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It’s not that Patty is completely attached to her apartment. Sure, it stalled the finalization of her divorce with Phil for months, but her insistence on keeping it was driven by anger, spite. Mostly, though, she just wants to avoid the hassle and time to get a new place.
And that Phil would disappear off the face of the Earth before anyone gets the notion that Patty, Patty Hewes, is thrown out of her own home after her husband cheats on her.
So it wasn’t about memories, her investment in the place over the years, or any sort of emotional attachment.
Or so she tells herself as she sips tea at the patio.
A quick glance at her watch tells her it’s time to put on the coffee. Remembering how last night went, Patty pours more beans into the grinder. Fifteen minutes later, the Patty Hewes Household Morning Greeting starts.
First the aroma, then the footsteps. A kiss follows.
It’s a Sunday morning kiss, sweet and playful, reserved for days when nobody demands their attention, and when they have nowhere else to be. Ellen’s make up is usually on point, if a little heavier on her I mean business days, but Patty appreciates her fresh face just as much.
It’s also easier to determine how much sleep Ellen actually got after the nightmares. Which are increasing as David’s death anniversary approaches. And while they’ve been sleeping in the same bed for months, Patty has faced away from her lover every time this happens, even if the bad dreams have graduated to night terrors in recent weeks.
Analysis paralysis: A First for Patty Hewes, so feared that rich and powerful men sic the fucking FBI on her. Whose intuition is so sharp that she acts before she even processes a thought fully, and her decisions turn out to be right anyway.
Who now stays on her side of the bed, keeping her breaths even, no matter how loud Ellen cries out. Just like the details of Phil’s indiscretion, some things she just doesn’t want to know. Like whether Ellen will look at her in horror when she wakes up from her nightmares, or worse, whether Ellen will school her expression once she regains control to hide it from Patty.
Just like how Ellen does it in their lounge at particular moments: waking up after dozing off, when she’s sick and disoriented, or when Corey barks unexpectedly. Ellen’s recovery is so quick she thinks Patty doesn’t notice; those moments of hesitation, or when she freezes in fear for a second. And Patty plays along. Or rather, she turns away and takes a moment to school her own expression.
The Patty several years ago, who told Ellen to shoot her while supressing a life threatening stab wound, would have laughed at the Patty Hewes now.
And then had her for breakfast.
She sighs into her mug as she watches Ellen bring the pastries to the patio.
“Do you believe that people can change?”
“Do you?” Dr Baldwin replies.
Patty’s smirk betrays her thoughts: don’t be naïve. It’s a rare occasion she indulges in, allowing herself to re-examine her views of human nature.
Speaking of luxuries.
“Thank you for the tips,” she says. “They really helped.”
“I’m glad they worked,” he says with a smile. “What have you tried so far?”
“Painted the entire place pink,” she quips. Just because she’s decided to see the psychiatrist regularly – around the time Ellen moved in – doesn’t mean she has to concede everything.
Or anything for that matter, even if he was right about creating positive experiences at the ‘crime scene’. Gifts, ranging from simple bouquets to precious gems; having Ellen’s friends over and letting her play Queen of the Castle; and the occasional indiscretion. If Ellen’s enthusiasm of initiating more of those sessions is anything to go by, she’d say it was working very well.
“Pink is a nice color,” Dr Baldwin responds.
She nods, appreciating that the psychiatrist knows exactly how to return the ball now.
“But not enough to change…what was it? Behavior, people?” He asks, and this time, she resents his ability to catch on so quickly.
Of course people don’t change. Whatever fairy tales she was told about beasts and frogs becoming princes were smashed into pieces by her father’s multiple promises to change. All of which, like clockwork, were followed by immediate relapses. Back to the Hewes’s House of Terror in Three Days. And further affirmed by her mother, who instead of celebrating after her father walked out for good, lived a life of regret, longing, and false hope.
Pete was the same: just like his protective streak of Patty, his desire for rackets lasted till his death.
She harbors even less of an illusion that she herself can change. While she has toned down the manipulation and games with Ellen, neither of them have been able to kill it – their need at times to one-up each other ensures that. Patty enjoys it: the challenge, watching Ellen grow, the tension that usually erupts in trysts, to the point where she doesn’t mind losing – much.
