on her desk brought Olivia back to the present. The pristine front of it did not indicate its contents.
"Is this about Jamie?"
"No, it's for you. Something I found after the other night."
The two exchanged a silent look, and Olivia slid the folder to the side for when she was alone again.
She cleared her throat and turned to Quinn. "You're taking over from Huck on a special project." As Quinn prepared to ask questions, Olivia read her mind. "He'll fill you in."
Olivia turned her attention to her neurodivergent ace. "I'm meeting with Ms. Patterson in a few days, and I want to give her my word. The woman has waited long enough. "Olivia leaned back in her chair and clasped together her hands. She looked squarely at Huck to answer the unspoken but tacit, the question and the warning.
"I've been running algorithms based on similar accounts to artificially generate pro— "
"Huck," Olivia said patiently. "When I see Jamie's mother on Friday, and I give her my word that her son's murderer— "
"You won't be a liar."
"Thank you."
Later, when Olivia was alone, she looked over at the manilla folder on her desk. Afraid of the power its contents would wield. After three times of almost opening it up, she gathered her nerve and flung back the heavy wafer-colored paper of the folder.
Inside was not a hospital document or doctor's notes. Inside was a copy of a Google Calendar notification from almost two years ago. The email address did not belong to her father:
"E's prostate appointment JHK".
§
Quinn had asked him questions. So many questions. Ones he thought were better put to Olivia, though he was certain she had as many gaps in her knowledge about her father's health as he had, even after finding out as much as he could. Well, as much as Olivia would allow him. Soliciting hospital employees to make HIPAA violations was a bridge too far for her. Back when she knew something was wrong, but the certainty that it was related to his health escaped her. She needed proof, and that was his job. Where was he going when she wasn't around? What does a retired man get up to that causes him to be too busy, and too tired to turn down his daughter's invitations? Not only was he hiding his health, but he was also hiding a girlfriend. Huck was relieved to pass on that project to Quinn.
Focusing on the intricacies of Jamie's case was more his speed. Still filled with secrets and lies, pain and suffering, but less emotional. He did not know these people.
A message pinged on one of his monitors, in one of the many windows decorating the desktop.
"My Darling…shall we meet soon? I do hope you're ready?"
Huck grabbed his keyboard and pressed a button to start the chat.
"How else am I gonna know you're real and not a scammer? [winky face emoji]"
"I think I've shown you some real things."
"You could at least do a smiley face…sum'n. Everything always seems so serious with you. Lighten up [zany face emoji]"
"That's child's play."
"Well, I am 19…what you tryna say? [thinking face emoji]"
"You're certainly not a child from what I've seen :) …there. Have I made you happy? The things I do for you ;)"
"I will be when I finally see you!"
"Darling, aren't you the one withholding?"
"I love how you say things [heart eyes emoji] You know what I need before I'll show up [upside-down smiling face emoji] [stack of dollars emoji] [money-mouth face emoji]
"A year's rent before you will grace me with your presence?"
"For a start [nail polish emoji]"
"Fine. I know the perfect place if you can do next week."
"Nuh uhn. 'Fine'? Nope. It's 'yes' or 'no' only.'
"Oh very serious… Fine, yes. Yes, one year's rent. Now, about next week—"
"I'll pick the place. Next Wednesday at Maroon Lounge. 11:30 [smiling face with smiling eyes emoji]"
"I'll be waiting :) "
§
"I want to apologize to you." Olivia put down the half-finished tea that Ms. Patterson offered her twenty minutes ago. It had gone cold. "It could not have been easy being in the dark for more than two months. I can't even imagine what it must feel like to lose your son and not have closure for his death. It's not what I would have preferred."
"I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Ms. Pope— "
"Please, call me Olivia. We're practically the same age… I think," she said with an ounce of doubt.
"Alright…Olivia," Ms. Patterson conceded, though she was certain she had nearly a decade on the crisis consultant. She sat on the opposite end of the sofa. "Don't let the smooth face fool you. I don't leave this house without sunscreen."
