Episode Thirteen, Part I: Cranes in the Sky
Flashback
"...has Olivia Pope found time for romance and personal fulfillment?"
"I had a very public moment with Senator Davis, and since then I have decided it would be best to not talk about my personal life. I only have the right to speak on behalf of myself and not the other people in my life."
Friday Night, New York, Labor Day Weekend
Is there anything more thrilling than anticipation? Anything more capable of holding inside it every desire and delicious expectation? Something that could eschew the unpleasantness of disappointment, dissatisfaction, and—the most disdainful of all—consequences? No, there was nothing that could replace anticipation.
Here she was.
Here he was.
Finally.
Together, face to face. One minute they were walking down a hallway and the next her back was against the wall because she did not want the night to end. Did not want his closeness to recede.
The warm sweep of air between them comingled, becoming one, so close were their mouths. Intimate and yet not touching. Much like the rest of their bodies in the narrow, deceivingly shallow depth of the alcove leading to Olivia's hotel room.
Pressed up against the wall next to the door, her hands clasped the silvery lavender cloth that held her key pass. The space between her body and his was as narrow as the envelope-sized bag she held in her hands. Ballooning and deflating with greater and greater drama, Olivia's chest barely restrained a heart that threatened to leap right out of its delicate cavity. Its wild staccato echoed in her ears, and so too did the fear that he could hear it.
"Thank you for seeing me to my room," Olivia said. "You didn't have to."
"My pleasure," Fitz responded, as his eyes tilted up from her lips to meet her gaze. "I had to make sure you were safe. It's very late."
"Well… this is me," she said, gesturing toward room 1132.
X
That exchange was minutes ago before she lost all sense of time and distance. Before the magnetic force they'd fought all night proved its power. Instead of turning around to slip into the protective haven of her room, Olivia stood there welded to the ground.
Now, with her back against the wall, the subject of an inviolable desire she seemed incapable of banishing was millimeters in front of her, seemingly enraptured by er, too. Why would he not touch her? She wondered. Was he over her? She banished the thought because the last few hours with him testified otherwise. Or did she read that wrong? In that hallway, against that wall, she craved him, but cravenness had her in a chokehold, unable to voice the fullness of her wanting for him. It was not rejection she feared, but the tomorrow of it all. Before the borders of doubt's shadow could fully envelop her, she beat it back.
Olivia recalled the last time they were this close. They had been dancing to Janet Kay at Maroon. The way he held her then, she longed for it now that she did not have to deny how good it felt. The memory of his palms caressing the back of her jeans and the flood it produced inside them still owned her. Recalling that memory shot a bolt of electricity through her, producing constellations of goose pimples on her nearly bare arms.
Cocooned inside her own remembrance and anticipation, Olivia did not register the words emanating from Fitz's mouth, too busy was she staring at it with a pornographic wonder. The movement of the pink flesh; its prettiness, its petiteness.
"You're cold, again" Fitz observed, derailing Olivia's plans.
The opposite, in fact, is what Olivia felt. She drew back slightly, attempting to clarify. "What," she replied hoarsely.
"I said I'm not surprised you're cold. This hotel's air conditioning is turned up to Siberia."
"I'm not cold. I promise."
The tentacles of her wanting whipped inside her, urging her towards Fitz. Who wanted to talk when the luxurious velvet of his mouth beckoned? Talk was cheap.
Needing for herself—and for him—to quench the flames rising inside her.
She was suffocating with curiosity, staring at his mouth. Kissing him seemed the only solution to drawing breath again. It's still you. It's only ever been you, Olivia thought.
Then she lunged herself at him, closing the short distance between their lips. She vanquished his air and with it the words he was about to say.
At last.
The excruciating wait was finally over. Their mouths were one. His felt sweet and supple between her own. As she feasted on Fitz's lips, she felt his resistance crumble. His kiss was a garden bursting into life—plush, vibrant and full. Desire bloomed in her like vines claiming space up against a brick wall.
His hands moved to hold, tenderly, the sides of her face. The softness of that hold was a contrast to the willfulness of his tongue as it parted her lips, earnestly discovering interior of her mouth.
Her hands moved from his shoulders to rearrange the curls at the back of his neck. Her body undulated into his. She could cry from the sweet relief of tasting him. Of finally being back in his arms, familiar and yet completely new.
How had she denied herself this feeling for so long? How many nights had she conjured the way his tongue would feel on every part of her body? Never mind the gap. That time receded in her mind, for she could only accommodate the sound of the moan he made as he kissed her deeply, completely.
Their bodies sandwiched and heated, her back arched in an opining curve seeking more. Whatever he would give, she would be his anticipating recipient.
He sucked on her tongue and the sound she made caused him to say "oh, God". It was possibly the sexiest thing she had heard in a long while.
One of his hands continued holding her face, enjoying the fruits of her mouth. His other hand swept up and down the silken crepe of her pant-covered thigh. Before she knew it her ankles were clasped at his lower back, one hand on his sinewy shoulders, the other clutching his curls for survival.
For months she had pushed away metal clouds. Now here he was offering her a slice of unadulterated blue sky in the middle of the night. She felt needy. But she did not care, only wished to feel for once. Olivia could not remember the last time kissing felt this good or made her this wet. He was giving her so much to feel, including the hardening of his concealed cock against the exact place she longed to feel him.
"Fiiitz," she breathily moaned.
He filled her with wanting. Was she ready to invite him inside?
Suddenly she felt the loss of him as he pulled back, ever so briefly to look at her. Heavy and hooded, Olivia's eyes danced from side to side, hoping to read on Fitz's face that he had merely stopped for air. Anything un-resembling a feeling of regret or reproach about what was happening between them.
His eyes did not meet hers in those agonizing seconds their lips were apart. He remained mute. Oh, to know the thoughts running through his pretty head. Instead, he stared down at her mouth, her chin, stroked the lines of her heart-shaped jaw before those steely blues met the query in her warm brown eyes.
"I want you, Olivia…" Fitz said.
Relieved, she inhaled sharply, preparing, once again, to deny them both oxygen. She responded by covering his mouth with hers in earnest.
Who was she right now? A woman who was about to give herself permission, that's who. A woman pulling him in instead of away.
Away.
Away.
With her arms once again wrapped around Fitz's neck and no room for Jesus between them both, a fleeting thought of seeing him with another woman earlier that night visited her mind and the momentary rage she felt. She had instantly regretted the decision to come to New York after all.
But…
There would not be this
The sublime rapture held within a kiss
His euphoric baritone in her ear, simply bliss
Staying in Washington would have been remiss
This town, this night pulled her from denial's abyss
Early August, One Month before New York
Having opened her front door, Olivia nearly stepped on the envelope that was casually lying on her living room's floor. The envelope read 'special delivery'. The concierge must have slipped it under her door for her immediate attention. The 'DO NOT BEND' command written in capital letters was brash enough to make her stop in her tracks and bend down to rescue it for a closer look.
"I can't believe you would rather get yelled at by a woman on a stationary bike on a Saturday morning, instead of absorbing the peaceful vibes of a yoga class," Abby sputtered out over the phone, after throwing her head back to take in a large gulp of water.
"Abby, you're not going to die. You'll be fine," Olivia chuckled.
It was Abby's first-time attending Olivia's Saturday morning Soul Cycle class. She had been attending within a month after opening OPA in the spring.
"I do yoga during the week now…when I can. But Michaela's class gives me a real end-of-week boost," Olivia said as she examined the outer envelope trying to guess what was inside.
On the other end of the phone, Abby's lips twisted into a smirk. "Your weekly booster, huh? I thought you had a guy for that?"
Olivia's instinct was to throw something at her. If only Abby was there.
A snail plodding through molasses moved faster than Olivia's hand moved to unseal that envelope. A slight tremor rippled through her gut. She stopped and threw the stiff-backed paper onto her coffee table instead.
Olivia's lack of response prompted Abby to tone down the sass.
"Liv, are you there? Hello? Is everything OK?"
