Chapter 16 #2
“I was. And pretty mad,” Frannie agrees, keeping her hands curled under her thighs. She’s not going to force a hug on the kid, not unless she asks. “And sometimes grown-ups suck at feelings.”
Bridgette giggles and looks up to meet her eyes. “They do.”
“Yeah,” Frannie says, trying on a smile. Bridgette tentatively smiles back. “But I’m going to try and work through those feelings on my own from now on, and not let them spill over onto cute little girls who don’t deserve to be yelled at, okay?”
Bridgette’s smile grows. “It’s okay. You have less practice with feelings than me.”
“I guess that’s true,” Frannie admits.
Elsa snorts across the room.
“You guess?” Bridgette says, fully grinning now. “I’m like … a hundred and nineteen years older than you!”
Frannie sits there for a moment, jaw hanging open. Shit, she’s right. But at the same time—
“What’d you bring me?”
Frannie laughs and extends the FAO Schwartz bag. “A very colorful ‘I’m sorry’ friend, if you want him.”
A century longer on earth she might have, but Bridgette’s definitely still eight as she pulls the axolotl from its bag with a squeal of enthusiasm. “Look, Mommy! An axolotl!”
The fairy lights flicker rapidly above them.
“I see that,” Elsa says, her voice soft and low. “He’s very cute.”
“It’s a she,” Bridgette says immediately. “Or, wait.” Frannie watches in amusement as she stares down at the garish axolotl. “I think Bellamy identifies as gender fluid. Sometimes he’s a he, sometimes a she, and sometimes a they.”
“Oh, they’re pretty!” Michael says, his head popping around the divider screen.
“Right?” Bridgette says, extending Bellamy the axolotl across so Michael can see.
Michael shuffles off his mattress and over to sit down next to Frannie. “Very nice,” he says, feeling one of the axolotl’s legs.
“And now Bellamy can sing the axolotl song!” Bridgette says excitedly.
“Noooo,” Michael groans, looking up at Frannie. “Why did you do this?”
“What did I do?” Frannie asks, glancing between them before looking over at Elsa, who’s watching them with a hand over her mouth, laughing.
“There’s a viral song about an axolotl that Bridgette likes,” Elsa says.
“I thought you had a no social media policy,” Frannie shoots back, narrowing her eyes as Elsa laughs harder.
“Bridgette likes to watch one of the kids on the third floor go through TikTok. Sometimes she even curates the algorithm while she’s not watching,” Michael says.
“Oh, that’s devious,” Frannie says, looking back at a grinning Bridgette. “And you like an axolotl song?”
“I also like the videos about space, and the Spooky Lake Month lady,” Bridgette says, clutching Bellamy to her chest.
“I like her too. I think I have a copy of her book, if you’d like to look at it?” Frannie offers.
“Yeah!” Michael says, his little shoulder pressing against Frannie’s arm.
“Do you wanna read this one tonight?” Bridgette asks, twisting around to grab book three of the Witchlings.
“Sure,” Frannie says, surprised but pleased.
She squishes around to lean against the mattress. With Michael on one side, and Bridgette curled up against her back with her little chin on her shoulder, her body thrumming with ghostly energy, Frannie feels a bit of her heart slot back into place.
Yes, she wrote a terrible ending for her friends in her book.
But Elsa was willing to share this with her, to let her into this private, special part of their immortality.
Rather than spend her time devastated by the limitations of the situation, she realizes, she should embrace the parts she can experience.
While she reads, Bridgette has constant questions, and Michael shares his observations about the statistical realities of every single plot point.
They talk over each other, doing silly voices.
By the time they’ve finished five chapters, she has a semipermanent imprint of Bellamy the axolotl on her neck, but both kids are bright-eyed and happy, and that’s worth all the chaos.
“All right, guys, quiet time,” Elsa says, appearing in front of their little huddle.
“Mo-om,” Bridgette whines.
But Michael merely squeezes Frannie’s hand and stands up, yawning before walking the three steps to flop down on his mattress.
“But we don’t actually need to sleep,” Bridgette says, arms locked around Frannie’s neck.
“You still need to rest and recharge. And to stop choking Frannie.”
Bridgette’s little arms recede and Frannie laughs, turning to watch Bridgette grumpily lie down on her mattress. “We can listen to music tomorrow,” Frannie says.
“All day?” Bridgette asks, eyes wide and imploring.
“As much of the day as your mom thinks is wise,” Frannie says, glancing up at Elsa, who nods. “And whatever part of it I’m not down in Henry’s apartment.”
“Okay then,” Bridgette says with a little shrug, pulling Bellamy the axolotl into her side while groping around to find her headphones.
Frannie smiles and hauls herself up, groaning at the cricks in her back, and her thighs, and her neck.
“Oh, the dramatics,” Elsa says, reaching out to steady her as Frannie stumbles on the crease between the carpets.
Frannie laughs and lets Elsa tug her farther into the loft and over to the worn green couch by the makeshift bookshelves. Michael and Bridgette pay them absolutely no mind, immediately engrossed in their electronics.
Elsa sits and yanks Frannie down beside her, the two of them bumping shoulders when the cushions sag with their weight, close and comfortable.
Looking out on the little loft space, it doesn’t seem so sad anymore, not with Michael and Bridgette’s laughter still ringing in her ears.
Elsa’s hand landing firm and tingly on her thigh certainly doesn’t hurt either.
The sad ending she gave her fictional counterpart, their fictional counterparts, can’t be the only option. This is lovely, but there must be a bigger, brighter future with these wonderful people she can have.
Frannie lets her hand fall to cover Elsa’s. Their fingers thread together so perfectly. She opens her mouth and looks up at Elsa, ready to tell her, to explain what she wants to do, how she wants to try—
Elsa’s lips press gently against hers, her free hand rising to cradle Frannie’s cheek.
Zips of electricity dance across Frannie’s skin in time to the wild pounding of her heart.
She’s not sure she’s breathing as Elsa pulls back, still held close, those startlingly blue eyes crinkled, a smile on her perfect, perfect face.
“I didn’t think you wanted …” Frannie starts. She’s clutching at Elsa’s hand on her thigh, her other fingers wrapping around the delicate bone of Elsa’s wrist, where her hand still cradles Frannie’s jaw.
“I’ve been trying to convince myself I didn’t,” she whispers.
“Then why?” Frannie asks, holding her breath, shock and hope constricting her throat.
“Because I wanted to,” Elsa says firmly, stroking her cheek. Frannie’s breath returns in a relieved whoosh. “And because you apologized to my kid, and bought her a toy, and let her lightly strangle you. Because you listen when Michael info-dumps, and you argue with me over musicals, and—”