Episode Nine: Silly Games
"Let me stop you right there..."
"But they're so cute..." Brock was undeterred.
"You know what? I'm not doing this with you."
"I'm just saying, I would like to see it."
Beyond the point of tired, Olivia was in danger of slipping into delirium's territory. Though Tuesday had not turned into Wednesday, the hour was late. Too late for her to be at OPA. OPA's caseload was surprisingly busy in the lead up to Christmas, giving Olivia few resources for pro bono work. But she had promised to Kenny and Ms Patterson justice for Jamie. She had every intention of keeping her word. Olivia's sixteenth hour found her pouring over surveillance material gathered by Huck, financial and property documents sleuthed by Abby, and witness statements apprehended courtesy of Harrison's charm offense.
Olivia's phone buzzed. She playfully rolled her eyes as she accepted the call without looking, certain it could only be one person, for the fourth time in as many hours.
"It's not yet midnight, Mister. Huck came back to take me home, so you don't have to get dressed. I honestly didn't mean to be here this long. Now, if you would stop calling, I could finish what I'm doing and get home and into bed with you, handsome." She smiled, expecting his response. More than a beat of silence passed, prompting Olivia to drop the cheeky smile. "Fitz? Is everything OK?"
"Olivia, this is your father."
"Dad?"
"Why are you not at home? Have you seen the time?"
"I am well aware. Why are you up so late, old man? Is everything OK?" Her back went as ramrod straight as she could manage in anticipation of bad news, or his needing her. Her father was never one to call her like this, so late, so randomly and without direction.
"Olivia, stop with the questions. Can I not call my daughter? I found a picture of your mother. I think she was about six months pregnant with you. I thought you might like to know."
Olivia skipped the bait and went back to her questions. "Dad, why are you not in bed?"
Ignoring her, he continued, looking down at the photograph. Its rounded edges, muted tones, wrinkles and imperfections after many decades matched the hands in which it lay. Maya was wearing a blue maternity dress, awash in a spray of sprinkles, replete with a peter pan collar and red pussy bow. Her relaxed hair was styled into Black women's approximation of Farrah Fawcett's signature feathered layers. An unexpected dewey-eyed wistfulness washed over Eli. "She seemed so happy then. We were happy then."
The sincerity in his voice convinced Olivia to relax into her chair, placing a hand instinctively over her abdomen. "What happened between you once I came along?"
Eli's silence was pregnant with the complexity of adult matters he could not relay to his daughter, no matter how old she was. Sobering to the late hour, he changed the subject matter. "You'd have to ask your mother about that."
"Sure. The next time her ghost visits me, I'll be sure to ask."
"Olivia."
"What? How else will I be able to ask her anything."
"You shouldn't blame your mother."
"Dad, she's the one that left us. And maybe... maybe if she hadn't left, she'd be alive."
"I won't have you blaming your mother's absence on her. I was trying..."
"Trying to what?" Frustrated by her tiredness, and the non-sequitur of this whole conversation, Olivia's petulance reared its head. "I'm not sure why you're going down this road, dad."
"After you told me about my grandbaby, I went looking for the records I used to play for you, so you can play them for her."
"Or him. We decided not to know."
"Seems smart enough."
"In any case, I thought you would want to introduce your grandson to Stevie, Donnie and Aretha yourself. Or tell your granddaughter stories about how you used to play them to get me to stop talking and go to sleep." A small smile graced Olivia's face.
"I gave you most of those records last week so you can play them whenever you'd like. You don't have to depend on me for that."
"Just because you're retired doesn't mean your life is over. You're not that old. Besides, I'm due in late May, you'll be turning...what?" She calculated in her head.
"75," Eli announced distantly.
"Being in your seventies is the new being in your fifties, or some such nonsense." Olivia barely finished her sentence before her father was yawning. "Dad, I think you should go to bed."
"And I know you should go home."
"I will."
"Ok, are you still dropping by on Christmas?"
"Of course. Oh, wait, that reminds me... Dad, we're having a New Year's Ever get together. I would love for you to be there."
"Olivia," he complained. "You know how I feel about gatherings. Is this necessary?"
"It's small and you'll know most of the guests. Just think about it, please. You don't have to come, but I really want you to be there."
#
The final day of the year found the Pope-Grant house brimming with twinkling white lights. They dotted the frost tipped garland luxuriating over the sitting room's grand fireplace-from which hung dried pinecones. Lights preened and showboated themselves around branches edged with hand-tied red satin bows on a proud Douglas fir. Though largely emptied of presents by now, the tree stood resplendent and still fragrant. The banister rails were choked in spirals of lights leading all the way up to the balcony of the second floor, where the lady of the manor surveyed the scene below, making sure the setting was to her taste. When she descended, she found her husband, already dressed in a perfectly tailored olive-green velvet dinner jacket, trimmed in black, to match everything else he wore. He busied himself placing red gardenias on the round marble table gracing their home's entrance. Neither of them was fond of the season's favorite red flower, the Poinsettia. So, when Fitz had suggested the strong beauty of the red gardenia-a flower meaningful and symbolic to them both-Olivia thought it a perfect replacement.
The fragrance of gardenia petals followed Olivia's velvet robe-clad frame, as she suspended her rituals of readiness, gliding to the dining room to check that the table had been extended and afforded enough seats to accommodate the evening's guests. She lit every stick in the silver candelabras, and fixed the sterling dipped pinecones between red gardenia buds. Satisfied, she ducked into the kitchen to check that Chef Mateo and his assistants were ready for a party of sixteen.
Surveying the lack of open surfaces in her kitchen, she saw that they were filled with bottles of libations and alcohol-free imitations, hors d'oeuvres, and warming trays. The sight satisfied Olivia and she mentally checked off the list of instructions provided to Chef Mateo.