"Umm, yeah. Everything's fine. Of course."
"You sound doubtful."
"It's nothing," Olivia said, a little distracted. "I'm just looking through my mail. Listen, Abby, I'll see you on Monday. Ok?"
No sooner had she ended the call than a familiar voice rang out.
"Huck?" Olivia wore the expression of confusion. "What are you doing here?!"
"All done, Liv." His voice was coming from down the hall but getting closer.
"Have you been here the whole time?" Olivia pointed toward Huck in inquiry.
"Uhh, yeah. Just doing my weekly sweep," he deadpanned, offering nothing more.
"Yes, but it's Saturday, not Wednesday. I thought we agreed on Wednesdays."
"Bad guys thrive on routines: it makes their job easy."
"But I also thrive on routine, which is why I said Wednesdays were optimal."
"Optimal for you, sure; for the job, no."
When worked late nights, Huck would stay and walk her to her car. On one of these trips, his keen senses and military training alerted him to a small flash at the back of Olivia's car. It turned out to be a tracking tag that had been applied just behind her rear license plate. When he discovered it had been there for 3 days before he noticed, he took more precautions about Oliva's security. As many as she would allow. No to a bodyguard, but yes to sweeping her apartment (and its public areas) every week. To Olivia 'weekly' meant once per week; to Huck it simply meant done on a weekly basis, whether that be once, twice or thrice in a given week.
Olivia could go round in circles the entire afternoon being defensive about Huck's logic. Her business was growing successfully, her name quickly becoming infamous in this town. A Black woman so highly efficient at her job inspired awe in some (those she helped) and disdain in others (the ones in her crosshairs). With disappointment comes incredible determination for success. And Olivia was successful: building a name for herself as a wunderkind in Washington, D.C. and beyond. Soon, the September issue of The Washington Flyer would be on the newsstand, and she would be its cover girl.
Olivia waited for Huck to leave before she picked up the envelope again. She removed a smaller, decorative envelope from inside. Running her hand over the white pearlescent envelope, she could feel the texture of strategically dotted holes of varying sizes. Some were pin sized, others large enough to slide a pencil through. She held the envelope away from her face in order to behold the totality of the design formed by these punctures which cleverly left an un-perforated pearl expanse at the center in the shape of a heart. Her own fist-shaped organ beat faster.
The Chandani Adikeri Gallery
Invites you to the opening of its 2nd International Biennale
Love and Lace: The Present Absence
A stunning mixed media exhibition featuring the works of twelve international artists of color—established and new—addressing the eternally relevant topic of love. Using lace as both a textile and a concept, artists leave behind the clichés of love, instead, laying bare in their work that which is typically concealed.
Friday, September 4th, 2015
Refreshments served
R.S.V.P to info
No later than Friday, August 14th
36 Orchard Street, New York, NY 10002
Early August, New York City
"Fitzgerald, are you sure about this?"
"Gwinnie, we've been through this. I need my own space."
Fitz had spent most of the week in New York, partly to visit his aunt Gwendolyn, or Gwinnie as he has affectionately called her since he was a boy. He and his cousin Cara were in regular contact, but he had not seen his aunt since the start of the new year, as is their family tradition. Fitz had so much going on in DC, but the other reason he was in Gotham was to complete the purchase of his new apartment. He had known it was the one as soon as he saw the light flooding through the bank of windows in the open-plan layout. The proliferation of construction in upper Manhattan brought with it cranes in the sky—near and distant. But this could not distract him from the trees, flowers and bodies of water upon which he could gaze in Central Park below. A view he could get lost in or feel renewed by.
"I understand, but an Upper West Side apartment which will only be graced by your presence on the weekends? You know perfectly well this house has plenty of room for you. Always has."
"I just…" Fitz shrugged, thumbing to the next page of the New York Times on his iPad. "Find it a little confining. That's all."
"A five-bedroom town house is confining to you?" Gwendolyn said incredulously of her long-time Upper East Side abode. "First my own daughter, now you. No one wants to live with me." She rested her thin face upon an elegantly manicured, but wizened hand.
"Uncle Bernard would hate to hear you say that."
"He doesn't count. Where's he going? Besides, he doesn't truly live here; only when I need him to," she said of her geriatric lover. "No," she sighed, "it's only my children that are abandoning me."
"Some of us are over forty with needs," Fitz said affectionately, knowing how exaggerated his aunt could become. "That's called being an adult. That's not abandonment."
"To do adult things, you mean?" She smiled self-satisfyingly, as she raised the blue and white floral patterned porcelain cup to her painted lips.
"For space! Privacy, if you prefer," Fitz said.
"So, what's her name, this privacy?"
Fitz chuckled as he looked to the ceiling. His aunt was most amusing.
"It's not like that at all," he went on, explaining his rationale. "I'm going to be a student again in a very intense program. I'll be doing in one year what normally takes two. My weekends are going to be full, which would mean constantly disappointing you with how much time I don't have to spend with you. I'd only be a ghost staying here. It's better if I'm intentional about seeing you and Cara when I'm here."
She looked at him with the mix of warmth and pride only a mother would have. "You are very good, counselor." She patted his hand.
"Speaking of Cara, does she know you're buying rather than renting? Her friend, Maria, over at Sotheby's could have found you any number of exquisite rentals. Had them furnished to your taste, even. Buying a one-bedroom…Fitzgerald," Gwendolyn pooh poohed.
"Cara's the one whose forecast suggested that I buy! And its two-bedrooms on Central Park North. Wait until you see the view. Just stellar," Fitz said excitedly.
Gwen sensed she was losing this battle with her only nephew. She revisited her earlier query. "You're seeing someone. That's not a question because I know it to be true. My question is will she be tagging along on some of these school weekends?"
"What am I 15 in boarding school again?"
"As I recall, you were quite fond of sneaking girls into your dorm back then. Your mother was so— ". She paused not wanting to fall down that rabbit hole. What was it about grief that never truly goes away, no matter how many years it has been tucked away? Gwen thought she'd be playing proxy mother to Fitz whilst he attended boarding school in New York, away from his mother in California. Little did she know her sister's cancer would grow so aggressively mowing down so many in her life, forever staining with sadness their memories of her. She would always regret that Isabel never met Cara who arrived a year after her death.
Fitz caught his aunt's reluctance and grabbed her hand.
"It's Ok. I remember."
"I don't mean to keep pressing you," Gwen said as she squeezed Fitz's hand. "I still think of you as that boy because that's when you became more than my nephew. You became my son. And not just because your mother wanted it that way." Gwen dabbed at the corner of her eyes, making sure her mascara did not abandon its waterproofing duty. "So, my boy," she recovered, "will I be meeting anyone special soon?"
Fitz let her down gently. He and Angela were water under the bridge. If there was even a bridge to begin with. Theirs was a not a love endeavor, but more of a casual connection whilst she was in D.C. on special assignment. Having been stationed in the FBI's Omaha field office had left her few dating prospects outside of her colleagues and she did not see herself going down that road. She asked him out, surprisingly, and he loved her confidence. He loved, too, the clear understanding of what they had, which allowed him to be free with her. He learned a lot from Angela, and he rediscovered in himself a penchant for familiarity over variety.
Nevertheless, she persisted. Her. The small and mighty wonder was embedded herself. In his brain. In his heart. It seemed the dying embers of Olivia Pope would blaze just when he thought the fire was starved of oxygen. Since he was the only source of oxygen nursing the flame, she would never die.
Fitz grabbed his jacked and kissed his aunt on the cheek. He was heading to Cara's office. They would be meeting with an interior designer.
Mid-August, Washington, D.C.
Olivia and Abby were coming to a close on the agenda for their weekly meeting.
"Ok, got it. Is that it?"
"Oh!" Olivia remembered. "Before I forget, Huck's discovery file on the Klauss family is ready for your perusal. I made some notes." Olivia tilted her head, "We've got a lot to sort out before their IPO in October," Olivia relayed. "Closets full of skeletons."
"Uh huhn…Okaaaaay," Abby dragged out, waiting for Olivia to complete her thought.
