After All This Time

by Hissterically

Summary:

Fran and Phillip have been friends for as long as they can remember. The pair end up having a heated night together at their college graduation party, leaving them with more than they bargained for. Not wanting to tie him down, Fran keeps the repercussions of that night to herself so Phillip can go and live the life he's dreamed of. Eight years later he's back in town for his father's funeral. The same funeral that Fran plans to attend as well. How long can she keep her secret for? Especially when that secret just so happens to look exactly like Phillip.

Notes:

For all the Altfrans <3

Chapter 1: That Night

A thousand thoughts crash through Fran’s head like a tornado. 

 

How could she have been so stupid?

 

She didn’t think they were that drunk. At least, she wasn’t.

 

She only just turned 22. Her life was just starting. 

 

How did they not notice it had broken?

 

And what does she do now?

 

Her hands shake and the white, plastic stick falls to the floor of her bathroom. The two little pink lines glare up at her like the flashing lights at the railroad crossing she’s imagined lying upon on multiple occasions. 

 

A wave of nausea turns her stomach—different from the kind that she’s been feeling for the past two weeks. No, this is saturated with horror and fear. She barely makes it to her knees before heaving up the entire contents of her stomach for the second time this morning. 

 

Once there’s nothing left to expel from her body, she wipes her mouth with a tissue and flushes the evidence of her breakdown. She lies down on the cold tile floor, having no more energy left to even crawl back to her room. Silent tears slowly fall, their drops hitting the floor in deafening splashes. 

 

Of course, she’d be the one person she knows to get pregnant the first time she ever had sex. With a condom on mind you. 

 

She never should’ve gone to that graduation party. She hadn’t even wanted to. She simply wanted to clean out her dorm room, but just like she’s done her whole life, she did it for him.  

 

She lays on the floor of her bathroom, her arms wrapped around her torso, and she can still hear his voice from that night. 

 

“Frannie!”

 

---

 

“Frannie, Frannie!”

 

Fran awkwardly wades through the large crowd of people well on their way to being completely trashed. She really doesn’t want to be here, but the half-drunk boy calling her name coerced her into it. Okay, not coerced. Asked nicely. And like always, she easily caved. 

 

She never can seem to say no to Phillip Altman. Not once in the sixteen years she’s known him.

 

“Frannie!” Phillip yells yet again as she approaches. He leans his face down near her ear, talking loudly over the music, “You actually came!”

 

She blushes, not quite meeting his eyes, and replies, “I said I would.”

 

His face splits into that toothy grin she secretly loves. “Yeah, but Frannie Larsen isn’t one for big college parties.”

 

“It’s the last one, so I figured I should try it at least once.”

 

His smile grows. He grabs her hand and tugs her further into the random house. “Come on. Let’s get you a drink and then we’ll celebrate.” 

 

He drags her through the crowd until they find the kitchen where they can actually talk without yelling. Opening up the fridge full of liquor, he grabs two beers. He smacks the caps off against the counter and hands her one.

 

She’s not really a big drinker—she’ll have the occasional glass of wine with dinner—but for Phillip, she presses the bottle to her lips and takes a sip, trying not to grimace at the taste. 

 

Phillip chuckles at the look on her face anyway, gulping back a few swigs of his own. “Still just a wine snob?” he teases. 

 

Fran chokes a bit and has to clear her throat. “I’m not a snob,” she stutters. 

 

He bumps her shoulder with his elbow. “I know, Frannie. I’m just teasing.” He lightly bumps her again, trying to pry a smile from her. “Come on. You gotta lighten up. I mean we just graduated for fuck’s sake. We’re adults now.”

 

Her brow furrows at the statement. “We’ve been adults for four years…”

 

“Yeah, but now we’re like… real-world adults,” he clarifies, leaning back against the counter. “We actually have to get jobs and survive ‘n shit. Terrifying.”

 

She glances up at him, trying her hardest to look him in the eye. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Have I not told you?” he asks after a large sip. She shakes her head. “I’m traveling this summer with a few buddies. I actually leave in two days. Then Judd got me some paid internship at the radio station.”

 

“So you’re moving to the city?” A small—okay, large—part of her heart breaks at the news, but she keeps her face as neutral as possible. 

 

“At least for a bit,” he answers with a shrug. “I highly doubt radio is my passion, but we’ll see what else comes my way. At least it gets me out of that dinky, old town.”