"This looks like a delicious spread. I just want to confirm that there are vegetarian alternatives for each course?"
"You know it," Paolo playfully winked. "Liv, before I forget," he slid a small plate of food across the counter to Olivia, along with a small ramekin of vitamins and a glass of green liquid. "Mr. Grant wanted me to give these to you."
Olivia smiled, accepting the food. True to his word, the car chat from a fortnight ago, had resulted in Fitz paying a conscientious attention to Olivia's daily well-being. Never an inattentive husband, his recent mindfulness toward her and the baby's care had given her a glimpse of what he would be like as a father. Between her father and her husband, their child would have two very strong male influences. Olivia finished up her pre-party meal and silently hoped the baby's arrival would broker peace between her two men.
Satisfied with her meal and the chef's attention to her instructions, half-finished drink in-hand, Olivia headed back to her bedroom to slip into her dress and finish her face.
#
"Are you ready?" Fitz said, holding out his hand as Olivia was midway down the main staircase. Her hand met his and he gave her a twirl-admiring the dress she wore and her body in it-before bringing her back against his chest. Olivia took a deep inhale of the crisp, woody and amber notes wafting of his neck. Her face was in the perfect position to be kissed. So, he did.
"Mmmm. I'm really looking forward to tonight. Dani and Naem are in the same place, for once, and I haven't seen Cara in so long! I'm disappointed aunt Gwen couldn't accompany her," said Olivia. "Oh, and Fran's parents are in Atlanta with her this year, so she won't be here either."
"I was looking forward to seeing her again. Say, did your father ever confirm? Will I have the pleasure of his presence tonight?"
"Behave, I'm in a good mood. I'm doubtful. I haven't heard from him."
"I'll be fine either way. I have friends, too, you know." Just then Fitz recalled that he would be down a friend. " Actually...Alvin can't make it either, but Simone is still coming."
"We knew this was bound to happen. A last-minute dinner party-cum-pregnancy announcement, on the most popular party night of the year? We're lucky to have more than a dozen people on their way," mused Olivia.
Fitz luxuriated in smelling her neck, as they stood in the foyer, still entwined. "I'm loving this dress." He peaked over her shoulder, to see the strategically placed cascade of muted pewter, olive and gold tiny sequins skimming over her breasts and down the sides of the dress. The fitted cocktail length nude illusion shift was covered by a sheer, fitted black fabric, the plain centre panelling highlighted the unmistakable, but still delicate curve of life decorating Olivia's form. At nearly sixteen weeks, Olivia's abdomen had started to catch up to the swelling in her breasts and the extra fullness of her behind. Her face still had not betrayed her much. "I chose the obvious option. I don't want to play coy."
"Good, that's just for me." He was placing sweet, butterfly kisses along the edge of Olivia's jaw. Her hair was swept to the side in soft waves over her shoulder.
"Fiiitz," she blushed, elongating his name. "Please don't start," she smiled furtively.
"I can't help myself. You don't know how sexy you are right now."
"We don't have time."
"Ok," he said, continuing to ghost his lips across her neck. "How are you feeling? Did you eat what I set aside for you?"
Before she could answer, she heard the unmistakable coming apart of tiny plastic teeth at the side of her dress. She spun quickly out of his arms, only to be greeted with his dastardly smile.
"I'm kidding! You are so easy..." he reached back to grab her and bring her close once more. "But seriously," his mouth slightly open and his face taking on an earnestness presaging his words. "You are breath-taking. I can't wait for the people we love to finally know about our family."
Before Olivia could agree. The bold ding-gong of their bell sounded. "Oh, someone's on time."
###
An hour after that first ringing of their bell, the party was in full swing. First to arrive had been the crew from OPA, minus Marcus, who was still in Detroit with his family. And Huck, who was wrapping up a personal assignment for Olivia, before ensuring his eventual arrival. Cyrus and James brought good tidings, and mild complaints about Uber X surge prices due to traveling from one end of DC to another. He cursed their northern dwelling once again and mused about finally getting a permanent driver. The vintage bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape occupying the arms of both men signaled an intention to thoroughly celebrate a child-free night. Simone, Alvin's wife and friend of Olivia's, had arrived without her husband who was recovering from the flu, but well enough to insist Simone show up.
Cara, who was one-third of the New York delegation expected that evening, had shown up with her weekender luggage in tow. Unable to attend was her mother, Gwendolyn, who was also the younger sister of Isabel, Fitz's mother. Aunt Gwen, as she was affectionately called, was in Monte Carlo, spending her dead husband's money. Fitz, knowing this celebration of their pregnancy was confirmed less than two weeks before, insisted she keep her travel plans. Olivia and Fitz would bring themselves to the Upper East Side when she returned.
Bursting with the energy and curiosity of youth, Cara Howard Vincent, was a former runway model, who, eight years after retiring, still possessed the requisite figure and poise, but only half the interest in being a human coat hanger. She smartly funneled her earnings into real estate speculation until she had a bustling firm identifying, acquiring and developing land in three countries. She had a keen eye for seeing potential where others saw a waste of space. Though she was Fitz's cousin, their relationship resembled that of little sister and big brother.
Having just emerged from an hour's long huddle with Fitz, in his office, Cara ran straight to Olivia's side. Her arms were trapped by Cara's exuberant side-hug.
"I love this dress on you. I think it looks even better with this cute little bump. I can't believe I'm going to be an aunty!" Cara squealed as her high-heeled frame towered half a foot over that of Olivia's.
"Technically, you'll be second cousins," Olivia corrected.