Ms. Patterson's warm walnut-colored face relaxed into a playful smile as she addressed Olivia, who was seeing the mother as if for the first time. Ms. Patterson's natural hair—parted down the middle—was pulled back away from her face into a low, twisted bun. Absent were any signs of crow's feet around the eyes, drawing in Olivia instead were her naturally thick lashes. The kind only men seemed needlessly blessed with. Jamie had had them. The boy's mother was not fond of makeup. A sweep of muted cranberry-brown lipstick, sheered down by Carmex, was the only color on her face. A beauty mole underneath her right eye was hard to miss. It lent her a touch of mystery. It was the skin underneath Ms. Patterson's eyes that betrayed her otherwise youthful appearance. They revealed sleepless nights. A hollowness deeper than umber.
"You're right. It hasn't been easy, but" she paused to choose her words carefully without betraying that the end of her tether was nigh. "I hope you're here to tell me more than that. You know how they say 'no news is good news'? Not when your son is dead and the pervert who ruined him is still out there. No news feels like folks have given up on you. I was beginning to think this was a lost cause. But here you are. With news, I presume." Ms. Patterson fiddled with the gold cross around her neck. "Don't let it be bad. Please." Shielding herself against Olivia's impending response, she closed her eyes.
"It's not."
Jamie's mother grabbed at Olivia's arm as her eyes burst open. "Ms…Olivia." Her eyes were wide with shocking disbelief, coated with a thin veneer of hope. As much hope as a mother whose only child was taken from her could muster.
"I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. I just need you to trust my word. We're going to stop the man that did this to your son and other people's sons. There will be some justice for Jamie."
Ms. Patterson liked the way that sounded: justice being so close to her baby's name. She was both horrified and disconcertingly assuaged that she was not alone. That part was not right, but it was real.
"Did you see the pictures," she asked. "What that person did to him?"
Olivia nodded gravely. "I did."
"I don't know why I'm being diplomatic. He's not a person, he's a monster. An animal. Only an animal could have been so cruel as to defile my son like that."
Olivia exhaled a full breath and adjusted herself in the seat. She felt tiny ripples, or air bubbles popping, in what felt like her stomach. An unpleasant sensation crawled up into her throat. She tried to suppress it, but a tiny belch escaped. "Pardon me," Olivia responded, slightly embarrassed. "My body now has a co-pilot."
The grieving mother's eyes trailed to Olivia's middle. "What are you…" she drew back to get a clear picture of Olivia's body. Her head flipped from side to side as she did her calculations. "About 20 weeks?"
"Almost 18."
Ms. Patterson's index finger touched the air. "Then, that's indigestion. Buckle up," she said knowingly. "I do not miss that part or peeing all the dang time. Talk about someone having their foot on your neck, Jaime kept his little knees up against my bladder for the last six weeks of my pregnancy. Then had the nerve to be late!" Like something out of a movie, she slapped her knee as she tittered. Nostalgia took hold of her, or she took hold of it. "But he was a good boy before he even got here. I got blessed with the right child." She shifted her body further towards Olivia. "I hope you get the child that you need, and the one that needs you."
Maybe it was pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc on her. Because Olivia did not anticipate the hot, salty streams ruining the foundation on the sides of her face. She laughed at her sudden show of emotion. "Thank you?"
Ms. Patterson handed her a box of tissues. "Someday, you'll understand."
As Olivia blotted her face, she asked, "Did you ever want more? A sibling for Jamie?"
"When I first married Jaleel, Jamie's father, I thought my life would be so much different than it is now. Except for being a primary school teacher. That was always the plan. And so were four kids. At least that's what he told me. But two years into the marriage, he became an excuse machine. If it wasn't him wanting to get a promotion first, it was 'as soon as we can move away from Benning Road'. And when we did, it became, 'let's just get three years of us under our belt, then we'll have our first baby. But when year three crept up, suddenly, five years of marriage would be better before becoming parents. One day I realized it was never going to be the right time. Jaleel was either too afraid or just didn't wanna be a daddy. But I wasn't going to let him take that dream from me. I stopped taking my birth control and didn't tell him. God forgive me," she looked to the ceiling. "A few months later, I got the result I wanted."
"Was he angry?"
"No, not at first. It wasn't until after Jamie was here that he started acting up. Then one day, he told me, 'Lisa, I can't do it. I can't do this with you.' I said, Fine. Me and my baby, we gone be alright without you.' And we were. We were. Until we weren't."