Ellen is less fond of Patty’s other habit. Patty knows her lover understands it; that one of the most powerful women in New York, who owns a practice of equal stature, would make unilateral decisions like it’s her second nature. And it’s not that her choices – take out, vacation spots, case strategies – are disagreeable. She too understands that Ellen, being younger, less experienced, and still on her way, would strive for some sort of equal footing in their relationship.
She doesn’t tell Ellen she thinks she has far more to lose. Instead, she acts as if her stomach, too, is fortified by steel against the greasy food that Ellen indulges in. She claims tropical weather doesn’t wreak havoc on her hair, and pretends to be surprised when Ellen pulls a surprising move on a case. Hell, she’d let Ellen paint the entire apartment hot pink if she wants.
Only that Ellen has never left her personal touch in the apartment.
Clothes, toiletries, make up.
No kitsch, which she’s grateful for; that Ellen has developed better taste. No hideous bookends, which is probably for the best. What stands out is the lack of framed photographs that follow Ellen wherever she worked. None of her and the women in her family, and none of her and David. For someone who decorated her office on her first week of work despite Tom’s advice, Ellen’s minimal imprints in the apartment gives her pause.
Which brings her to another matter that Ellen doesn’t react to: her particular way of expressing her anger. One that leads to broken glasses and plates, and that hole in her wall one night.
The people closest to her have long been used to it by now: Tom calls for the cleaners when she steps out to walk off her anger, Michael ignores it and gets another bowl of cereal, and Phil has his own way of consoling her. In fact, knowing exactly how they will react is sort of comfort to her; that she can count on it. Worst case scenario, she replaces the entire set of dinnerware – or the wall.
But Ellen – Ellen has never seen that side of her until she moved in. And she isn’t about to hide who she is; there isn’t any point because it’s Ellen, and why bother letting anyone move in then?
There’s just one problem: Ellen has never responded to these incidences. Ellen, whose temper rivals hers; her Ellen, who fights her even on which toothpaste to get when they wind each other up enough, has nothing to say about this. The first time it happened, Ellen was already on her way upstairs. The second time, the brunette was tending to Corey on the patio when she shoved the coffee maker off the kitchen countertop.
The third time it happened, they were working on the dining table when Patty receives some bad news on the phone. Bad enough to lose her the case, bad enough to threaten her standing in the legal world, so it’s bad enough for her to hurl her empty plate at the wall.
As she turns over to take a swig of bourbon, she finally sees. Unlike Michael, who although quiet will always give her an insolent or challenging look, Ellen isn’t acknowledging it at all. Her eyes are neither on Patty nor on the broken shards, but she’s not shielding her face as if embarrassed.
And despite Patty’s blatant stare at her, Ellen’s eyes never waver from the screen of her laptop. A closer look reveals that her eyes are glazed over. And while her chest is heaving slightly, it doesn’t match the almost non-existence sounds of her breathing.
Without another word, Patty retires to bed, counting the hours before Ellen joins her. She stays awake that night, waiting for the nightmares, but both of them are spared from it. It’s probably the whiff of bourbon she smelled when Ellen walked into the room.
And for the first time, Patty cleans up the mess – at dawn – instead of leaving it to the housekeeper.
Dr Baldwin hadn’t needed to explain this: after the incidences with Ray Fiske, Finn Garrity, and Michael, she understands the source of Ellen’s…moments around the apartment. At first, she attributed Ellen’s fight or flight response that night to the trauma of Nearly Getting Killed as well. Until Maggie drops a tray of mugs in her office, and instead of freezing, Ellen jumps to help, as if on reflex.
Patty stays in her chair and watches them clean up, doing nothing. Just like her inaction during Ellen’s nightmares. Because she may have a solution if it were the apartment, but if she’s the source of Ellen’s PTSD……
Well.
“Look, you mentioned before that anger is a substitute for – whatever,” she says, twisting her wrist as if to will the answer to appear.
