Episode 12, Part I: The Limit to Your Love (Olivia)

Flashback

"What you're going through seems like utter turmoil."

"It's hell."

"It's Halloween. The perfect night to be in hell."

/Early October, Two Days Post-engagement/

The champagne bottle was turned on its side. The slow drip of flattened, fermented grapes soaked through the white tablecloth. Glass flutes, cloudy with fingerprints—and one with red lipstick—stood beside the bottle. The stale smell of alcohol served as a contrast to the perky blush colors in which the Rose Suite was painted. The macarons had fared better than the champagne; most were still intact on the silver platter. Except the strawberry-flavored ones. Edison insisted she at least have a bite or two of those because their flavor complimented the demi-sec Veuve Clicquot so well. And was not the sensation of the strawberry popping candy, embedded in the macarons, so delightful once you added a swig of champagne? He had asked. To that she agreed. Though he knew she disliked sweets, he also knew Olivia would often make an effort if not eating someone's birthday cake would cause offense. Surely, their engagement was the height of special occasions, not to be spoiled by such a minor thing as the way her mouth responded to sugar crystals.

Olivia and Edison had been celebrating their engagement Wednesday night. Edison thought they should do it properly, and she agreed. The night of their engagement—the Tuesday night—was stained with her tears, which, try as she might, did not stop after she said 'yes' and Edison slipped the ring on her finger. He thought it was relief brought on by her reconciling her future with his. Finally, she had eschewed her past reluctance and saw what he had known six months into their relationship: the inevitable certification of their pairing. How perfectly they worked.

How could Olivia tell him that water flowed from her eyes like an unstoppable hot spring because she knew she was making a mistake, yet felt paralyzed, unable to stop herself. The effort of the war inside her that night had exhausted her. Edison dutifully consoled her, in his bed, until she fell asleep, curtailing any amorous celebrations they should have had.

When he awoke the next morning, Edison told her a profusion of tears was not the response he had expected when she accepted. For Olivia, sorrow had seeped into the place to which joy belonged. She wanted to explain, to ameliorate his worry. But just as she tried, Edison sunnily announced, "We should go out and celebrate. I think we need that." He said, his tremendous hand resting on her shoulder.

He brushed the side of her makeup-stained face. "You must have been exhausted. I think you need a night of fun, too. What do you say?"

He sympathized with how hard she had been working, and knew he was partly to blame because his needing her required that she travel every week. Being absent nearly fifty percent of their relationship in the past year was a stress they continually navigated. But now he would be in Washington again for much of the year. Things would be better.

Olivia smiled faintly, not feeling deserving of his compassion. But he was offering her a chance to fix what she had broken. Only a fool would reject opportunity. She nodded her assent.

"See you tonight at seven. I'll make all the arrangements," he smiled, his brown eyes twinkling. "I can't wait."

…

A full day of work was a welcomed distraction from the tempest of emotion brewing inside her teacup sized body. Their dinner and their dancing helped her forget the untidiness of the night before, allowing Olivia a laser-like focus on enjoying personal time with Edison. She looked into his eyes many times searching for reassurance. That yesterday was a fluke to which she had temporarily loaned herself. Alas, wrapping herself in the feeling of their evening was futile in the end. If only they had gone back to her apartment, or to Edison's townhome. Then what happened would never have happened. Olivia laid there in the clear reality of the morning after, parsing through the play-by-play of the night before trying to zero in on the precise moment she started down a regrettable (and unforgettable) road. If she could pinpoint that moment, perhaps she could turn around and look at the man who loved her. Her fiancé.

The night with Edison had gone swimmingly. So much so, she was able to put Fitz and rooftop flights of fancy out of sight, out of mind. Until Edison brought her to The Watergate Hotel. This she had not expected nor prepared for in the simulation she mapped out for the evening. They never stayed at a hotel in their own city. Not when he had a driver at his disposal.

"Edison, The Watergate?" She had said, as she stepped into the lobby, marveling at the sheet of full whiskey bottles that walled off the bar from the entrance. The wide, glittering silver pillars looked like something more suited to The Matrix than a 1960s ode to Modernist architecture.

"Yes, the one and only. Isn't it an amazing place? It's more than the site of political scandal," Edison replied. "I plan on showing you that all night." He brought her by the hand to the elevator lobby, as Olivia trailed slightly behind him. "We're spending the night in the Rose Suite. Come on, it's their most romantic room." He ensured that it would be by adding the Romance Celebration package upon booking the room. "It's pink and girly; I'm sure you'll love it."

"Are you sure this is a good idea? It's the middle of the week. I have work and you have— "

"Campaign commitments. I know. I've moved them all to Thursday afternoon." He reassured as he stepped onto the elevator. "We just got engaged! Don't we deserve one nice evening?" He appealed as he held open the elevator doors.

Olivia shook her head, banishing her penchant for noting potential risk before potential pleasure. "You're right," she said. "Of course, you're right. What am I thinking?" She shook her silliness away as she crossed the elevator's threshold and took her place next to Edison. He pressed the button to floor fourteen.

…

It was simple. Very simple. Edison should not have looked at her that way. He should not have taken her hand and started rubbing his thumb across her palm as he looked down at her laying naked between his opened thighs. Because if he never did, she would not have recalled the man who touched her like that just twenty-four hours before. Her eyes would not have closed only to see that other man hovering over her, looking upon her hungrily with the carnal compulsion to consume every centimeter of her. And her pussy would not have ached with tumescent anticipation, wanting to quiver at every touch as if it were the first time. The usual familiarity of Edison's dick would not have felt shiny and new inside her, like a virgin. If Edison had not touched her in that way which she was now doomed to forever identify with Fitz, then it would have been Edison's face she earnestly held and to which she confessed love as his strokes raptured her.

Would have been.

Should have been.

Olivia let it happen. She let Fitz penetrate her in that petal-colored room. She let his sexy baritone whisper caress her ear, telling her how good she felt. She let him lick the perspiration from between her breasts. And it was to him, abandoning all sense, that she said, "I can't wait to feel you come inside me." Not to Edison. And it was not Edison's face she saw when her own words and fingers on her eager clit pushed her over the edge, as she orgasmed like a geyser instead of a slow-motion waterfall. For those sweet moments, she felt limitless. It lasted all of thirty seconds until Edison collapsed beside her depleted, "We should get engaged every week. Something unleashed in you. Liv, that was incredible." He said as he covered her neck in grateful kisses.

