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“Hey, Mom . . .” Noah emerged from his room and flopped onto the couch next to her. “Can we talk?”
Olivia pulled her glasses off, and closed the folder of reports she was reviewing–attention fully on her son. “So he exists . . .” she teased him lightly. As he got older he’d been spending more time alone–more time away from her. She knew this was natural, but at the same time she would readily accept any inroads with him.
She patted the couch next to her. “Take a seat; what’s up?”
He sank bonelessly into the sofa, and she wished for that same level of adolescent sang froid. But he immediately broke her reverie by asking, “How come you don’t wear your necklace anymore?”
She reached up unconsciously running her hand along where the necklace used to hang. “The compass?”
Noah nodded. “Yeah. Elliot gave it to you, right?”
She again reached for the absent pendant. “He did,” she confirmed, “and it meant a lot to me.”
“Cuz it was from Elliot . . .” Noah mused, and Olivia both wondered and dreaded where this conversation was going.
“That’s a big part of it,” she admitted. “There was a lot of love in it. That’s why I had to lend it out to someone else that needed love and happiness even more.”
Noah nodded, and it was almost as if Olivia could see the wheels turning in his head. “You love him.” It wasn’t a question.
And there it was: Noah’s not-so-hidden agenda. “You have questions about Elliot and me,” she said, and her son nodded in confirmation.
Of course he did . . . of course her beautiful son was going to grab on to the third rail with both hands, and force her to figure out how to resurrect them both.
She could only pause.
“Okay,” she said, and patted his knee gently. “But first I’m gonna make us both very large mugs of cocoa–extra whipped cream.”
She used the time in the kitchen to collect her thoughts, making cocoa the old fashioned way, bringing milk to a boil, adding the sugar, cocoa powder, chocolate chips, and just a splash of vanilla.
She poured it into two mugs, grabbed the can of whipped cream and topped them both with an overflowing swirl.
She took a deep breath. She’d rather face down a cross-examination from Rita Calhoun than to face down the boy–the young man, she corrected herself–in her living room.
“Here you go,” she handed him his own mug before returning to the kitchen to get her own.
She took a seat and tucked her feet up underneath her. “So, what would you like to know?”
“Do you love Elliot?”
Her son didn’t beat around the bush.
“That’s not an easy question to answer.” She took a deep sip of the cocoa, again borrowing time. “We have a long, a very long history.”
Noah pursed his lips and looked at her curiously. “Why is it hard?”
She took another sip of her cocoa. “You know that Elliot was married,” she began with a feeling that this was going to be a long night.
Noah nodded silently and then took another sip of his drink, coming away with a giant whipped cream moustache that clung to the peach fuzz that had appeared on his upper lip in the past few months.
“It was really hard for me,” she admitted, frankly. “It was a fight for us both to maintain a professional distance, and there were a lot of people who thought we were too close, including my captain.”
As the words came tumbling out, Olivia was tempted to look away and pull back, “to tell Noah that her love life was none of his business. But she needed to be honest with him, especially if she wanted him to continue to be honest with her.
“I loved him,” she finally admitted, “and I still do.” She looked away and took another sip of the rich drink, just to keep her emotions from spilling out of her eyes in this moment.
“Does he know?” Noah asked.
Olivia blinked. “Know how I feel about him?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he answered, with a thinly disguised eyeroll. “Like, have you told him you love him?”
Her mug was quickly growing empty, and the conversation had only just begun. “Not in so many words, but he knows,” she answered. “There’s no way he couldn’t.”
Her son again looked at her as though he couldn’t understand how she could be so dumb, but before he could get another question in, she turned the tables. “So, what’s with the sudden interest in my love life?”
Noah pursed his lips, thinking for a moment before talking. “I want you to be happy.”
It was a punch to the gut. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I’m perfectly happy!”
He shook his head. “You work,” he said. “You come home to me. That’s it. You need to get a life, Mom.”
“I need to get a life,” she repeated, sardonically. “And what would that look like . . ?”
Noah nodded, taking his time, and then changed the subject. “I’m gonna be moving out and going away to college soon . . .”
Soon wasn’t going to happen for two years. And yet, soon was way too soon. She couldn’t help but deflect.
“The Hell you are!” She said it with vehemence, but smiled.. “You’re going to Columbia, living at home, and maybe when you’re 30, I’ll let you start dating.”