Ambition, entrepreneurship, a fiercely independent sense of self, and liberal sexual attitude bonded the two women. Though there was one year's age difference between them, Cara's breezy nonchalance, girlish exuberance and naive commitment to the notion that everything will work itself out, made her feel several years Olivia's junior. Still, Olivia admired Cara's open curiosity toward the world and people, and the alacrity with which she greeted every challenge in her way. Olivia used to carry a thimble's worth of resentment for Cara, believing she had suffered no primary wound which had altered her life's trajectory.
Lifting her head from its resting place atop Olivia's, Cara raised her glass of champagne, "Who cares about technicalities? I'll be aunty Cara to my nephew. It'll be good to have another boy in the family. I've already started thinking of names, if you need suggestions. And even if you don't."
"Nephew? Do you know something I don't?" Olivia was now staring directly up at Cara, whose left hand was still anchored to the side of Olivia's belly.
"Do you not already know? Oh, don't tell me you're one of those?"
"She is one of those, apparently" said a voice from behind Olivia, entering the party for the first time.
Before Olivia could turn around-which she did not need to do to know who it was-Cara screamed, in pleasant surprise, throwing her hands up in delight. As Olivia turned toward the voice, the reason for the seasonal fête became apparent.
"Bitch! You're pregnant!" Chandani did not register the fact that she handed her coat over to Naem, her husband, nor that Cara was trying to greet her. She was already cradling Olivia's frame against hers. Olivia squeezed back. The two rocked back and forth in their embrace, each conveying how much they have missed the other. The demands of their lives and careers meant they communicated no longer in weekend visits and long phone calls, but short missives sent through apps and occasional phone calls. But their sixteen-year friendship endured, tight as ever.
"Why didn't you tell me on the phone?" said Chandani, her hand resting on Olivia's abdomen. "How do you look so fucking resplendent at, what-"
"Almost sixteen weeks."
"I can tell you're going to be one of those women who, from the back, barely looks pregnant. I hate you."
Fitz cleared his throat, having left a conversation with Kenny and Abby to greet the latest guests. "Naem, it's good to see you," he said as he extended his hand.
"Finally, some acknowledgement! I was feeling like chopped liver over here," Naem retorted as he took Fitz's hand, soon converting it to a hug, until both men were thumping the other's back in that way that men do.
After giving Dani a kiss on each cheek, Fitz slid behind his wife's back, offering her a fluted glass of sparking pear cider. "We were waiting for everyone to arrive in order to make a formal announcement."
#
Olivia and Fitz stood side by side, in the sitting room, where everyone was now gathered. They surveyed the love before them, emanating from the gathering of their favorite souls. All bar one glaring omission. Eli, though he had not fully committed to being there, had not declined either. Olivia, trying to keep the focus on those who were present, and their good fortune, had asked Huck to intervene, since he had already been surreptitiously observing her father for at least a week. When she had apologised to him for being made to miss much of the soiree, Huck had confessed to already knowing of the pregnancy. Knew it before she did. She caught her shock, trapping it in her throat when she remembered she was speaking to a man trained to notice every subtle change in his environment, even changes in the way his fearless leader breathed.
"It is now glaringly obvious why we have gathered you here tonight..."
"And we are so grateful to you for making this last-minute celebration," Olivia interjected, punctuating her sentence by looking up into her husband's face, which was ebullient and impatient with anticipation to say out loud the words he's waited nearly two years to say. Olivia nodded her consent.
"We're having a baby!"
The whoops, howls of celebration and congratulations went up from the small crowd. Though it was no surprise to most who had entered their house that evening, Cyrus and James, who had arrived pre-lubricated, took in the news, noticing Olivia's body for the first time that evening. Clueless, too, was Brock, Kenny's date. The jury was still out on if it was more than that, and Olivia had tasked Fitz with finding out.
When things had calmed and the drinks and hors d'oeuvre were judiciously being patronised, Abbey said loudly, "Ok, Ok, tell us what you're having already."
"No way, it's too early for that," said Harrison.
"Abby!" Quinn interjected, knowing how guarded Olivia can be.
Abby rolled her eyes. "Nope, I Googled, Harrison. It's possible to know."
"Abs, I already tried. She's one of those who things there's some magic not knowing the sex of the baby," Cara said, tilting her head. "Which, frankly, surprises me. Olivia likes to know exactly what she's facing."
Slightly annoyed, Olivia said "Since you all seem to be so concerned, we decided we don't want to know because it doesn't really matter. Either way, we're going to have a tiny human to love and guide."
Chandani interjected, "It's a kid, Liv. It's not like this is a baked potato bar from which you need to choose your toppings. There's way less pressure."
"But just as many options!" zinged Kenny.
Simone, who had two children under the age of ten said, "Alvin and I wanted to know the sex of each of ours, so that we could have time to workshop the names. We both come from large southern families, where passing down names is hugely important."
Fitz offered, "But weren't you told Georgia would be a boy?"
"Yes, but we stuck to our name. We just feminized it."
"In our family, the mother's surname becomes the middle name, or one of the child's names, irrespective of gender and number of children in the family," said Cara.
Fitz and Olivia looked at each, immoveable in their decision, but reflecting to the other the many considerations they would have to make about their child's name, and the ways in which it might impact their identity. Indeed, the two had much to think about and discuss between them as parents. What a significant responsibility to name a child before that child even knew how to exist in the world, let alone understand who they are. For Olivia and Fitz, it had taken bursts of therapy and divorce, respectively, to begin grappling with that self-knowledge.
Chandani brought the couple out of themselves when she announced, "the good news is you won't be throwing one of those God-awful gender reveal parties."
The room laughed in agreement before James, self-consciously chimed in, "Those parties aren't so bad."
"The one you two had for Ella's announcement was very tasteful, James," reassured Olivia. "Relax. I just hate the showy displays, which never seem to be about the baby at all, but about showing off on social media."