"You mean, Jamie's— "
"No, no…well before that." Her long, thin fingers swept from them the air of that recent tragedy. "My grandmother used to tell me that trying to make a man love you was aiding and abetting fraud against yourself." She hiccupped into laughter. "She was right. When Jamie was 12, Jaleel stopped seeing him on his birthday and Christmas. Quit cold turkey. I couldn't get in contact with him. Then I found out he had re-married, and get this, to a woman pregnant with somebody else's baby. Then they had two more together. One boy and two girls." Ms. Patterson shook her head for a long time, staring off into the distance. The Grandfather clock in the corner sounded a new hour. "Turns out it was me that he didn't want, and Jaime was just more of me staring back at him every day."
Olivia's tongue clucked softly with disappointment, and her hand found its way to Ms. Patterson's shoulder.
"I blame myself."
Olivia thought about how many women, mostly single mothers, have uttered those words after having stepped into multiple roles in their families, only to be largely met with resentment. She thought about fathers, too. The ones who easily evaded blame for their escapes. Far less often, it was they who were left to pick up the pieces of a life broken by someone they thought they loved. "For what? Jamie's death is not your fault."
Jamie's mother could not absorb those words. "He was not allowed a phone until he was 14. And then that's all he cared about. I watched his life be absorbed into that phone. Or maybe he used it to create a life for himself outside of me. That thing was never not in his hand, except at night when it was under his pillow." She looked down into her teacup. A graceful tear made the dark liquid ripple. "I didn't think it would ever hurt him like this."
Olivia grabbed the box of tissues given to her earlier and plucked out a sheet. "I'm not following." Now it was the phone's fault that Jaime was murdered?
Ms. Patterson blew her nose and then let the air fill her lungs before blowing it back out. "I love being a teacher, but it's never been enough. I had to get a second job his junior year. Because I knew Jamie was going to college. I wasn't home until 10 or 11 o'clock most nights. He had that damn Samsung in his life more than he had me. Maybe if I was here more, he wouldn't have sought love inside his phone."
"Lots of teenagers and young people have phones. They're second nature to Jaime's generation. That's how they communicate." Again Olivia added, "It's not your fault."
Ms. Patterson shook her head, aware that she was not being clear. The connections were cloaked inside her mind, compartmentalized in guilt. "It's not the phone; it's the absence of the relationships. The bonds, the human, offline nurturing they need so that they know what's real and what's not. I…I don't think I gave him enough of that. And somebody ended up taking advantage of him."
Olivia felt that but did not know how to respond. How could she? She held Ms. Patterson's hand. Deciphering what was real and what was an emotional scam was a lifelong journey for everyone. Across every generation.
"This world is changing so fast."
"That it is."
"I worry about these kids. I mean the young ones in my kindergarten class. Half the time, they're calling me Alexa or Siri. Chile, I hope their parents are paying attention to them."
At this, Olivia laughed and leaned her shoulder into Lisa's. "Me, too."
§
The four Black mirrors decorating Olivia's office were lit up, as they were every day. Muted, closed captioning turned on. This is how she worked.
Harrison slid into her doorway, his phone stylishly spinning in his hand. "Tapper's about to announce. CNN. Now." And just as quickly he slid back out and down the hallway.
Olivia looked up from the trove of documents supplied by Quinn and quickly unmuted the screen carrying CNN.
"Good afternoon, I'm Jake Tapper and this is The Lead with Jake Tapper. Our top story is one that broke earlier today. We have it on authority that law enforcement is re-examining the mysterious death of a young Black man late last year. The 19-year-old victim, whose identity is not being revealed, was previously thought to have suffered from an overdose of the drug fentanyl. However, newly revealed toxicology and autopsy evidence are pointing toward homicide. Maryland police will not release further details but say they are in communication with law enforcement in several other jurisdictions, including those in northern Virginia, Washington, DC, as far north as Pennsylvania, and others that they declined to mention. We'll keep you informed when we learn more. Later in the hour, Sam Trellis, Michael Tobias and Gerard Sexton join me to talk about Press Secretary Amanda Laughtner's eyeliner faux pas, and the latest micro trend inspired by it, Retro Housewife-core. But now we turn to-"
Olivia muted the screen again with a satisfied smirk. Always, she thought, give the press enough information to titillate, but less than you have. They will want more, and there would always more.
§
Olivia was softly humming jazzy Anita Baker ad-libs to herself as she exited the bathroom, rubbing in the last of her vanilla-scented body cream into her hands. The door opened with a disquieting force that caused her to jump. Quickly she turned in its direction.