“Mom . . .” He rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”
She had to take a breath, and ensure that she met her son’s earnestness, rather than defaulting to her general flip means of keeping her emotions protected.
“Okay,” she said. “I hear you.” She took another breath. “I think maybe I’m in a bit of denial. I hadn’t really thought about how old you’re getting. I mean,” she added with another wistful smile. “You’re going to have to start shaving soon. Should I have Sonny come teach you?” He shifted uncomfortably, but she kept going. “I gotta say though, in my mind you’re always going to be the baby boy I rescued from a dresser drawer.”
“Mom . . .” there was an edge to his voice, and she knew she was treading on thin ice.
“Sorry, kiddo,” she held on to her thin advantage. “But I’ll always be your mother, and you’ll always be my little boy.”
He cringed again, but not quite as much as he had previously. “That’s what I’m talking about–” His voice hit a timbre she hadn’t heard before. “Mom, you need someone to think about besides me.” He paused, “And I know you don’t want my advice, but I think it should be Elliot.”
If she could have crawled under the coffee table at that moment, she would have. On the list of things she wanted to discuss with her son, only Johnny D and William Lewis ranked lower–and she’d already been forced to address those two.
“So you want me to date Elliot?” It was both sublimely perfect and completely ridiculous.
“That’d be a good start . . .” Noah was surprisingly blunt
“I take it you approve,” Olivia tried to keep the conversation flowing.
Noah nodded. “You love him.”
You love him. As though it were that simple, and yet, she couldn’t argue with her son’s logic. “I do,” she admitted.
Noah rolled his eyes and shook his head, and she found herself imminently frustrated with the logic of generation alpha . . . “Then go for it.”
Then go for it. Just throw away 27 years of history and embrace the present? It’s not like her own therapists hadn’t been trying to get her to do the same for a very long time.
“Then go for it,” she echoed. “I wish you knew what you were asking.”
Noah sighed. “I know. Give me some credit, Mom.”
What had happened? When had her little boy grown up?
“I told you things were complicated . . .” she pushed back.
“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “And my dad was a sexual predator, my mom was a drug addict, and my grandmother tried to kidnap me. What else?”
And my mom was a drunk and my dad was also a sexual predator.
And I’m brutal and shut off, and beat my kidnapper near to death. I’m as hard as I am empathetic, and every morning I look in the mirror to remind myself that I’m doing this to enact justice for the victims and NOT to enact revenge on the perps. I don’t want any of that for you–you just need to remain my bold, beautiful, brave boy. .
It was enough to break her, and yet, he was the best part of her–and she needed to protect him.
She smiled through it, and returned to teasing. “You’re a real brat,” she said and fluffed his long curls. “You know that?”
He ignored the comment, instead continuing to push his point. “You gonna call Elliot?”
“You’re a little too invested in all this,” she said with a mock scowl. “Maybe, I should start asking you about your love life.”
Noah sighed. “Mom, I’m serious.”
“I hear you,” she answered. “I do, but this is a lot to process, Noah.”
He yawned and rose. “Just do something, Mom. I’m going to bed.”
She stood to embrace him tightly. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He hugged her back, and she couldn’t get over how tall he was getting.
* * * * *
She picked up the mugs, and had begun loading the dishwasher when her phone buzzed.
“Elliot,” she answered on the first ring. “I was just thinking about you.”
“You were?” His voice washed over her like a caress, and she found that her mouth had gone dry.
She started tracing the pattern of her counter as she spoke. “Yeah . . .” she acknowledged, a single word that took everything.
She could hear the traffic noise in the background while she waited for him to fill the silence. “So, I was wondering if it was okay if I stopped by,” he began. “I have some things my mom wanted you to have.”
“You don’t have to ask,” she said. “You know you’re always welcome here.”
“I’m just a few blocks away,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”
Again she felt the full body flush that his voice elicited. “Okay,” she said and let the call drop.
Elliot was on his way over.
She moved to the door, unfastening all the locks in anticipation of his arrival.
And sure enough, there was the buzz at her intercom.
“Elliot–” she opened the door, and ushered him in, letting her hand drift down his bicep in the process. “How are you?”
“Better now.” He pulled her into a tight embrace.
He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply, and she reached up to brush her fingers over his five o’clock shadow. “It’s been too long,” she whispered.