Olivia got to the point. "So…Stephen is leading on this. He'll be briefing you, along with Harr— "
"Why would that be a problem?" Abby pre-empted.
Olivia rose from her desk and walked over to close her door. She sat on the edge of her desk, facing Abby. Her palms rested on either side of her thighs.
"Your date with him was last night, right?"
Abby closed her eyes reluctantly. "Sure was," she said, offering nothing more.
"I thought you would have regaled me with every lurid detail before we got down to business. When you didn't, I was momentarily impressed that you were exercising restraint, for once, by waiting until the end. But I now see you had no intention of bringing it up. Was it that bad?"
"It's not that it was bad. It's that I think only one of us thought it was a date."
"Oh, Abby…I'm sorry." Without thought Olivia went on. "This is why— "
"Don't you dare," the redhead sternly interjected.
Olivia was a bit taken aback. The tension she felt in this moment was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. Open for five months, Olivia Pope & Associates had been running like an unstoppable machine for the last three months. Olivia did not want internal strife jeopardizing their potential.
"Don't you lecture me about workplace romances when you fell in love with your own client's husband," Abby said tightly.
"You better be very careful here," Olivia said defensively.
"When you were my friend, you could not wait to hook me up with Stephen. And now— "
"Now it's different."
"Why?"
"You know why," Olivia bluntly insisted.
Abby paused. "I should have taken his unavailability last year as an omen." She shook her head to herself, beginning to assess why things between her and Stephen would never work. Could never work.
"He was going through a busy time then. He seems more settled now," Olivia excused.
"Because you settled him. This job settled him. I wondered why he left that sweet security expert gig to work for you. He got to fly all over the place." Abby said and then began muttering to herself. "He probably left a trail of sad women wherever he went."
Olivia clasped her hands. "I didn't have to try very hard. He was all too ready to say yes to this opportunity. I think he was tired of flitting from place to place. He needed an excuse. I was just the first to offer him one." Olivia considered the irony. "The security expert needed some security."
Abby had a new insight. "Or maybe," she looked up into Olivia's eyes. "Stephen saw more than a job when he agreed to work for you."
Olivia dismissed the insinuation in her statement, choosing instead to go back to something Abby said earlier.
"Hey, I'm still your friend." Olivia said after an oblique silence filled the room.
"Be that as it may, you're also my boss. You've made that very clear. Thank god there's no in-house HR. Otherwise, I'm sure I'd be put on leave, and he would still be working. The company always protects its best assets."
Olivia inhaled a sharp breath as that dagger pierced her. She did not want to get distracted by the hurtful accusation Abby made. As if Olivia had a hierarchy of preferred employees. Yes, Stephen was her deputy, but only because he had experience in the worlds of politics, business and law. His British accent and smooth charm opened doors for them. Each one of her team members was an asset to OPA and to her life. Each of them was there because they had been a friend, or even family, to her. She handpicked them all.
"Abby," Olivia put her hand gently on Abby's arm, wishing to diffuse the cauldron of emotion bubbling inside her.
"Liv, why is it so hard?" Her words were soft; her look distant.
"Mixing work and romance frequently— "
"Not that. I couldn't give a shit. Neither of you has to worry about my working with Stephen. No, I mean why is trying to fall in love so hard?" Her eyes fell to her lap.
Olivia got down on her knees beside Abby's chair and grabbed her hand.
"I don't know. But maybe you should try a little less."
Abby looked at her friend-boss, quizzically. "You mean expect it to just appear out of nowhere?"
"No, of course not. You'll know the right opportunity when it comes along. If it feels forced, or like you're the only one who's trying, then that's a sign. I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't be asking me. I'm no expert on love, clearly. I just think if it feels too hard, it's probably a waste of trying." She raised up once more.
Abby decided it was time for her to get up as well and get on with the mountain of work she needed to reduce. There was no use wallowing. At least she knew sooner rather than later that Stephen was no longer an option worth pursuing. She was left to shake off the feeling of disappointment.
"Go easy on yourself," Olivia said as her friend began walking away. "It's barely been two years since the divorce and then there's the nightmare of a marriage before that. You've been through a lot, Abby. Love takes time."
"Time but not effort."
"That's not what I said."
"You're right. I shouldn't be soliciting love advice from you. I'm gonna call Frannie."
"Ouch."
Before leaving, Abby had one last question to raise. "Abrupt topic change coming atchya," she announced as she punted a make-believe ball in Olivia's direction. "How come you don't talk to me about dating your father's underling?"
"Ooof," Olivia scoffed, throwing back the make-believe ball thrown her way. "Please don't say it like that."
"But isn't that what he is? Your dad's assistant?"
"He's not," Olivia said matter of fact. "He's an Anthropology department tech who works with my father. Anyway, there's nothing to talk about. Unlike you, I don't mix my professional life with my private life."
"OK, friend," Abby said sarcastically. "Whatever. At least he's interested in you."
"Yeah," Olivia said with a tentative smile as Abby inched closer to the door. Their meeting had officially ended fifteen minutes ago.
"Hey, Liv?"
Olivia was already checking her agenda for the rest of the day. She looked up to see Abby holding onto the door's handle.
"Hmm?"
"Love takes time. Go easy on yourself."
X
Olivia sat at her desk after Abby left, ruminating over her insinuation about Stephen. Olivia shook her head to rid it of Abby's accusation. Her friend was upset and disillusioned. Olivia knew better than anyone how easy it was to find barrels of blame to hang onto when the reality in front of you wasn't what you needed it to be. Work was her refuge from complicated thoughts about men and the ways in which they were always disrupting her life when they decided they wanted or needed something. Their wants and needs invariably required that she do things she wasn't ready to, or just did not want to do. She had been working through this, but Stephen was not in that pile. He already had a pile, alongside Huck, Cyrus and Harrison. The easy pile; the platonic pile.
A notification tone drew Olivia out of her thoughts
J: hey, r we still on 4 2nte?
O: Umm, change of plans. I had a call from a potential client who needs to meet this evening.
J: can't u put him off?
O: No, I can't put *her* off. I've told you I'm still building this firm and demonstrating our flexibility. It would be silly of me to say no.
J: but ok 2 say no 2 me? u alwys do this
O: *always* do what, exactly?
J: this! im the afterthought
Her nostrils flexed as a breathy current of frustration fled her body. Was he really picking a fight with her via text? How could she be accused of 'always' doing anything with a man she'd been seeing for just over two months. In an attempt to carry around less stress, Olivia had recently been negotiating which things were worth letting go and which things were worth the fight. She sent a placating blue bubble his way.
O: tell you what…we'll do our usual Tuesday but on Thursday this time. OK?
J: i want 2 see u sooner can't we do 2mrrw?
Olivia rolled her eyes before replying. Why would he not just take what she had to give?
O: Wednesday? You know I have a standing meeting.
J: oh right… listen liv…
The three dots percolated on her screen and Olivia felt a mild sense of foreboding as she prepared for his next missive. She intervened before she could be proven correct.
O: I'm sorry about tonight. I'm gonna miss our time together. I'm really looking forward to seeing you on Thursday :).
The dots ceased their activity for interminable seconds before his next green bubble arrived.
J: k
Olivia tried to massage his ego to prevent any sulking.
O: I especially miss the part after the Gettysburger…
This worked.
J: c u 7 on thurs wear that thing i like ;).
Mid-August, DCA
"We ask that you please fasten your seatbelts at this time and secure all baggage underneath your seat, or in the overhead compartments. We also ask that your seats are in the upright position and your tray tables stowed for take-off. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and mobile phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. Thank you for choosing Virgin American..."
The flight attendant's voice began receding into the background as Fitz followed all of the usual instructions. Having turned off his devices for the requisite time period, he checked the pocket of the seat in front of him. It was his third week in a row taking the shuttle into La Guardia airport, and the last two weeks the reading material was the same. He did a perfunctory glance to see if anything had changed.