"Or an excuse to have another party and get more presents," Kenny deadpanned.
"Wait isn't that what this is?" said Abby. "A pregnancy announcement masquerading as a party?"
"Technically it's a dinner party and we didn't ask for gifts. We didn't even tell you about the baby beforehand."
"Liv, now who needs to relax? Waka, waka, waka!" Joked Dani, gently pushing Liv's shoulder.
#
Olivia, swanning in from her trip to the kitchen, caught Fitz his eye and mouthed to him "30 minutes, tops".
Brock, a deejay by trade, wandered over to the Pope-Grant's sound deck. "Is it okay if I play some music from my iPhone?"
"So long as it's mood appropriate, and not too Christmas-y, have at it," Fitz encouraged. In a louder register he announced to everyone, "Dinner will be served shortly."
The room soon filled with the sounds of '80s synths and the upbeat 808s of Stevie wonder's Songs in the Key of Life. The paternal vocal stylings of Isn't She Lovely amped up the joy in the room. The song seemed perfect for the occasion. Brock had found several shelves worth of older albums and a record player which he could not resist using.
Fitz took Olivia in his arms and they swayed jazzily to the music, in their own little world of jubilation, oblivious to pockets of competing conversation happened all around them.
James joined Simone, having a grand time being silly, performing dances as if it were 1979 itself. Quinn, Abby, and Marcus gossiped among themselves. Naem and Cyrus intensely debated different sides of the post 9-11 war on terror, with Naem, attentively listening to Cyrus' Republican politics, but was unyielding in his explication of the racialization of Islamaphobia which became the legacy of that so-called war. For Naem, this was not an act of intellectual masturbation; these issues impacted his life.
Chandani and Cara talked February's impending Autumn/Winter fashion shows, one of which would take place in Dani's Lower East Side gallery.
#
Connecting in a far corner of the sitting room was Brock and Kenny, enjoying a private moment of checking in on the other. Brock's eyes were drawn to Olivia and Fitz on the dance floor. He could not help but notice their connection all night, even when they were not touching or standing next to each other. He had made sure not to stare openly, until now.
"Let me stop you right there," Kenny admonished, as he followed Brock's gaze. "I'm Helen Keller to the bullshit tonight: I don't hear it. I don't see it. And I don't want it."
"But they're so cute. And extremely sexy." Brock was undeterred.
"You know what? I'm not doing this with you."
"I don't know... I think you can throw away the receipt and pop the tags, because I already bought it."
"Absolutely not. They're not selling."
"I'm just saying, I would like to see it." Brock raised his wine glass, "Especially him."
"And EYE am just saying, I know how your little voyeuristic ass is. This is a boundary for me. They're family, and I don't even want that picture in my head. It's gross."
"Fine, I'll keep it to myself."
Brock let himself slip into his own pornographic fantasy of the dancing duo. The back of Olivia's body was flush against Fitz's as they swayed, innocently, to Stevie Wonder. In Brock's mind, the dance floor was stripped of everyone else, leaving only the objects of his desire naked in front of him. They, unaware, continued to dance not so innocently. Soon tongues and hands explored every expanse and crevice, delighting the audience of one as he stood with a faraway gaze. Fitz dominated in Brock's fantasy, as the former watched the stallion penetrate his wife from behind. The stir in Brock's pants urged him on to replace Olivia with himself in this vision.
He was brought out of this fantasy by the ending of the song, and a bump to his side by Kenny. "Next album, DJ."
"My bad."
Kenny was technically on his fifth date with Brock in as many weeks. He really liked him but there was a tiny reluctance holding him back, but upon which he still had not placed his fingers. That finger was proverbially out of unexplored places on Brock himself. Their age difference had made the sex always interesting, but Brock's slight immaturity sometimes made conversational depth harder to reach. Kenny did not yet have a strong grasp on what, if any, shared values they had.
The pair continued to gaze upon the Olitz orbit, each inhabiting their own planet of thought. To distract himself, Brock began asking Kenny questions about his new infatuation. "How long have you known them? And are they always like this? So... connected. Or is it because of the occasion-baby fever and all. Are they still newlyweds?"
So many questions, Kenny thought, about people you just met and may never see again. "That's a loooong story."
###
Step back, she thought. You are not this person. The mind's best laid plans were ever betrayed by the body. But only around him. She should not be here, this she knew. But here she was, digging into the real feel of this moment. Being inside it rather than through the looking glass wagging her finger at herself. Janet Kay's siren song was several tunes ago, but the would-be lovers continued to rock steady on Maroon's dance floor. It seemed ages before Olivia's eyes met those of several others peeking through the blue-black shadows in the lounge. It felt like a thousand irises had focused their lasers on her, slicing up and down her body, carving 'betrayal' into her skin. In those shadowy mass of eyes, she could not make out features of anyone she knew but the stares were enough to un-nerve her, deflate the helium high of the bubble in which she had been ensconced for the last... How long, she did not know. Did not want to care. What was time with him? Removing her arm from its residence on Fitz's back, she glanced at the tick tok of reality wrapped around her wrist. It sobered her to the next day's realities.
"I should go, and so should you. It's nearly midnight. It's a long drive back to Charlottesville, is it not? Aren't you supposed to be in court tomorrow?" Olivia barely drew breath in between her sentences.
Standing too close to her and without consciously accessing the deepest of his register, Fitz responded, "I'm supposed to be a lot of things." He broke out that loveable, crooked smile of his before adding, "You let me worry about tomorrow." He stopped short of telling her the news of his impending move to Dupont Circle.
