Chapter Text
Frankie’s hand was sticky. Her fingers were chilled to the bone, even as the afternoon sun beat down on them. Grace imagined it must have been from that grape popsicle she swiped back at the retirement village before they fled, though it could have been from anything. The build up of sunscreen caked to the arm of her chair, the glass of lemonade she’d spilled on the counter that morning, the butterscotch candies she kept melting in her pockets. But none of that mattered now. Grace would have gladly sat there holding Frankie’s sticky, clammy hand forever, stroking the veins that popped up beneath her skin like tributes to her favorite painting, thawing each knuckle with the pad of her thumb. They could stay there, just like this, at least until the sun went down, or the seagulls started to pick at their bodies, whichever came first.
This isn’t the end, she told herself, feeling the spark of determination ignite again, fueled by the anger she felt towards their kids, by her refusal to accept what was looming just a few dozen yards behind them. All the rot and sawdust, the empty rooms that would never mean as much to anyone as they did to the two women sitting on the beach, running from their problems like Thelma & Louise.
“What do we do now?” Frankie’s voice carried softly on the wind.
“I don't know yet,” Grace swallowed, squeezing her hand a little tighter.
“I hear you,” Frankie nodded. “But Grace, we've been sitting here close to an hour, and if I don't get up soon my hips won't work the way I need them to, and I won't be able to help you up either, and before you know it the seagulls will start circling…”
“Alright. Just...give me a minute.”
God, I’m even starting to think like her, Grace sighed. It was fucking terrifying, but still better than the alternative.
She scooted to the edge of the turquoise adirondack chair, and Frankie let out a grunt as she pushed her way to standing, giant clogs kicking through the sand. Grace grabbed her hand again as she allowed herself to be pulled up, and they continued to hold each other as they began the long shuffle towards the beach house.
“Wait,” Frankie spoke, but kept moving. “Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?” Grace answered. “Home.”
“But the sign says…”
“I don’t care what the sign says, this is still our home. And until someone tells me otherwise, to my face, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that sign.”
“But the construction isn’t even finished, is it? And the rats? Do we know if they got all the rats? Because I don’t think I have it in me to play another round of capture the rodent from the dining room table. Although I did find myself getting a bit attached to Victor.”
“We’ll go to the studio then,” Grace huffed, locking her arm around Frankie’s elbow. “You still have that key under the gnome next to the door, right?”
“He’s an elf, but yes. It should still be there.”
“Good. Let’s ask him to grant our wish then.”
“Elves don’t grant wishes, Grace. You’re thinking of a genie.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to make small talk to distract us from how far this walk feels all of a sudden.”
“Small talk? Is that a disparaging remark about elves? I didn’t peg you as ableist, Grace, especially not in your condition.”
“Frankie...”
“Kidding,” Frankie assured. “Kidding.”
By the time they got to the door of the studio, Grace was so out of breath she had to lean over and rest her hands on her thighs, let her head hang between her knees to regroup. Frankie’s fingers swept soothingly along her spine, landing between her shoulder blades, rubbing gentle, encouraging circles. Grace closed her eyes, swallowing hard before willing herself to lift up the tiny gentleman with the red hat and steal the treasure beneath his feet, pleasantly surprised it was still there. It could have been at the bottom of the pool given Frankie’s track record.
Once they were inside, Grace found her way to the pleather sofa and plopped down heavily, thankful they’d left behind some of their furniture. Frankie flit around the room, checking other secret hiding spots for well-preserved contraband, until she pulled something from the wall by the window.
“What’s that?” Grace asked.
“Housewarming gift I left for future residents,” Frankie grinned, twirling the long, fat joint between her fingers.
“Ah, very nice,” Grace smiled. “Do you have a lighter?”
“I do,” Frankie whipped one out of her pocket like a magic trick, taking her spot next to Grace. “You didn’t really think I’d let those losers at that geriatric prison steal all the goods, did you?”
“No, of course not. But we haven’t smoked since we’ve been there, so…”
“You haven’t smoked. I didn’t want to get you in trouble. Plus I thought one of us should keep our wits about us in case we needed to escape.”
“And you thought that should be me?” Grace rolled her eyes, stealing the lit cylinder from Frankie’s lips, bringing it to her own.