“I believe I said anger can be a secondary emotions to mask primary feelings, such as fear or sadness,” Dr Baldwin replies.
“How do I mask the anger then?”
“You don’t,” he says simply. “That was what the court order was for – to help you manage it.”
“Well I guess that answers my previous question of whether people change.”
“Is that your answer for people in general, or are you referring to yourself?”
She would have told Dr Baldwin where to shove the fucking answer, if he didn’t look so sincere. As a compromise, she sips her tea and looks around the room instead.
He sighs removes his glasses. “Ms Hewes, managing your anger doesn’t change who you are. It’s about changing your behaviour, and that involves asking – and answering – some hard questions.
“When you came to me after we had finished our sessions, I assumed you wanted to work on an issue, or pick up where we left off. Whatever it is, if you want to see results, you need to be honest with yourself.”
Resting her face on her arm, she contemplates the retort of what if she doesn’t want to see results. She decides against it, knowing that flippant replies aren’t going to save her this time.
“Well, I suppose we’d better get started, hadn’t we?” she says instead.
While Patty doesn’t miss an appointment since, it’s still a while before she sees the changes. Still, she didn’t get to where she is by being any less persistent. She hires a few more highly capable lawyers to deal with the knucklehead stuff, removes herself from the situation when she feels it coming, and increases her workouts.
She knows that getting more sleep helps – there’s only so much the adrenalin from a good case can fuel you – but accepts that it’s probably not possible with Ellen’s predicament.
So she does what she can, and it all works, until it doesn’t one day. Unfortunately, the eruption this time is towards – and caused by – the very person she strives to protect.
And this time, Ellen reacts.
If she had moved in with a meagre amount of things, she left with even less.
It’s been building for a while. The fact that they’re in a relationship hasn’t done anything to change Ellen’s stubborn streak when it comes to trying cases.
Not wanting to undermine her protégé on one particular case, especially after hearing the latest gossip that’s floating around the office, she dropped hints at meetings. And as someone who’s never had to hint in her entire life, she was uncertain of whether it worked, until she saw two different strategies in the meeting room the next week. Prepared by a junior staff, one of hers and one of Ellen’s.
So it was just Ellen who couldn’t hear her, then.
She let it go, knowing that Ellen needs room to grow. They then tanked the deposition, as she predicted. She had nearly come to terms that they were going to lose this case, until her long-time rival had pulled her aside. The prick actually had the balls to ask if she was suffering from sleep deprivation or insufficient oxygen from having her head between thighs for too long.
“Look, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says in response to her reddening cheeks. “I have quite a few myself, it’s just that I’ve never seen you this smitten before. We’ll go for lunch and exchange notes, hmm? Maybe yours can give mine some pointers.”
As he stepped outside, she reminded herself to give Dr Baldwin a raise: it was a miracle that she wasn’t sitting in a jail cell, awaiting charges for manslaughter. Instead, she laid out a year-long plan to systematically destroy him, his practice, and all that he stood for, piece by piece.
Right then, however, she needed to speak to Ellen.
She found her back in the apartment, nursing a bourbon and staring out the window.
“This needs to stop.” She regretted the words as soon as she says it, but she’s said it. If she couldn’t talk to Ellen about anything else, they could talk about this at least.
“What needs to?” Ellen replied, defensive and morose.
“The case. I’ve indicated in several ways that this strategy wouldn’t work.”
“Yeah, you done told me. Patty Hewes, always right, isn’t she?” Ellen said without looking at her, and Patty should have seen it coming. Should have recognized the signs and walked away.
“Ellen, you can – and should – make mistakes,” she ignored the bait, resting her hand on Ellen’s chair instead. “But right now, it’s undermining you, undermining the firm, and undermining me.
“Your capabilities are being questioned, the staff is frequently confused on which direction they should follow, and the reputation of the firm is taking a hit. I can’t have it.”
“I can’t have it,” Ellen mocked. “It’s all about you, isn’t it? You mean your staff is confused on whose direction they should follow, and your firm is taking a hit.”
“Ellen…” she warned, her grip tightening on the chair.