Olivia became achingly aware of her own wetness and that the garment holding back the deluge was already at its capacity. She was at her capacity, reached in the last forty minutes spent with him. Wanting, wanting, wanting. To kiss him. To touch him. And maybe discover in one night that she loved him. A scarlet fever crept from below until it reached her neck. She would have to be the one. If she stamped out her inappropriate behavior, she would save them both the trouble. Olivia turned on her heel, away from the eyes and Fitz, walking towards the bar, where Kenny had secured her handbag.
"I had a nice time with you tonight. When will I see you again?" Fitz said, walking behind her.
Feigning distraction, Olivia replied, "I don't know. The first debate is next week, and I'm heavily involved with Edison's prep. Work, as you know, is currently very demanding," she said, slinging the black, pony leather tote over her shoulder. Her eyes dipped down at her feet before finding the resolve to look back up at his face, partially through her in-need-of-a-trim bangs. "Listen, Fitz. I don't think we should do that again. I think we got a little carried away tonight..."
"Wait, did I...?"
"No. No. We," she emphasized the shared responsibility, "got carried away. Blame it on the music," she tried to lighten the mood. "But what happened tonight can never happen again. I just want to make it clear that I'm with someone."
"Soon-to-be-Senator Edison Davis, to be exact." Fitz took one significant step toward Olivia, hands in his pockets. "I know." Her conflicting actions that night and other nights before pricked his mind as he spoke.
"Yes, and... I think that our friendship-"
"Ohhhh. Is that what this is!" He returned, sarcasm lacing his words.
"We're good friends, yes. Our mutual respect for each other-" Olivia's speech ended before it began, punctuated by Kenny's snort from a few feet away. Undeterred, Olivia stepped closer to Fitz so she could say her next statement in a hushed tone. "Good luck tomorrow. I'll see you around. Don't wait for me."
"Am I being dismissed?"
"You're free to do whatever you please. I'm simply saying goodnight."
"Good night, Ms. Pope, " Fitz said, with an exaggerated pop at the end of her name, before shaking his head as he walked out the door.
#
Olivia marched through Maroon's tiny kitchen, oblivious to its employees watching her blow through with the gust of a hurricane. She turned left down a small hallway before opening the door to a reasonably sized closet, out of which Kenny had made an office. The actual office he used for storage.
After what he witnessed earlier that evening, he was expecting her arrival. Without looking up from his Excel spreadsheet, Kenny remarked, "Well, well, well. If it isn't Tryeshia Tryington."
Olivia shifted her weight, exhaustedly, from one leg to the other, folding her arms in the process. "Here we go."
"What? Somebody needs to tell you that you are really trying it."
"With whom exactly?"
"Girrrrrrl." Kenny said, as a full statement. "Wackness doesn't suit you. Didn't Montell Jordan teach you anything? Never come wack on an old school track."
"Can you stop speaking in '90s R&B riddles for one minute? I need you to be serious."
"Well, it's debatable if that was R&B. I feel like there's a lot of hip hop and new jack swing elements in 'This is How We Do It'. And, really, if you think about it-"
"Ok, goodnight." A frustrated Olivia threatened to close the door.
"Liv, wait. Close the door behind you." Kenny sighed into an empathy befitting the moment. "Let me spell out for you what I know we both already know: you're acting wiggidy wack. From what I can tell, Fitz is an old school, Cary Grant ass dude. A gentleman. One I know you've thought about doing very unlady-like things with."
"He's charming, sure. But that's... That's not what this is."
Kenny flopped his head to the right in disbelief. "I've seen the way you two look at each other, and I saw you on that dance floor tonight. Don't try to tell me this is just on him."
Olivia leaned against the door, allowing herself a moment's latitude. "Fine. I can admit that I haven't behaved entirely like a woman who's in a committed relationship."
"Ha. Committed to what? Failure?" Kenny made a teeth-kissing sound in that way that was seemed almost innate to Caribbean people. "Fuck Edison to raatid. No disrespect to him. It's not about who you're with, Olivia. The question isn't 'who', but 'what'. What is it that you want? That's what you need to ask and answer. Because what you're doing now? This ain't it."
Olivia's mouth opened instinctively in rebuttal, but the words were not there. The veracity of Kenny's urging pulsated through her chest, a manifestation of something that had been building in her own mind, but which she swept back every time it threatened to emerge.
"That's what I thought. How can you be in a committed relationship with someone-who you know wants to wife you-and still can't articulate what you want? Girl, you're in the over-thirty club. It's time to stop playing silly games."
Instead of support, Olivia registered judgment. "You're much closer to forty than I am, so you must have it all figured it out. I hope it feels good up there on that perch."
"Olivia," Kenny sighed. "Don't do this. This isn't about me."
"No, it's about me. Maybe it will take me until I'm nearing forty, or longer to answer that question. But that's for me to determine, on my timeline! Not yours or anyone else's." Olivia left so fast that the force of the air she disturbed closed Kenny's door in exclamation.
Kenny sat back, returning to the calculation of his weekly turnover. "God bless."
###
Dinner was well under way, and the celebratory mood flooding the sitting room now permeated the dining room. Olivia, Fitz and all their guests swapped conversational partners between courses, like an adult game of musical chairs-except topics were eliminated instead of people. Better than delicious were the dishes prepared by Chef Mateo, each of the five courses more delightful that the one before it. Brock, Chandani and Cara-the vegetarians in the group-were particularly impressed with the ways in which cauliflower, mushrooms and jackfruit could be transformed to mimic the textures and tastes of carnivorous fare. There was not a dissatisfied palette in the room.
Olivia listened in on bits of conversation happening around her. Fitz, sitting at the opposite end of the table was engrossed in conversation with Naem and Simone about education. Preferring intimate gatherings, Olivia had taken to playing hostess that evening. Though she had never stopped striving for perfection, she like bringing people together. Best of all was having everyone leave at the end of the night and needing only to travel upstairs to reach her bed.