“I know,” he confirmed. “Things have been . . .”
She nodded, but made no effort to pull out of the embrace. “With Joe and then your mom. That’s a lot of loss. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m okay,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about me.”
She shook her head. “Too late. I’ll always worry about you.”
He blinked, and brushed his lips over her brow. It was clear that something had shifted this evening though neither of them had quite put words to it.
With a gentle tug at her arm, he led her back to the sofa she’d only recently left.
“You said you were just thinking of me,” he began. “What about?”
She couldn’t help but smile a little, and then nestled a little closer to him. “Noah . . .” she began. “Had questions.”
Elliot was nonplussed. “About me? He should know he can talk to me; I’ve made sure we stay in touch ever since Woodstock.”
Olivia closed her eyes, and her tongue darted out to quickly moisten her lips. Here she was; here he was; here they were. She swallowed her fear, and made a point of redirecting her attention to him. “Not you . . .” she finally managed. “Us.”
She could see his sharp intake of breath, followed by a deep swallow. “Us . . .” he echoed in a way that was both a question and a confirmation.
She angled her body even closer, and–almost of its own volition–her hand was now resting on his leg, just above the knee. “Us,” she confirmed, her thumb tracing absent patterns along his thigh. “He had a lot of questions about our relationship.”
Joy and bewilderment seemed to be warring for supremacy on his face, but curiosity won. “And what did you tell him?”
“The truth.” She waited one beat and then another until his eyes met hers and it was clear he was listening. “That we’ve always been very close.”
He shifted just a bit, and she saw his pupils grow to the same dime size he’d once accused hers of being before he asked what she’d been hoping he would. “And?”
“And,” she replied, her breath now coming in short gasps as she continued to run her thumb along his inner thigh, growing to appreciate the texture of the denim, and the careful tailoring of the seam. “Noah was very interested in whether I loved you.”
Noah was very interested. As spontaneous as the conversation was, Olivia wasn’t an idiot. The words were carefully chosen. And she knew that Elliot would also be interested in the answer to her son’s question.
He didn’t disappoint. “And . . .”
“Yes,” she answered, and it may as well have been a sigh that was followed by you fucking idiot. “I told him the truth. I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than was probably healthy, and I loved you even after you hurt me. I never stopped loving you, and I put up walls as a necessity. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
He recoiled as though she’d struck him, and that–alone–was a blow. It wasn’t as though she’d kept her feelings secret, so knowing that she’d somehow managed to reach him at this point meant something.
And then there was a whole conversation held without words.
A raised eyebrow on her part. C’mon, this is on you now.
A slight headcock on his. I’m listening.
A tightening of her hand over his knee. Go on . . .
His foot subtly bumping against hers. Yeah . . . I get it.
A sigh. Stop hedging.
A nod, and then he spoke. “Same. . . “ A single word, and another sigh. “Same, Liv . . . it’s been you since the day you walked into the squad room so long ago. I’d be hard pressed to name a time when I wasn’t in love with you.”
“So, there we are,” she said.
“There we are,” he agreed. He leaned a little closer, cupping her face gently. She met his eyes and nodded.
He brushed his lips over hers. Feather-light and tantalizing enough to leave her breathless, when he pulled back to gauge her reaction.
“That was . . .” she began.
“Long overdue,” he finished, tracing the line of her lip with his thumb.
She nodded. “Let’s try again.” She placed a hand on his heart, and leaned in again, this time being the one to initiate the kiss. She was hungry, and it was all she could do not to devour him, opening her mouth and welcoming his tongue.
She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face as they pulled apart again. “And to think Noah is worried that I’m going to be all on my own after he goes away to college.”
Elliot shook his head. “. . . Noah going to college. It’s hard to believe.”
“Not for a few years, now,” she said. “And even so, I told him he’s going to live at home, attend Columbia, and not date until he’s 30.”
He laughed. “I tried that with Kathleen. . .”
“Didn’t work out so well?” she bumped her knee against his.
He reached for her again, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. “Not really.” He suddenly stood. “That reminds me . . .” He reached into the breast pocket of the jacket he’d casually flung over her chair earlier and presented her with an envelope. “Mom wanted you to have this, and I’ve got something in my car that she wanted me to give to Noah.”
Olivia was nonplussed, and didn’t try to hide it. “Really??”