The guilt of post-coital tristesse hit her. Then came the glut of betrayal. She fought the tears; those she would not entertain. Instead, she quickly turned to Edison before kissing him madly.

"You… It was you who was amazing."

…

Olivia's eyes blinked open. In the cool, clear light of day, she looked around at the peony-colored room, brimming with effort in every corner of its edifice. Its soft wash of staid romance and facade of femininity did make it a lovely place, albeit soulless. Relief boomed in her chest when Edison stirred towards her, embracing her from behind. "Good morning, beautiful." Relief because traces of last night's indulgent fantasy were no longer there. She heard, saw, felt Edison in the room. Today could be a fresh start, clean slate. Olivia focused her eyes across the room to the view of the Potomac River outside. The clouds parted and a ray of sun danced on the grey water ever so briefly.

/

It started as a text, but like so many of their exchanges, Kenny quickly had to call Olivia when she refused to respond with a real answer.

Are you OK?

I'm fine. What do you mean?

The other day you ran out of here. Crying from what I could see

Oh.

Oh?

It's fine, K. I'm fine. Really.

Did Fitz do something to you? Because if he hurt you…

The three dots indicating she was typing a response sprung up and went away just as quickly. Kenny waited. No answer.

"What?" Olivia whined into the phone minutes later.

"I asked you a real question and I need a real answer," Kenny demanded.

"An answer to what exactly?"

"Mama, don't do this. Don't lawyer me. I asked you if Fitz hurt you. Is that why you ran outta here the other day?"

She paused, thinking of how she could phrase her answer to be honest with her friend but curtail further interest in the subject. Today was a new day. Despite the last night's minor slip up, everything and everyone were in their proper place.

"No, he didn't. If anything, his feelings are the ones that got hurt," Olivia answered.

"They just got hurt, but you don't know how?"

This is what she wanted to avoid; She was trying to put her best foot forward. "Edison and I are engaged," she blurted out. It did not matter the order of events. It was still true that she was engaged. Eventually, when the news comes out, it will hurt him, perhaps more than her running from him did.

"But it's very new and not public yet. So…"

"Ohhhh," was Kenny's first response before he recovered. "Well, I guess congratulations are in order!" He could be passive, too. "Obviously if you need wedding help, you know that's my jush." A realization dawned on him. "Something tells me I'll have to make plans to see you since you won't be dropping by anytime soon?"

Olivia inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I don't think it's a good idea to come by Maroon anytime soon."

"I got you." Kenny said casually before they said their goodbyes.

The math was not mathing for Kenny. If Olivia hurt Fitz because she told him she had gotten engaged, then why was she the one who ran away crying and now refused to return? Why had she told him when she walked into the Lounge on Tuesday, before she went to the roof with Fitz? And why was Fitz carrying broken glass that evening? What the hell happened on the roof, Kenny thought. Did things turn violent? It was hard for Kenny to fathom as the discombobulated mess of it all ran through his mind. No matter what, Olivia was like a little sister to him. No matter how petulant, stubborn or incommunicable she could be, he felt protective of her, just as she treated him like her family.

/

/Mid-October, the Night of Fitz's Visit/

The memory of him wafted throughout her small apartment. The green and woody notes of his masculine fragrance lingered, so acute that it followed her even to the rooms he had not graced—the bathroom and kitchen. Olivia could not bear to be with Edison that night. She did not want a repeat of The Watergate. It would not be fair to Edison. So, she made her excuses, telling him she was working on a difficult case all evening and was too tired to make it over to his house. When he offered to send a driver, she made it clear the exhaustion was mental as well. When he complained that they had not slept together for nearly the entire week he had been in Washington, she reminded him that his rigid schedule was as much to blame. When he raised that they were now engaged and needed to consolidate their residences, Olivia reminded him that they had not announced their betrothal and that they agreed he should save it for his likely congratulatory speech two weeks from tonight. Therefore, a joint residence was moot until the new year. When Edison wanted to revisit the announcement decision, she feigned a big yawn, requesting that they talk about it later.

…

In sequestering herself in the recent memory of Fitz's presence in her home, Olivia believed she was shielding Edison from her own weakness and perfidy. Giving herself the night to work through every complicated emotion that resurfaced from a mere hour of his being there. Olivia poured the last drops of burgundy liquid from its bottle, knowing deep down that it was her thoughts. Her experience. Herself that she was both protecting and indulging.

When she had opened the door to him, she was stunned and yet irrevocably enlivened. But she reigned it in. She did not even offer him a drink because, in her head, that made it too comfortable. Too encouraging. He did not ask, and she was grateful.

The first time his expression broke her heart was when he held up her left hand and asked if she was happy. Happy! Happy? She could not give him the true answer to that question. Happy was a long-ago feeling that visited her only in short bursts now. Always ephemeral. When she was not thinking about what she should do, who she should be, she was able to enjoy the moments in front of her. Olivia had felt that with him many times. In deep debate or sharing childhood memories at Maroon. The night he walked her home. The night she yielded to slow grinding with him on the dance floor. He made her forget and recover memories all at once. And so, she at least had to tell him that yes, she felt drawn to him, too. That yes, what he felt—feels— is real. But they cannot be. Life was full of sacrifices. When you make a commitment to someone, you don't just turn your back on them. Ring or not.

Eating cereal one day and being shipped off to Switzerland the next, Olivia had grown up quickly. What she learned was that responsibility and sacrifice seemed to be pillars of adulthood and she had been practicing them long before she became an adult. You cannot stay in a field of daisies as the rest of reality surrounds you, she thought. There was a greater good and everyone had to do their part. What would it do to Edison, her father, to her future—to run through a daisy field with Fitz? It was selfish, and she had grown up knowing that was a moniker to avoid.

She told herself she was not being selfish when she sat with him and he enveloped her against his body, as she expected he would. She told herself it was for him because he had asked for one minute of them. But when that minute turned into five, she spent the entire time imprinting the moment so that every time she looked at that couch, she would remember what it was like to feel him, to smell him, and know that someone like him existed. By keeping that memory for herself, she was not hurting anyone; she was protecting them. She would be the only one to experience the pleasure and suffer the torment of vacillating between fantasy and reality in her mind. Turning him off and on with the flick of a switch. But reality was too unpredictable, its only surety the disappointment of all humans. Fantasies were safe. Private. Controllable.