Perhaps it had. He could make out the Washington Flyer magazine's headline color was different this time. He drew it out of its hideaway.
Fitz did not know how long he had sat there frozen, his mouth slightly open and his eyes arrested. Long enough that tray service had begun.
She was the last person he expected to see on this 40-minute flight, and yet it seemed wholly appropriate to find her here, nestled in his hands. Olivia Pope was the cover star for Washington Flyer's annual 'Best of Washington' September issue. Fitz quickly thumbed his way to her interview without a second thought.
The article's header image displayed a group of five capable professionals backing a formidable-looking Olivia, who stared down the lens of the camera with her arms crossed over her pewter-toned pantsuit. He bought it. He would call her in a crisis or for advice on how to avoid one.
He stared a while longer before diving into the interview. There was one part that particularly amused him: a real battle of wits.
Interviewer: With all this success, how do you find time to balance everything as a woman?
OP: The firm is my key focus right now, but, to your question: I think everything in life is about balance. No matter who you are and what you want, you have to find a way to hold on to what's meaningful to you. That's true for everyone, of every gender.
Interviewer: Perhaps. But certainly, you would agree that women encounter more challenges in the professional world just to compete on an equal footing. For instance, despite the Lilly Ledbetter Act, the reality of equal pay for women is still an obstacle wholly unconquered.
OP: The Ledbetter [Fair Pay] Act is an unprecedented piece of legislation for fighting pay discrimination. Which is why OPA pays our associates based on clear criteria for junior and senior associates, irrespective of gender. Our focus remains on the work, not the bodies of those who perform it.
Interviewer: Sure, sure. But what of Olivia Pope the person? You have had quite the twelve months. It was nearly a year ago that we saw you and—now Senator—Edison Davis make a spectacle on Connecticut Avenue last September. Shortly after the two of you were engaged. You played a key role in his historic election, only to then announce a surprise end to the relationship this past February. And now this. Olivia Pope & Associates appears to be thri—.
OP: It very much is thriving. My team and I have worked incessantly to ensure we can help our clients in as many ways as they need. We're building an incredible portfolio.
Interviewer: Yes, everything appears to be going swimmingly. But what readers would love to know is, in the midst of all this success, has Olivia Pope found time for romance and personal fulfillment?
OP: I had a very public moment with Senator Davis, and since then I have decided it would be best to not talk about my personal life. I only have the right to speak on behalf of myself and not the other people in my life. But, I will say that my father [Dr. Eli Pope, Chair of Anthropology at Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History] and I have been spending more quality time together. Family means a lot to me.
A crooked smile graced Fitz's face and his chest inflated with a feeling of pride to which he knew he had no right, but still welcomed. Her moxie leapt off the page. So much so that he painted pictures in his head of her expressions, her hand gestures, deciding when and after which words she crossed a leg, entwined her hands to temper her frustration; or tilted her head to the side in polite disbelief masquerading as keen interest. Within each reply was evident her verbal mastery at skating around controversy and unwelcomed lines of inquiry. All whilst remaining apolitical. Brava, he thought.
And then it hit him: he missed her. Talking to her. Listening to her. Making her smile. Gazing into her expression-filled eyes. Simply being in her presence.
Fitz chided himself for the sense of possession he felt over her. Being her friend whilst watching her date men was not something he could handle. She had broken his heart nearly a year ago. He had understood then. They met under the worst possible circumstances and had tried to navigate reality and fantasy the best they could. Even when he learned she broke off her engagement, his feelings were complicated: sad for her, but hopeful there could possibly be a them. Until he found her letter under his door, beseeching, no—imploring—that he let her breathe. As if she were a newly uncorked bottle of red wine, the full complexity of which needed time and space to develop. The message to him was clear: step back.
And so, he did.
The plant, though, was for her. About her and everything bright and beautiful he wished for her future. But he admitted to himself that it was for him, too. If she chose to keep the gardenia plant, despite her complete unfamiliarity with caring for it, he could enjoy knowing that a part of him was with her every day.
When she texted him weeks later with a picture of the plant and a 'thank you', the relief that had washed over him was surprising. She had not offered much more than that, and to bombard her with matters of the heart when she seemed laser-focused, felt selfish. He kept it as cordial as he was capable of, letting his face—which she could not see—do all the emoting. She never texted him again and he took that as a message. But the biggest sign of her disinterest came weeks ago when he learned, accidentally through Kenny, that Olivia was dating some guy she met through her father. She was dating now. And it was not him. He had not even been a consideration.
Incapable of harboring denial, Fitz would never refute what he felt for Olivia. Feels for her still. It has to be love, he thought, because no woman had inspired this kaleidoscope of emotion that dwelled inside him. Feelings that were inconveniently squatting and refusing to leave despite attempts at eviction. Not to deny, but to simply create more space to be useful in the world. Teaching at Howard—though not without challenges— had brought him a sense of purpose that continued to expand. Working with Alvin and most of the faculty (Kilkenny was still standoffish) was inspiring. But, after two semesters, he knew that it would not be enough, and that in his position he would be limited in what he could change for the school and the students. He had more in him to give, and there was nothing and no one to stop him. If not now, when?
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to La Guardia airport. For your safety, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the Captain has turned off …"
Fitz checked his watch as he tuned out the attendant's voice. He had nearly two hours to drop his things at his new place, freshen up and get to his pitch meeting with Kyle Sweeney.
Mid-August, Washington, D.C.
Kenny is accustomed to walking into Olivia's apartment. That is… only when she knows to expect him, and it is a decent hour of the day. On this late Saturday morning, she does, and the door is unlocked, as is their custom. Abby refused to attend another Soul Cycle class with Olivia, so she has recruited Kenny, though he would rather be in bed.
"Whew, these flowers are strong! You can smell them even before you open the door." Kenny said as a greeting. But it was to no one, as the living room was empty.
Kenny checked the kitchen, which was also unoccupied. He glanced down the hallway to see only closed doors.
He began fanning himself. It was mid-August in the swamp land that was D.C. Why, oh why did Olivia have the window open instead of the air conditioner blasting, he wondered.
Kenny ambled over to the window to do what needed to be done.
"Ms. Vera," Kenny said to the gardenia plant perched prominently in front of the window, "you are looking and smelling very beautiful today, but this window? Mama, I gotta close it." He leaned in to whisper to the plant, "so sorry, gi— "
Before he could finish came a distant crescendo of Olivia's voice from behind her bedroom door.
"I've told you already that I have plans for the day. Why do you keep pushing this, Jake?"
"I'm pushing because I want to spend time with you?! What kind of interpretation is that?"
"That's not what I said! Stop twisting my words."
"I said how about we go down to the Georgetown Waterfront to have lunch. Have a nice walk, get some ice cream. Make a day of it."
"And I said, again—because it hadn't changed since yesterday when I first told you—I have plans."
"With who?"
"Jake, why are you interrogating me? What is this about?"
"I'm not! I'm trying to take you on a date. Outside your apartment for once."
"I don't need all of that from you. What we have works and— "
"For YOU. It works for you. I'm starting to feel like a glorified joystick that— "
Before he could feel any more embarrassed on their behalf, Kenny made his presence known by opening and loudly slamming the door. "Liv, I'm here!"
"Be right there!" Olivia shouted out.
"Looks like there's one man with a key to your apartment," Jake said snidely under his breath.
Olivia heard him but did not bother to refute his incorrect assumption. What did it matter? She exited her room with one shoe still untied. Her hair, blown out waves which she wore down past her shoulders during the week, was pulled high into a secure ponytail. She meandered carefully down the hallway toward Kenny. Her face lit up into a smile as if it had not spent the last fifteen minutes tense with displeasure.
"Ca-yuuuuute," Kenny pronounced upon seeing Olivia. They embraced. "Love the 'fit."
"Thanks," she smiled, over-enthusiastically. "Hold this," she instructed of the oversized cropped, pale blue sweatshirt she would need after her class, when she'd be left chilled after whisking away the sweat caused by the intense workout.
