B E T T Y | Grey's Anatomy

1

Amelia Shepherd's penthouse is nothing short of ideal. On top of a high-rise in Seattle, almost adjacent to the space needle, or 'noodle' as the toddler who terrorises the apartment calls it, Amelia is privy to the most gorgeous views in Washington State. To the left, the ferryboat dock, shuttling her and her friends to work everyday. Behind, the wall of trees that lead to the calm of Canada, providing one treks north for long enough. To the right, pacific blue, stretching to Russia almost uninterrupted. Amelia's considered the 100 mile walk to the hidden northern forest and the 4,726 mile swim to the largest country on earth. She quite fancies the anonymity of Siberia, to lay in the snow for so long that her milk skin turns to ice and all that remains is piercing green and brunette tresses glittered by snow flurries.

Rather than quitting her job, acquiring VISA's, kidnapping her son from his father, abandoning her sisters and their children, catching carbon-fuelled flights and exploding her life entirely, Amelia decided to float into the sky. The apartment block makes her feel like a goddess in the clouds, peering out her floor-to-ceiling windows with a green tea in a clear mug. The string of the bag hangs perfectly over the rim, displaying the expense she willingly spent on a beverage. Amelia can pretend to feel superior, knowing the father of her son, the man who proposed to her, is many feet below, in a two story suburban house, round the corner from the hospital they work at.

Yet Amelia doesn't feel superior. She has been following a ritualised schedule since Atticus Lincoln proposed to her on the beach at her sister's wedding- after she expressed a desire to never marry. What made the whole situation worse was Link chose to involve her gorgeous, chubby faced, nephew and nieces- the eldest, Zola, holding one of four rings with such delight, Amelia thought the girl would combust into confetti. She couldn't say no in front of the children, she couldn't say no at all, because no isn't her answer. Instead, she hopes a firm 'not now' was communicated in her choice to turn around and walk away and buy herself an apartment.

Isolation is not good for addicts however, and Amelia is both isolated and sober. The apartment is uncharacteristically tidy for the youngest Shepherd sibling who has spent much of her years living in chaos. Her own son has taken to drawing on the walls just to give her a mess to clear up. If she's not busy cleaning, her mind is reeling, when her mind is reeling, she's spiralling, and when she's spiralling she's craving. Yet Amelia won't let a relapse happen, not with the adoring blue eyes of Scout Derek Shepherd Lincoln staring up at her. She puts the one-year-old on her hip, squishing his chubby thighs that are beginning to thin out as he learns to walk confidently.

"We're going to be alright Scouty! Yes we are!"

Amelia tries to refrain from baby talk with her son, believing the more words he's exposed to before the age of three, the higher his IQ will be, yet on this rainy Tuesday morning, on her day off from work, it is Amelia who desires the cooing words for herself.

"Rain!" Scout exclaims, a 'W' replacing the 'R'. He points at the drops racing down the window and Amelia releases the little wriggler to the floor, allowing him to tottle over and trace the rain, creating sticky smears on the glass.

"That's right bud! It's raining... it's always raining."

Scout quickly loses interest in the trickling water, turning his focus back to his Mama. He wants attention and he wants it now.

"Alright! Alright baby." Amelia pulls her son to standing, holding his perfect hand. "Let's go find a book to read."

"Ducky!"

"You want the book with the ducks?"

Scout nods fervently.

"Good choice, I like that one."

Scout has been a rock for Amelia throughout the pandemic and the relationship crisis. In fact, there is so much of Amelia in Scout, it is as if she is socialising with a mirror. In parenting her son, the doctor is able to reparent herself and pay attention to her most primal human needs. It is a form of therapy, being able to honour her most authentic emotions the way her one year old does. Nobody has got close enough to Scout to demonstrate the holding in of emotions and suppressing of desires, instead, Amelia chooses to demonstrate what she wishes was taught to her as a little girl: crying when you feel like crying, laughing when you feel like laughing, and taking as many naps as humanly possible.

"Ducks Mama!" Scout gurgles, his pronunciation of hard consonants far from perfect. Amelia understands him perfectly though.

"Dada!"

"Dada?"

"Dada!" Scout claps.

"Oh, you read this book with Dada?"

Scout giggles happily.

"I miss Dada." Amelia mumbles into the skin of her baby- he smells like coconut body oil and Amelia wants to nibble him like a candy bar.

"I really, really miss your Dada."

Later Tuesday evening, the rain becomes torrential, acting as a natural white noise machine for Scout to lull himself to sleep with. Amelia shuts the door to the pale green nursery, cringing when the catch clicks as it always does. The baby monitor is set on the side table and Amelia indulges in a tub of ice cream in place of the red merlot she knows is what she really craves. Kim Kardashian keeps her company for a little while- there's nothing like a good old bitch fest to take your mind off your own midlife crisis. 35-years-old may not seem like a mid life crisis to some, many waiting until 40 to dare let the phrase pass their lips, but Amelia has done more living than she ever intended to do, and considering the state of her liver at 25, she never really planned past 30. Whatever she's achieved since her sobriety has been a bonus.

Amelia reluctantly turns off the reality show when her door bell rings, not wanting to share her guilty pleasure with her new neighbours just yet. She can stand to maintain the pretence of having class for a little while longer. She instinctually looks for her robe, before realising she's still dressed, not having had the energy to change after putting Scout in bed as she usually does.

"Coming!" She whisper-yells when the bell goes again, twice in a row. The top bolt is undone, the chain taken off, and bottom lock twisted before Amelia can throw open the door.

"Yes?" She asks the young woman in front of her, whose eyes are glued to muddy teal converses. Behind the girl is a trail of dirty footsteps jarring the beige carpet. Amelia is certain her complex has cleaners since the hallways and corridors are always spotless and the plants are always watered. She hates the fact that dirty marks are now leading up to her front door. Her new neighbours (who she's yet to meet) won't be getting the impression Amelia wants to present. They might think she's traipsed in from and inebriating night out and complain to the building security that she's messing up the place.

"You could've used the door mat on the first floor." Amelia sighs at her guest, who is still standing rigid.
"Do you not talk or....?"

Just as Amelia observes a water droplet falling to the floor under the weight of her wet hair, the girl looks up, revealing a swollen face.

"You've got a....." Amelia reaches out, the doctor in her wanting to feel the bruise on the girls eye socket. Amelia avoids eye contact as she assesses the wound in her head.

"Do you need some Tylenol?" Amelia assumes that's why she has an injured stranger on her doorstep. "Because you'll have to try another door, or ask the security guy downstairs. I've only got kid stuff." She pauses. "How did you get past security?"

"I.... I showed him your business card." A familiar voice explains, and anguish covering the girls face.

"My card? Are you a patient? Did I miss an appointment?"

"Amelia... no.."

As her name falls from the strangers lips with a soft blub, a realisation dawns somewhere in the medulla of the doctor. A switch turns on and wheels start whirring as the mother begins to analyse the face in front of her- a familiar face so worn and hollowed it's unrecognisable.

"Betty? Oh my god!"