Controlling herself had been the hardest part of his being there, she thought, now lying down, her head in the spot where his lap had been mere hours ago. She was so irretrievably attracted to him—not just sexually, but cosmologically to the idea and presence of him in the universe. She let him take up planets of space inside her mind, her body. She could see his face now, that boyish smile of his that made her feel girlish and beautiful whenever he aimed it her way. She touched the expanse of her stomach, feeling the shiver it brought to the surface of her entire body. Soon it became his hand on her. He brought his hand up to her jaw and leaned in for the kiss she longed for, ever since he placed his lips to her forehead. She touched the memory of it. When she imagined his lips meeting hers, it felt like cotton candy melting in her mouth. Instead of cloyingly sweet, it was warm and gauzy, a pink fluffy cloud collapsing into her. A taste she could never outgrow, nor tire of.

Then inception's interception took her to another place she wanted to avoid. Instead of seeing Fitz's face hovering over hers, he was in front of her because they are now standing up, face to face. In a vast kitchen. Inside their home. One small voice and then two—a boy and a girl, each tugging one of their hands in a cry for attention. It's their evening routine. He picks up the girl; she picks up the boy. Their lips meet and linger despite the chorus of "ewwwww" from the tiny humans they hold in their arms. They, too, are greeted with sweet kisses and tickles.

Olivia shook her head vigorously. That was not the fantasy for which she had reached. But it was one that repeatedly found her over the last two weeks. In all the versions of them in that ethereal galaxy she projected in her mind two weeks ago, that one remained. Easily triggered, its clarity haunted her. It was like a motion-sensitive porch light that flickered on at the most inappropriate times. Annoying.

…

She needed him out of her system. Later, when she slipped into her bed, Olivia returned to her erotic conjuring of him. As if this way she could exorcise him like a demon, each orgasm causing his power to disintegrate. It was not the first time. No, the first time had been after Franceska pulled her away from him that night at Maroon. But something had generated a fever in her and it was contagious. He caught it and she could feel his heat entangling with hers. It was hard to let go of it even after she left Franceska in the living room and went to bed.

Tonight, was easier. Hours earlier Fitz had leaned sexily on the frame of her door, his eyes focused on this very bed that she was now in. She merged the two, calling him over with a look. He crawled up her body like a hungry lion, and she felt dizzy from desire. She could feel his mouth on her mouth, his tongue forecasting what he would do when he slipped down between her thighs. But she held his body right there, pressing up into his erection, one hand on his firm ass, pushing down his boxers. She needed him urgently. He obliged, pushing up her chemise until she removed it entirely because he wanted to see her. All of her. She wanted him to suck her entire breast into his mouth, one at a time like he needed them in order to survive. This inexorable attraction to him made it easy to cocoon herself inside the safe space of her fantasies. Being with him. Him being in her. He was already so real to her. She could feel him, feel the force of his dick against the spongey ridges of her walls, crusading like Indiana Jones, determined to excavate her every pleasure. This erotic revery dripped with her craving of him nestled between her thighs, sheathed in nothing but the adoration of her cunt as it held on tightly-never wanting to release him.

By now Olivia was impossibly swollen and slick from her carnal imaginings. She saw the shape of his opened mouth breathing hotly against her own. He looked as pretty as a heartache. Ache. The ache inside her rumbled. Sweat percolated on her brow and bathed the place where the tops of her thighs met her ass. Her fingers strummed between her folds and her clit as the vibrating toy tunneled inside of her. And when she replaced her fingers with his strong digits, she fell off pleasure's precipice. Her body stiffened and curled in delight.

/

/Halloween/

The rap of Olivia's knuckles against the glass pane became louder each time she knocked. Why does he not have a bell back here, she thought. Just as she reached inside her trench coat to call him, a light flickered on inside the apartment, illuminating the kitchen.

"Girl, you scared the shit out of me! I thought kids were throwing rocks at my door. What are you doing here? It's three in the morning on Halloween."

"That's exactly why I'm here," Olivia said, stepping into Kenny's kitchen. "Don't pretend you were asleep."

She heard Destiny's Child. The melodic crooning of 'Emotion' floated out of Kenny's bedroom, soft as the light shining through colorful scarves draped over his lamps. Having shed her coat, Olivia began moving about the kitchen in a familiar way. She filled up a small, celadon green electrical kettle and reached into the cupboard next to the sink for two mugs. She grabbed two tea bag options. "Wind down or stay up?" She asked.

Having been home for less than an hour, Kenny was still wired from the club and did not want to spend hours struggling to fight off memories when what he needed was sleep's sweet caress. "Wind down," he responded.

As she waited for the water to boil, Olivia stood by the sink, looking out at the window into the deep night. Kenny's voice startled her.

"First your boyfriend shows up unexpectedly and now you."

She whipped around. "What?"

"Fitz. His messy ass was here on y'alls lil' Tuesday night playing the shit out of 'Me & Mrs. Jones' like it was gonna summon you." He shook his head in pity and annoyance. "I had to tell him to leave."

"Oh. Wow." Olivia began wondering about him, if he was OK. Was he taking care of himself? She was saved by the kettle's whistle. A reminder that she was not there for Fitz. She was there for Kenny.

Olivia made them both chamomile tea with a single teaspoon of raw honey.

…

"Talk to me," Olivia sympathetically instructed.

They were now seated in Kenny's front room, tea in hand, on a maroon-colored, velvet sofa. Kenny wore a long black dressing gown over a t-shirt and shorts, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Olivia, wearing a peony pink sweater, sat facing Kenny, in a lotus pose—the tops of her feet resting on her ecru legging-covered thighs, casually achieved from years of yoga training.

Kenny launched into the grievance foremost in his mind: the new pastor of the Ethiopian Christian Fellowship Church next door. Particularly his wife (and assistant pastor). "The bitch next door is suing me for 'unnecessary noise violations'. It's a fucking lounge, mama! The cheek, the nerve, the audacity, the gall AND the gumption! She has all of it. Do you know how many of mine own Sunday mornings have been ruined by their praise and worship sessions?" He clasped a hand on his chest. "Do you see me going to court? No. Because I would look stupid. It's a goddamn church. Is suh dem do! Why she nuh lef me fi do my tings?" By now Kenny was getting riled up, his palm hitting his chest like he was Celine Dionne performing on stage.

Olivia put a calming hand on Kenny's thighs. "Well, that escalated quickly."

"I'm sorry— "

"You don't need to be. You have every right to fume."

"It just bugs me because…mm." He paused to compose the suspicions he harbored. His fist tightened in the air, and he pressed his full lips into a tight line.