"Fitz, you scared me!" She exclaimed with a handheld over her pulsating heart,
"Were you expecting someone else?" he grumbled. Notably, his closing of the door was far less eventful.
His eyes were cast down, still staring unhappily at the screen in his hand. His deep grey jacket was slung over that same arm. His tie was already loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. Those details, his voice, and the rays of frustration darting out from his aura made it obvious that work had followed him home.
Olivia stood there in the shadow of his gloom, waiting for him to see her. "Hi," she silently mouthed when his face met hers.
The heavy sigh he released brought down his shoulders, too. "Hi." He greeted back with a weary smile.
Those two letters that set next to each other in the alphabet always brought them back to the center of things, however temporarily.
"You're home, finally."
"I'm home."
He tossed his jacket and tie onto the chaise at the edge of their bed.
His whole body was wilted like a piece of left behind lettuce, likely brought on by the stress of holding together the machine of Georgetown University. An organization that was expanding to meet the needs of a future that would require different labor and intellectual needs from its students. She did not need him to voice what she could feel the moment he entered their bedroom. He was so strong, but not strong enough to escape her concern. With her, he never had to stand alone.
She extended an understanding hand to him. "Is this hot-shower-bad, or full-soak-in-the-tub-bad? Which one should I turn on?"
"Neither." He opened his arms to her, and she entered the feeling of home inside him. "It's I-need-to-hold-my-wife-bad."
"Wow, we've unlocked a new level," she said over his shoulder.
His back was bowed as his body bent to accommodate hers. The amused stream of air from his nose ticked her neck before she felt herself being urged off the ground. Her legs found a familiar place around his hips.
"Mmmh, that's so much better," he said after their mouths reacquainted after 16 hours apart.
She was still wrapped around his waist when he began explaining. "The costs for expanding the NoVa campus are skyrocketing. The funding we had in place wasn't enough. The additional one we thought we secured pulled out at the eleventh hour after signing the contract."
Olivia held both sides of his face. "You're suing them, right?"
"Even so, it doesn't solve the current fiscal dilemma. If we don't plug that financial hole within the next three weeks, our schedule will be blown. We have recruited, and students have submitted applications based on the extension being ready for the Fall semester."
Her hands raked through the thicket of his curls, massaging his scalp. "How can I help?"
"You can't." He wasted no time covering the softness of her lips with his own.
"Those words are my nemesis," she replied, refusing to stop the kiss.
"I won't let you."
"Wrong again."
He ran his nose up the length of hers. "I don't need you, Ms. Pope," he said teasingly against her lips. His mood was already improving. "This. Coming home to you. Our future. This helps me more than you can ever know."
"In that case, put me down. I have something you'll want to see. A little bonus help."
When her feet were back on solid ground, she began undoing her robe.
"Oh, that kind of help."
She smiled cheekily. "Not exactly."
When the robe was open it revealed her nakedness underneath. "Look!" she said as she ran her index finger down the center of her modestly protruding fecundity. "I think I'm getting that dark line that some pregnant women get. Can you see it?"
Fitz smiled, and this time it shone in his eyes. The Linea Nigra, that concentrated line of pigmentation, was visible to Fitz. Barely. It was new and could get darker, which he would welcome. "Oh, I see it," he said, moving toward her once more. "It goes well with your darkening nipples and areolas, too." Those, he started to gently kiss before his mouth moved up to her neck. When he palmed the swell of Olivia's breasts, he grunted in pleasure. His thumbs gently grazed her nipples until they stood to attention. He could tell she was enjoying this when her lips parted, waiting for him. He would never deny her kisses.
"Mmm…I don't recall you ever being this into my breasts before."
"You've never been pregnant before," his arms had snaked their way inside her robe now, sliding up and down her back. "Besides," he muttered between kisses to her neck, "there is no part of you that I'm notinto."
Olivia barely registered feeling the cool cotton of the duvet on her thighs before her back hit the bed with Fitz in tow."
"Oh," Olivia said in discomfort. "Can you shift a little?"
"I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" he said with alarm.
"No, I just can't take the full weight of you on me anymore. As much as I love you on top of me," She cupped her bump. "Your kid's getting in the way."
Fitz scooched down the bed until he was face to belly. "Sorry," he whispered. "Daddy's going to be more careful. I need you here in one piece." He sealed that declaration with a kiss.