A lemon granita palette cleanser was placed in front of their guests, before the dessert course. Not currently in conversation with anyone, Olivia listened to those around her, deciding where she would insert herself.
"Let's play a game!" Quinn said excitedly.
"Ooh, how about Truth or Dare?" encouraged Brock.
The unenthusiastic response at the table was near universal.
"That's for campfire shenanigans," Cara pooh-poohed. "Let's play its sophisticated cousin, Never Have I Ever!"
"Ayyyee!" Approved Harrison.
Pass, Olivia thought, turning instead to the conversation happening on the left side of the table.
"I haven't done that one yet. But I did climb Kilamanjaro. Talk about invigorating! Everest is my next big challenge. I know it will push my limits, but isn't that what life is about?" Naem postulated.
"Challenging? Seems like an understatement when it comes to Everest," said Simone.
"As far as fake challenges go, yeah, Everest will be a big one for an adventure junky like him," said Chandani. "I really thought I left that kind of thing behind when I stopped dating white boys."
"Wait, climbing a mountain is a fake challenge? Never have I heard someone deign to say such a thing. I would not do it, but I respect it," said Cyrus.
"I don't not respect it," countered Dani. Her often blunt manner was typically mistaken for blithe and brusque by those who did not know her well. "Naem works hard, and those things make him happy. I understand the drug-like high, and adrenaline junkies like my husband love it. But fake challenge it remains. No one needs to climb a mountain these days. Humans invented these 'challenges' to keep us from going soft. We don't have enough natural predators anymore."
"Except racism and poverty," Simone interjected.
"Those are man-made" Dani winked. "But the salient point here is that once you've climbed the mountain, it's over. The memory doesn't live on in your body-unless you hurt yourself. It fades, and you must keep seeking to replace that feeling. What you have left, if you're lucky, are some good pictures. And, yes, a sense of accomplishment."
Looking at Naem, "Wow, she is not easily impressed," said Harrison.
"How could I not fall in love?" said Naem gesturing to Dani, who was sitting right beside him. Laughter floated across the table. By now this conversation had taken center stage.
"Obviously," Fitz interjected, "I now have to ask what you consider to be a challenge?"
"Monogamy."
Air vibrated through Olivia's lips as she broke the tension, signalling that her long-time friend was clearly joking.
"No, seriously. Making and supporting art in this environment," Chandani said proudly. "That's challenging."
Brock's birch colored arm stretched across the table, crashing his palm into that of the mixed-media sculptor and gallery owner. "Yassss, someone who gets it."
"Girl, are you serious? Making art is a challenge but climbing the most dangerous mountain in the world is not?" Kenny waved his hands in circles, in search of how such a conclusion was reached.
"When you climb a mountain, only you are moved by that thing. You can't pass that feeling on to anyone. When you create art, you move people for a lifetime. It's something that lives inside you. It's birthed by you and then lives on independently of you long after you are gone. The Sistine Chapel, the works of Abinandrath Tagore, Jacob Lawrence, for goodness' sake!" Dani's hands were gesticulating with the animation of a person with true conviction. "He captured not just a historical movement of a people across space and time, but the complicated feelings of all that-connecting generations across culture. That is challenging to me. And when someone does it well, I am inspired and fueled to keep going that feeling for others."
Brock was getting his life to Chandani's monologue, snapping his fingers in the air in support.
"Dani, you know I love your passion. But those are the greats you speak of. Most artists never have that scale of impact. Most are lucky if they sell a print in their neighborhood café for $25."
"It doesn't matter," interjected Brock. "When I'm performing for a crowd-"
"Wait, didn't you tell me earlier you were a DJ?" Enquired Cara.
"I'm a drag artist DJ. Drag is definitely an artform."
Spoons stilled in glass cups of melting lemon ice or clinked against porcelain as they were laid to rest on saucers below. Everyone had the same idea, turning to look at Brock, considering his features, and imagining his feminine alter ego.
A firm believer in showing not telling, Brock reached for his phone to pass around the table. "Her name is Betty Beige. She's kind of a banjee showgirl." When the phone arrived in Fitz's hand, he smirked and glanced at Kenny, before meeting Olivia's eyes as he passed the device to Simone. "Oh, you perform at Maroon Lounge? Is that how you met? Kenny didn't tell me that part."
"Sort of. I manage talent for Maroon's new drag night Wednesdays and spin as well," said Brock.
"I'm surprised Kenny is dating one of his employees."
"Oh, no. I work for myself. Not for him." Brock clarified. Everyone was still confused but decided to let it go.
Cara, expert at diffusing tension, piped up, "To another Maroon love connection."
Kenny winced slightly and Fitz noticed, looking down the table at Liv to confirm she, too, had seen it. She had.
#
"Quinn," offered Olivia, "what was the game you wanted to play? Never Will I-"
"Never Have I Ever," corrected Quinn. "Everyone knows how this works, right? We go around the room, each sharing a thing we've never done or experienced. Anyone who has done or experienced that thing takes a swig of their drink."
"Well, this should be fun for me," Olivia said sarcastically, holding up her non-alcoholic cider.
"I'm with you," Fitz said, holding up his glass cider, offering a lopsided grin.
"Oooh, I love this game. There's not a lot I haven't done," said Cara.
"Me, too," Abby affirmed, clapping along. "Welp, I guess I'm getting wasted."
"Just make sure you have a ride home," said Olivia.
"Not us," Naem and Simone said in unison, air clinking their sparkling ciders in solidarity with their pregnant hostess.
Quinn got right to the point. "Who's first?"
Naem spoke up. "Never have I ever climbed Mount Everest."
"Boooo. We know. Who's got something we don't know," said Chandani, rubbing his back.
