Elizabeth "Liz" Last

Liz blinks her eyes open, light flooding her vision. The world around her comes into clarity as she glances around.

She turns on her side, only to find she's alone in her bed.

Her brows furrow, usually you two wake up around the same time.

"MC?" Her voice rings out across the quiet room.

Your voice echoes back at her from the bathroom.

"Liz, I'm in here."

She sits up, coming over to find you in a sleepy haze. Her arms wrap around your waist as she comes up behind you, nuzzling into you.

"Morning."

She smiles warmly and you chuckle, brushing your hair out.

"Good morning."

She sighs softly before splitting away from your frame.

"I'm gonna take a shower, care to join?" You invite, a moment of respite before the children wake up.

She nods, taking her own brush and raking it through her orange hair. "I'd love to."

You two wash off, and once you're done and out of your pajamas, she dries her hair off. You two get ready for the day in comfortable silence, no need to fill it with chatter.

She steps out of the room, hair still kept up in the towel as she gets herself some water, sipping slowly. You follow shortly after, opening the fridge.

"What's on the menu for breakfast?" You ask, and she pauses thoughtfully.

"Hmmm, oatmeal?" She suggests, not really bothered by whatever you decide to eat.

"That sounds fine." You nod, unbothered as well.

The door to the kid's bedroom pops open, a sleepy ginger walking out. "Mama? Nini?" His voice is soft, sweet. He's the youngest of two, he's five years old, just started kindergarten a few months ago. August is a chaotic kid, always playing games and talking. His energy knows no bounds, but he knocks out cold when it's time for bed. His older sister, Olivia, is energetic as well, but not to the same extent. She's eight years old and obsessed with monster trucks. You practically have to pry her away from the TV whenever something related to it comes on. She also likes cars, period. She has all kinds of truck and racecar toys, which she rarely lets August borrow.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Liz ruffles his hair with a fond smile, eyes lighting up with a familiar content.

August lets out a big yawn, his tiny body drooping forward.

Liz picks him up in one arm, smiling softly as she lets him doze back off, his frame going limp against hers.

Time passes slowly but peacefully, you prepare some food for the kids while August takes a nap on the couch and Elizabeth wakes Olivia up.

Olivia smiles softly as she exits the bedroom with Liz, eyes droopy with sleep.

"Nini, what's for breakfast?" She yawns, stretching out her arms over her head.

"Oatmeal." You say, smiling softly as you grab some bowls out. "Sit down, I'll whip it up real quick."

She nods, plopping down onto a chair, leaning on the dining table. "Orange juice or apple juice?" You ask, glancing back at her. "Orange!" She grins, her two front teeth missing from her gummy smile. While you whip up her oatmeal the way she likes it, August starts to stir from his nap, blinking his eyes open. You slice up some strawberries, throwing them into Olivia's oatmeal bowl before serving the drink and food. You start to do the same for August, knowing that he only drinks apple juice in the morning so you don't have to ask. It's his schedule. He sits down as well, watching you make the food with keen eyes. You place his breakfast in front of him, making sure the blueberries were tossed into the oatmeal how he likes it. You make yourself and Liz some food too, the morning passing peacefully with silly conversations and love.

You couldn't be happier with your life.

Elizabeth Last, Baxter is starting to truly realize, is an unstoppable force of nature when she wants to be. Case in point, she has apparently made it her life's mission to show up unannounced whenever she's in town.

Since she doing some type of job near Prima Vista, that means he's been seeing her a distressing amount.

Liz does, at least, knock first before she opens the door, using a key Lily gave her years ago. The light spills into the room and it's do bright, Baxter involuntarily lets out a curse. It's way too early for her presence. He checks the time on his phone, which reads 10:54 am.

There's the smell of food and even better, coffee. A peace offering, then. He'll take it. And mentally prepares of whatever uncomfortable topic she feels she needs to talk to him about.

He groans inwardly. Lily, he imagines, would find all of his hilarious. She was always far more patient with her sister's antics than he could ever be.

“Really? All you've been doing is drinking?”

Ah, an old topic it is then.

Baxter rubs eyes and sighs. “I didn't drink that much,” he says.

Liz hums. “That bottle of whiskey is suspiciously empty.” The tone is light, but the accusation heavy. It sets Baxter on edge.

“It was over the course of a few days,” he replies bitingly. “After work, and never excessively.”

“Oh great, you're back working. I was worried you'd be living on the couch, growing mold.” Liz places the food on the table. A veggie omelet with toast. Simple but decent.

“Unfortunately, my rent and bills don't care if my wife is gone and my depression refuses to go away.” He surprises himself with how flippant he can say that, and going by the look on his sister-in-law's face, perhaps she has the same thought.

There’s silence as he eats, and he notices Liz's eyes keep drifting to a stack of papers.

Or rather, the letters he's written to Lily since her passing. They help, sometimes. On the days where the grief is all-encompassing. Where he watches old videos on her phone just to hear her voice. There’s a voicemail on his phone from her on his phone he refuses to delete.

“You can read them,” He tells her. “It's not as if there anything particularly embarrassing written there.”

He flashes a grin; it feels weak on his face. “There's nothing to blackmail me with, I'm afraid.”

Liz hands lingers, as if she's unsure before she takes the topmost letter. “Other than that monstrosity dyed hair you had when you first moved to Sunset Bird.”

“Lily found it charming.”

“She had terrible taste. How she liked it, I'll never know.”

“I might add, she wished I never stopped dyeing it that way.” He finishes eating and takes the plate to the sink. There’s not much to wash, but Baxter cleans the dishes anymore, moreso to give him something to do.

There’s silence between them, but it’s not tense or heavy, despite their banter earlier. Eventually: “You have the most flowery writing I’ve ever read.” Liz pauses, her eyes softens as she reads. “She fell in love with such a dork.” She returns the letter back to the stack, but doesn’t reach for another. “She would talk about you a lot, after that summer.”

That surprises Baxter; the way she acted after they met in the restaurant three years ago, he suspected she wanted nothing to do with him. “I honestly thought she hated me for a while there.”

Liz smiles. “Lillian Last actually hate anyone? I highly doubt that. If she was willing to give Shiloh and that Jeremy guy a second chance, she definitely was gonna give you one. She was just being dramatic. She’s good at that.” A pause. “Was good at that. Sorry.”

Baxter nods his head. He understands completely. There are days when he thinks of Lily in the present tense; sometimes he expects her to come walking through the door, talking excitedly about her job. He misses those moments when they cooked together (or attempted to, in Lily’s case. She was a bit of a disaster in the kitchen.)

He misses the floral perfume she would wear, the way she would laugh when he swept her up into an unprompted dance, her snuggling up next to him even if it was absolutely sweltering from the summer night.

Liz leaves with a well-meaning snark, telling him she will beat his door down if anyone hasn't heard from him in a few days. Entirely unnecessary, but he understands all the same, and it's well deserved. His attempt to go no contact had everyone thinking the worst and the last thing he wants to do is put his friends and family through all the stress again.

Baxter looks at his stack of letters; his fingers itching to write another is too hard to ignore.

Giving into temptation, he sits and writes, pouring out feelings he can't get himself to say out loud. He finishes it with