“It’s funny, nobody ever questioned my capabilities before I climbed into your bed,” Ellen continued as if she hadn’t heard anything. So she’s read the office gossip column as well.
“Well, you’re quite welcome to climb out of it and try it on your own, you certainly never had any trouble doing that before.” She felt it coming, the rush of adrenaline, but it was too late to back down then.
“Maybe I will. Tell me though, Ms Hewes – the other female associates of yours who have been through the same career path,” Ellen spat. “Did they make you cry in bed like I did?”
It happened before she realised it. It wasn’t just the glass this time; the brown liquor trailed along the hardwood floors and ended on the off-white wall. They faced each other, and she met Ellen’s eyes.
There it was.
The stains were gone by the time she came home the next night, but its other occupant showed no signs of having returned.
Where are you?
It’s Friday and still no signs of Ellen, and she had had enough.
The Chateau.
Turns out they were just a few blocks apart from each other. Ellen answers the door after two knocks, her expression unreadable as she looks at the duffel bag.
“If you’re going to sleep somewhere else, at least do it in proper nightwear,” Patty says wryly.
“Oh.”
“You got a guest in there?” she teases, pretending to peek into the room.
“Uh, no – of course, please.” Ellen clears her throat and steps aside. “I just thought…”
“That I was kicking you out?” Patty finishes the sentence, placing the duffel on the couch.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” Ellen replies softly, eyes not quite meeting hers yet.
“Hey, come here.” Patty heads towards her lover, unsure if it was the lack of heels, the plain t-shirt, or actual weight loss that’s causing Ellen to appear smaller. All she knows is it must stop – she must stop it – right now.
“I’m sorry,” she says, wrapping her arms around Ellen’s waist. Might be the weight loss. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
“No,” Ellen protests, her voice muffled by Patty’s shoulder. “I was baiting you the whole time.”
“It’s still no excuse,” she replies. “I should have given you the space you needed.”
Ellen chuckles at that, “Don’t we make a fine pair.”
Patty responds in kind and moves them towards the bed. The clink of glasses as they sink into it draws her attention to the surrounding empty bottles.
“What’s going on?” she says, peppering the top of Ellen’s head with kisses. “You’ve had setbacks before.”
“I don’t know,” Ellen moans. “All I know is I’ve been slipping. I can’t stop wondering if the successes before…were they flukes? Did I win only because you were holding my hand all the way?”
“Ellen,” she says into the brunette’s hair. “You know damn well that’s not why. There can’t be that many flukes – not multimillion ones anyway. And you know I haven’t the patience to do that with anyone.”
“I don’t know anything anymore,” Ellen laments. “I heard you when you suggested other strategies.
“I just…it seems that everything that I have is because of you, or yours. The practice, your expertise, your home, and then there’s you…”
“There’s me?” Patty hates the way her pitch raises, causing Ellen to look up. She holds her breath, waiting for the inevitable.
“There’s you, the brilliant, competitive, impatient you,” Ellen murmurs. “What if those were just really flukes, and I’m not as good as you seem to think? Will you still – ”
Patty places a finger on Ellen’s lips. “One, those aren’t flukes. Two, when I’m feeble and old, and can barely string a sentence together, will you still…?”
They haven’t quite mastered the art of using words to express their feelings for each other, except during screaming matches, opting for other ways instead. So they capture the lips of one another, planting soft but reassuring kisses on faces until they feel their answers are conveyed.
Patty pulls back eventually to catch her breath. While they’re on the subject. “Ellen, are you sure there isn’t something else?”
“What do you mean?” Ellen says.
“I’ve noticed – the nightmares, and your…the way you behave sometimes, around the apartment.”
“I…” Ellen’s hesitation almost kills her, but at least it’s out in the open now. “Patty, it’s PTSD, that’s all there is to it.”
“Ellen, having PTSD isn’t all there is,” she chides the girl’s attempt to trivialize the issue.
“It’s getting better,” Ellen insists. “They used to come more often, but recently I only get them around…this time.”
“What do you dream about?” Patty rushes through her words. “I mean, am I in them?”