"Go on," Olivia urged, knowing that he needed to release all of this before she could coax from him what was festering beneath this church-related flesh wound.

"Ok, so, unlike your give-everybody-a-second-chance ass, I'm not rooting for everybody Black. Some niggas is just fucked up. I love Mama Gordon down, and I miss her 'til this day. But she was a little fucked up when it came to me being gay. It was the Bible this and God that. I can't help but think sister Mary Clarence over there is escalating things because I'm sinful in her eyes. On top of that, some of our skin folk in the diaspora look down on us lowly American Blacks. They be drinking that 'premacy Kool-Aid and don't even realize it. I know they're just trying to survive like all of us, but what is turning on each other gonna do?"

Satisfied he had said what he needed to say, Kenny flopped back on the sofa, as if the effort of releasing that sermon deflated his body.

Olivia retrieved his tea from the coffee table and handed it to him. "Kenny, you know you have legal help in me. But that's not why I came."

"I know." Kenny let out a huge sigh, throwing his head back to rest on the couch. "I don't know what to say, Liv. It's hard to put into words just how much I miss him. I've been fighting off memories with a stick, but girl, they are coming for me tonight."

One year ago, on Halloween night, after celebrating the end of a long losing streak with his Ravens' teammates in Baltimore, Tariq jumped into his Land Rover Discovery to see Kenny. He never made it. His mangled body was later found inside his crushed vehicle at the bottom of a hill, off I-95, near Laurel, Maryland.

Olivia placed her hand on Kenny's knee, encouraging him to go on. "I know it hurts."

"I wish it was just hurt. That makes sense and it's always there, close to the surface, if I let it. But I'm also pissed, Liv. I'm angry and I don't know what to do with that part."

"Angry at him, or yourself?"

Kenny considered for a moment. "Both, I think. If we hadn't gotten into a fight, weeks before that night, about how much I hate not seeing him for so much of the season, then his dumb ass would not have gotten into the car that night, after drinking with his boys, just to come see me. I told him if he didn't show up that night, don't bother showing up any other time. I meant the sentiment, but I was also being dramatic. He should have known that. You would think that after years together, I would just deal with seeing him less often for half a year at a time." Kenny shook his head absentmindedly. "I tried. I really did. But I couldn't do it. Girl, do you know I broke up with him at least four times over this?" Kenny let out a rueful laugh.

"I do know. You called me after every one of those break-ups," Olivia ruefully recalled.

"Dat bumboclaat bwaii, Tariq." Kenny kissed his teeth and his head gently swayed.

Olivia recognized this sentiment as an expression of frustration only love could inspire.

"He was the person I always wanted around, even when I was mad at him. I hated how needy I felt for him sometimes, but I couldn't make it go away." Kenny set down his mug and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Olivia was holding his other hand securely.

"You loved him— "

"I love him, Liv. He's gone but the love ain't. True love is never past tense."

"What I meant was of course you wanted to see him as much as you could because his work took him away from you so much of the time. That's not needy, is it?" Olivia concluded.

"I suppose not." Hearing his own answer prompted Kenny to ask something he had not before considered. "Is that why you joined Edison's campaign? To spend more time with him?"

Olivia had not thought of it in romantic terms. She recalled how Edison teased her about her machine-like ability to compartmentalize so much in her life, including working on his campaign. Decrying public displays of affection, Olivia would insist to Edison that she did not want his staff regarding her as an annoying girlfriend with which they were forced to contend. She wanted to be taken seriously and, as importantly, she wanted her ideas taken seriously. Private time was private time and campaign time was campaign time.

"I didn't do that expressly to spend more time with Edison. I did it because I knew I could help him win. It was something he desperately wanted, and I loved him, so of course I would do my best to help him win. And now he will." A slightly smug smile graced her lips.

With a tilted head, Kenny looked at Liv, "Wait, so…"

"Not like that. I meant spending more time with him was a bonus," she interjected to ward off his judgment. "My every motivation doesn't have to be about being up under the man in my life."

Kenny decided against the question inching up the back of his throat. He swallowed his now tepid tea instead. She had come here to support him, and he would not turn this into an inquisition.

"I think it's different because Tariq and I had very separate work lives. You and Edison have crossover. Not to mention y'all are free to be in public with each other. I only had that with Kenny when we left the country on vacation. The time we spent together was about us. It's hard for you to understand—and this is not a read—because you haven't had your heart broken by losing the love of your life. I miss his smell. His smile. The feel of his weight in the bed. The way he'd always say 'we'll see' when he knew I was wrong, but just didn't want to argue. The accident is over and done. But that heartache lives on inside. I'm not one to cry rivers and fall apart and shit, but…" Caught up in sorrow, Kenny let emotion take over him. Olivia held him as it did.

She realized that it was true that no man had ever broken her heart, since it had been she who ended every relationship she had ever been in, and one she technically never started. At least not physically. Was it possible to mourn the end of something that never properly started?

When Kenny's cries began to subside and he took the tissue Olivia had long held out for him, Olivia spoke again. "That's true that I haven't lost a lover in that way. But I have had my heart broken from losing my mom."

The freckles on Kenny's banana powder-colored skin receded in contrast with his now swollen, red-rimmed cognac eyes. He grabbed her hand gently. "I know, Liv. I know little Switzerland Livvie had tears on her pillow thinking about why her mommy was taken from her. And how you wished on so many occasions that she was there to kiss you goodnight like she always did. I know. It affected you for a long time—and probably still does. That's an adolescent bond and you're an adult now. It's not the same as forming an adult connection with someone that makes you feel more like yourself than when you are actually by yourself," Kenny lamented.

That one did feel like a read, she thought. Olivia stiffened a bit, feeling in his words a sense of judgment. That her loss of a parent was somehow less than his loss of a lover. She beat back the thought because she had come there to support him, not to compete in the trauma Olympics. Sometimes pain spoke in the most inelegant ways.

"You know what, Kenny? Maybe you're right. Maybe it's not the same. But I also don't know if I could handle loving someone to such an extent that I was disemboweled by losing them. What you're going through seems like utter turmoil." Olivia defended.

Kenny smiled through tears. "It's hell."

She leaned her whole body into his. "It's Halloween. The perfect night to be in hell."

They chuckled and soon a comfortable silence settled between them.

"So…if you lost Edison, you wouldn't feel empty?" Kenny yawned.