Olivia stood back from Kenny and crouched down to finish tying the laces on her left shoe.
"Lu Lu Lemons got for-real workout clothes now? Not just overpriced loungewear?" Kenny said, impressed with Olivia's sleek black, v-shaped, high waisted leggings and long-line sports bra with a black and white cross-hatched design. Both top and bottom had slim, decorative piping in neon yellow running down both sides.
"Why do Black people put an unnecessary 's' on everything?" Olivia mused with a chuckle. Her mood was brightened from Kenny's presence. "Yes, Lu Lu Lemon now makes over-priced workout gear as well as yoga gear," she informed as she rolled and packed the sweatshirt into a petite gathered-handle bag. Her cycling shoes, towel and insulated glass water bottle soon followed.
"And here you are buying it. Tuh, couldn't be me," Kenny replied. "You got money to waste."
Olivia waved him off as she ambled into the kitchen.
"You must be the infamous Kenny," Jake said as he made his way down the hall to join the two, still tucking in his shirt. His hand stretched outward in greeting.
Kenny looked from his hand back up to his face before politely saying, "I don't shake hands, but…I'm guessing you're Jake?"
"Ohhhkaaaay," Jake said in response to Kenny's not wanting to shake hands. "But, yeah, that's me—Jake. Unless there are others I don't' know about?" His smile held within it a veil of insecurity.
Kenny waved his hand to say hello. "It's good to finally put a face to a name."
"Likewise, "added Jake.
"Kenny, Jake. Jake, Kenny." Olivia said as she emerged from the kitchen with a spray bottle full of water. She immediately made a b-line toward the air conditioning panel.
"We've met." Both Kenny and Jake said in unison.
The two men looked at and away from each other periodically in awkward avoidance as Olivia failed to facilitate conversation. Too busy was she assessing Vera's needs and checking the day's forecast.
"So…" Jake said, holding his tie. "Looks like you two have plans outside of Olivia's apartment."
"Yep. Sure do," was Kenny's straightforward response. He did not believe in rudeness, and so Kenny tried to allow Jake to steer the conversation since he—Kenny—was not the least bit curious about him. Kenny recalled the many times in which Mother Gordon would say 'Mi spirit just nuh tek to him.' It was the perfect way to describe his unmotivated response, or lack thereof, to Jake in this moment.
"Looks like it's going to be a scorcher today, Jake said, still facing Kenny, observing Olivia out of the corner of his eyes.
"That's D.C. in August for ya," Kenny shrugged.
For her part, Olivia was wholly engrossed in a familiar ritual. Having turned off the air conditioning, she then re-opened the main window. She lowered a perforated shade to manipulate the amount of direct sun exposure to which Vera would be subjected whilst she was gone for half the day. Olivia sunk her index finger into the potted plants soil to gauge how much water it needed. She was satisfied that it was merely the soil's surface that was parched. Spray bottle in hand, she began spritzing as she marveled at the velvety crimson buds in their full summer bloom. A wistfulness came over her as she recognized that summer would soon be over and with its end, Vera's darling buds of May, June, July and August would be decaying on her floor.
But she was too proud of herself, in this moment, to let the impending loss of Vera's red flowers cover her with the blues. Olivia could hear Connie imploring her thoughts in a different direction. Having never taken care of a plant in her life, Olivia had successfully reared her first plant baby. The sense of accomplishment felt so different from the success of delivering results for a client or landing a magazine cover. This win was just for her. She wished she could convey to someone besides Connie how silly she felt about being this giddy over the fact that the plant had been in her care for four months and had not died. In fact, it was flourishing. She grasped a flower in her hand and breathed in its sweetness. There was only one person who would not look at her as if she were crazy to be so pleased with herself.
She had not called him to say 'thank you' right away, deciding that it would be best to wait until she could show Fitz evidence of her growing green thumb. Olivia had glimpsed Fitz with her former law school classmate on more than one occasion. It had not been her wish to see him this way. It had not been long after she received the plant that she glimpsed them out together in Old Town, Virginia. She did not know what to make of him dating another Black woman. Angry, relieved or some other emotion—it did not matter. She could create an argument to feel a way about him moving on, though it was none of her business. Nor was she his initiation into the lives of Black women.
He seemed happy with Angela when Olivia saw them. Enough that, after several weeks when she had decided texting him a 'thank you' for the plant would be better (easier) than calling him, his only response had been:
F: I'm so pleased you like it! I hope the instructions are clear enough for a first-timer.
She sent him a picture of the plant to show proof of his great instruction.
F: Wow. I doubt there's anything you can't do. She may be your first, but she won't be your last
O: You're too optimistic
Had been her quick reply.
F: Me? Never
He shot back.
And then nothing.
When she saw him a week later with Angela, his lack of follow up became clear.
Fitz was wrong anyway. After nearly four months, Vera was still Olivia's only plant. Maybe one was all she had in her.
Jake theatrically clearing his throat brought Olivia's attention back to the two men in the room.
"Liv, I'll see you tonight?"
"How about I call you later and let you know?" She said approaching him for a goodbye.
"Sure," he said disappointedly. "But promise me you'll think about Labor Day weekend?"
Olivia kissed Jake briefly.
"I haven't decided yet, but I'll let you know if I'm staying. Why?"
His face twisted in mischief. "I may or may not want to surprise you."
"I hate surprises," she squinted suspiciously.
"Oh, come on," Jake said, placing his hand at the small of her back. "I want to do something nice."
Olivia took a deep breath, beating back an instinct. She was not in a position to talk about this right now.
"Fine, I'll let you know."
X
Kenny convinced Olivia that if she ever wanted him to join her again, he would need a post-workout incentive. They settled on a frozen yogurt place a few blocks from the Soul Cycle in Adam's Morgan.
"You do that class every Saturday?" Kenny asked as they watched the attendant plop toppings into their bowls.
"On the Saturdays when I'm not working, yes," answered Olivia.
"It's so intense!"
"That's what I love about it. The energy and focus I feel when I'm in there are just…" Olivia's eyes brightened as she searched for the word. "It's unmatched. Everything melts away when I'm clipped into those pedals. It's just me and that imaginary road."
"Mhmm," Kenny replied doubtfully. "If I hadn't already attended this class several times a— "
"You lied! You've been!"
"Not to this one specifically. So, technically, I'm not a liar," Kenny argued. "As I was saying…if you were pitching it to me, I would be so amped right now. Instead, I'm here thinking 'is she OK?' I mean, that class is cool and everything, but meeeee? Get up outta my good bed with my good man fi guh exacise?" Kenny made a loud teeth-kissing sound to exclaim his point. "No, sah."
Olivia chortled at him. "It's a good thing Jake isn't 'my man', she said, making air quotations with her fingers. "So, I don't feel that bad."
"Oh, thank God," Kenny said, his body deflating after letting that out. "Because my spirit just don't like him for some reason."
"What do you mean you don't like him. You met Jake for 5 seconds." Olivia queried genuinely.
"And it was enough for a highly accurate spiritual assessment. Besides, don't worry about me liking him. He ain't dickin' me down, so it don't matter."
Olivia picked a blueberry off the top of her white chocolate frozen yogurt. She popped it into her mouth before leaning her head to the side, considering if it did matter to her that Kenny was not keen on Jake.
"Or…is he not puttin' down in the boudoir? Because he gives me very…" Kenny's hands circled the air in search of the right term. "sufficient-dick energy. Like, aggressively basic tees. Know what I mean?"
"Can you mind your business, please?" Olivia responded. She was not prepared to discuss her sex life with Kenny. Ever.
"That's my business. We have a good time together. You literally know nothing about him," she added.
Kenny rolled his eyes. "Mama, I ain't studying him. Neither it seems are you, is my point. All that I need to know I learned this morning in your apartment."
"You barely spoke to him. You were there for all of ten minutes. I was busy getting ready to leave. With you. That wasn't exactly a proper introduction."
Kenny threw up his hands. "Listen, if you like it; I love it." Which is to say he hated it.
