Chapter 32
Frankie pressed her forehead to the cool plexiglass of the vending machine.
Something about the moment—the exhaustion, the hum of fluorescent lights, the sterile scent of the corridor combined with the faint whiff of disgusting hospital cafeteria chicken noodle soup—made her want to cry and laugh at the same time.
As she stared at the Snickers bar she’d paid for that was dangling in front of her, taunting her and not falling, she wondered if this was the truest metaphor for her life to date. She saw exactly what she wanted, she’d put her money in and pressed the right buttons, but it still wasn’t hers.
“You’re being dramatic, even for you,” she scolded herself. “This isn’t about you.”
Did she know that to be true, that this situation wasn’t about her? Sure.
Was her mind still spinning out with what-ifs? Of course it was.
Did that make her a horrible human being? Absolutely.
Could she help it? No.
She’d spent the last three hours orchestrating the emotional triage of her family, and the result was a low-grade menty b that threatened to tip over into either hysterical tears or maniacal laughter depending on what minor catastrophe happened next.
Her mom had finally passed out. Frankie wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol she’d drunk at the reception or the Valium Yaya had slipped her.
Frankie freaked out a little (a lot) when she found out, explaining it was dangerous, not to mention illegal, to give someone prescription medication that wasn’t theirs, especially without their knowledge.
But Yaya just threw her arms up and said if anything happened, they were in the right place, and to let them try and arrest her.
She would say she was a confused old lady and thought she was giving her the Tylenol.
Frankie was too tired to argue with her, and if there was anyone in the world she was willing to go down for as an ‘accessory after the fact,’ it was Yaya.
Niko was in what Frankie had named his P-P-P loop.
He went from pacing to panicking, to pretending everything was fine, trying to make jokes and lighten the mood, then back to pacing and the cycle started over.
Part of his anxiety was because Dr. Sterling had been the only father Niko ever really knew.
But another part was because no one had been able to reach AJ.
He wasn’t in his cabin or answering his phone.
Whenever Niko couldn’t get ahold of his brother, it made him stressed.
Frankie wondered if it was a twin thing because she wasn’t stressed, and she was very overprotective of her brothers, especially AJ.
Tristan was genuinely a mess. She actually felt sorry for him.
He was doing his best to be strong, but his dad was in open heart surgery, and he’d already lost his mom.
Right before Frankie excused herself to get sugar sustenance, Emmanuelle had shown up though, so at least he had some emotional support.
Yaya was knitting and regaling everyone with the medical history of each patient she’d ever visited at the hospital and how good the doctors and nurses were. Mr. Santino had been by. He was currently on an errand getting her ‘good slippers’ from her house.
“There she is.” Frankie heard a familiar voice behind her. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party.”
Frankie turned away from the vending machine and saw Zee standing at the end of the hallway like an apparition conjured by the neediest parts of her brain.
He was dressed in his signature shade of support group-chic, a long, camel trench over a black turtleneck, his head covered in a stylish beanie.
For a split second, she wondered if she was hallucinating, if exhaustion and hospital-grade caffeine were collaborating to gaslight her.
“Are you real or a mirage?” She swiped at his face.
He advanced, arms open. “I have been known to show up in people’s dreams, but I assure you, I am real. Pinch me if you need confirmation.”
She rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him with a desperation that startled even her.
She relished the physicality of it: the warmth of him, his signature Tom Ford cologne, the way his body was soft in some places and hard planes in others, solid, familiar, absolutely there.
For a moment, she allowed herself to absorb all his strength.
He patted her back as he cradled her head, rocking her like a panicked child.
“You got my texts.” Frankie had messaged and called several (about 20) times.
“You sent texts? I saw the Bat Signal and received a note from a carrier pigeon,” he teased. “Quick question before we deep dive into the trauma, did I see Tristan with—”
“Emmanuelle, yes,” she confirmed as she pulled out of his embrace.
“Do I need to cut a bitch?” Zee was kidding. Maybe. “And just so we’re clear, the bitch I’m referring to is Tristan.”
“I know, and no.” Frankie smiled. “He asked if I would mind before she came.”
Zee’s eyes widened in shock, and he pulled out his phone began typing.