“That is your m.o., typically, yes,” Frankie beamed, letting the smoke fill the air as she laughed it from her lungs. “You mad at me?”
“No,” Grace shook her head, taking another toke before passing it back, turning to face her partner in crime. “Not for a second.”
“Really?”
“Well, maybe half a second. But I’m too happy right now to stay mad.”
“Good,” Frankie rested her head on Grace’s shoulder. “We can live out our lives here as squatters. Maybe the new owners won’t notice.”
“Maybe they won’t notice a whole guest house next to the main house? Are you kidding?”
“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m trying to stick to whatever plan you’ve cooked up, which by the way, you’ve yet to share with me. I’m go with the flow, Grace. You’re the brains behind this escapade. I’ll gladly let you take the reins.”
“That would typically be music to my ears,” Grace breathed. She was always impressed by how much faith Frankie had in her, despite her own level of fear and inebriation. “But I haven’t the slightest clue where we’re headed, I’m afraid."
“So long as we don’t go back,” Frankie shook her head, latching on to Grace’s arm more firmly. “I mean it. I can’t go back to that place. It was sucking the life out of me faster than a Celine Dion concert. I can’t do it.”
“We won’t go back,” Grace agreed.
“I mean it. We can leave our stuff behind. It’s just stuff. We’ll get new stuff in Mexico, or New Zealand, wherever we decide to hideout.”
“We’re not hiding out, Frankie. We just have to make it clear that place isn’t for us. If we can’t stay here, which I’m not ruling out yet, we’ll find someplace else. So long as we’re together and we can run our business and live our lives however we want, that’s where we’ll be. Alright?”
“You make it sound so easy. What about…”
“Aha!” Brianna flung open the door, her sister and step-brothers in toe. “See, told you. And getting high, no less. Without me. What were you...”
“Mom, what the hell were you thinking?!” Mallory shouted.
“Yes, I, too, would love to know,” Bud crossed his arms.
“What was I thinking?” Grace ached as she stood, wincing only slightly at the boost Frankie gave as she palmed her whole ass with her whole hand. “What were you all thinking when you put us in that place? Did you really think we wouldn’t figure it out eventually?”
“Uh, we didn’t put you anywhere,” Coyote defended. “You both agreed to…”
“You lied!” Grace exclaimed, face burning. “You forced us to give up our independence under false pretenses.”
“I don't think you're in a position to argue. You stole a golf cart and almost ran over a security guard,” Bud reminded.
“No we did not,” Frankie finally stood. “Tony’s always exaggerating. Like when he told management I was grilling cactuses out on our back porch. It was a bowl burning ceremony. He wouldn’t know what phase the moon was in if it fell out of the sky and smacked him in his enormous misshapen head.”
“But you did steal the cart,” Mallory insisted. “You have to go back.”
“No we don’t, and you can’t make us,” Grace squared her shoulders. “We aren’t invalids yet. We both have full control of our faculties, despite what this one might lead you to believe. You have zero say over what we do or don't do.”
“Well you can’t stay here,” Bud told them. “You don’t live here anymore. It isn’t safe.”
“Don't you think we know that!?” Frankie cried. “We know it isn't safe, but we’d rather live in this filth than die in that sterile tomb you had us living in. You might as well have cut off all my hair and forced me to wear Coldwater Creek for Christ’s sake. That place is not for me. No, sir. And it's not for Grace either, although she did fit in slightly better given her wardrobe.”
“Look, I get it, mom,” Coyote stepped forward. “But you already gave the green light for Bud to put the house on the market.”
“Yeah, well, that was a genuinely stupid decision,” Frankie graveled, throat going dry. “I've regretted it every second since we did it, and now it's too late.”
“What do you mean?” Mallory’s face dropped.
“The sign says it's sold,” Grace shared. “Or didn't you know that already?”
“The realtor must have made a deal earlier today,” Bud blinked, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I haven't checked the app in a couple hours...oh, wait, yep. Says right here. Sold. To a guy named Nick Skolka.”
“Jesus fucking eyebrows!” Frankie gasped, taking a step backwards. “Grace, he...what does that…”
“What’s a Nick Skolka?” Coyote asked.