He sat again, and ran a finger along her bicep. “Really,” he confirmed. “Liv, my mother adored you. You had to know that.”
Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. “Bernie was really special. I’m grateful to have known her . . . I just . . . it means so much to know it was mutual. And that she cared for Noah.”
Elliot swallowed. “She counted him among her grandkids, and you gotta know . . .”
She reached out, touching his bicep and then moving down to caress his forearm. “I miss her, too.” She meant it. Bernie had always been an in - a way to better understand Elliot, a way to reach Elliot when she couldn’t do so on her own. Bernie was . . . Bernie.
He nodded, acknowledging everything without saying a word. And then, “You gonna open it?”
=====//======
“Noah!”
Olivia’s son’s name came out of nowhere, and Elliot tried to remember what he’d learned about dementia. Yes, and. Agree and redirect.
“He’s okay, Ma; he’s with Olivia.” It was true. He wasn’t sure it was going to suffice, but it was enough of an opening.
Bernie pursed her lips and scowled, and he knew this wasn’t going to get any better. “Why aren’t you?” She glared at him. “Noah’s your son. You belong with him!”
Yes, and. Elliot reminded himself. “Olivia chose to raise him,” he said. The truth without refuting anything his mother said.
Bernie shook her head. “Your son needs a father.”
Your son. If only.
“I’m there when he needs me.” It was another Yes, and. It was not a lie. The irony was that he wished the truth was more like what his mother believed. He wished reality were a lot less complicated.
“He should have Joey’s quilt.” Bernie’s pronouncement came out of nowhere.
“You want Noah to have the quilt you made for Joe, Jr.” Elliot repeated carefully.
“Yes,” she was adamant. “Joey didn’t have any kids, and Noah needs to know he’s loved.”
He couldn’t argue, couldn’t find a way to explain that the reality was that Noah was SO loved, as was his mother. Even though Noah wasn’t his, even though he wished it were otherwise. All he could say was “He’s really going to appreciate that, Ma.”
“Good,” she said and slapped her thighs in preparation of standing up. “Make sure he knows I made it with love.” She walked away, wandering into the bedroom that Randall had so carefully set up for her.
“Broke up with the best woman and won’t even see his own son now . . .” she muttered under her breath in a clearly passive-aggressive manner. He wasn’t going to argue with her; wasn’t going to upset her further or try to explain things; he knew enough to know that tomorrow her opinion would change again.
It was after midnight when Randall finally came home.
“What’re you doin’ with Joey’s quilt?” The question came out before any courtesies–it wasn’t surprising, it was Randall, but it still stung.
He pulled the beautifully crafted piece a little bit closer–as though he was protecting Noah through what Bernie wanted to give him. “Ma wanted me to give this to Noah. She was adamant.”
“Olivia’s son?” Randall’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Really,” Elliot confirmed.
Randall fidgeted with his collar. “So what’s the deal with you two anyway?”
“She’s not on the market . . .” He couldn’t help that it came out on a growl . . . but he’d already seen it once, and there was no fucking way that his brother was going to even look at Olivia again.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Randall replied and again tugged at his collar–could his big brother not get shirts that fit?? “It’s clear there’s something going on between you, and yet the other side of your bed remains cold. What gives?”
What gives? Elliot shook his head. “It’s complicated. I fucked up with her.”
“So fix it,” Randall said with an eyeroll. “I can tell she cares about you; it can’t be that bad.”
Elliot nodded. “Yeah, but I gotta let her set the pace.”
“Or,” Randall countered. “You might wanna woo her, cuz if you don’t–”
“No–” Elliot wouldn’t even let him finish the sentence.
Randall smirked, and it was as if they were back to sharing their childhood bedroom, and he’d found his bed short-sheeted. “Yup,” he said. “I thought as much. Baby brother fucking go for it. She’s worth it. And I’ll never say this again, but so are you.”
Randall picked up the quilt. “So, Ma really wanted Noah to have this?”
It was now Elliot’s turn to roll his eyes. “Do you think it’d be sitting here if she didn’t?”
“Do you think she thinks Noah is your kid?”
Elliot could only shrug, but apparently that wasn’t enough because Randall pushed. “Is Noah your kid? Is that the problem between you and Olivia?”
“I only wish so.” It came out before Elliot even realized he was saying it, and he backed up. “But yeah, no . . . she adopted him.”