At this, Ellen turns to lie on her back, looking at the ceiling. Patty holds her position and lets minutes pass before Ellen responds, her tone somber: “I see David, sometimes in that bathtub, sometimes on our bed, when we fought. I see that man, the struggle, that knife.”
“Sometimes,” Ellen whispers. “Sometimes it’s David who’s in the apartment, with that knife in him. Sometimes, it’s me who put it – ”
She hears the catch in Ellen’s voice and wants to end this. She wants to give her bourbon, everything, anything. She remains still instead.
“But no,” Ellen adds and in a surprising move, turns to her. She doesn’t know why Ellen would – and how she could – even look at her now. Until the other woman reaches over and brushes her knuckles against her cheeks, wiping away tears Patty hasn’t realized were there.
“You’re never in them. Sometimes I remember looking for you.”
Unable to speak still, Patty chances a glimpse at Ellen’s face. It must be a distortion created by water, because it can’t be wistfulness that she sees within the sadness and resignation.
“I think –” Ellen continues. “It’s because that was my first reaction. When I saw David. That you could maybe fix this, do something to make it all go away.”
“I’m sorry,” Patty can’t wait a second longer. Her rushed apology doesn’t quite come out right, her throat is hoarse from the sniffing, so she tries again.
And again, and again.
She doesn’t stop trying until words turn into sobs; until she ceases to know anything else; until another set of hands pries her own away from her cheeks, and envelops her face with a tenderness she doesn’t deserve.
“Shh, shh,” Ellen coos, but it only makes her cry harder. Ellen doesn’t stop either, alternating between calling her name and soothing her. How that girl could have thought Patty was kicking her out, when she went to the hotel expecting it the other way round, she doesn’t understand.
So she keeps trying.
The clock hands tells her it’s way past midnight when she comes to. She turns to Ellen, who’s watching her. Exhausted, still uncertain, and incapable to form the words she needs, she looks at her lover searchingly.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Ellen answers her question with a whisper, but with no less conviction.
She smiles in relief, and it’s only then when Ellen moves to retrieve a bottle of water for her. She sits up, making a note to add a smudged pillowcase to the hotel bill.
“Do you want to move?” she asks, putting away the bottle and beckoning Ellen to return to bed.
“To another hotel?” Ellen’s confused, but looks like she’s ready to indulge Patty. “Now?”
“No, I mean somewhere else,” Patty clarifies. “Out of the apartment.”
“You mean…together?” At Patty’s nod, she says: “Patty, it’s your home.”
“I want it – wherever we end up, I want it to be yours, too.”
“Patty.” Her name comes out as a sigh, and she wishes Ellen wouldn’t look like she had just proposed to her. It’s not like they weren’t living together already, although it does feel different this time.
“I just – are you sure this is a conversation you want to have at two in the morning?”
“Should I call for coffee?” Patty picks up her phone and keys in the number for Ellen’s favorite place in town.
Ellen, however, places her hand over hers and burrows against her side. “I’m comfortable here.”
Patty hums her agreement and they dim the lights.
“A few years ago, I found out my parents nearly gave me up for adoption,” Ellen begins.
“What? You never told me that.”
“It was when Gates arrested Tessa Marchetti. It’s not exactly something you want to advertise anyway.”
“What happened?”
“My parents were going through some hard stuff, and my dad was – putting it simply – a raging asshole,” Ellen says. “My mom felt she couldn’t protect both Carrie and I, so she sent me to live with my babysitter then for a while. Apparently she nearly made it a permanent arrangement.”
“What did he do?” Patty keeps her tone calm, but she searches for her phone with her free hand, ready to inflict major damage at any moment.
“I don’t really remember,” Ellen says. “It comes to me in bits and pieces. I know he threw and broke things, and mom always kept the fragile stuff locked up. She still does, come to think of it.”
“Ellen.” Horrified, she tries to disentangle herself to look at the other woman, but the arms and legs around her hold on tightly. “All those times…I didn’t know.”
“It’s alright,” Ellen reassures her.
“It’s not alright – I…I thought it was the PTSD.”
“I didn’t know either,” Ellen says. “I mean, I never knew I would react to it, because David was never – I was the one with the temper.”