"That's loaded." Olivia did not know what to say. She had never considered such a question. In the last few months, she thought about how Edison would feel if she were no longer in his life. She thought about the guilt she would feel if she left him. But never had she considered his leaving her—by choice or by destiny. "I don't know. I try not to consider hypotheticals like that. It's a pointless exercise in conjuring pain. If I ever have to deal with that loss, I'll let you know."

...

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Olivia repeated as she closed Kenny's bedroom door. They talked incessantly for several hours, stopping only for bathroom breaks, unfettered laughter and moments of necessary silence. Kenny's emotional release had relaxed his body enough to get some shut eye. It was now 6 AM and Olivia saw little point in leaving, so she grabbed two blankets from Kenny's linen closet and made herself comfortable on the sofa. Her flight to Florida was much later that Saturday afternoon.

Olivia lay there thinking about her conversation with Kenny. It seemed the more of yourself you gave to love, the more ruinous its disappearance. That is too much control to cede to a four-letter word. She reasoned that there should be limits to love, if only so that not having it would be less painful. Was loving so intensely worth the pain? Her thoughts shifted to a few weeks ago. Strong as she was at swimming, the pull towards Fitz felt like a riptide threatening to drag her under. Maybe to her detriment, or maybe to the lost city of Atlantis, wherein lay unfathomable discoveries. The threshold of curiosity beckoned, but her feet felt like lead, welded to the spot of the life she was in. Am I getting old? she thought. This fear rising inside her felt too comfortable, and yet unfamiliar to the woman who decided, on a whim, to take a year before law school to study forms of yoga in India. Eschewing her father's reservations to follow her own curiosity. Where was that girl, Olivia wondered. She was a woman now.

Adventurous since childhood, Olivia's mother would often tell her that those who look for trouble always find it. At the same time, Maya did not want to stifle that light of discovery in her daughter, and so she endeavored to find activities into which Olivia could channel her precocious energy. Olivia felt some of that was missing now. Like a flame fading from lack of oxygen.

/

/ Olivia, age 10/

"Now, Shirley, you mean to tell me that your niece dropped out of school to get married? She's nineteen! Oh…lord. Pregnant?! Oh no, no, no. You need to talk to that Christine. How far—Ohhhh, Ok. Are you gonna just let her ruin her life like this? For some boy? I know she's your niece, Shirley, but you're the only mother she has. I don't know, but just talk to her. I just…I couldn't let Olivia throw her life away like that. I know she's only ten. I'm saying, she'll be a teenager before I know it and listening to hormones more than she listens to me and…"

Maya's mind sped away from her like a runaway train on fear's track. Shirley droned on about how Christine was her own woman, and she could not make her do anything she did not want to do. Maya knew Shirley was right but adopted the pregnancy burden as if it were happening to her own daughter. Soon, Maya was thinking about the life she could have had if she had not married so young, so eager for stability. An object falling to the ground, its crash blunted by the carpet's thick pile interrupted Maya's thoughts.

"Listen, Shirls, Imma have to call you back later. Ok? Yeah, bye."

"Liv-vieeee? I know you're there. Come on out."

Olivia liked hiding and listening to her mother on the phone, or when a neighbor visited. It was a side of her that showed only when Maya was in the presence of people with whom she felt free.

Olivia emerged from Maya's closet wearing a long-sleeved pink silk blouse, and oversized jewelry stacked up her narrow arms and around her delicate neck. Maya could not help but laugh until she remembered Olivia's disobedience. She reached out her hand for Olivia to take.

"I'm getting ready for work. Do I look pretty like you, mommy?"

"More, Precious." She smiled before turning to scold, removing the playful sweetness from her voice. "But what have I told you about listening when mommy is on the phone?"

"That it's not for kids. But why?"

"You are such a smart and funny girl. But there are some things only grown-up brains understand. And one day you will be a grown up like mommy and you'll understand. But for now, you need to listen to me…except when I'm on the phone. Have I made myself clear?"

Olivia's bottom lip protruded slightly; she was downcast as she looked up over her lashes. "Yes, mommy."

"Promise me something, sweetheart."

In lieu of answering, with large doleful eyes and a downturned mouth, Olivia looked into her mother's face and nodded her head several times.

"You're going to like boys soon," Maya began as she bent down in front of her daughter.

Olivia twisted her mouth.

"Mostly, they will like you and want you to be with them. That's how boys are. I want you to remember that they will always be around. There is no rush. For your whole life, boys will always be around to like you. But some opportunities will be there only a short time. Make sure you focus on things you can get for yourself, not what a boy can give to you. Because the things you give yourself will always be yours and can't be taken from you. Okay?"

Olivia sensed that her mother meant something more than her words said. But she knew she was supposed to say "okay," and so she did. Even as her mother seemed slightly upset.

Maya's thumb ran along Olivia's chubby cheek as she looked at her daughter, feeling regrets from her past, but also hope that her daughter's future would be different. Olivia was still too young to understand the complex emotions behind the words Maya spoke—a thing she knew.

"If there's one thing you remember, baby, let it be this: Boys will always be there. And when they turn into men, nothing changes. So never let them change you." With that Maya kissed Olivia on the forehead. "Mommy loves you, Livvie."

"I love you, too, mommy."

"Now, go play in your room."

/

/Mid-November/

Things moved very quickly after Edison's decisive win against Bradley Hargrove. Before Florida, only eight states had ever elected a Black senator (seven of them seated). Edison would now be joining their small ranks. He had reveled in the national interest of the historic triumph, given that his would also be the tie-breaking vote for Democrats in their push-back against an unduly pugnacious Republican president.

Communications Director, Meena Savoy, had strategically deployed the news of Edison and Olivia's engagement one week before Election Day, despite Olivia's personal wish to wait until after the election. The announcement added to the fanfare surrounding Edison's win, for which Meena had hoped. America loves a love story. The whole team was on a high. As the first Black anything of Florida and one of a handful in the Senate, both Edison and Olivia were aware of the unfair scrutiny he would receive. In the aftermath of his election, Edison's team moved to line their staffing ducks in a row.

Olivia approached Meena's office for what she thought was a meeting soliciting her feedback on messaging and the optics of bill sponsorship priorities for Edison. Hearing two muffled voices coming from behind the door, she reasoned that Meena was running late, and sat impatiently. It was not long before Edison emerged from Meena's office.

"Liv, sorry to infringe on your time. I know you hate waiting. I just needed to confer with my Comms Director."