“He’s my...man friend,” Grace cleared her throat, feeling herself go pale. “Or was anyway. I can't believe he...why would he…”
“I can think of a few reasons,” Frankie rolled her eyes as she paced, running her fingers up and down the shingles on the wall, like she was afraid it would slip away again if she stopped fidgeting.
“This has to be some kind of mistake,” Mallory shook her head. “You guys can't move back in. You'll just end up having the same problems you did before, or worse. Things aren't going to get any easier.”
“Thank you, Mallory, for that grossly morbid assessment,” Grace narrowed her eyes. “But this isn't your decision. It's none of your…”
"This is ridiculous,” Brianna cut her off. “You guys made your choice. This is wrong."
“No, what's wrong is you manipulating us into rushing into things just so you can take us off your to do lists! Just so you could make your lives easier. None of this is easy. All of it’s hard, but you’ve made it way worse.”
“Hold on…”
“No,” Grace seethed, stalking towards them, forcing them to retreat despite how cheerful her lemon yellow shirt made her look. “I think you've done enough for today, thank you. We’ll figure this out on our own. Just leave us.”
“This is insane,” Bud argued. “Here we were, trying to do something nice for the two of you. And for mom. Oh, congratulations by the way! You're alive again! We were planning a surprise back at the condo, but you ruined it.”
“Good!” Frankie yelled. “I don't need one of your miserable parties. I've got everything I need to celebrate right here.”
“Fine then.”
“Fine.”
“Listen,” Grace whispered, closing the door halfway, pushing them all out onto the terrace. “Give us a couple of hours, alright? Or better yet, the rest of the night. Tomorrow we’ll let you know what we've decided.”
“Twenty four hours,” Brianna demanded. “That's it. Then I'm calling in the National Guard.”
“You go ahead and do that,” Grace sneered. “Nobody’s gonna drag us out of here until we're ready.”
“Mom, we only did this because we love you,” Mallory frowned. “We're just as scared as…”
“Don’t,” Grace snapped, and Mallory’s lips shut tight like a pocketbook. “Don't you dare say that. You couldn't possibly be.”
“Call Nick!” Brianna shouted back at her from the steps to the car.
Grace waved them off, closing the door behind her. The sirens in her brain were blaring, threatening to make her dizzy, combined with the anxious wheezing noise Frankie was making across the room. This is too much, Grace swallowed, confused to high heavens about everything they'd just heard, especially the Nick part, though she couldn't make heads or tails of it through her rage. Right now, her first priority was making sure Frankie didn't spiral into a full blown panic attack.
“Can you believe them?” she scoffed, crossing the room as quickly as she could, making contact with Frankie’s shoulder, rubbing it through her tie-died smock. “The nerve, honestly.”
“Right?” Frankie growled, clutching the gigantic crystal swinging from her neck. “What a let down. After all those months of being dead, Bud just blurted it out.”
“Forget about them. We can party right here!” Grace proclaimed. She sprang into action, searching through cupboards for anything else they may have left behind. “I know we don't have champagne, but there's got to be something we can use to make an impromptu toast, right?”
“I think I hid a bottle of kombucha and some warm ginger ale under the sink upstairs.”
“How about an empty glass for right now?” Grace offered, handing her a mason jar speckled with paint, holding onto her own red solo cup. “It's symbolic, right? You like that.”
“I don't mind it. But I also wouldn't mind a drink right now. Or two. Or four.”
“We’ll order in later,” Grace promised, raising her cup. “Cheers. To being alive. To the most alive woman I’ve ever known. To our new lives, whatever they shape up to be.”
“Cheers,” Frankie clinked the crinkled plastic skeptically, laughing a little under her breath as Grace took an imaginary sip. “I guess...I guess it is a good opportunity to start over again. Figure out exactly...exactly what we want.”
“I know what I want,” Grace spoke matter-of-factly.
“What's that?” Frankie froze.
“Chinese!” Grace told her wide-eyed, a bit manic and a whole lot higher than she'd anticipated. “Did you ever think you'd hear me say that?”
“No, but you're surprising me more than ever these days. Don't you want to call Nick and figure out what's really going on?”
“No,” Grace deflected, pulling an old take out menu from the table in the center of the room. “I don't want to deal with any of that yet. We have our house back. Let's just enjoy it for a little while."
