Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
DANNY
U nlike Frankie, I have been in love before. Or something that only felt like love because it didn’t feel like this. I’m not making much sense, mainly due to the fact that someone appears to have let off fireworks in my brain. I’m trying to stay cool but inside I’m like that Kermit the Frog GIF where he’s waving his arms around like a lunatic.
Frankie’s in the shower, and I’m lying in bed wondering when it will be safe to tell her that I’m pretty sure I love her. Maybe she’ll never want to hear it, and every time I start, she’ll make the mouth-zipping motion? Maybe she’s the kind of person who’ll consider it a given, so there’s no need to say it out loud.
I’m not that kind of person. I like to express myself freely and I like to hear that my affections are returned. Growing up, Dad was pretty sparing with the emotional declarations but Mom made up for that. Of course, that meant all of us Durant kids were fixated on pleasing Dad, because his compliments were so scarce. Poor Mom, who was unfailingly kind, loving, and supportive, must have felt like chopped liver at times.
Frankie’s got the opposite problem. No issues with her dad that I’ve picked up on, but plenty with her mom. Seems the parent we feel least connected to is the one who occupies most of our brain space. Thanks, Freud.
It’ll be a test for us two when Frankie’s mom returns. Frankie’s emotions will be running high, and I’ll have to make sure I don’t add to her load. Which will be tough for me because I’ll want to have her all to myself. But Frankie’s needs come first, so I’ll have to keep any selfish tendencies in check.
The shower’s still running, so I grab my phone and check my emails. Finally, one from the producer guy. Shit, okay , the first pitch meeting with Netflix went really well. No commitment yet but definitely a favorable response. He should know more in a week or so.
I won’t get my hopes up. Well, I won’t get them up any higher than they already are, which is almost certainly too high. So many unknowns, but – duh – that’s how it is. Only a psychic can see into the future and even then, they’re mostly full of bs. I had a reading once and they said I was going to have six kids and live on a farm. Might as well have taken my thirty bucks and set fire to it.
Footsteps on the stairs and Frankie appears, wrapped in a towel that she drops to the floor. She’s naked and glowing all over, and I am suddenly hard as a rock.
“Come here.” I intend to sound chill. I fail.
She raises an eyebrow. “I just had a shower.”
“I can make it quick.” So much for keeping selfish tendencies in check.
“That bad?” she says, with an amused, knowing smile. “Oh dear…”
She saunters over, and slowly peels back the covers. The urgency of my condition is exposed.
“My, my,” she says. “Whatever can we do?”
Holy shit. She grabs a pillow and kneels on it beside the bed. Fair call, these wooden floors are as hard as I am. Oh – fuck! – she wraps her hand around the shaft, and then lowers her head, and her tongue circles and teases the tip before she takes me fully into her mouth and?—
Excuse me a moment. I’ve lost all capacity for rational thought.
I emerge from a haze to find Frankie now sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at me.
“No words,” I say. “I’ll return the favor soon as I can.”
“Yes, you will,” she says. “But now, you need to get your butt out of bed and into the shower. If I miss out on chicken pot pie, I won’t be answerable for my actions.”
* * *
The pie is sublime, but the atmosphere around the dinner table is … tense. Nate’s jaw is set so tight it’s a wonder he can open it to eat, and Shelby looks like she’s been crying and might burst into tears again any second. Neither of them is saying a word. Frankie and I exchange more than one “uh-oh” look as we eat.
Finally, Frankie steps in. “Did Mom call?” she asks Shelby.
Shelby nods, several times, over-quickly.
Frankie winces, and says, “Guessing she wasn’t happy.”
Shelby shakes her head the same frantic way, and then emits a gulping sob and claps her hands over her face.
Nate puts down his fork. “Shel,” he says, wearily, as if this has been going on for a while. “Stop. You can’t afford to be this upset. It’s not good for you or the baby.”
“She was so mad at me,” gulps Shelby. “Mom’s never been mad at me in her life!”
Frankie purses her lips. My guess is that statement does not apply to all the Armstrong kids.
“Shel, Nate’s right, you need to chill,” says Frankie. “Mom will forgive you. She probably already has. She’s probably already made a mixtape of whale music for the birth.”
Frankie sees Nate’s face. “I’m not kidding. Prepare yourself for the song of the humpback.”
Now, Nate looks like he might cry. “She’s not going to insist we have a water birth, is she?”
This day has not been fun for him. I won’t mention how much fun I’ve been having. That would be cruel.
“Luckily, Mom isn’t entirely averse to modern medicine,” Frankie tells him. “She had pre-eclampsia when she was pregnant with me. Modern medicine saved her life and mine.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say, surprised.
Frankie gives me a quick, tight smile. “Lots about me still to discover.”
She’s creating distance between us. Rational me knows it’s because the subject of her mom sucks up all her bandwidth. Emotional me is hurt. I know she got more vulnerable today than she ever has, but I’d hoped she wouldn’t retreat to safety quite so rapidly.
But then, I hate feeling rejected and I react to it more strongly than I should do. So, I give emotional Danny the mental equivalent of a pacifier and hand control back to rational Danny. We talked about Frankie coming back to mine again after dinner, but now I think it’d be better if she stayed here with Shelby. Nate looks worn out, and it’s in his nature to keep pushing until he collapses. Frankie can provide a buffer, and another shoulder for her sister to lean on.
“What episode of Gilmore Girls are you up to?” I say and am ridiculously pleased to see Frankie flash me a grateful smile.
“The one where Rory gets two birthday parties,” she says. “Shel? You up for another binge?”
Shelby is still sniffling, but amazingly, seems to rally at the offer. “Can we make popcorn this time?” she says.
I see Nate sag with relief, poor bastard. Maybe he and I should head into town for some brother bonding over a beer?
“Bro,” I say. “Want to kill an hour at The Silver Saddle?”
Nate’s not much of a drinker, and I can see his initial instinct is to say no. But it’s been a long day for him, hard on the heels of a broken night, and he could do with a change of scene.
“Sure,” he says. “Why not?”
“Go on.” Frankie makes a scoot gesture with her fingers. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”
“Thanks.” Nate sounds slightly bewildered. He’s not used to people taking charge and doing stuff for him.
I collect the plates and pile them next to the sink. Then I drop a quick kiss on Frankie’s cheek and she smiles up at me.
“Don’t get into a fight with Brendan,” she says. “He’ll ban us all. Again.”
“We’ll be good,” I reply, with a grin. “Mostly.” And I steer my brother out the door.