 

Yeah. The dinky town that she’s probably stuck in for the rest of her life. The dinky town where the only bright spot was the loud, lanky boy down the street. The boy who’s moving to New York City and leaving her behind. 

 

“Hey… You okay?”

 

She shakes out of her thoughts. “Yeah… Just overwhelmed with everything,” she replies. “As you said… terrifying.”

 

Phillip leans down and smiles. “You’ll do fine, Frannie. Just like you always do.”

 

Her face heats up, both from the compliment and the proximity of their faces. She quickly takes a sip of beer to distract herself from staring at the face she has memorized down to every mole. 

 

“So what do you do at parties?” she asks to fill the awkward silence. 

 

He shrugs, lifting the bottle back to his lips. “We’re kinda doing it. People drink… and dance… and fuck.”

 

Beer sprays from her lips as she sputters and chokes at his last word. He pats her back while she coughs up the alcohol burning her windpipe and keeps patting until she can breathe again. 

 

“Okay, maybe no more beer for you.” He grabs hers and chugs whatever’s left of both of their bottles before placing them on the already cluttered counter. “You’re not allowed to die on me, Larsen. Who else will keep me in line?” he jokes. 

 

It brings a small smile to her lips, as she’s sure was his goal. 

 

For as long as she’s known him—from kindergarten when he came over and loudly asked if he could color with her until now—she’s always been his conscience. The one who reels him back in when his ego gets too big and his cockiness gets him into trouble. In turn, he’s slowly brought her out of her shell. 

 

And she means slowly. 

 

But no matter the speed, she can’t say his part in her life hasn’t helped her become the woman she is today. All of the little confidence she has, she owes to him. 

 

“You wanna dance?” he suddenly asks. 

 

Her eyes dart up to him, then to the crowd of people all gyrating to some song she’s never heard before.  Looking back up at his dark honey eyes, she shyly nods despite her better judgment. 

 

He grabs her hand again and pulls her through the hoard of drunken students until they find an opening. Phillip starts loosening his limbs, flailing to the beat. Fran simply stands there, her eyes flittering around to the people who are entirely too close to her—and to each other.

 

Phillip stares down at her in confusion and stops dancing. “You good there?”

 

She stands on her tiptoes to get close to his ear. “I don’t know how to dance to this,” she admits, her face getting warmer. 

 

His eyes light with understanding and he smirks. “Then I guess you need a teacher, Miss Larsen.” Grabbing one after another, he wraps her arms around his neck and closes the gap that’s between them. He feels her stiffen against him and the little gasp she makes gives his ego a little boost. His hands trail down her arms, down her torso, and settle on her hips. He pulls her pelvis into his. 

 

“Phillip,” she says wearily.

 

“Now you just feel the beat,” he instructs, moving her hips against him in time with the song. 

 

They dance there for a while in the middle of the crowded room, Fran slowly loosening up with each song. She actually begins to have fun, both of them laughing—him louder than her—as they attempt to find the beat with every song change. Her hips begin to no longer need his guidance as she grinds into him, her own instincts taking over. The heat of the room and the heat of their movements cause a band of sweat to form along her hairline. 

 

Honestly, she hasn’t had this much fun in a long time. 

 

But she always has fun with him.

 

The next song that plays is a little slower and Phillip guides her into a more swaying movement. 

 

His hand comes up and brushes a lock of her hair behind her ear. He leans his forehead down against hers. “You look really pretty tonight, Frannie.”

 

As if the room couldn’t get any hotter. 

 

“You don’t have to say that…” she mumbles. And she’s pretty sure he’s lying. It’s not like she got all fancied up like every other girl here. She’s wearing what she normally wears; a sweater and jeans. The only thing different is she put a little lip gloss and mascara on. 

 

In fact, she’s probably just wasting his time from finding someone to hook up with. 

 

“But I mean it,” he argues. “You’re always pretty.”

 

She avoids his eyes, just staring into his chest, and shakes her head. “You’re just drunk.”

 

“Not drunk enough to make me blind.” His hand cups her cheek, forcing her head to tilt up, and his thumb traces her bottom lip. The same one he can’t stop looking at. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Her eyes shoot wide open as she chokes, “What?” She must’ve misheard him over the music. 

 

“I wanna kiss you, Fran,” he mutters in a strangely soft voice. 

