37 Christian
I glance into the living room.
Francesca is curled up on the couch beside Ryan, her legs tucked underneath her as she laughs softly at whatever is on the TV.
Jamie is sprawled on the floor in front of them, back against the couch, half paying attention to something on his phone while stealing fries from Ryan’s plate without asking.
The sight settles something deep in my chest.
She laughs again, then looks up and catches me standing there.
“Hey,” she says, smiling.
I cross the room, and something in her expression softens.
“Can we go see Gram?” she asks quietly after a second. “Her grave, I mean.”
Ryan’s hand pauses against her leg. Jamie glances up from his phone.
Neither of them says anything or offers to join. But not because they don’t want to or wouldn’t- they loved her too. They are just giving me this.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’d love to.”
Ryan leans down first, pressing an absent, soft kiss to Francesca’s temple before she stands.
“See you later,” he says easily.
Jamie tips his head back to look at her and gives her one of those crooked smiles.
“See you later, Frankie girl.”
A minute later, it’s just the two of us heading out.
The drive is quiet in a comfortable way- not awkward, just thoughtful. Francesca stares out the window, her fingers laced together in her lap, sunlight threading through her curls.
I’ve always loved her hair- how it never quite behaves, a little wild no matter what she does with it, but still soft.
“How are you doing?” I ask after a few blocks. “I mean… it’s been quite a morning.”
She exhales slowly. “Yeah. Pretty life-changing breakfast.” Then she huffs out a small laugh, glancing over at me. “I made French toast and somehow ended up with three boyfriends.”
I let out a quiet laugh at that.
Her smile lingers for a second before softening. “I feel good. I’m happy. Just… processing.”
“You don’t have to have it all figured out. None of us do.”
She glances at me. “You seem like you do.”
I shake my head, a small smile pulling at my mouth. “I’m very good at looking like I do. That’s not the same thing.”
At a stoplight, I take a breath. “I also want to say something- without making it heavy.”
“Okay,”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For how I reacted when you came back. I was scared, and I handled it badly. I feel horrible for my anger.”
She looks down at her hands, then back up at me. “Thank you. I understand it, completely,” she says quietly. “And… I hope you know how sorry I am for leaving the way I did.”
I don’t let her sit in that.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” I say gently, reaching over to take her hand.
She squeezes my fingers, just slightly, and we stay like that for the rest of the ride.
Gram is buried beside Francesca’s mom’s, in the middle of a pretty lawn in the cemetery. The markers are simple white stone, her mom’s a bit more worn and dirty. Gram’s grave is still covered in dirt that’s settled but hasn’t grown grass yet.
Frankie stares at them for a long moment before the words start tumbling out.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, voice unsteady. “For being there for her when I wasn’t.”
I swallow hard, staring down at my hands. “Ryan told me. That you were there- you did it all. Took care of everything. Took care of her. I can’t believe I just left her- she needed so much help.”
I choke on a sob and he pulls me into his arms.
“And I hate that I missed it. That she died and I didn’t know. That there was a funeral and people showed up and loved her and said goodbye and I…” My voice cracks. “I wasn’t there.”
I suck in a shaky breath. “I never got to say goodbye. And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for that.”
“Hey,” I murmur, interrupting her spiral. “Listen to me, Francesca. Yes, she needed help- and she got it. I was there everyday. And for a while, Ryan and Jamie were around too. Ryan’s mom visited all the time. We had nurses. You didn’t abandon her.”
She sniffles, but seems to not be crying anymore, which feels like a win.
“And she understood why you left- more than the rest of us, honestly. And she always knew you’d come home. Always believed it.”
“But I wasn’t there. I never said goodbye,” she says as she presses her face into my chest.
“You didn’t need to say goodbye,” I say quietly. “She knew how much you loved her.”
I just hold her while she cries. Even when the sobbing slows, I don’t let go. I keep one hand moving gently up and down her back.
“She was as happy as she could be,” I tell her. “She wasn’t alone. We had good nurses. She wasn’t in much pain.” I smile faintly. “And anytime I got sad, she’d smack me and tell me to shape up or you wouldn’t want me when you came back.”
Francesca lets out a small laugh and murmurs something I can’t quite catch.
“What was that?”
She leans back just enough to look at me. “Just… my grandmother knew how I felt about you. It’s almost a little embarrassing.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. She knew how we all felt about you too.”
She stills slightly at that. “Do you really think so?”
I smile a little. “Once she told me I better take care of you. Then she looked at Jamie and said, ‘that goes for you too.’”
She lets out a soft breath.
“And then,” I add, “she just shook her head and said something about you having ‘too many boys trailing after you to end up lonely.’”
She huffs out a quiet laugh, but her eyes shine a little.