Randall dropped the quilt back on the couch only to tug at his collar again. “Wow . . . fuck. Coulda fooled me.” He then reached for Elliot, with a viselike grip on his forearm. “Fix this; I mean it.”
Elliot nodded. “I hear you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * * * *
He was at work when the phone rang. “Hey, Randall ‘sup?”
There was a long pause. “Ma didn’t wake up. She’s gone, Elliot.”
His ears began ringing, and he was tasting his morning coffee again. It took a few deep breaths before he could even form coherent words. “I’ll be right there.” He hadn’t even realized he’d picked up his keys until he realized they were cutting into his palm.
“What?” It was Bell’s hand on his shoulder stopping him on the way out the door.
He shrugged her off. “Family emergency.”
“WHAT?” she repeated, deliberately blocking his exit.
He didn’t want to put it into words. He didn’t want it to be real. He just needed to not be there.
And Ayanna was standing between him and the exit. Standing between him and his ability to rage against the world, his ability to wallow in the guilt that only 12 hours ago his mother had been alive and he hadn’t even realized it’d be the last time he’d see her.
“I just needa go.” He tried to sidestep as the adrenaline continued to build up to the point that he was just short of panting.
“WHAT?” Her hand was now out, physically ready to restrain him.
He took a few deep breaths. “My brother just called. My mom’s . . .”
“I’m driving.” She took the keys before he even realized what was happening.
It was probably for the best.
He knew he somehow got home.
He knew that somehow between him, Randall, Kathleen, and Eli there was a funeral planned.
He knew that Olivia and Noah were there, quietly, unobtrusively in the back few rows along with Amanda and Sonny and their family.
But it was a blur and a black hole.
He needed a purpose, and he found it in the quilt, and in the envelopes that were left behind, each with someone’s name on them.
He hadn’t found the courage to open his own, even as he carefully passed them out to everyone else.
Only his and Olivia’s remained. And the quilt. For Noah.
=====//=====
She was hyper-aware of him watching her as she turned the envelope over in her hands. It was the second time he’d slipped her a letter, and she couldn’t escape the sinking feeling and betrayal that the memory of that letter brought back.
She continued to fidget, not sure she was ready to face yet another Stabler epistle.
Once again, he seemed to sense what she was feeling.
“I’m gonna go back downstairs to get Noah’s present,” he offered. “You can go ahead and read that on your own if you want.”
“Thank you.” She leaned in to kiss him lightly, silently communicating the trust and love she still struggled to put into words, but needed him to understand. “Don’t be too long.”
He kissed her back, lingering, taking his time, his tongue tracing the contours of her mouth. “I won’t.” He squeezed the curve of her hip in punctuation.
It wasn’t until the door closed behind him, that Olivia found the courage to rip open the envelope.
Olivia,
She read.
I will never forget the day I first met you.
You are one of a kind.
Please take it from someone who’s been through it; it’s never too late.
I love you.
Let my son love you.
Bernadette
Olivia smiled and wiped away a tear. She’d signed her full name. Of course she had.
She carefully refolded the letter and returned it to the envelope.
She was closing the lid of the box in the hall closet when Elliot walked back in.
“That’s what your mom wanted to give Noah?” She couldn’t even begin to hid her surprise. “Elliot that’s . . . that’s precious. Are you sure?”
His smile was soft enough to break her heart. “Ma was,” he said, simply. “And that’s what matters. She made all of us quilts, and this was Joe’s, and after . . . anyway, she told me to give it to Noah. That she wanted him to know he was loved.”
She reached out to trace the line of delicate stitching, admiring the careful piecework and the way the colors played off each other. It was humbling and a little bit overwhelming to just sit with all that love.
“Do you want to give it to him tonight or tomorrow morning?” She took a step closer.
It took a beat or two. “I don’t wanna wake him up. I’m fine if you wait until tomorrow to give it to him.”
She took another deliberate step closer, taking the quilt from his hands to carefully set on her entry table. “Maybe you misheard me,” she said. They were now close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. “I asked if you wanted to give it to him tomorrow morning.”
“Liv,” he licked his lips.
“Saturday is usually pancake day.” She reached for his hand, and tugged gently in the direction of her bedroom. “Noah and I are trying to find the best ones in the city. How about instead though, we just agree to send out for some egg sandwiches after you give him the quilt?”
FIN