“What are you doing?” she asked, already amused at whatever his response was going to be.
“Checking the news. I’m assuming pigs have grown wings and they are flying and hell is below zero.”
“I know, right?” Frankie laughed. “When he asked, I told him whatever he needed was fine. And honestly, they make a cute couple.”
“I hate to admit it, but they do.” Zee’s nose scrunched as he squeezed her arm. “I would ask how you are, but…”
“Would you believe I’m processing through five stages of sarcasm?”
“I would,” he deadpanned. “But only because with this Rihanna vibe you got going, I think I might be in love with you.”
Her smile widened, she was happy he found her sweats and heels combo as amusing as she did. “Don’t tempt me. I might take you up on it.”
He examined her closely, all jokes suspended, gaze so direct it bordered on rude. “You look like you need medical attention. Or at least some sugar.”
Frankie’s eyes drifted back to the vending machine, to the Snickers still dangling by a stubborn corner. “I was trying to get a Snickers to satisfy me, and I can’t even do that!”
“Hold my beer.” Zee handed her his phone, walked over, and hit the side of the machine with the heel of his palm. It didn’t even look like he hit it that hard, but the candy bar came tumbling down. Zee reached down and pulled it out and handed it to her.
“Are you sure we can’t get married?” Frankie asked him as she exchanged the phone for the candy.
“I am, yes.” Zee nodded. “So, talk. Besides the obvious, why do you have a dark cloud hanging over you?”
“I’m a horrible person,” she explained as she leaned back against the wall, using it as leverage as she slid down, plopping on her butt and drawing her knees to her chest, then taking a large bite of her candy bar.
“You’re not,” he said, his voice like gravel wrapped in silk as he joined her on the floor, one arm resting on his knees, the other on hers like a weighted blanket.
She stared straight ahead as she swallowed and then took another bite.
“Dr. Sterling is on the table, and all I can think about is how shit my life is going to be if he doesn’t make it.
I should be worrying about him and everyone else.
Liam, my mom, the twins, Tristan…and I am.
But I’m also thinking about how much it’s going to suck to take care of my mom again.
See. Selfish. Center stage.” Frankie held up the Snickers bar and pointed to it.
“Me.” She then circled her other finger around it.
“The world.” Demonstrating that she thought the world revolved around her.
He reached over and pulled her hand, or the world down. “Stop. You’re not a horrible person, you’re not selfish. You’re human. You’re just the only one honest enough to admit what you’re actually thinking. Honesty is a good trait, in case you missed that day in Girl Scouts.”
“I was kicked out of Girl Scouts,” she reminded him. “For eating all the Thin Mints.”
Zee stared at her.
“And for putting a snake in Brenda Miller’s sleeping bag because she made fun of Cassie Larson’s weight and made her cry. She got bit and had to be rushed to the emergency room.”
“Which is why I respect you,” he said, grinning.
Frankie was seven at the time, and she still stood by what she’d done.
Brenda and her friends Heather and Misty were cruel and relentless bullies.
The only thing she regretted was that the other girls hadn’t found their bed buddies.
She put spiders in Heather’s sleeping bag.
And Misty got red ants, those had been a hard to catch and Frankie had to put them in a plastic baggie at the bottom of her sleeping bag.
The plan was when Misty got in her legs would disturb the bag and they would come out and crawl all over her.
Zee leaned his head on Frankie’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to be concerned about how your life will be affected. You can think about yourself, it doesn’t make you a bad person. But I promise, it’s going to be—”
“No.” She jerked away from him, her mouth full of chocolate and nugget.
“You can’t say it’s going to be okay. You weren’t there when my dad died.
You have no idea what that did to my mom.
Fourteen years, Zee. Four-teen years she went in and out of depression, and drinking.
It was like we’d build this sand castle that was our lives and then all it would take was a holiday, birthday, or a random Tuesday, and a wave would come and wash away the life we’d started to live.
leaving us with nothing again. Then we’d have to build it again.
And this is worse.” Her voice broke. “Because this is her wedding day.”
He let the silence stretch, then filled it, gentle as a blanket. “You’re right, I can’t promise you it’s going to be okay, but I can promise you it’s going to be different. You know how I know?”
She shrugged.