“I’m sorry…if it helps, I’m seeing a therapist about it.”
“You are?”
Patty nods. “I told you about my father before. I used to call our home the Hewes’s House of Terror. That’s what he did every time he came home. Our fear made him feel big and important.”
“My worst nightmare was turning into him,” she says, closing her eyes. “It bothered me initially, the anger and the acting out. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t using it as a weapon, and over the years, with Phil, Tom, and Michael…they got so used to it that…
“It’s still no excuse, I know. But it wasn’t until recently that I realized I had established my own Hewes’s House of Terror.”
Ellen shakes her head vehemently. “It’s not – Patty, it’s not like that at all.”
“After all that’s happened to you – after all I did to you,” Patty’s laugh is hollow. “How could it not be?”
“It’s not because I’m still here,” Ellen’s firm tone surprises her. “I came back. I want to be here. I choose to be with you.”
“How do we know it’s not some form of Stockholm’s?” Patty chuckles, but her tone betrays her doubt. “You don’t see your family anymore – isn’t that one of the signs? And we all know about my issues with control.
“Patty, stop.” The brunette climbs on top of her, forcing Patty to look her in the eyes. “What will you do if I walk out the door right now?”
“I’d have to find a way to keep going,” Patty replies wryly.
“But you won’t stop me?”
“Well, I might go on an impulsive shopping trip and –”
“But you won’t stop me.”
“I won’t.” Patty concedes, grasping Ellen’s point.
“If it really bothers you, I can go to therapy,” Ellen says, smiling at Patty’s positive response. “We can move too. But I haven’t told you how I found out about my near adoption.”
“How?”
“I had these recurring dreams. I’d come home from playing, my babysitter would be making dinner, and I’d help. Of course, I didn’t know then that these were real memories. There was one thing different about them though.
“What?” Patty says trailing her fingers across Ellen’s jaw.
“Those dreams occurred in our apartment, and not her house.”
“Ellen.”
“I was coming home. To us, to our kitchen.”
“We can have the same set up in another place, if you decide to move,” Patty says. “I just want you to feel safe at home.”
“I know of some ways that could help with that.”
It’s not that Patty is completely attached to her apartment. After all, she’s moved countless times – with her mother, with Pete, across the country to law school, then to New York, and many times within the city after then. She still likes surprising movers and package handlers with her in-depth knowledge on the topic.
She also likes fresh starts, never once forgetting the joy she felt when they left the house that Hewes Senior built.
She is a little tired of moving, though. After her divorce, she really thought that that was it. While she would have demolished the entire building if Ellen had wanted it, if she’s being honest with herself, she would miss the memories contained within the apartment. Including weekend brunches, which Ellen seems to prefer to have at their patio than in cafes.
Speaking of which.
Neither of them gets up until lunch this Sunday. Patty begs off the sugary cereal Ellen’s rediscovered recently, but does agree to help with the cupcakes.
Not that she’s needed. She sips her tea and luxuriates in how Ellen is so at home, moving around the kitchen as if she’s been there forever.
For the first time, Patty basks in the comfort that people don’t change.
That despite the need to win, Ellen is driven by her need for justice for others. And despite the manipulative traits that Patty cultivates in the younger woman, there’s still a sweet, vulnerable girl who’s instinct is to protect; so firm that she had risked Patty’s wrath as well as her career with the DA for Tom. That despite Patty’s misgivings and faults, they are no match for Ellen’s complete devotion to people she loves.
“Patty?” Ellen waves a wooden spoon at her. “What kind of frosting would you like?”
As she steps forward to help Ellen decorate the cupcakes with her favorite frosting – the kind she got for her birthday – she hopes Ellen will always look at her the way she’s doing now.
And as Ellen playfully feeds one to her, she hopes that Ellen will always see the same in her eyes.
She does recall what Dr Baldwin said about changing her behavior, instead of changing herself. She licks the crumbs off her lips and cups Ellen’s face, moving in for a slow and deep kiss, each peck a promise that she will only change for the better.
She then proceeds to show Ellen how some parts – those that Ellen returns to and holds on for – she will never change.
Finis