Chapter Text
Well our luck may have died and our love may be cold
but with you forever I'll stay.
We're going out west where sands turn into gold.
Now put on your stockings, baby, 'cause the night's getting cold.
“Oh, are you helping Mommy pack? Thank you!”
Olivia cooed patiently at her sixteen-month-old, whose idea of “helping” involved throwing his own toys at whatever box she was trying to fill and laughing uproariously whenever one of them actually made it in. She smiled indulgently, removed the offending object—this time, a small stuffed octopus—and handed it back to Noah before resuming the task of packing up her extensive CD collection.
It was a mindless job, and she wasn't paying any particular attention to which albums were going where until one caught her eye: sitting on the shelf was Springsteen's greatest hits, a collection she was sure she hadn't purchased herself.
It was Brian's, of course. His obsession with The Boss was something she'd found endearing in better times and exasperating in worse ones. When they'd moved in together they'd arranged their CDs alphabetically, mixing his and hers with impunity as they laughed at themselves for still using what the kids these days pejoratively called “physical media.” She'd given him ample time to take what was his when he moved out, but clearly he hadn't gotten everything. It was the first time in months she'd run across something belonging to him, and as always, she felt the sharp sting of regret.
Noah, meanwhile, was simply feeling irritated; his mother's attention was focused raptly on something other than him, and this was unacceptable. He let out a squeal as he reached for the object, as if demanding to know what had her so captivated.
“What do you think, baby?” she asked, hoisting him onto one hip as she turned the CD case over in her other hand. “What should we do with this?”
It wasn't typically a hard question; Olivia and her ex were still on good enough terms to simply ask if he wanted it back. She'd done exactly that when she'd learned that a two-bedroom apartment was opening up in her building and had to decide what to do with her current lease. She'd called Brian as a courtesy to offer him first dibs on the place, at which point she'd learned that (a) he was perfectly happy being back in his old neighborhood and (b) he was going undercover and would probably be unreachable for weeks. So much for calling him now.
She supposed she could drop it off at his place—he'd given her a key just in case she ever needed anything, still wanting to look after her even though it was over between them—but the idea of just wordlessly leaving it for him to find didn't feel right, not after everything he'd done for her. Packing it up and dealing with it later seemed like the only other available option, but she didn't want it to get mixed in with her things and forgotten again. And Noah was still reaching for it.
“Okay,” she said to her son. “You want some music while we pack?”
Noah babbled happily, so she took this as a yes and popped the disc into her stereo. Before she knew it, and much to her baby's delight, she found herself humming along.
Perhaps The Boss had grown on her after all.
Everything dies, baby, that's a fact
but maybe everything that dies someday comes back.
So put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
and meet me tonight in Atlantic City.