“Fine,” Frankie swallowed, crossing her arms sheepishly as she took another sip of air from the mason jar.
Grace pulled out her phone and began to dial, glancing up at her roommate, her best friend, knowing they had so much to talk about, so many more questions than answers at this point. But if she could just hold on to this moment, freeze everything for just a little longer, she knew they could find a way to make sense of it all.
“Score!” Frankie slapped at her thighs, drumming enthusiastically as the bottle cap landed in the tin bucket on the window sill. “Your go. Game point.”
“When did we decide what game point was?” Grace argued, steadying her hips, squatting gingerly as she stuck out her tongue and squinted one eye, taking aim at her target.
“It's always been ten. House rules.”
“Who’s house?”
“Our house! Duh.”
“I don't remember ever agreeing to that,” Grace smirked, pitching her arm back, then lunging forward. She missed, sending the cap skittering across the cement floor until it was lost with its comrades in the colony of dust bunnies beneath the utility cabinet.
“Ah! I win!” Frankie bounced up and down. “Nice try, Kevin. I think you would have been better at it sitting. This angle was perfect. That, and my indisputable geometric prowess made it impossible for me to lose.”
“Whatever, Frances,” Grace rolled her eyes, taking another swig as she fell back onto the couch.
“I can't believe you're drinking beer,” Frankie shook her head, dabbing at her upper lip with a napkin, still missing the soy sauce that had been flecked there since dinner. “You're a real rebel, Grace Hanson. Being on the lam’s changed you.”
“Yeah, that or this was all Freddy the delivery guy offered to bring us,” she defended, stealing the napkin, wiping Frankie's mouth herself until it was sufficiently clean. “I'm sure I'll regret it in the morning when my jeans don't fit.”
“Well, maybe if you didn't wear them so tight, you might be able to make room for the occasional food baby,” Frankie leaned back, running her hands over her own proud, bloated paunch. “Not that I'm complaining.”
“I don't plan on making a habit out of this. Soon as we get everything straightened out, get the rest of the work done in the kitchen, it’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming. I don't think I've ever longed for routine so much in my whole life.”
“Somehow I don't believe that,” Frankie smirked. “They had us on a pretty regimented routine over there at Walden Villas.”
“I mean our routine. TV night. Pancakes for dinner night. Game night, not to be confused with puzzle night.”
“There's not enough room for a big puzzle table at the retirement home,” Frankie pouted. “How many laser cats can you fit on a twenty eight-inch surface?”
“Not nearly enough,” Grace laughed heartily, biting her lip as she stole another look at Frankie, taking one last sip of her Tsingtao. “I don't know about you, but I’m exhausted. I think I'd like to turn in early.”
“Sure,” Frankie stood, though she was clearly a little disappointed. “I'll see if there’s some extra blankets in the bureau upstairs.”
“For who? Me? I'm not sleeping on this sofa again.”
“Well I didn't…” Frankie fumbled, playing with her necklace. “I mean, I’d offer you the bed, but I didn't know how you'd feel about climbing the stairs just yet. It is a very cozy sofa, Grace. I've had some of the best sleep of my life on that sofa, not to mention my best ideas.”
“I'm sure you have,” Grace groaned, pushing to her feet, limping over to the staircase before taking a seat on the third step. “But I'd rather not cause any more damage to this ‘ole gal today. I need a real bed. With a real mattress.”
“I guess that does make sense. I can take the sofa then.”
“Don't be silly,” Grace yawned, gripping the railing with one hand, holding out the other. “Come on. Help me scoot. It’ll go faster that way.”
“Okay,” Frankie slowly approached, taking Grace’s other hand, holding it firmly in her own. Her skin was still freezing. No wonder their heating bill was always through the roof. "You’re sure you don't mind sharing a bed with me?"
“I didn't say that,” Grace sighed through clenched teeth. “But that's what we're doing.”
Frankie didn't say another word. Grace mounted each step as quickly as she could, thankful her arms were still in great shape. Her bionic knee was healing, but she wasn't ready to run a marathon, especially not after today’s journey down the beach. But the other knee was what worried her more. She'd barely made it through one surgery without a meltdown. Frankie had never left her side. She was there when they put her under, there when they woke her up. Still, the thought of going through it all again, the odds of having two back-to-back surgeries without any complications, was enough to make Grace’s worst nightmares seem like full fledged fantasies.