"What Jake and I have is uncomplicated and fits into my life. It works." She stabbed at the creamy white substance in her bowl.
"Does he know that? Because all that yelling this morning says otherwise."
Shit. He should not have heard that, Olivia thought, as she straightened her back. She hated sitting on stools with a lack of back support. But all that remained empty was the long bar stretching across the floor to ceiling windows at the front of Menchies.
"You were faster than I thought you'd be getting there," she finally said.
"You didn't hear me come in and I tried not to interrupt. Until I couldn't take it anymore." Kenny shuddered.
"It's nothing. I've been seeing him for, maybe, two months and he has it in his head that there's some next level we need to transition to. I, on the other hand, am not seeking higher heights."
"Mm." Kenny said. He fashioned his hand into a makeshift visor which he put over his brows as he dramatically began looking around the store and out the window.
"What are you doing?" Olivia asked, knowing shenanigans were afoot.
"I'm looking for my friend. You know the one who delivered the first Black senator of Florida and then dumped his ass because she needed more? The one who said, 'fuck being a partner in someone else's firm, I'm gonna start my now shit'. The one who is currently doin' the damn thing, becoming a name people revere and respect. I'm talmbout' the bad bitch on the cover of a magazine. Because this girl in front of me right now got me feelin' like Mariah Carey: I. don't. know. her!"
Kenny put a hand on Olivia's shoulder and drew her body next to his, as much as he could without making her fall off her stool.
He gestured his hand towards the window as if he were sweeping a rainbow across the sky.
"Everything the light touches is yours, Simba. You is free. Did you know that?"
"Would you calm down, please!" Olivia said looking around. "You're the biggest drama queen I know." She readjusted herself onto her seat.
"What you're seeing is a woman who puts nearly all her energy into making a successful, but unpredictable, business, and just wants the rest of her life to be a…piece of cake."
"You hate cake."
"Don't be daft. You know what I mean. Easy."
"But does easy have to be a milquetoast try-hard your father gifted to you?"
"Excuse you. Jake happened to be at my dad's when I took him his birthday cake, but this has nothing to do with my father. Jake is in my life because I want him to be there. He's giving me…" She paused to consider the right words. What was he giving her? Perhaps it was more about what Jake did not give her. What he did not represent. A small sigh unconsciously escaped Olivia's lips. "What I need right now."
"You need him?"
"What's with men twisting my words today? I didn't say that. I meant that my life is fine the way it is right now. It feels…purposeful."
Kenny snort-laughed into his napkin. "Y'all are funny. I wish I wasn't the only one who could see it."
"Who's y'all?"
"You and Geraldo. I swear to god y'all are living the same lives, in parallel. Right down to dating people you won't even claim. Well, in his case, I should say dated," Kenny relayed.
"Oh? Did something happen with Angela?" Olivia did her best to seem disinterested in her attempt at clarification, unwilling to admit the disconnect between head and heart in that moment.
"You knew about that?"
"'Knew'?" Olivia quoted with her fingers
"Aht, Aht, Aht!" Said Kenny with a polite hand raised to Liv's face. "Weren't you the one who said not to mention him in conversation?"
"Yes, but technically I didn't raise the topic; you did. You teased information and I'm trying to put a button on it," Olivia negotiated slickly.
"Sweety, you were so good in that Diane-Sawyer-ass Washington Flyer interview. You exuded 'bad bitch' on the cover." He pretend-licked his fingers. "The flavor was exquisite. But if you think for one second, you're gonna Olivia Pope my ass into giving you what you want, you got another thing coming. My name is Bennett and I ain't in it." Kenny pulled an imaginary zipper shut over his lips.
The two ate their yogurt in silence for several minutes. Kenny ate; Olivia pushed what was now cold yogurt soup around her cup.
"Does he have the same rule when you guys talk? Are you not allowed to bring up my name?" she said breaking the silence.
"Liv," Kenny began carefully. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're not the center of my friendship with Geraldo. We don't sit around discussing you. Sure, you're the reason I met him in the first place. And, yeah, I think you squashing that relationship brought me and him closer together. We usually hang out on weekends, but…"
Kenny caught himself and did not want to open a box out of which might come flying more o Fitz's business than he wished to divulge. Or, worse, say something that might need additional explanation. Knowing just how much to say and not say around the both of them was a delicate dance he had been rehearsing for months. Sometimes he felt like a child of divorced parents who shared custody but no direct interaction.
"But…the point is we don't sit around discussing you. We talk about all kinds of shit. He got me an attorney who got that ol' church lady's noise complaints dismissed and helped hash out an agreement between me and the church. So, she can stay out of my business and my business' business."
A mild spirit of jealousy poked at her, and she pushed the cup away finally. "We talked about this, and I told you I could help, if you needed."
"Uh uh, you were waiting to exhale, and I didn't want to add to what you were going through. Everything can't be on your plate. Share, girl."
Kenny savored his final spoonful of hazelnut froyo. "But, yeah, he's been an actual friend to me."
"Ouch. What's that supposed to mean?" Olivia intoned; her head tilted.
"Girl, nothing. Woo woo woo. I was just talking about myself and not knowing what to expect from him. You insecure? You need me to Viola Davis your ego?" He put one hand on her shoulder. "You is smart. You is kind. You is im— "
Olivia shoved him with a force that almost knocked Kenny off his stool, but it was more playful than violent.
"I really dislike you sometimes," she laughed.
"Naw, but for real, Geraldo has been a good friend. We boys! Tariq was the love of my life, but he was also my best friend. I guess I didn't realize I was missing that part," Kenny said softly. "Girl, making adult friendships is the ghetto! Especially between two men. Triply so for me to befriend a straight white man. He's a goddamn unicorn."
Olivia looked at the sincerity in Kenny's face. Knowing how hard the last two years have been for her friend, she was comforted to know that in Fitz, Kenny found something he was missing.
Before her thoughts could go down a familiar road, Kenny added, "Suffice it to say, no we don't really talk about you like that." Kenny tilted his head and squinted his eyes, reconsidering his statement. "Well, Geraldo does regularly ask me how you're doing. But I tend to keep it cute."
"He… he asks about me?" She said, genuinely touched and trying to hide that fact.
"Yes. And for some reason he finds it unacceptable when I say, 'she's fine'."
"But I—
"That's what you always say. I know. But he don't like it." Kenny further considered. "Like, I don't think he's being nosey. I guess just wants to know that you're OK? Apparently, 'fine' and 'OK' are not the same to him." Kenny shrugged after discarding their cups.
"You ready?"
Olivia nodded. A well of emotion sprung inside her. Fitz was the man she knew deep down he was.
Late August, Washington D.C.
"Doctor Breedlove will see you now, Ms. Pope," the receptionist said.
Olivia had been staring off into the distance as her mind volleyed back and forth between whether to call or email her decline. She knew either way she would end up on the phone with Dani. First, she would be deeply disappointed. Then Chandani would placate Olivia with understanding before enticing her into changing her reply. She was very beguiling that way. She wanted to see Chandani. She did. What she did not want to see was Chandani's art exhibition to which she had been gloriously invited and was most certainly expected to attend.
Deep in a mental den of decision-making, Olivia did not hear Luna call to her.
"Ms. Pope!"
This startled Olivia slightly.
"I'm sorry to scare you," said Luna in a more even tone. "You can go in now."
Initially she had come because of Franceska. It was a pledge to her that she would call the number on the card she had been handed, to arrange a first meeting.
Franceska presented Olivia with a business card tethered with a promise. "This is a personal referral through my therapist," Fran had said, before they parted ways for their connecting flights, in Salt Lake City, after leaving Las Vegas.
"Dr. Breedlove was my therapist's therapist before she moved to D.C. Finding the right help is sometimes trial and error, so if she doesn't work out, don't write off the whole process. OK?"
Olivia did not want to dismiss her friend. "Ok, I promise you that I will call her."
"I also want you to promise me that you'll really try," Fran said as she squeezed Olivia's hand.
"Am I really that bad?" Olivia said, half joking.