A bemused Olivia shook her head as she inched herself up on her elbows.
"I hope your genes dominate mine."
"I don't know, genetics are so unpredictable. Those recessive blue eyes of yours could still push through. Anything can happen," Olivia replied with a lighthearted shrug. "Why would you not want to look at our child and see the both of us?"
"It's not that," he said. His cheek was flush with her abdomen, and his index finger casually traced her barely there Linea Nigra. "I just want there to be more of you. You're beautiful, brilliant, and Black."
Olivia feigned shock. Who told you I was Black? You weren't supposed to know."
"All the lotion you use. Making me take my shoes off in the house. And how can I forget how much you hate when I sit on the bed in clothing I've worn outside."
"You're in violation right now, Mister." Her finger traced the shell of his ear as she tried to stifle a laugh.
"Too late… Anyway, it all started to add up for me," he said facetiously. "Let's not forget: I'm pretty. And smart."
"That you are, Mr. President." Olivia chuckled. She sighed contentedly. His bad mood had all but dissipated.
"I'm only attracted to sharp women like you, anyway."
"What? Women with the 3 Bs?"
"Oh, no. You, Mrs. Grant, are an A+."
Olivia tittered with laughter, the force of it pitching her onto her side. "I can't believe you just said that!" Her eyes shut tight against the absurdity of his words. "Get up here so I can tell you how exceptionally corny you are!"
When he was face to face with her again, he said, "You had me at 'exceptional'." And she burst out laughing again, spraying his face in the process.
§
Much later, when the soft glow of their lamps was long gone, and the night was so dark it was impossible to tell yesterday from today and today from tomorrow, husband and wife lay under the covers, on their sides, one nested inside the curve of the other. Big Spoon whispered into Little Spoon's ear, "Tell me something real." He had brought his work self into the bedroom, which he tried not to do, but the cloud of disappointment that trailed him home had been hard to shake off. More important than maintaining this room as a site for peace—a feat at which they sometimes failed—was not pretending with each other. That if either of them was angry, sad, worried…anything, they would not invest in pretending otherwise. To be real and silent was far better than the acrobatics of denial. Olivia had been silent on one matter (or two) for several days. "Are you awake?"
She was, and she was not ignoring him. Olivia twisted herself to be face-to-face with Fitz. "I was just thinking about what to say."
"You know I don't care how you say it."
"It's not that…" She offered no more. Her eyes tried to focus in the dark.
"Is there more than one thing?"
"No…Maybe. Or they're related."
"I'd been trying to give you space since last week."
"I know," she said.
He declined to fill the silence, offering instead a hand that slid under her satin fabric, and began smoothing up and down her skin.
Moments later, Olivia spoke again. "I'm still angry."
Fitz knew this to be true by the way she exhaled afterwards. That the effort to say it aloud had been its own battle. "Why?"
"He's giving up. And he just wants me to accept it." Olivia was bewildered by the taste of this admission. Metallic and fizzy. Like being made to slowly sip a slurry of baking soda and water. "I can't do that. Give up. I won't."
Her thigh was now slung over Fitz's hip. His hand was still pressed against the warmth of her skin drawing soothing circles on her back, massaging away her body's emotional effort of containment.
"That's not really your decision, though."
"I'm not surprised you're ready for him to die."
It was an unfair assessment, no matter how much he and Eli never managed to bond. "You know me," he said with a voice dripping in sarcasm. "There's nothing I want more than for my wife's father to croak. Our unborn child's only living grandparent."
Even with the cruelty of Olivia's jab made plain for them both, an apology was not on her tongue. "What if I wasn't pregnant?"
Fitz felt the soft quake of something like anxiety in the bottom of his belly. It was not completely foreign nor familiar enough to pin down at this moment. Pregnancy or cancer? Creation or destruction? Life or death? Which of these had brought on this surplus sensation? It was too much to consider right now. Too emotionally derailing. "I would still feel sad for you. Losing a parent this way— "
Olivia was quick to interrupt. "That's just it. You don't need to feel sad. This isn't the same."
"You mean my mother," he said flatly.
She nestled the side of her face into the soft foliage of his masculine chest. "Yes." Her face strained upward to regard the expression on his face, but the blackout lining of their curtains made that impossible. The gulp he took sounded loud enough for her to understand. "Only that he's not dying of cancer. He's manipulating me the way he's been doing for most of my life, but he's not dying."