She couldn't give in to the pain now. Not when the kids were looking for any excuse to lock them up and throw away the key. Not when she needed to be strong, confident in their ability to bounce back from this fall, to rebuild their life here without anyone doubting they could do it.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Frankie helped Grace to her feet. Grace smoothed her impeccably starched blouse, shaking out her hair regally before taking in the stark white room. There was nothing left up there but the bed, the bare mattress stained with paint and vindaloo and god knows what else. Grace was so tired, she didn't dare complain.
Neither of them turned on the light as they climbed onto the surface, Grace on her side, Frankie on hers. It had been a while, almost a year since they'd shared a bed like this. A much nicer bed, one with sheets and a comforter, in a room that smelled like French vanilla and lavender instead of patchouli and old Indian food. But Grace almost found it appealing, accepting this challenge to rough it, to go a night without her moisturizers or her pills, to see how far she was willing to bend to make this work.
She stretched out along the bumpy, worn out silk, using her hands as a pillow, knees bent slightly as she faced the window. Frankie lay down beside her, positioning herself exactly the same way, only facing Grace, the light from the beach haloing her silver mane, spilling across shockingly blue eyes, the corners of crow’s feet. Grace shifted a little, trying to get comfortable, until she found her groove, never taking her eyes off the woman lying so close, staring at her like she was dying for either of them to speak.
"What if Nick bought the house for you and him to live in?” Frankie finally blurted. “What if he wants to live here with you and not me?"
"He knows that's not on the table,” Grace shook her head, voice much steadier than she'd anticipated, given the circumstances. “I broke up with him, remember? This was a really grand gesture. Too grand. One I greatly appreciate, but...I don't want to feel like I owe him anything.”
“Right. No, you don't owe him anything,” Frankie blinked, curling her hands beneath her head, bringing them to lie on the bed in front of her. "So we're...we're really going to live here together for the rest of our lives then? Is that the plan?”
“Of course it is,” Grace’s chest tightened at the thought of any other option. “Isn't it?”
“Well, yeah. Yes. I mean, that's what I want. That's why I came back, if it's...so long as that's what you want, is all I'm saying.”
“That is what I want,” Grace affirmed. “We’ll just have to make some adjustments to the house itself. Put in a chair lift. Maybe turn the meditation room into the new master, make one of the living rooms the meditation room. Add a bathroom to the first floor. God, it’s gonna cost us, but that's fine. Maybe I shouldn't kick Nick to the curb just yet. See if he wants to chip in.”
It was a terrible thought, one she never would have seriously considered. Nick, it turned out, was one of the sweetest, most considerate, most honest men she'd ever known. He was a doll, really, and he was crazy about her. This proved it. But there was still something about him, about their dynamic, that felt...off. She couldn’t shake it, and she could never fully relax. She refused to let him take care of her in all the always he claimed he wanted to. She'd buy this house back from him, thank him for his efforts, for his kindness, and move on. That was the only way forward.
“Maybe,” Frankie swallowed. “But why would he do this if he didn't plan on making himself at home? What if he doesn't want to share you?”
"Well, he can fuck off then.”
“Seriously, Grace,” Frankie sighed, biting her lip. “I don't want to be the third wheel. Or worse, the flat tire that gets left on the side of the road.”
“I am being serious. He's not the person I see myself with in the long run.”
“Who is then?” Frankie asked pointedly. “Me?”
Grace was struck by the accusation, mouth falling open, but no words came out. Her entire body seized, the hair on the back of her neck prickling her skin, because that's exactly what it felt like. An accusation.
“I...well, yes, in a way,” she defended. “You and I will live together, and whatever dalliances I decide to take up will just have to accept that.”
“And what about me?” Frankie lifted on her elbow, brow furrowed. “What if I meet someone tall, dark and handsome who wants to live with me? What then?”
“That's…” Grace could feel her heart thudding against her breastbone. “I thought you didn't want that. You left Jacob.”
“I did. But that doesn't mean I plan to be celibate for the rest of my life.”
“I don't know why you're doing this to me right now,” Grace huffed, kicking her shoes onto the floor, shifting. “I said I was tired. I just want to go to sleep.”