"Never have I ever dated an OPA client," said Harrison.
Abby picked up her glass, slapping Harrison on the arm.
Olivia's head swiftly turned Abby's way.
"Technically, he was a former client when we dated. Relax," Abby encouraged.
"Never have I ever dated outside my race," said Kenny. Half of those around the table abstained from raising their drink to their lips.
"Do Cubans count?" Asked Cara.
"In the Republican party, they do," said Cyrus.
"You know, it's not something I've consciously tried not to do," offered Simone. "I'm just primarily attracted to Black men."
"Tea," interjected Kenny. "But it's also a conscious choice for me." Kenny held out his glass, pointing to the two interracial pairings in the room. "No shade."
"None taken," said Naem, as he placed a hand on Chandani's saree-covered thigh. "Does being gay make it harder?"
"It can, but I have not found it challenging. It's very political for me," answered Kenny.
Olivia nodded her head in support.
"How so, Ken?" Fitz genuinely enquired. He had known Kenny to prefer Black men, but they had not discussed any political leanings of his commitment.
"Besides a primary attraction," he gestured toward Simone who shared the sentiment, "and cultural camaraderie, I just feel like loving another Black person is one of the most radical things you can do with your life."
Fitz looked at Olivia out of the side of his eye, feeling his heart swell. Chandani placed her hand on top of Naem's, and Simone nodded her head absentmindedly.
"Well, I think all love matters," shared James.
"Chiiiile, not the all love matters," said a bemused Kenny.
James, not wanting this to rise to political theater, quickly defended. Nearly every dinner party he attended with Cyrus devolved into a debate, and that was not his intention this evening. "I don't mean it that way at all. Though I do think finding love in any form is a miracle."
"Ok, ok, it's my turn. Let's get real." Feeling inspired by James' last statement, Brock decided to be a little vulnerable. "Never have I ever been in love."
Everyone drank except Brock and Cara, the latter of which said, "I'm not against it. It's just not a priority right now."
"Don't worry, Cara, it wasn't my priority when your cousin here came along," said Olivia.
"How old are you?" asked Brock to Cara. "30?"
"36," she answered.
"Ohhhhh. Well, I'm 30 and it's a definite priority for me. My whole life I've wanted 'The Notebook's type of love. So far all I've had is a Post-it."
Cara could not help but laugh at his phrasing, though she was not dismissing his clear longing to know what it meant to be in love. Olivia's mouth, however, lost the battle to hold back the spray of her sparkling cider. Instead, a few trickles escaped down her chin before her napkin absorbed the rest.
###
Olivia descended the stairs after her sixth trip to the bathroom that evening. She had begun to feel the lateness of the hour and the dissipation of all the energy it took to make sure more than a dozen people were satisfied and entertained.
Rounding the corner, Olivia saw the door to Fitz's office open, with Fitz and Abby emerging.
"Thanks for your help, Abs," giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"You're welcome, softy!" Abby returned, already halfway back to the sitting room where most of the guests were gathered.
"Hi," Fitz said, spotting Olivia and reaching for her hand to pull her inside.
"Hi," she returned, offering her lips to him. "So, are you The Godfather tonight? Making offers people can't refuse? How many meetings have you had in this office? Is the party just a cover for these secret meetings?"
"There are no secrets. You know what Cara and I were discussing."
"Your property portfolio for an hour? Are you not still incredibly wealthy, Mister? Or is there a problem?"
"Not at all. We," he emphasised, are still wealthy. All of our property assets are doing well."
"You know how I feel about that. Most of that portfolio existed before we got married. This is the only place that is truly ours. Be honest, do you think of my condo as ours, or as mine?"
He had to admit that she was right. "Yours. Although," Fitz dipped his head down to ghost his lips over Olivia's now naked lips. "I feel ownership over the memories we made there."
"Oh, you do own those," Olivia smiled into their kiss.
Before they could get carried away, she patted his chest. "And I supposed you and Abby were discussing new ways to monitor me at the office?"
"Have I mentioned how much I love being married to you? I love being married to you," he knowingly deflected.
#
Fitz sat down and pulled Olivia onto his lap. She protested briefly, citing the fact that they still had guests.
"They don't need us to babysit them. They'll be fine for twenty-minutes."
"Fitz, don't you dare. I'm too tired for that."
"Why, Mrs. Grant, I would never suggest such a thing!" They both burst out laughing knowing that he had and that they did almost as many times as suggested. "No, I want to sit with you for a moment. We've been busy all night long. I know you're tired, but how are you?"
A lot of people can pose that same question, but it does not mean they are interested in the answer. Fitz's emphasis on a single word in that question was an invitation for Olivia to uncoil that which she held in.
"Having everyone here has made me really happy. This child is going to have an amazing extended network of people to love him. I'm so glad we decided to go ahead with the evening. You were right."
"But..."
"Fitz, I'm tired of worrying about my father. He won't tell me anything. He just has a million ways of obfuscating. He's been this way since I was a child. But I can't keep playing this game with him, and I know that I'm right; I just need to prove it. I asked Huck for help... to monitor my dad. Including tonight, which is why Huck wasn't here. I haven't heard back from him yet, but..."
He could hear the change in her voice. "Hey, hey. Tomorrow, we'll go over there a soon as you're ready. I won't let you go alone."
"You never come with me. Not since we were married, at least. Are you sure?"
"Of course. I'm supporting you. You need to know so you can figure out what to do. And all of us," he placed his hand on her abdomen, "need your stress level to come down, not up. So, whatever I must do, I will do it."
#
The stroke of midnight had already passed, and with it the clinking of champagne glasses and circulation of platters of chocolate truffles, petit fours and fruit. Satisfaction enveloped the guests, giving way to a rising tide of ebullience. Hiccups of bubbly, lost inhibitions floated over the smaller group of friends and family, now gathered-without their hosts-in the sitting room. Cyrus, James and Simone-the parents-had departed.
