Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Can I help you find anything?”
Frannie looks up from where she’s bracing her arms on the large oak table covered with every schematic for the Dakota Building that the Department of Buildings’ Manhattan Borough Office has to offer.
A man in khakis and a green polo shirt stands at the edge of her table.
Otherwise, she’s the only person here at ten AM on Saturday.
Just her, the table covered in floorplans and blueprints, the wall-to-wall file cabinets, and the buzzing from the loose air vent in the right-hand corner.
There’s a dull ache behind her eyes from squinting in the harsh fluorescent light.
“You all right, miss?” the man asks. He’s got a nice smile and a good head of chestnut brown hair. In another universe, this could be a meet cute.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Frannie says, hoping it comes out friendly and not exceedingly frustrated.
Her social battery is deader than dead. Twelve—twelve—editor meetings in three days have left her ears ringing and her throat raw. She’s not sure who she likes best either. She’s supposed to do a debrief with Maribel and Henry on Monday.
“Can I help you find anything?”
Frannie scrubs at her face. “I don’t think so,” she says.
“Class project?”
Oh, he’s trying. That’s very sweet. Especially since she looks like death warmed over. She didn’t bother to do anything with her hair, so it’s a wild mess of untamed curls, and she’s wearing her oldest NYU hoodie over a pair of leggings she’d usually never leave the house in.
“Book research,” she replies. “Looking for the original power grid.”
He glances at the smattering of schematics and then looks up a little sheepishly. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”
Frannie laughs. “That’s okay. I’ve got pictures of the stuff that looks promising. You can help me roll them back up, if you want.”
He grins and nods eagerly. Frannie shoves a stack of the schematics back his way and they pass a quiet few minutes rolling up the building plans.
“Would you, um, maybe like to get coffee sometime?” he asks, awkward and nervous, with a little crack to his voice just to sweeten the deal.
The answer is easy: “Sorry, I’m seeing someone.”
He sighs. “Yeah, I figured.”
She smiles and grabs her bag, leaving him to file everything away.
She and Elsa may be—fighting doesn’t seem like the right word, but they’re surely not … not fighting—but they’re together. Or at least she hopes they still are. She’s never been in love like this before, so much that hurt and anger and resentment don’t cut through it.
So, it’s really no surprise to find herself outside the staff entrance to the Dakota. She fiddles with her backpack and runs a hand through her hair before walking through the first door and giving Jose her best smile.
“Mr. Olsen’s got you in on a Saturday? For shame,” he says gruffly, looking at her over his paper.
Frannie extends the pastry bag with the still-warm croissant she picked up specifically for this. “Actually, Mr. Olsen isn’t expecting me. They’re doing construction outside my building and it’s louder than hell. I won’t tell if you won’t?”
Jose stares at her for a moment before snatching the pastry bag. “Good to not see you, Miss Goldstein,” he says with a wink.
Frannie grins and shuffles inside when he hits the buzzer for the interior door. When she reaches the ninth floor, she bypasses her office, heading instead for the other storage closet, where there’s no chance Henry will stumble in on her.
But when she opens the door, it’s occupied.
Michael blinks back at her. He sits curled up against the dresser, his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his tablet.
“Hey,” she says softly, closing the door. “What are you doing up here alone?”
“Mom said no,” he says, sniffling.
Frannie sighs and lets herself slump down to the floor next to him, squirming to fit her back against the dresser without getting poked by the big antique knobs.
“I tried to explain, but she won’t listen,” he says, his voice weary in a way she’s never heard before.
She wants so much more for Michael than this dusty room. Wants so much more time with Elsa and Bridgette. She wants the chance to give all three of them the existence they deserve—to give the four of them something real and permanent.
To do any of that, she has to figure out how to create a power surge that can send them across the street.
Michael sniffles again and she sets her jaw.
“Here,” she says, letting her desperation make her reckless, just one more time.
She thumbs open her phone and quickly sends an email to Michael’s tablet.
“I went to the Department of Buildings today and took scans to make PDFs of the earliest schematics they have. I know you’ve gotten your hands on a few, but I think—”
Michael quickly unlocks his tablet, his whole face brightening when he sees the email. He eagerly opens the attachments, eyes going wide. “Wow! Oh, look at that. I think, yes, if we zoom in here—this is incredible, Frannie!” he says, his voice cracking.