“Well I can't sleep. You expect me to sleep with all this hanging over our heads? I'm terrified.”
“There's nothing to be terrified about,” Grace reached for her arm, and Frankie pulled away, to Grace’s absolute horror. “Frankie, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you having seconds thoughts? Because I thought I'd made it clear I...I was ready to give up everything for you. Move into a place I hated, put our business on hold. I thought...I thought we agreed we’d do anything for each other."
"Clearly not anything,” Frankie mumbled, rolling her eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Grace shot up this time.
Frankie was breathing so hard, for a minute Grace was worried she might be having some kind of episode. Her hands were shaking. She rolled over onto her back, but refused to look at Grace, planting her hands on her chest, taking hold of her necklace, digging her thumbs into her sternum.
"Do you remember when I told you what really got me to sleep?” she whispered, voice cracking as she stared at the ceiling.
“I…” Grace tried to remember. It didn't take long. “Yeah, I...I don't see any books around here though, unfortunately.”
“I don't mean that,” Frankie shook her head. “I mean the other thing. The thing you said you couldn't help me with. And I said, can't...or won't?”
“Boy, you remember every detail of that conversation but you can't remember when I ask for your half of the phone bill?” Grace argued, curling her arms around her tender knees, trying not to sweat. “That's convenient.”
“Grace.”
"Your point, Frankie?"
"You never answered my question."
"What are you asking?"
Frankie was very quiet. Grace tried to let her own mind go blank, to imagine she was anywhere else, that the roof might get blown off, or the whole house might get swept away in a flash tsunami, carrying them out into the middle of the ocean.
"If I wanted you to…” Frankie’s words felt like they were coming out in slow motion, like she could barely believe she was saying them. “Would you?"
“Jesus fucking Christ, are we really having this conversation?” Grace blanched. “Because it's a lot…”
“Fine. Forget it. Nevermind.”
“No, not nevermind!” Grace twisted towards her. “You can't nevermind me now. You can't take it back.”
“I thought we could maybe have a mature conversation about this given everything we've been through lately,” Frankie whined, turning on her side, away from Grace. “But I guess I was wrong. Let's just go to sleep. You can call Nick in the morning and pretend this never happened.”
“No,” Grace grabbed her arm again, and this time, she was relieved Frankie didn't pull away. But then Grace caved, whipping her hand back to her own lap, needing to maintain their fragile boundaries. “What is it you're trying to say to me? Really?”
They talked about sex all the time. About what it was like with their husbands. About what it was like with other men. They talked about their business, about what worked and what didn't, all of it. But the conversation always stopped short when it got too hot, too close to the things they'd both been too chickenshit to bring up. The obvious things, like everything they’d been avoiding.
“You keep asking if I want you to do stuff to me, and I keep saying no,” Grace cringed, listening to herself cop out. “I don't know why you’d think…”
“No you don't.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don't say anything,” Frankie shrugged. “You just let it hang there, like it was a hypothetical. Like I'd be ridiculous for thinking the question might have any merit to it.”
“Frankie, I am three seconds away from hopping out of this bed and flinging myself down the staircase. Just come out and say whatever it is you…”
“Maybe I want you to do stuff to me!” Frankie shouted, voice strained, tears stinging her eyes. She looked at Grace for half a second, incredulous and ashamed of the admission, then away again, back up to the ceiling where it was safer. Much safer. “Maybe I think about it sometimes. Not as a joke. As a real possibility. If we're really in this together, for the rest of our lives, without anyone else.”
“Do you really?” Grace shuddered, licking her lips as she ran her hand over the nape of her own neck. “You think...you would really want…”
“It's a lot to ask me to confirm without knowing what you're going to say. Without feeling...feeling like I'm asking for too much. I never thought I'd find the courage to say it, but here we are. I left Santa Fe for you. I left Jacob...because I missed you. Because I could hear the hurt every time we hung up the phone and I wasn't in the studio, and I couldn't just walk over and see your face if I needed to say goodnight one more time. Then I came back, and you'd already moved on with someone else. Two someones, in fact. And then we lost our house, and you came with me. You did it for me, and you left Nick, who’s practically perfect for you in a lot of ways, and I…now I guess I feel like I don't have anything to lose. Because I've already lost so much, and I don't want to lose you again. And you're right, maybe I don't want a man on the side. Maybe I want the whole package. To live with someone who wants me in all the ways I need to be wanted. But I don't want to get left behind. So what I really need to know, all I'm asking is...if I'm willing to live my life with you, and only you...would you? Would you even consider it for more than a second, if I wanted you to?”