"Anything I can help with?" She returned.

Before Edison could open his mouth, Meena popped her head out the door. "Sorry, Liv. I'm ready for you now," Meena said, as she shooed Edison away with both her hands.

…

It had been the end of a long day, and Meena asked if Olivia wouldn't mind if she popped off her kitten heels and put her feet on the desk during their meeting. She said it was not formal, which came as a surprise to Olivia, given the topic she was expecting to discuss. The two had a friendly, albeit territorial relationship during the campaign. Olivia was a genius at political messaging and strategy, with an almost primeval instinct for the right path to take.

But Meena had seen the less hopeful, irredeemable side of humanity. She knew the things the American public lied about wanting when pollsters took the temperature of the nation. Meena was good at tapping into people's unspoken desires and darkness. She had, at first, resented Olivia's presence as an unpaid member of the team, knowing that men tend to take the word of the woman they're intimate with over the one they're paying to do a job. She had to figure out a way to work with Olivia that did not compromise her rapport with Edison and her authority as a senior staff member. Her relationship with Olivia was mostly hits with a few misses here and there. Though there were times she wished Olivia was some dumb bimbo Edison was dating because it would make her life easier. There would be but one person to please. But here she was, feeling slightly haughty about the fact that Olivia would now have to heed her communication recommendations, especially since Edison had already signed off on the matter. Telling her would be the tricky part.

"Liv, how have you been? Things have been so hectic; I don't think I've said congratulations to your face. So, congratulations on your engagement to Edison. Black love in this town: we love to see it. Say, have you guys decided on a date?" Meena played with the small gold necklace around her neck, given to her by Michael, her boyfriend of five years.

"I'm fine, thanks. For the flowers, too. They were gorgeous. And no, we haven't talked dates yet. It's only been a month."

Meena removed her long legs from atop the desk and turned to face Olivia head-on. She leaned in over her desk and said in a perplexing whisper, "I've always wanted to get married in late September. It's the perfect time of year. The fall foliage? The golds, warm umbers and russets— so romantic and stunning. But for the two of you, a late summer wedding would work best. Congress won't be in session...and I— "

Olivia interrupted Meena's uninvited recommendation in order to obtain clarity on what exactly this meeting was about. "I'm sorry, I seem to be confused. We're doing wedding planning? I thought we were hitting pre-swearing in messaging points for Edison's upcoming TV appearances."

"Both. We're doing both. The whole country knows about your engagement— "

"Thanks to you leaking it to the press," Olivia smiled tightly. The one move Meena had made without her consultation.

Meena smiled back, her full set of veneers—almost blue in their mechanically induced whiteness—sparkled against her peanut butter complexion. She held herself back from telling Olivia she should ask her fiancé about that decision.

"Listen, Liv. You are a brilliant woman. So, I know you know that when Edison goes on Jimmy Kimmel and Ellen, they don't want to hear 'It's only been a month' when he's asked about a wedding date. It doesn't inspire confidence in him or your relationship. We just need something. A season will do. Vague, but specific enough."

"Fine. Let's go with your idea: autumnal romance."

Meena wished she hadn't divulged her personal preference. She closed her eyes before continuing. "Fab. There's just one more thing…"

"Shoot," Olivia said. What else could there possibly be?

Meena tried to figure out the most delicate delivery, to be in accordance with what she knew as well as how such a thing could be perceived. She rose from her desk and began circling it. "Edison's going to be under a lot of scrutiny. And so will the people closest to him. At least for right now, while he's in the spotlight and everyone wants a piece of him. His star is on the rise, and we want to make sure he can leverage that fully. But we also want to make sure he's protected…from all kinds of threats." Her eyes land squarely on Olivia as she leaned her lengthy torso against the desk.

Olivia pointed to herself incredulously. "Me?!"

"Not you, per se. But the company you keep. Company that's not Edison," Meena finished, leaning her head to the side in emphasis, squinting her eyes.

Heart thumping wildly in her chest, Olivia tried not to let the tide of panic rising inside her show. "Am I being surveilled?"

That's an interesting response, Meena thought. "God, no. It's not like he's the president!" Meena tried to laugh off.

Olivia was stone-faced, waiting for more of what Meena thought she knew.

"I just know people who've seen you at a certain lounge, on more than one occasion with a certain man that you seem...close with, shall we say. Look, I'm not soliciting explanations. And it's none of my business, of course." Meena held up her hands in a surrender pose. "But it is my business if it becomes Edison's business. So, I'm urging you not to make it so. Are we clear?"

Olivia had shut that door a month ago. But what she and Fitz shared had happened. And there had been witnesses. What door would she walk through next? Door number one: denial. Door number two: affirm nothing and leave. Choices, choices.

Olivia stood from her chair, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her Cerulean shift dress with the peplum waist. "Meena, it was good to see you. We're done, right?"

After several interminable seconds of intense eye contact, Meena replied, "I believe we are." She watched Olivia leave her office, envious of her houndstooth stilettos. "The girl can dress. I'll give her that."

/

/Late November/

Most of the pre-Thanksgiving dinner Eli spread on the table had been catered. But the turkey—since it was the star of the meal—he took great pride in preparing that himself. Brined for two days in vinegar, salt and a bit of brown sugar, pimento seeds, onion, garlic and one small scotch bonnet pepper (Eli was becoming much less tolerable to spice the older he became). The bird was then lovingly rubbed down with dry spices, the combination of which he would disclose over his dead body.

"Dr. Pope," Edison said, placing his knife and fork on the side of this plate.

"I've told you to drop the formality, son. Your constituents are not here," Eli poked.

"Sorry, sir. That is one of the most delicious meals I've had in a long time. Surely, you needn't have made a fuss for us. This is quite a spread." Edison gestured at the array of dishes dotting the Pope's dinner table.

"Nonsense. What is Thanksgiving but just another Thursday in November. It's not the day of the week that matters. It's the significance we give it that matters. Today, Tuesday, is our Thanksgiving. I had to do something befitting a newly-minted senator," Eli gestured back proudly. "Fiancé of my only daughter." Eli looked at Olivia, seated next to Edison, a smug closed-mouth grin on his face. He was happy that Olivia had stopped pussyfooting around and closed the deal with Davis.

"Speaking of T-day," Edison interjected. We're sorry you can't come down to my family's home in Florida. My parents care more about the whole family spending Thanksgiving together, even more than Christmas! I told them that next year, everyone's coming to us. I hope Liv can replicate this turkey of yours next year when we do Thanksgiving at our house."