Fitz stopped drawing circles. Occasionally, his wife was wrong. One of those times was now. Wrong that he should not feel sad for her. Sadness about her father. Sadness about what their future children will lose. Especially sad about his wife's denial. Revelations from many nights ago led her away from Occam's Razor of clarity. The kind—had it been anyone else—she would have easily detected. But she was right, too. Right, that manipulation was a signature of Eli Pope's. As if Olivia's life was an opera he long ago composed. For which he was conductor, and Olivia the principal actor. Fitz was not supposed to be the leading man.
"Why would Eli pretend he's dying just to manipulate you? You don't think that's a little sick?"
"But he is sick. Unwell sick. That much is clear. And I should have seen it sooner. He…" She thought about how she had tried at the hospital that day she fainted, and her father had arrived looking so different to her. She was hazy, and then came the unexpected news that she was pregnant. A thing they had wanted for so long, and she could not process it then. And soon, all she wanted to do was find the perfect way to tell her husband so that joy might be shared. She had forgotten about him…her father. And now look at him. "He needs my help to save him and can't bring himself to ask. That's weakness to him." She thought about the familiar adage: Pride cometh before the fall. She would simply go around that pride, obviate his need for it. That's what he needed, and maybe she did, too.
Fitz kissed her forehead like a sweet summer child. "Liv, you're no longer the only woman in his life. He has Sandra to help him."
A simmering hostility swam beneath her epidermis. Flashes of that Google Calendar notification glowed in front of her eyes. "I don't know how much he can rely on her."
"I don't know…" Fitz yawned out with skepticism. "It seems they've known each other for a while. I think they may be closer than you think." He thought better of it but said it anyway. "Or would prefer."
"Is that what you were busy doing downstairs? Getting Sandra's life story? Getting caught up in her way-back-machine?"
"She's a fascinating and accomplished woman. You should talk to her. It might help with your dad."
Everything in Olivia's body screamed a rebuke to this idea. She hitched her shoulders nonchalantly. "Maybe." Who knows how long this woman would be around? People tended to leave when things became complicated.
The ensuing silence between them was easy. The tangled limbs were uncoiled and reset into their earlier nested position. But a few pieces of what was spoken (and what was held back) remained for Fitz. "What's your earliest memory of your parents lying to you?"
Olivia groaned. "You have work, and I have work. Shhhhhhh." This habit of Fitz's—this talking through the things that prevented him from sleeping—was a quality for which she was mostly grateful. Like earlier. But not now. Now he verged on annoying because she was at the tipping point of sleep. What did this later question of his have to do with anything? She muttered something about finding out at age seven that Santa was not real. She overheard her parents arguing downstairs one evening as they wrapped presents. She had been asleep but woke up to pee. Her mother thought the idea of Santa was harmless for a young girl; her father didn't want Olivia to live in a fantasy world.
"For me," Fitz remembered, "It was when I was ten, and my dad said that he got me a new bike. He'd bring it home after work. I couldn't wait. Then came home alone. No bike. Naturally, I was disappointed and reminded him of what he said. He looked at me like I had three heads. He told me he never said anything about a bike. Insisted on it. My mother, God bless her, only said not to worry. That we would go together and pick out a new bike for me. But I couldn't shake what had happened. My dad make me feel like I had hallucinated the whole thing. I just remember thinking, screw the bike."
She had been listening, despite her sleepiness. "Why was this on your mind, Baby? Not the bike…the parents."
"I'm not sure. That memory came up for me out of nowhere." He paused in thought. "Looking back, I think that was an important life lesson. Having those scales fall from your eyes about your parents. You wholeheartedly believe in them. You need them, you trust them. They're all you've got. And then one day, you realize they're not superheroes; they're just human. Special ones that can lie to you." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. And the reason for the lie is more about them, but you think it's about you."
Fitz did not know what this had to do with anything except that he was thinking about it. Memories were so elusive, slipping in and out of one's consciousness. "I'll let you sleep now," he whispered as he plied her neck with apologetic kisses.
"Fitz?" Olivia whispered back in a small voice.
"Mmmn?" He said as he settled, finally.
She brought his knuckles to her lips. "I'm scared." She had been angry, and now she was afraid. The two were entangled. Inseparable and inescapable because anger was just pain and fear made homeless.