Grace felt like she might not make it through this conversation. Her heart was beating out of control, head pounding, throat aching with the words stuck there, waiting to slaughter her careful life, all her decades of hiding from the truth.
She knew this day was inevitable. She thought back on that night, when they'd last had this conversation, or what came close to it. She read to Frankie, watched her fall asleep, smitten with the way her cheeks pinked up as her body heat rose beneath the blanket, the way it always did when she napped. She couldn't resist the opportunity to tuck her in, steal a kiss to her forehead, a silent promise that didn't have any real language to it. It was just a feeling, an impulse left unexplored, like so many other impulses she'd had but never followed through with. And then, she went upstairs and tried not to think about it. She even had Nick over the very next night, gave herself over to the role she was more familiar with, the person who was safer, who she knew exactly how to handle.
“Maybe...maybe I would,” Grace exhaled, her own eyes pooling with fear and relief. “Maybe...maybe I'm just scared...I wouldn't know how.”
“Oh, honey,” Frankie reached out, scooping Grace’s hand, lacing their fingers. “I don't know what I'm doing either. I'm scared too. I didn't mean to make you cry, I just...I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. I…”
“When Robert left,” Grace began again, squeezing Frankie’s hand. “The scariest thing was realizing he'd stopped pretending. That was the ultimate betrayal. That we both weren't going to be able to pretend anymore. But I didn't...I didn't expect...that would be the scariest thing about you and me too.”
“You feel like I've betrayed you?” Frankie asked, confused. “Because I told you the truth?”
“No,” Grace shook her head, shifting away a little, wiping her eyes with her free hand. She laid back down, both of them staring at the ceiling now, the energy between them pulsing at the epicenter where their fingers met. “It's just...why now? I mean, our whole lives have blown up, and now you want to be serious? Is this even a real conversation, or are you just trying to torture me because I can't escape?”
“It's real, Grace,” Frankie breathed. “It's not a game. I wouldn't do that to you. Or me. It's just...the reality of the situation is, I don't think either of us wants to be alone, and I think you've been operating under the assumption that you can have your cake and eat it too, without ever having to eat…”
“Frankie!” Grace fluttered, though she played it off as annoyance. “Be careful. I need you to be so careful with me right now, do you understand? Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes,” Frankie spoke very low. “I’ll try. No, I will.”
“Good. So...you're saying, you want to be with me, and no one else. Ever. In all the ways a person is with another person. Am I getting that right?”
“Yes,” Frankie repeated. “Ideally, that would be the thing.”
“I see,” Grace swallowed, feeling like she was standing out on the ledge, her extremities going numb. “And you...you know I've never been with a woman, right? In case you’ve somehow gotten a different impression?”
“I know that. I haven't either. You think I'm kidding when I say I'm scared? These feelings were news to me too, but I don't think it's just been in my head. I think you…”
"I'm not gay,” Grace whispered, and for once, it felt more like a question, or a plea than a declarative statement, the tone of her own voice scaring the shit out of her.
"Why do we have to put labels on things?” Frankie mused, squeezing Grace’s hand courageously, and Grace marveled at how well she knew what she needed. “Clearly what we have already defies convention. We make our own rules. Shouldn't we at least try?"
"Try what, exactly?"
"Just see,” Frankie shrugged. “If we can really give each other everything."
"You want me to give you an orgasm, Frankie? Is that what you're asking.”
"Do you think you could?"
"I know I could,” Grace asserted boldly, panting a little against her will, riding on adrenaline. “Vibrator or no vibrator, I…”
"This isn't a dare,” Frankie trembled. “This is me. Really asking. Really terrified."
"Why didn't you ask before?"
"Because I was afraid you'd say no,” Frankie nearly fell apart, the limits of her vulnerability being tested.