"Guys, let's pick out some names for Liv and Fitz before they come back."
"They don't know what they're having, so it's kind of a moot point, no?"
"Who cares about gender. People are out here naming kids after fruits and continents, so it doesn't matter. Gender neutral is the name of the game, darling. Get into it," said Brock.
The group, teetering on the tight rope of reason, after copious amounts of food and alcohol, began shouting out names, as if the names themselves had to battle each other for survival:
"Tangerine"
"Drift"
"Buttons"
"Girl, we're not naming Teddy bears. Be serious."
Cara attempted to write down the names that were being feverishly thrown out.
"Okay... Harper"
"Kennedy"
"Ambrose"
"Jayden"
"Ryan"
"Chartreuse"
"Asa"
"Mmm... Asa is giving me boy, not gender neutral," Brock rebutted.
"Are you serious? You, a bald-headed Black boy named Brock, just shouted out 'Chartreuse' as a legitimate option. That's the color of puke, not a person's name," said Kenny, perplexed.
"My point is Asa Thomas is firmly in the galaxy of boy!"
"Putting anything in front of 'Thomas' is going to skew boy."
"Wait, is that the middle name? That's a done deal?"
"Well, in our family tradition it is," said Cara. Our mom's maiden name becomes our second name. I'm Cara Howard Vincent. Howard is my mom's name and Fitz's mom's name. But Fitz has the name of his father and grandfather. So, it's up to Liv and Fitz if they'll pass that down to their son."
"But if it's a girl it's not going to be Howard. It'll be Pope," said Dani.
"Who's to say they won't name her Fitzgeralda Thomasina Grant?" Joked Kenny.
Past tipsy at this point, the group paused in silence, checking to make sure they made sense. They considered, too, all the possible directions in which Olivia and Fitz could go. The futility of this exercise, with the parents in absentia, hit them individually and simultaneously.
#
Not knowing much about Olivia and Fitz, Brock took control of the music, attempting to regulate the group's mood. Kenny snuck up behind Brock, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You OK? We can leave when you're ready."
Brock placed the record's needle down and spun around to face Kenny. Piano keys pinged and the velvet tones of Johny Hartman's Easy Living calmed the room.
"I'm good, actually."
"Come sit with us." Kenny led Brock back to the group in the sitting room, his hand at the small of Brock's back.
Laying her naked feet across Naem's lap, Chandani looked at the two and proclaimed, "You're very cute together, "
"How did you two meet?" Naem continued.
"At the Lounge, right? Remember that whole 'Another Maroon love connection' thing Cara toasted to?" said Quinn.
"Another?"
"Love?"
Brock and Kenny expressed different sentiments at the same time.
"We've only been seeing each other for a month-ish. I think it's a little too soon for the 'L' word," said Kenny.
"Nonsense, it's never too soon. When you know, you know."
"How would you know? You've never been in love," retorted Abby to Harrison.
"Which is why I know. Whether it's 24 hours or 24 weeks, it's just never hit me with any of the girls I've been with."
"That's why you should try dating adult women instead."
"Harrison's right, though. It didn't take me long to realize Dani was the one," said Naem.
"It took you longer than me. I knew the night I met you."
"Do you really think love at first sight is a thing? Seems more like a marketing scheme," said Abby.
The room was split between those who believed and those who did not. Brock was a believer. He loved 'love,' feeding on a diet of romance in every flavor and variety. Sometimes he felt old fashioned and was made to feel out of touch with reality, even at his relatively young age. He was not one who thought marriage was some heterosexual construct in which radical gays should not participate. But he also did not believe devotion had anything to do with sexual monogamy. What his parents felt for each other, he wanted that, but in a way that was conducive to who he was and how he lived his life. Brock listened in on the arguments for and against the belief in love at first sight. "Is that what happened with our host and hostess? They seem like the love-at-first-sight type of couple. But what's tea on those two?"
"Mmm... I'm not sure about at-first-sight. I wasn't there for the first meeting, but I was there for the falling in love part, at Maroon. And also for much of the what-the-hell-is-going-on-here parts. The don't-talk-to-me-about-him-or-her parts-"
"Whew, that was rough, " said Abby. "But, hey, I got a job out of it."
Kenny continued. "The dating other people part. And then the part where they stopped acting dumb. I mean... they still act dumb from time to time, but they work it out. Chile, the drama these two can create. War and Peace has nothing on them."
"Oh, god, you should have been there in New York. After that whole mess of a year?" Dani's hand went to her face just recalling the memory.
"Can you believe they were there the same weekend? Did either one of you set that up?" Abby said looking between Cara and Chandani. Both denied it.
Time periods, seasons, dates, inside jokes kept flying over Brock's head like jigsaw pieces being thrown at him. He tried to grab at the pieces to make his own puzzle, but he had no real basis from which to begin. Feeling slightly obsessed and convinced they had the life he coveted for the future, he just wanted to know about the couple whose music he'd been playing all night.
"Ok, now I have to know. How did they finally get together?"
# # #
AN: I hope you enjoyed this lighter, bridging chapter and I'd love to have some feedback from you. You finally know Cara now, so I hope you guys have calmed down lol. What do you think of her and (Chan)dani? As you can tell from the end, we're going on a multi-episode flashback journey to answer Brock's question. This is why you've been getting little breadcrumbs of Olitz flashbacks for the last 3 episodes. I want you to understand their beginnings before they start facing some significant challenges in the present.
What do you guys think of Kenny and Brock? Do you see compatibility, or is it too early to tell? As always, thanks for the support and I can't wait to read what you think. -Petunia