Winner, Winner…
FRANKIE
“Get that shit out of my face,” I grumble, pushing Jay’s phone away as I focus on chopping carrots. “I’ve got a knife. You’re creating a workplace hazard.”
“One, this is your kitchen, not a workplace. Two, rumors are swirling about you, dude!” He chuckles, tapping away at his phone. “You want me to see if anyone’s figured out who you are? I’m a pretty good detective.”
“Unless you want these mashed potatoes shoved right up your ass, the answer is no.”
“You mean the whole pot? Or is it like an enema situation?”
I roll my eyes, trying to get back to the task at hand.
Daphne’s coming over in an hour and for whatever godforsaken reason, I decided to go all out with a full steak dinner.
Roman gave me the recipe for the steak, said it was ‘idiot proof,’ but I think he’s severely overestimating my abilities in the kitchen, so that’s why Abi and Jay are here.
Besides, I just figured out how to work my fucking air fryer, I’m not exactly a Michelin chef.
“Can we not talk about enemas around the food, please?”
Abi steps through the patio door with a bowl in her hands and a pair of scuba goggles fitted comfortably over her eyes.
“Onion’s all chopped up by the way, and look!” She takes off the goggles and gestures with a wave of her hand. “No tears!”
Bugsy swirls around her ankles, trilling incessantly.
That cat’s always adored her, and it makes sense because what’s not to love?
She’s basically Tinkerbell… if Tinkerbell drank margaritas like it was the end of the world, and had a similarly apocalyptic mean-streak in roller derby.
She only just picked up the sport last year, but she’s already fully invested.
Even has her own nickname when they play. Gore-Ticia Addams.
“Looks like you were right, your eyeliner’s saved,” I chuckle as she sets the bowl down next to me. “Thanks, Abi.”
“No problem!” She chirps, wandering over to the fridge and grabbing a beer. “So, what was that about enemas?”
“Nothing. Jay’s still roasting me about that new HotGoss.”
The second it dropped, Daphne texted me to say I should make my Instagram private because the internet sleuths would be out in full force. I don’t know what it is about social media that turns people into complete weirdos, but I’m not particularly interested in finding out.
“Well, I mean, it is strange that you’ve barely brought her up in all the years that I’ve known you, and now you’re giving her your jacket and getting into an Uber with her.”
“And she’s coming over for dinner,” Jay chimes in.
“And she’s coming over for dinner.” Abi smirks, patting Jay on the shoulder. “What’s that about?”
“Just old friends catching up.” I place the carrots on a baking sheet and drizzle some oil over them. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Jay and Abi exchange big smiles.
“Frankie, sweetheart, have you even looked at the spread you’ve put together?”
“They’re totally boning.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but…”
“Jay, you have potatoes to mash,” I snap. “Abigail, there’s an empty table waiting to be set. Be grateful I don’t make you shine the silverware, too.”
Neither of them will stop giggling. I should have just cooked dinner alone. Unfortunately that would have meant by the time Daphne got here, I probably would have just ordered out.
“Come on duder, you gotta give us something,” Jay groans. “You know so much about us, and it turns out we barely know a thing about you!”
The comment stings more than it should. Yeah, okay, maybe I’m not Mr. Approachable. Vulnerability is hard, and the only time I can really let my guard down is at Dominion. Maybe it comes with being the only child of a terminally ill parent, but I always felt like I didn’t want to depend on anyone.
“Well, that’s not entirely true.” Abi sets a plate on the kitchen table, beaming at me.
“I know his favorite show is Love Island, even though he says it isn’t.
His favorite color is red, he’s an Aquarius, he still smokes cigarettes even though he says he quit years ago, and he’s definitely boning Daphne Carmichael. ”
I glower at her from across the room.
“How’d I do?” She grins.
“Love Island is not my favorite show, so that’s a failing grade, and besides—”
“Oh, so the rest is true! Good to know!”
“Besides that—” I cut back in, “I am not sleeping with Daphne Carmichael! You think I could ever shut up about it if I was banging a pop star?”
“Okay, so assuming we believe you two aren’t doing the deed, then why so secretive?” Jay asks. “Have you joined a cult? Are you evil now?”
I don’t open up a lot, I don’t talk about my past, and I definitely don’t talk about Daphne. It’s painful and embarrassing, and every time I’ve tried, I feel like I’m that stupid kid on the beach again.