 

She stands there frozen. How does she tell him she’s never had a real kiss before? A boy named Charlie once pecked her lips at camp when she was fourteen, but it lasted as long as a blink and he immediately ran away afterward. But from the way Phillip’s looking at her, she doesn’t think it’ll just be a quick peck. 

 

How does she tell him it’s all she’s ever dreamed of? 

 

Her eyes bounce from his eyes to his full-looking lips and before she knows it, she feels herself nodding. His smile quirks upward and he cages her face with his hands. The anticipation and fear quickly swell inside her as she watches his face descend towards hers. 

 

His pillowy lips touch hers and she could die happily, except for the fact that she’s still frozen like a statue.

 

“You gonna kiss me back, Larsen?” he mumbles against her lips. 

 

It breaks her out of her stupor and she blushes head to toe. His lips continue their ministrations and she slowly starts to mimic him as best as she can. Her arms stay pinned down at her sides, unsure of what to do with her hands. 

 

Jeez, he must think she’s awful at this. 

 

Or not, because he tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding along her bottom lip as if awaiting entry. She gives a tiny yelp at the feeling, making her lips part where he then storms the fortress that is her mouth. 

 

A low moan rumbles from her throat out of nowhere causing her to break away from him in embarrassment. 

 

Phillip only smirks down at her. There’s a dark look in his eyes that Fran has never seen before. It scares and excites her at the same time. 

 

He slides his hands down her body until he grabs onto her hand. “Come with me,” he says with a tug and leads her through the house. She nervously follows him past everyone and up the stairs, all the while feeling like all eyes are on her, though the drunken people probably couldn’t care less about another couple heading to the second floor.

 

He knocks on a random door and after five seconds and no response, he throws it open, pulls her in, and locks it behind them. With hunger in his eyes, he presses her back against the door and removes any sliver of air between them. 

 

Fran’s heartbeat barely has a moment to spike before his lips are back on hers, his hands beginning to explore her body. Her skin tingles with every touch and she knows they’re about to cross some sort of line in their friendship that they won’t be able to take back. 

 

But she finds she doesn’t care. It’s all she’s ever wanted. 

 

His lips move from hers and kiss down her chin to her throat where he pays particular attention to her pulse point. “Oh Frannie, you have no idea what you do to me… do you?” he murmurs against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she breathes. Her fingers clutch onto his shirt for dear life. 

 

His tongue laps against her throat and his hands dance along the hem of her sweater, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of her hips. “You could never imagine how many guys I’ve had to warn away from wanting what’s mine. No one’s good enough for my Fran.” His hands trail higher while his mouth trails lower, nipping gently at her collarbone. 

 

Her brows furrow at his words. They only leave her with confusion. “Phillip…?” Her head bumps back against the door as his lips move lower, now kissing between her breasts. Her chest heaves into his face, her senses on fire, and she’s not sure which way is up. 

 

He looks up at her from his place by her ribs. Looks up at her like she’s some divine entity. “Fuck, I want you, Frannie.”

 

The breath gets stuck in her throat and her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. “Why would you want me?” she mumbles. “I’m not like the other girls you’ve been with…”

 

Phillip slowly kisses his way back up to her lips. “You really don’t know how special you are.” He deepens the kiss, reaches down around her ass, and lifts. Fran gasps and tightly holds onto him, her legs wrapping around his waist like a vice. 

 

He presses his forehead against hers, their ragged breathing mingling between them. “Can I have you, Frannie? Just once? I gotta know what it’s like before I leave,” he whispers. 

 

She looks deep into his eyes and finds no hesitation or deception. In fact, she sees nothing but desire in her best friend’s eyes. And she’s pretty sure it matches the desire she’s feeling. So she gives a tiny nod. 

 

It’s barely perceptible but it’s all he needs. Phillip carries her away from the door and lays her gently down on the bed. She keeps her mouth shut about this being a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s house, but the boy she’s loved for half her life wants to take her virginity, so she’s going to let him. She can regret the location later. Right now she’s too busy focusing on the skin he’s revealing as he removes his shoes and clothes. 

 

She’s seen him shirtless before—of course she has, knowing him since she was six—but seeing him now feels very different. In truth, she has the biggest urge to touch. Gone is the lanky boy who never quite fit his broad shoulders. But it seems college has been quite nice to him and he’s managed to fill out his frame. 