He flicks through the PDFs rapidly, zooming in everywhere. His excited laugh makes the lights above them fizzle and then brown out.
He looks up at them, eyes wide, then jumps up and reaches down for her hand. “Come on, before Mom finds us.”
Oh, she’s a terrible influence. Frannie bites her lip and takes his hand.
Together, they sneak out of the storage closet and hurry around the ninth floor toward the staff elevator.
Michael whispers the whole way, and even though she can’t see him, she can feel the way he’s practically vibrating with excitement.
Holding the tablet, he feels a little buzzier than normal.
She swallows around the growing lump in her throat. He’s saying all the right words, all the correct electrical terms—more than she ever could—but he’s just an excited kid.
They climb into the elevator and the button for the basement lights up, Michael pressing it with his invisible finger. “I think we take the tunnel off where you and I met,” he says.
What if Elsa was right? What if she’s just giving him false hope?
The elevator dings open on the basement floor before she can figure out what to do, what to say, and they go to step forward, only for Elsa to appear directly in front of them.
“What are you two doing?”
They both startle and become visible again.
Elsa steps forward to block the elevator door from closing.
Frannie didn’t know she could do that. Surprise makes her slow, and Elsa reaches down to pluck the tablet from Michael’s hands before she can grab it.
As much as Frannie imagines a future where she’s formally part of their little family, she isn’t yet.
This actually might have been a step too far.
“Aren’t they amazing, Mom?” Michael asks, his voice overbright, so much hope there in his blue eyes.
Elsa’s eyes snap up to look at Frannie.
“Go join Bridgette in the DeMonacos’ apartment,” she tells Michael.
“But—”
“She wants to play video games. Now.” Elsa turns her gaze on him, her face totally blank.
It’s … intimidating.
Michael slowly releases Frannie’s hand, his back going straight.
He glances up at Frannie and she forces a smile, trying to telegraph that whatever she and his mother might discuss, this isn’t the last time she’ll see him, or Bridgette.
Michael sighs softly, and then vanishes, leaving Frannie and Elsa facing each other across the elevator.
“Do you really think you’re ready to have children?” Elsa asks, stepping into the elevator and jabbing the button for the third floor.
Frannie’s jaw falls open. “What?”
Elsa shakes her head and holds the tablet out between them. Frannie takes it with trembling fingers.
“I don’t think you’ve really thought this through,” Elsa says.
“Of course I have,” Frannie says defensively.
The elevator arrives on the third floor and Elsa takes Frannie’s hand.
They both promptly disappear, and Elsa tugs her out of the elevator.
Frannie follows obediently, heart in her throat as they head down the hall and around the corner of the building.
The silence stretches unpleasantly between them, and even Elsa unlocking Apartment 312 and dragging Frannie inside can’t distract her from the anxiety clawing up her chest.
She stares around at the cozy, overstuffed entryway. There are stacks of newspapers on the front-hall mantle, pictures of a family adventuring in the mountains covering just about every inch of white wall space.
“They’ll never get older,” Elsa says. “There’s no empty-nesting, no world travel, no after. They’ll always be children. You’d be shackling yourself to a family, to active motherhood, for the rest of forever.”
Her voice is soft, almost sad. She appears in front of Frannie and drops her hand, and Frannie’s body reappears as well.
Frannie forces herself not to acknowledge their sudden non-invisibility, nor that she’s in some stranger’s apartment so the kids won’t come find them.
She brushes past Elsa and walks down the hall. May as well explore a little.
“Well, it’s not really forever, is it? At some point, I’ll die. And then it’ll be forever,” Frannie jokes stiffly, stepping into the cluttered living room, where stacks of books and papers and boxes wind around two comfortable gray couches and a big entertainment center.
She turns to face Elsa, who follows her into the room, her face pensive.
“Are you afraid you won’t be attracted to me when I’m old and wrinkly?” Frannie tries again.
It works. Elsa’s face cracks and she snorts out a short laugh.
“I would be honored to watch you age. Getting to cheer you on, to watch you grow old, taking up knitting, or macramé, or becoming a hoarder.” She gestures around the living room.
“To love you for your whole life—that would be a gift. But it would be extremely selfish to take it, when you’ll be doing all those things alone. ”