I can still see my words rotting in the air between us.
I can still see the look of disappointment in her eyes.
I can still hear the pity in her voice when she said it.
Oh, Frankie…
“Daphne and I grew up together. She lived across the street and she was my best friend— like, my best friend. I could tell her anything, and she saw… well, pretty much everything that was going on at home.”
“Like what?” Jay asks, all the comedic pretense of his interrogation gone in an instant.
I can feel the uncomfortably familiar lump in my throat returning with a vengeance.
Somehow, my mom’s illness still feels like a dirty secret, one that comes bundled with the same old looks of pity and hushed voices every time I’m forced to bring it up.
I still remember the night Roman and Logan managed to pry it out of me after one too many beers.
I instantly regretted it, but once I started talking, I couldn’t stop.
“When I was a teenager, my mom got diagnosed with ALS. Daphne would come over and help me clean the house, grocery shop, pick up medication.” I sigh. “She brought mom flowers— that she picked from other people’s gardens, mind you… but she was always there.”
“I’m so sorry, Frankie. That sounds like so much to deal with as a kid.”
“She died the night I got into the motorcycle accident.”
I glance down at the sticky little remnants of minced garlic on my fingers. My stomach hurts just saying the words.
“Jesus, you had to go through that whole recovery process alone?” Jay asks.
“No, I had doctors, and mom left me a life insurance policy that let me get an in-home nurse, so I had someone taking care of—”
“He means emotionally, Frankie.”
Abi’s words are soft, but they still cut deep.
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, Dad was long gone by then, and Daphne had left for New York a few years before.”
“You had no other family?”
I shake my head.
“My mom’s parents died when I was a kid, dad’s lived in Chicago and I never really saw them growing up.” I shrug. “Our family was just… never that close.”
Abi strides toward me, her eyes misty and her arms outstretched, and I let her wrap me up in a big hug. Pretty soon, Jay joins in and I can’t help but smile.
“Thanks, guys.”
“We love you, duder.”
I gag.
“You’re ruining the moment.”
We break apart, the three of us just sort of staring at each other. Even though I’ve ruminated over it for years, for some reason letting it out always hurts just as much as living through it. The other reason I don’t bring this shit up often? People don’t really know how to react.
I glance around the room, looking for something to distract from the increasingly awkward silence, and catching the clock out of the corner of my eye.
“Jesus, I gotta get dressed. Can you guys hold down the fort for a few minutes?”
“Anything to get out of a real conversation, huh?” Abi teases.
“All this roasting feels like elder abuse, you know. I could sue.”
She gives me a playful little shove toward the door.
“Go. We got this covered.”
Without another word, I head upstairs, Bugsy meowing close at my heels. The second we reach the bedroom, she leaps onto my pillow and curls up, purring like a little engine.
I lean down to give her a kiss.
“You have to be good tonight. I have a very pretty friend to impress. That means no biting, no hissing… No puffing up and doing that weird side hop thing you do when you’re ready to square up with someone,” I cover her with more kisses as her purrs get louder.
“Can I trust you to tame the beast inside for a few hours tonight?”
Bugsy yawns, stretching out her front paws before lazily closing her eyes.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
My outfit is already prepped, neatly folded and sitting on top of my dresser: black dress pants paired with a crisp white button-down. I figured I’d go with something sophisticated, yet casual for a dinner like this, but if I’m being honest there’s a much simpler reason I picked it out.
It’s the same thing I wore to Dominion last weekend, and I couldn’t help but notice the way Daphne’s eyes lingered. I also couldn’t help how much I liked the way they did.
I shed my sweats and t-shirt, taking a good, long look at myself in the mirror.
Even after all these years, it’s hard not to stare.
The bone-white scars from where they put the metal rods in still haunt me, as do the deep pits in my skin where the road rash was so bad that they had to do grafts, just to give me even a semblance of my old legs back.
Some days, I can still smell the burned flesh and rubber.
I can still hear the EMTs trying to tear me from death’s clutches.
When I woke up, the first person to greet me was a social worker. She told me about my mom. Suddenly, I was trying to deal with a mountain of grief— not just for me, but her. For the life I’d lost in the blink of an eye.
After the accident, I used to get dressed in the dark, too terrified to face my reflection. I made outfits easy; uncomplicated. Life is simple when everything is jeans and white t-shirts.
My phone buzzes.
DAPHNE
On my way!
But not anymore.