Chapter 6 #2
Frannie nods and flips to the start of the manuscript, ignoring the little frisson of pleasure that cuts through her at the simple act of sitting here with this woman—ghost—and talking like this.
“I did a whole pass for myself of places where I thought she could have her own story woven in, so she has some agency.”
In fact, Frannie has an entire backstory and plot worked out for Taylor, the newsroom intern who falls in love with Jonathan. Henry would never listen to half of it, but she couldn’t help herself. It’s taken up nearly as much space in her head as her own Ghost Book.
Well, not quite as much, she thinks, watching Hot Ghost Mom worry her bottom lip in thought.
“I’m torn on whether I want her and Jonathan to have any kind of romance,” Hot Ghost Mom says, leaning her chin against her hand as she looks over at Frannie. “On the one hand, I understand Henry’s obsession with Sorkin-esque boss/assistant relationships, but it’s also so …”
“Problematic,” Frannie agrees. “But, maybe if she gets herself out of the job by the end? Like Donna at the end of The West Wing.”
“God, wasn’t that just the most cathartic thing you’ve ever seen?” Hot Ghost Mom asks, smiling with teeth and crinkled eyes and everything. “We watched that live with about half the building. There were cheers.”
“I can only imagine,” Frannie says.
There’s a tinge of sadness to it too—the thought of Bridgette, Michael, and this entirely vital woman in front of her cheering along with a room full of tenants who couldn’t hear or see them.
“The watch parties rarely happen now. It’s a shame,” Hot Ghost Mom says. “I didn’t let the kids go to the Game of Thrones one.”
Frannie laughs. “I imagine the vibe was a bit different.”
“Henry went to that one in Mr. Mason’s apartment. He threw a coaster at the TV, and someone else upended an entire bowl of popcorn. Carnage.” She wrinkles her nose. God, Elizabeth Montgomery had nothing on her.
“It was pretty bad at mine too,” Frannie says.
“You were at college?” Hot Ghost Mom asks, her face finally relaxed.
“Yeah. We commandeered a freshman lounge and packed about fifty people in front of a projector. The cops got called.”
Hot Ghost Mom laughs, low and throaty. The lights in the dining room seem to shimmer with the sound. It’s magical. “That sounds fun.”
“It was,” Frannie says, a little wistful. She misses having that kind of community.
“Are you a big fantasy fan? Bridgette mentioned you were reading some dragon book.”
Frannie shrugs, pretending there are no butterflies in her stomach. They talk about her? “Out of curiosity more than interest. It’s not really my thing in general. I’ve only made it through a marathon of Lord of the Rings twice, both under duress.”
“Really? I love those movies,” Hot Ghost Mom says, frowning.
“They’re great, they’re just a lot all at once,” Frannie says quickly, too desperate not to disappoint her with … her own valid opinions. “I can do a Twilight marathon any day, though.”
“Oh, those are atrocious!” Hot Ghost Mom says indignantly, sitting up to gape across at her.
“But they’re fun. Watching them buzzed with my girlfriend was a perfect rainy Saturday afternoon,” Frannie says.
“Very atmospheric,” Hot Ghost Mom agrees after a moment. “Sounds like a good Saturday.”
“Haven’t had a perfect one in a long time,” Frannie finds herself saying. It doesn’t matter—it surely can’t matter—but she feels like she has to make sure Hot Ghost Mom knows she doesn’t have a girlfriend now.
Which is absolutely absurd. Because she’s a ghost, for one. For two, on what planet would this ethereal woman be interested in whether Frannie’s dating anyone?
Hot Ghost Mom meets her eyes. Frannie doesn’t know how to read her expression. All she knows is that her stomach is clenching in a way that’s entirely girlish and twitterpated, and that’s insane.
Hot Ghost Mom looks away first, turning back to the manuscript. “He uses the word ‘indubitably’ sixteen times, which is fifteen too many for a single manuscript.”
Frannie huffs out a laugh and nods, her throat still a little tight. “I’m not even sure once is acceptable.” Hot Ghost Mom snorts. “And four of the characters wink as their signature move.”
“What is a twenty-four-year-old intern doing winking?” Hot Ghost Mom asks.
“Trying to be the ingenue in a thirties screwball comedy. Henry thinks it’s charming.”
“It’s incongruous.”
Oh, God, she wants to hear her say that again.
“I’ll tell him,” Frannie promises.
Hot Ghost Mom smiles, glancing up at her before looking toward the living room. Frannie notices it’s gotten dark out. They’ve been chatting for longer than she thought.
“We should let you get back to work,” Hot Ghost Mom says, closing her manuscript and standing up.
Frannie shakes her head. “I don’t mind.” She’d rather keep talking to Hot Ghost Mom about … anything. “Really, it’s not—”
“Kids, let’s give Frannie back her office.”
Frannie watches with regret as Bridgette and Michael come out of the living room.
Hot Ghost Mom gathers Henry’s manuscript up in her arms. Her hand moves, and for a moment Frannie thinks she might reach out and touch her shoulder.
Anticipation rises violently in Frannie’s chest. But then Hot Ghost Mom just holds out her hand for Bridgette, and Frannie wants to smack herself.
Why would she squeeze her shoulder?
“Sorry for taking so much of your afternoon,” Hot Ghost Mom says. “Say goodnight, kids.”
“Night, Frannie,” Michael says, smiling at her.
“We’re gonna watch the next one tomorrow,” Bridgette says with a grin.
“You could watch them—”
But then they’re gone.
Frannie sits there, stunned a bit silly. What just happened?