Grace couldn't stand it. She took a deep breath, and after a few seconds, slowly turned over on her shoulder, facing down her better demons, facing the only person who could make her say and do the things she swore she never would.
"When have I ever said no to you?" she rasped.
"All the time,” Frankie whispered.
"But…” Grace swallowed. “But not when it really mattered, right?”
"I guess not,” Frankie sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I guess...I guess I need to know how you really feel about me, Grace. Is there something really there? I've had my suspicions for a while, long before I left for Santa Fe, but I didn't…I didn't want to face it if it was just one-sided.”
“It's not one-sided,” Grace spoke, almost hoarsely. “You're...you're all I need. Your company, your companionship. I just don't know why we have to complicate it with sex.”
“Because I want sex,” Frankie told her. “I'm a sexual being, and I know you are too. We sell vibrators for Christ’s sake. If I thought you were asexual, or didn't want to have sex with anyone again, I would never have brought it up, but since I know you do…”
“But...why?” Grace had to ask. “Why would you want to be with me and no on else? Why would you...”
“Because I love you! Because I feel the most like myself when I'm with you. Because I think you're the bees knees, and beautiful and sexy and all that jazz, all the things I know I'm not supposed to say, but that's how I feel. Because I...because I'm finding it harder to keep my hands off you, and I'm done with making excuses. I love you. And I want you. Isn't that enough?”
Grace’s insides had turned to jelly, her ears ringing, the ball of nerves she’d carried in her for nearly her whole life, the feeling that had only gotten heavier in the past three years suddenly losing its gravity, making its way up into her lower back. It filled her entirely with pain and desire, hesitation and the deepest sense of belonging, so much she could barely speak.
“Yeah,” she swallowed. “Yeah, I think it is.”
“But you don't feel that way do you? Otherwise why would you have gone out with Nick in the first place?”
“Because you left!” Grace didn't mean to shout, but her voice echoed against the empty walls. “In case you've conveniently forgotten. You left just when I thought...when I felt like there was something developing between us, something I clearly wasn't ready to articulate, but it was there. You felt it too. But you ran.”
“But I came back,” Frankie rolled towards her, pulling her hand away, and for a minute Grace felt like she was plummeting down the slope of a rollercoaster, her stomach appearing to leave the rest of her body. Until Frankie brought her hand to her shoulder, tracing her skin through her shirt, gripping loosely, but intently. “Isn't that the important part? I'm here now, and the truth is...I want to be with you. I know this isn't what either of us had planned, but I do love you, Grace. I'm not afraid to say it.”
“I know,” Grace shook, bringing her own hand to Frankie’s cheek, brushing some of her loose, wool-like hair behind her ear. “I know you're not. And I...I feel the same way. But it's not as easy for me. But I'm willing to try.”
“Right,” Frankie exhaled, eyelashes fluttering, skin finally heating up. “Try. So how about...how about we try then. At least...at least a kiss, maybe? Just to see if there's anything really there?”
“Okay,” Grace agreed all too quickly. "What if we don't like it?"
"What do we have to lose? If we don't like it, we don't like it. We go back to the way things are now."
"Can we?" Grace already knew the answer.
"Sure. I'm still not going anywhere. Ever. Except heaven. And I'm not even sure I want to go there. I might just haunt this house forever so I can stay close to you."
"Why do you think you're going first?” Grace panicked, pulling on Frankie’s arm, inching closer. “You...you're not allowed to do that."
"Okay. I won't."
"Don't,” Grace begged.
"I said I won't."
"Fine."
"Good. Grace?"
"Yeah?"
"Kiss me, please.”
Grace swallowed back the wave of fear surging to the surface, drowning it as she put her hand on Frankie’s cheek, thumb settling beneath her fuzzy chin. She dipped forward, noses clashing gently, eyes remaining open as they danced, and then, Grace kissed her. Frankie’s lips were the opposite of cold, the opposite of foreign. They were plump and fleshy and softer than anything she'd ever felt, and they moved like they meant it. They tasted like home.
It didn't last long. Frankie pulled back after a few more moments. Grace waited for her to say something, waited as their breath mixed and mingled, lips stinging, heart racing for whatever came next.
“Wow,” Frankie breathed. “What a way to live.”
Grace closed her eyes, and she dove back in, knowing she'd never return to the shore.