Eli clucked in arrogance. "I'd like to see her try. And that's not just because she's never shown real interest in the kitchen, but because my process is meticulous."

"Dad, come on, you got the brining technique from mom."

"Ahh," Eli raised his hand in protest and impending lecture as he swallowed a bite of his beloved turkey meat. "But I perfected it. And the rub?" His finger was now pointing toward the turkey's mutilated body. "That is all mine."

"A brine. I didn't think of that," said Edison.

"For two days, "interjected Olivia.

Eli feigned hurt and surprise that Olivia would divulge more of his process.

"Anything more you know?" Edison said, turning towards Olivia for her dad's secrets.

She shrugged. "Depends on how much he likes you," she smiled playfully. Olivia had begun to feel that she and Edison were back on track and moving forward.

"I'll give you one key spice," Eli said. "The rest you will have to figure out or make your own."

"What's that?" Edison eagerly replied, leaning in.

"Monosodium glutamate."

"MSG?!" Edison was not expecting that. "Well, that's a throwback."

"Some of us never stopped using it, even after the racist campaign which tried to convince America that it gave us headaches."

Olivia listened to Edison and her father go back and forth, effortlessly moving from how MSG became a racial hot potato to other travesties of the relentless American capitalist marketing machine. Olivia could see in their animated exchange a sense of familiarity in the way they spoke. Not as two Black men but as two men used to speaking with each other. Eli relished having another man in the house, one who was only too eager to defer to his infinite wisdom and learn from it. Finally, she cleared her throat and placed her hand on Edison's thigh, "You two seem like old friends."

"Liv, I respect Dr. Pope too much to give him the title of 'friend'."

"I've told you before, son, call me Eli."

"I don't know…my mother would not be pleased."

"Of course not. I'm not one of your little friends…" They both laughed. "But you are a part of this family."

"Thank you, sir… Er, Eli."

…

Edison assisted Eli in the kitchen after dinner, as Olivia excused herself to freshen up.

"Does she seem happy to you?" Edison asked offhandedly as he organized the dishwasher.

"Have you ever heard Olivia talk about happiness?" Eli enquired.

Edison thought about it and could not say it had been a significant part of the hundreds of conversations he and Olivia had. "No, can't say that I have. It's just… there's an absence of something I see in her face."

"I was hoping you knew her better than that by this point. Olivia's been prone to melancholy since she was a teenager. I thought it was just a phase, after we lost her mother. But it continued well into adulthood. It's who she is—pensive and sober, not flighty and whimsical. She cares about real things that matter. You're marrying a woman, Davis, not some schoolgirl with stars in her eyes."

Edison took all of this in, knowing on some level what Eli said was true, but since their engagement, something in her eyes had receded. She was there, but sometimes vacant. He reluctantly shrugged. "I guess you're right. It's just…"

"What? It's what?"

"My mother says that in every relationship, there's one person who's more in love than the other. I think I love Liv more than she loves me. I wouldn't be the first man for whom that's true, but I just hope there's enough there for her to go on this journey with me. She's so perfect for fi— "

"What is it with younger people," Eli wondered aloud. "Why do you bother trying to measure and weigh love like you're buying fish from the market? 'Love is or it ain't'—that's Morrison, son. You and Olivia have love. But more important than that is commitment, trust, duty and partnership. Those comprise the foundation and fuel for marriage, not love." Eli seemed to become worked up by this point, his fists tightening with conviction. "If you think she'll betray trust or commitment, then you have a problem on your hands."

Edison was absentmindedly shaking his head, his eyes staring beyond Eli, pushing Olivia's extracurricular activities out of his mind. She was wearing his ring. Had asked him to propose. And that meant she was sure. So, all was well, and her father was right.

"Well, do you, Davis? Have a problem?"

"No, Sir…Eli. No. Your daughter's been indispensable to my campaign."

"You are underutilizing her. I don't think you have seen her true potential yet. But you will. And when you do," He paused, chuckling low and almost sinister like. "You'll wonder how you ever got so lucky."

"I'm not sure if I would have won without her. We're great partners. I'm sure we can win again. She's the one I'll need by my side if—"

The sound of Olivia's suede aubergine boots resonated on the marble floor of the kitchen. She had excuse herself to the restroom after a sumptuous slice of bourbon pecan pie. 'Slice' is too strong a word since she could barely manage three bites after the meal they consumed but did not want to disappoint her father and the effort he had made. She drank wine to her heart's content, as her father's collection of red wines was even finer than her own. Despite her fatigue, she had a full day at the office tomorrow before needing to slip away for their red eye to Coral Gables. Olivia made a prodigious show of yawning. "I think I've had a bit too much. I'm feeling lethargic now. Shall we go?" She groaned, reaching her hand towards Edison's. It was not truly a question or even a suggestion. They were leaving.

/

/Early December/

In a good mood, Melody waltzed into the offices of Wannamaker and Beene just slightly ahead of schedule for her afternoon meeting with Cyrus Beene. She had been cagey about why she wanted to see him, but when she mentioned Big Jerry's name, Cyrus had been more amenable to making time for her. The Grant name was still worth something, even if she was no longer legally attached to it.

"Mellie Grant here for Cyrus Beene," she stated before Clarissa—the temporary receptionist— could place the current caller on hold.

Clarissa held up an apologetic finger in the air toward Mellie as she continued to listen to the caller on the line, trying to find a gap in which to place him on hold. It had only been two days since her temp agency assigned her this gig after W & B's regular girl, Tanya, called out with the flu. They said she'd be there until the end of the following week. Whilst she was happy for any work in this economy, manning these phones barely gave her time to draw breath.

Fifteen seconds later, Mellie restively cleared her throat, obligating Clarissa to her presence. She did not care if POTUS himself were on the other end of that phone, it was rude to keep her waiting when she had an appointment. One for which she was on-time.

If only everyone could be as patient and as charming as the fella who was here earlier, Clarissa thought, before placing her hand over the phone's mouthpiece. "Ma'am, I am truly sorry. Just one more minute and I promise to be with you." Clarissa flashed her most winning smile. It did not do much for the impatient woman huffing before her, who returned a patronizing closed-mouthed smile.