"I know. Me, too."
This was honest; this was real.
"Remember the promise I made you long before our vows? Before you'd even call me your boyfriend?"
"You had to earn it." She pushed back into him, laughter on her lips. "How could I forget? Central Park."
"Mmmhmm." He was drifting and soon she was, too.
"I will give you everything inside of me."
§
Huck knew. Quinn—since Olivia needed Huck focused elsewhere, knew, too. Olivia was not yet prepared to have a team meeting with her father's illness on the agenda. Not until she could connect the dots between that Google Calendar notification and his current diagnosis of bone cancer. About the latter, she was still learning. So far, the survival rate of such a cancer has been higher than most. With his help or without. What did his prostate have to do with bone cancer? Or were they separate and unrelated? The details of her father's diagnosis were still a mystery she was working to uncover. Had he dodged one only to now have another catch-up with him? Olivia considered all these things as she packed up for the day.
"Quinn!" Olivia called out.
Save for waiting on the junior Gladiator's updated research on the best bone cancer treatment centers in North America and Europe, Olivia could have left 20 minutes ago.
"Be right there," Quinn yelled back.
Olivia was due to meet Kenny for a catch-up. The middle of January was creeping closer, and she had not seen him since the New Year's Eve gathering. She needed to tell him something. A warning, really. And, of course, she and Fitz had not forgotten about the conversation they vowed together to have with Kenny. Fitz said he would do his best to meet them, but they should start without him. She would. r. An open wound around her team she would not be, but Kenny was family and he deserved to know about her father.
"Finally," Olivia said as she impatiently snatched the folder from Quinn's outstretched hand. "Is this it?"
"Oh, sorry." Quinn responded distractedly as she continued to stare at her phone. She placed it in her back pocket. "No." She produced a tiny USB 3 device for Olivia. "Most of what you need is on this."
"Great." Ever the Nancy Drew, Olivia could not help herself. "What is so intriguing about that phone? You've been walking around staring at it for days now. Something I need to know?"
"Actually…" Quinn looked between the folder and the USB. "Well..."
"Quinn," Olivia said evenly, but the tone held an impatient warning.
"It's that new-ish show people are obsessed with. I think the new season started a few weeks ago. I've been binging the first season, which is short. And ohmygawwwd, the dramaaaaa!" Quinn sang.
"Oh," Olivia said, unenthused. "Is that all? A TV show?"
Quinn was undeterred in her conversion effort. "It's called 'Damage Control'. It's this whole mishmash between political and personal crises. This whole thing about when to sacrifice one for the other." Her hands were moving as fast as her mouth. "I mean the crisis tactics they use on the show are a little sus," she said out of the corner of her mouth. "But," Quinn pressed her fingers against her lips, her eyes smiling above them. "The main couple? That's the real draw. They're forbidden, but completely MFEO…" Quinn shuddered.
As Quinn gave her best recruitment speech for Olivia to join the '#Damaged' fold, Olivia slipped into her coat.
"MFEO?" Olivia said, feigning interest.
"Made For Each Other." Quinn defined. "It's so true, and so so good." Casting off the effervescent fangirl in her voice, Quinn added carefully, "It's something to escape into. The show. It might be a good distraction…if you need it. "
A knowing look passed between the two women. Olivia gave a small smile as she patted her black Thom Browne briefcase, which now contained the goods from Quinn. "Thanks."
As she walked into OPA's elevator, Olivia's phone pinged. When she glanced at the email notification, she was perplexed.
From: Emily Grainger
Subject: Exciting L.A. Opportunity
Dear PR executive…
Olivia did not open the email, instead placing it in the appropriate folder. She tilted her head, wandering how such an email escaped her SPAM filters.
Mass solicitation emails Olivia Pope did not do. Anyone worth her time knew how to get in touch.
§
A/N: I wish this update didn't come more than a year after the last one, but c'est la vie. I hope you are still with me on this journey? Give me a shout. As Ms. Patterson said, buckle up. We're heading down a road of new challenges, cases, and reveals as we wait for Baby Grant to finish cooking. I'm interested in what this journey to parenthood brings up for the grants-personally and professionally.
Anyway, tell me what you like. What are you concerned about? Anything you're hoping for? Are you scared about anything...in the story, obvs. Sound off and leave your girl a few words.
Thanks for reading :).
Song: Talk to Me by Anita Baker