"No, you're really that good." Franceska said sympathetically. "Good at hiding. But I can see some classic signs of grief that you can't—"
"Grief? Fran, I broke up with my fiancé and was put on leave from my job. No one died for god's sake," Olivia retorted.
"Births and deaths come in all different forms. They aren't always literal. You also don't need a clinical referral to see a therapist, or any reason at all. Sometimes it's just a person you pay to hear you talk and they are obligated to protect your privacy. Just think about it." Franceska left Olivia with those words and boarded her plane.
X
Doctor Constance Breedlove, or Connie, as she insisted on being called, walked from her desk over to the seating area in her office to greet Olivia. Their working relationship now spanned just over two months. If Olivia eliminated the gap between her first incomplete meeting and three weeks, during which she was afraid to commit to these counseling sessions, then it was more like three months.
Wearing a long, pastel green accordion-pleated silk skirt and buttery yellow sleeveless top, Constance sat down in her deep blue chair. She had the reed-thin frame of a former model along with the graceful limbs and poise of a ballet dancer. The golden biscuit color of her face nearly matched the golden shock of tight, moisturized coils forming a mushroom cloud three inches from above her head. The milky way of freckles covering the expanse of her oval face helped to delineate the color of her skin from that of her hair. She wore not a scrap of makeup, save for the stain of color on her lips. Always the same color for the last nine sessions. Hers was a face one would call striking because to look at it was to pause momentarily to take it all in.
Connie's large, signature matte red lips formed into a smile as Olivia sat down.
"Olivia, it's good to see you. What would you like to talk about today?"
Olivia began talking about what was foremost on her mind: Chandani and the exhibition in New York for the upcoming Labor Day weekend. She wanted to go, but also carried in her gut a twinge of reluctance. Then there was Jake and the pressure he was applying. The expectations he was placing upon her. She wanted to stay, but also did not want to stay. She knew she would have to disappoint one of them and was dreading having to do so.
"Does the traveling to New York bother you? Is it an inconvenient time?" Constance enquired.
"No and no. Crisis management isn't something you can plan for, and I've worked plenty of weekends to attest to that. But I've already taken that weekend off and placed three of my team members on-call," Olivia said as she laid out her plan. "It's nice to be the boss." She did not have to do everything herself.
Following Olivia's line of thinking, Connie added, "Does the boss need to justify going to New York to support her friend?"
Olivia's brow furrowed. "I don't have to justify anything to anyone. I love Chandani. She's so talented and irreverent and unpredictable. Which is exactly why I know this exhibition of hers will be wildly successful. It's just who she is."
"So, if you want to support your friend," Constance reasoned, putting an emphasis on the word 'want'. "And you're confident that the exhibition itself will be a good one, then what is stopping you?"
Olivia thought for a minute. She then decided to open her bag and pull out the ornate invite she had been carrying around for weeks, promising herself to respond. A visual aid would be helpful here.
"It's this," she said, handing the invitation to Connie.
A small smile graced Connie's face as she assessed the effort of the design, the material used and its relationship to the subject matter of the exhibition.
"Love and Lace," Constance said out loud to herself. "Olivia, I don't understand what the exhibition has to do with your reluctance."
"Remember when I said Chandani is very talented?"
"I do…"
"When she tackles a subject, she really digs in and peels back the layers. The subject of her show…I know it's personal to her. Finding love again is something she's been actively seeking."
"And how does that affect you?"
"I'm not really featuring love right now. I've been working hard not to…to give OPA my all. And I fear that being in a space full of moody art about love and absence is going to be triggering, if that's the right term."
Why was it that when Olivia thought about 'love' or said the word, that square-jawed man with the flop of a curl on his forehead appeared in her mind?
"Ok, let's try to unpack the fear…" Constance handed back the invitation to Olivia. "Symbolized by this art exhibition you have yet to see."
Olivia changed the subject, as she was accustomed to doing for weeks now whenever she inevitably veered toward Fitz territory. She knew that for therapy to work she had to put in the work. And she was doing so. Just not all at once with everything and everyone in her life.
"My friend, Fran—she's the one who gave me your card, remember? She thinks I'm grieving," Olivia said.
"Is this related to the exhibition," Connie gently asked, completely observant of the times in which Olivia changed course during their sessions.
"Maybe…I'm trying to figure out for myself the disconnect between wanting to see my friend but not wanting to attend her exhibition."
"Do you agree with her? Fran, that is. Do you also think you are grieving? Is that why you decided we should keep working together?" Doctor Breedlove's job was to listen, observe, but also to guide Olivia's attention towards revelatory things contained in her own words.
"I'm still trying to figure out what she meant. I know that grief is about loss, the death of something. When my mother died when I was twelve and my father sent me away to boarding school, I did grieve. I felt entitled to grief. People knew my mother had died and they understood what I was going through."
"Were you able to talk to anyone at that time?"
"No, my father thought that developing a new routine and focusing on being productive was the best way to help me move on."
"And did it?"
Olivia thought back to that time. "Well…I did become very focused." She ran off a list of her accomplishments. "I was valedictorian, captain of my swim team. I started a Samaritan group. I— "
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt. I don't think my questions came out correctly. I should clarify. I meant at what point would you say the productivity helped you stop grieving?"
"Probably when I stopped crying," Olivia deduced.
Constance's head gently bobbed up and down, encouragingly coaxing Olivia to go on. "Mhmm. And how long after your mother's death and moving to…"
"Switzerland," Olivia interjected.
"To Switzerland. Right. How long after moving to Switzerland, did it take you to accept that your mother, your father, and the life you led were gone?"
"My father?" Olivia questioned; a bit taken aback since they were broaching the subject of her mother. It came up on at least two other occasions, but she did not want to 'unpack' that as Connie says. "Nothing happened to him. He's very much alive."
"Yes, but you lost the life that you had with him when he sent you to Switzerland. You lost your mother, your father, your home, friends, and a lot of what was familiar to you in a very short space of time. That's a lot of loss for a young child," Constance explained sympathetically, without allowing her voice to sound in any way patronizing.
Shell-shocked and reeling from the emotional detonation she just experienced, Olivia sunk back against the tufted aubergine sofa, unconsciously grabbing an oblong orange pillow and clutching it to her abdomen. She had never thought of the totality of upheaval at that pivotal time in her life. Everything really did coalesce around that single figure: her mother
Very familiar with witnessing her clients being flummoxed by something she pointed out in their own words, Constance spoke up. "I sense this is the first time you've thought about the scale of what happened to you. It's OK. You do not have to process all of this right now. We have time. It's up to you. We can park your earlier concern about Labor Day weekend and unpack twelve-year-old Olivia's grief," Constance reminded.
The word 'grief' brought Olivia back from the past and toward the question she had been a little too embarrassed to ask earlier.
"Twelve-year-old me has reared her head before. I'm sure she'll be back," Olivia pivoted. "You're the expert on grief, Connie. From the time we've spent together, do you agree with Franceska? Am I grieving?" Olivia asked in a way that suggested Constance present her with a diagnosis which their sessions could begin to treat.
Sensing a budding frustration in her client, Connie began carefully. "Olivia, as an emotional expression grief can be complex because there are different forms of it. But all of them are about meaningful loss in our lives. That loss isn't always a literal death. We can develop grief from anticipating loss—someone with terminal cancer, for instance. And, sometimes, grief can be delayed. Especially when someone doesn't recognize or process their loss right away. It's even possible that one individual can experience different types of grief in a lifetime, in multiple ways. To put it more concretely, your dog could die, your boyfriend could leave you and you could be diagnosed with alopecia. Those are all forms of loss that deserve to be grieved. But how the grief is expressed can be different for all three forms of loss," Connie explained.
Olivia thought about all that had happened over the last twelve months. The things and people she had lost or given up. Was giving up not just a more direct way of saying loss? People, jobs, ambitions, futures. They were there and then they were gone: Edison, Cyrus, the campaign, Wannamaker & Beene, Maroon Lounge. And she just moved on: OPA, nights in with Jake.