"By all means, Buttercup. I have oodles of time," Mellie said sarcastically. She began looking around as she absentmindedly drummed her manicured nails on the raised desk. In that minute of waiting, Mellie's eyes were drawn to a yellow sticky note, which clearly read in block letters: 'MS. POPE FROM MR. GRANT' on what appeared to be a jacket sheathed in dry cleaner's plastic. It was affixed over a longer note on Wannamaker & Beene stationary. A frisson of familiarity ran through her upon seeing the note's handwriting. Moving closer for a better vantage point of the penmanship she knew well, Mellie tilted her head to read the upside-down note. She could not make out full sentences, courtesy of the sticky note that lay smack in the middle, but it was enough to conjure a picture that prompted her rage. Enough to justify every inkling of suspicion she felt before. Did they think they could make a fool out of her? Did they think she hand not noticed, during negotiations, the glances they stole at one another when they thought no one was looking? No wonder she was shafted in the divorce.

Mellie was done waiting. "Is Ms. Pope in a meeting?"

"Sir, sir? There's a delivery. Please hold a moment," Clarissa lied. She could feel this woman's mounting irritation and finally turned to address her. "Ma'am, I am so sorry. Thank you for— "

"Where. Is. Ms. Pope? I need to see her," Mellie interjected in a low, deliberate growl.

"You have a meeting with Ms. Pope? That's not possible," Clarissa replied worriedly. "She's out today."

"And when are you expecting her back?"

"Tuesday. Will that be all, Ma'am?"

Just as Clarissa thought they were done, and moved to return to her loquacious caller, Mellie spoke again. "I have an appointment with Cyrus Beene. Call him. Now."

Clarissa did as she was told, if only to get this woman and her negative energy away from her.

...

"Grant, huh? Still holding on to that one?"

"It has a certain ring to it."

"Especially in this town," Cyrus said knowingly. "But Swift isn't bad."

"Not at all, but it won't get me what I want."

"What is it that you want, Mellie? It was hard for me to prepare anything for this meeting you… insisted on, let us say." Pressured him into was more like it. Big Jerry was not only a friend, but his former client for whose political career he had done personal favors in the past, had asked him to take this meeting. This woman, who refuses to let go of the surname of that family's patriarch, was now perched on a bed of entitlement before him. Expecting what, he would soon find out.

"Let us, indeed." Mellie looked at the wall of accolades behind Cyrus before getting to her point. "What I want is for you to tell me why I should not absolutely destroy the reputation of your firm?"

Cyrus was not sure he heard her correctly. His head leaned back on his leather chair whilst he blinked methodically, searching for the sense in her non-sequitur. "Come again?"

"This firm has such a great reputation which is, of course, why I am here. Again. I want the best. But maybe your reign is coming to an end soon. I would hate for it to get out that this firm employs people who fuck the husbands of their clients."

"Mellie, what on earth are you talking about?"

"That whore, Olivia Pope. That's who I'm talking about. She's involved with Fitz. God knows for how long. I caught them flirting, you know, after one of our negotiation sessions. They didn't see me, but ohhhh, did I see them. I don't expect better from him, but Liv never struck me as the type to… I don't know, play out of bounds. I thought we might have been friends, at one point. So much for sisterhood," she gritted out.

Cyrus could not reconcile any of what Mellie was saying with the brilliant, partner-track woman he had known since her law school days. Olivia was his protégé.

Mellie huffed, as she began pacing around Cyrus' office. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"Olivia's been engaged to Edison Davis for two months. They've been together for well over two years. She has—very inconveniently—spent four out of seven days with him and his campaign for the better part of this year. So, yes, I'm having a hard time entertaining anything you're saying," Cyrus declared as he rearranged items on his desk. "Besides, you have been divorced for the better part of a year. If—and that's a big if—anything was happening between those two, it wasn't on your time, so to speak."

Mellie crossed her arms and pursed her lips. "I only hate being as smart as I am when I have to feign idiocy so that the dim can catch up to my level of comprehension."

Cyrus took a deep sigh. His eyes careened to the skies as he briefly pondered the afternoon he could have had were it not for this meeting.

"Do you even know that she was where she said she would be? For all I know, she could have been holed up with my idealistic, romantic, idiotic husband in Charlottesville every weekend. They seem awfully intimate with each other. Maybe that's why he insisted on keeping that property in the settlement. I bet they spread their DNA all over it."

Cyrus reached out a palm toward Mellie, as if he were holding up a STOP sign. "Ok, Mellie, I think that's enough wild conjecture. Look where you are? Where's your evidence of any of this and what do you want from me?"

"There's a piece of dry cleaning at reception. It's Olivia's jacket. There's a note from Fitz saying he knew better than to leave it at her apartment, and that he made the dry cleaner do the job again because it's only the best for her," Mellie mocked. Who knows if the stains are of the Clinton variety. The point is what man is taking a woman's jacket to be dry cleaned. TWICE! Then dropping it off to where she'd need it? Taking so much care to make sure it's pristine? There's nothing professional or even friendly about that. What situation, other than an intimate one would such a man be in with a woman? How did the jacket even come to be in his possession?" Mellie's hands were in the air, claws clutching the straws she tossed out. Her eyes began to reflect the wild assumptions running through her mind and how she could be righted for this perceived wrong.

Cyrus ran a hand over his face. "Mel, assuming there's any truth to this, can we just cut to the part where you tell me what it is you want? Surely, a piece of dry cleaning you discovered only after you arrived, isn't the reason for this meeting. So, let's talk about why you're here in the first place."

Upon hearing his words, Mellie calmed. She was pleased that she would not have to escalate more than she already had. She sat and crossed her legs. "You've been very helpful to Big Jerry in the past, as I understand it." She clasped her bejeweled hands together, pointing her two index fingers at Cyrus. "And now you're going to be helpful to me."

END PART I, TBC

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this. Please let me know what you think, questions you have, or connections you've made.

My questions for you: Does having part I of Olivia's perspective begin to change or broaden anything for you after reading Fitz's episode? Perhaps you're waiting for the conclusion. So, you've met Meena (recall her boyfriend was among the group of guys watching Olitz dance in episode 8's flashback). What do you think of that conversations. Is Mellie reaching here, or waht? But what will Cyrus do in response, do you think? Now you know about the circumstances of Tariq's death :(. What are you hoping to see in part II (lol, it's mostly written, but I'm curious).

I know it's a lot of story (not an apology; just a fact). I appreciate those of you who have stayed along for the ride. If you're new, shout-out to you and send some love.

I'll do that Q&A thing I normally do after Olivia's chapter is complete. I'll address the ones from episodes 11 & 12.

Love, Petunia