No, OPA wasn't moving on. That was about claiming something for herself, which no one could take away or force her to give up. The very thing her mother urged her to do. OPA belonged to her; it was an insurance against future grief. Perhaps. Then there was Fitz.
Fitz!
Fitz?
Olivia closed her eyes and opened her mouth. "Is it possible to grieve a relationship you never had?"
"How so?" Connie pondered.
Olivia went on to explain her history with Fitz. The nights at Maroon. The days she spent longing for nights at Maroon. That she had sacrificed seeing him for Edison's sake. That she was a rooftop runaway. The things he made her feel just thinking of him, let alone being near his aura. All of this Olivia confessed to Constance, even the things that she felt but never could tell Fitz. Things like how often she thought of him after first laying eyes on him. Even though she knew she should not. That she longed to feel his kiss and more. The future he inspired her to see. Mostly how much she wanted to talk to him—about anything and nothing at all. How deeply she missed him.
It felt good to release all of that. Olivia let out an ample sigh.
"I can tell that was hard for you," Connie sympathized.
Olivia used her yogic training to let out a large and long flow of air, more deliberately controlled this time. "I think this is the most exhausted I've felt during a session."
"When we release things we've been holding in for a while, it can feel physically taxing because we aren't cognizant of how much effort it took to hold it in."
Connie glanced briefly at her watch, her internal clock sensing they were nearing the end of their ninety-minute session.
"I wanted to circle back to something you said earlier that's related to this current conversational trajectory. Of your mother's death, you said you felt 'entitled to grief' because people understood. Have you avoided grieving this lost, secret relationship with Fitz because no one would understand?"
"I would hardly call it a relationship," Olivia replied. "I've never even kissed him."
"From your own description," Constance countered, "you two developed a friendship, trust, and a lot of intimacy. The latter does not have to be physical or romantic. Intimacy is about emotional closeness. Did you feel that?"
Olivia nodded her reply tentatively. "It makes sense when you put it that way," she reflected. "Maybe I held on to that feeling, but never examined it."
Constance continued, leaning in with her forearms on her lap. "Is it because you felt ashamed about your attraction to him and therefore did not feel 'entitled to grief'?" She said once again air quoting Olivia's words back to her. "You did not embrace the loss of the intimacy you had with him because you were constantly suppressing it."
Olivia did not know where it came from.
How it was that Constance could press a button and out would spring a geyser from her eyes would never cease to amaze her But that is what happened. And now Connie was handing her tissues to stem the tide running down Olivia's sculpted cheeks.
"I think you're right," Olivia managed through her tears.
Connie waited patiently for Olivia's tears and hiccupping to subside before she continued. But to her surprise, Olivia spoke up first.
"I think…No, I know I've been afraid to try with him. Even after I broke off things with Edison. I didn't want Fitz to think I had run from Edison just to run to him, "Olivia said. It connected something for her.
"A couple of weeks after the break-up, I wrote Fitz a four-page letter. It was embarrassing. I said too much, so I tore it up and instead wrote him four tidy lines that I now regret."
Olivia went on to explain the metaphorical breathing and bleeding she did whilst writing that letter. Filling the edges with torn pages of her life. She counted the numbers, the letters, the days until it felt appropriate to give it to him. Instead, she slipped a brief note through his door. Being angry with him made her feel better about what she knew deep down inside: she was afraid. She could not handle another failure coming off of two life-altering ones. And so, she went missing and lost from Fitz's life. And maybe from herself, too.
But now she feared she had waited too long to catch Fitz's signal, which was now flashing in some other woman's direction. Olivia had folded up the corners of her life into valises from which she now unpacked, two or three nights a week, fast food, beer and the company of a man who came every time she called. These weekly allowances towards her needs kept her personal life tidy. Tidy. But was that life sincere? By day she had Olivia Pope's superhero cape to shroud her from the glare of those existential thoughts; At night she had Jake, or work, to ward off intrusive thoughts.
A palliative for her solitude is what Jake was. A crane in the sky who kept her from seeing a horizon she was too scared to touch. Sometimes she did not want to feel the weight of those metal clouds. He did help to keep them away.
Constance's voice intervened Olivia's thoughts.
"You know, Olivia," she gently opened. "Regret can be very productive. It can sometimes reveal to us how we've moved away from something we thought we wanted. Or it can bring our attention back to a lost desire. Whether Fitz represents the former or the latter," said Connie "how you reconcile the answer is up to you."
Connie clasped her hands together. "I'm afraid our time is up this week, but I'm not sure you got to the bottom of the reluctance around your plans for next weekend?"
Olivia motioned to rise. "I did, actually."
X
Olivia walked out of the building and into the balmy, but arrestingly stagnant summer air of that Wednesday evening. The opposite of still was T Street. Every outdoor dining space was filled with people reaching over bread baskets, laughing with their frozen margaritas in hand, or smooshing their faces together to capture top tier selfies, blessed by the light known as the golden hour.
Olivia crossed Florida Avenue, heading to her car. After digging out her phone from her large handbag-cum-briefcase, she was greeted by a text message. Riding high off her therapy session, Olivia followed her gut. She fired off a text message. And then a follow-up resolution. No more chasing pavements.
When she did not hear the familiar 'bloop' of her messages shooting off into the ether, she realized her phone was still on 'silent.' She turned it on. It rang immediately. Olivia smiled at the face which appeared on the screen.
"It's called an RSVP and I know you received the invitation. But I have neither R, S, V nor P from you. Kya huua?"
"Hello to you too, Dani. Relax, nothing happened. I should have gotten back to you. I'm sorry."
"Sorry? Liv, you better not. I swear, if I have to airlift you out of D.C.—"
Olivia laughed at her friend's assumption.
"Last week I called Kenny the biggest drama queen I know." She drew in a breath between her teeth. "I may have to admit I was wrong."
Chandani breathed a sigh of relief.
"Were you sweating this? Did you think I wasn't coming?" Olivia enquired seriously after Chandani's reaction.
"Was that a real consideration?"
"Maybe," Olivia said half-jokingly, not wanting to revisit what had unraveled during her counseling session where she explored an uneasy and opaque hesitation about attending Dani's exhibition.
"It's fine. I had reinforcements. I was going to sick Meena aunty on you if you tried to say 'no.'"
The laughter of the two women bounced back and forth between them as Olivia made her way home. Now she was excited for the weekend. She felt silly for even thinking that an art exhibition about love could have an impact on her life. It would be two hours of the entire weekend.
She might even find a new piece for her apartment.
End of Part I
A/N: Hi :). It's good to be back. I hope you thoroughly enjoyed Part I of Episode 13. Part II will be uploaded in a matter of days, not weeks. Flashbackapaloosa is wrapping up this month. If you like what you've read so far, please leave a review. I really do look forward to what you have to say-the insights, feedback, identification, questions. All of it-as little or as much as you have to offer. That said, here are some questions for you:
1.Do you guys listen to the songs for the episodes? Or does it not really factor into your enjoyment? For the nerds: how may things did you identify from the song that live tried to _ away?
2.How about that opening scene? Want more? I hope you notice the vantage point.
3.I want to hear from the Jake haters-are you mad? I did my best to not have him in much, but his being in her life was crucial to demonstrate where her thinking and avoidance were. What do you think? You don't have to be a Jake-hater to reply.
4.Guys, I knew I wanted Olivia to actually go to therapy. I thought of Constance a year ago and wondered how I'd get her in. The flashback felt right. What did you guys think? Resonant or nah?
5.Look at Fitz! Why's he going back to school? What do you think of him right now?
6. Is Kenny rushing to judgment? I mean Liv is right, she doesn't really know him. Or do you think you can pick up an accurate vibe off someone in a matter of minutes? Or did you pick it up from his text message exchange with Liv?
7. Lastly, Liv is heading to New York. What do you think will happen? Drop it now and then to see if you're right when it gets posted (because I already wrote what's going to happen). And I hope you're into it.
As Always,
Petunia