 

Pretty soon he’s down to his boxers and she quite audibly gulps. The evidence of his want suddenly makes everything very real. 

 

Phillip Altman is going to put his rather large-looking self inside of her. 

 

Her wildest teenage fantasies never could’ve predicted that. 

 

Blushing like a fool, she nervously pulls her sweater off, revealing the plain, cotton bralette underneath. She knows it’s nowhere near the sexiest thing he’s seen yet she still hears his breath catch slightly. She goes to cover herself when his hands stop her. 

 

“No.” His fingers graze trace along the strap and pull it from her shoulder before moving to the other and repeating the motion. “You’re perfect.”

 

She opens her mouth to refute but the words get stuck as he pulls the fabric down and his tongue attacks her right nipple. Her breath speeds up in arousal and fear of that arousal. “Phillip,” she whimpers, arching up into him. 

 

He laps at the pebbled bud, his hand trailing down her body to her jeans. With deft fingers, he unbuttons her pants. The sound of her zipper brings her back down to earth and her hands involuntarily smack down to stop his. 

 

Phillip pops off her breast with a tiny smack and looks up at her. “What?” he asks, unsure of the delay. 

 

She’s sure the truth is written right across her face—the fact that nobody’s ever touched her before. She swallows thickly, her eyes trained on his hand that’s hovering above her throbbing core. 

 

“Oh, Frannie…” he practically coos, just doubling her mortification. 

 

Her hands come up and cover her burning face. If there was ever a time she wished she was dead, now would be it. 

 

If he minds, he doesn’t show it. He simply brings her hands away from her face and down to her sides. The fire in his eyes has, if possible, intensified and it makes her heart beat faster. 

 

“Have you ever touched yourself, Frannie?” he inquires, his voice rougher than normal. His hands caress down her body to the top of her jeans but his eyes remain on hers. 

 

Why can’t the floor just open up and swallow her now?  

 

Her cheeks are so warm they’re nearly melting. Trying to find whatever confidence and pride that remains, she subtly nods her head once.

 

His eyes widen as if the mere prospect enthralls him. He gently starts to peel her jeans, along with her equally plain panties, down her legs. “And did it feel good?” Another shy nod. He removes her shoes and the bunched-up fabric from around her ankles, tossing them across the room. “And have you ever made yourself come?”

 

There’s hesitation before she shakes her head in shame. 

 

It’s like a child seeing all the presents on Christmas morning. His eyes light up, his pupils blowing wide open. “I can fix that for you,” he murmurs, kissing up her legs and thighs, stopping to give her hipbone a little nip. 

 

Fran doesn’t know what to think. In fact, all brain power has flown out of the window. She’s bare in front of Phillip Altman and his face is very close to her naked pelvis. Her breathing comes out in tiny, quick pants. 

 

“Just relax, Larsen. I’ll make this good for you. I promise.”

 

Her legs tremble as he nudges her thighs apart. Her instincts are to close them again but he keeps them separate. “Phil—” but her voice breaks off in a loud gasp as he flicks his tongue across her clit. Her hips involuntarily jerk up to him, her hands grabbing onto fistfuls of his hair. 

 

She breaks into a sweat, writhing against his tongue while he laps and sucks with his head kept firmly between her thighs. He throws an arm across her pelvis, bolting her hips to the bed. Her only response is to whine and she feels pathetic. 

 

A tight coiling grows low in her stomach, a feeling she’s never felt before, and she starts to panic. She tugs on his hair, the pressure getting worse and worse, yet he continues his ministrations. Her whines and whimpers get louder. 

 

He then slips a single finger into her, and even that feels like a stretch to her virgin sex. Her walls instinctively clench around him when he gently curls his finger, the tip prodding into that spot she thought was only a myth. He curls his finger over and over again, still sucking on her clit, until the feeling becomes almost unbearable. 

 

“Come for me, Frannie,” he growls against her.

 

Then suddenly something snaps. 

 

“Phillip!” she hoarsely cries, her hips bucking up into his mouth. Her fingers yank on his hair as her body flails on the bed, a spark jolting through her and setting off a wave of spasms throughout her core. 

 

Her body eventually goes limp and she lies there gasping for air. 

 

So that’s what that feels like…

 

Now she can understand the other girls raving about it all of the time. 

 

Or maybe it’s just Phillip Altman’s tongue. 

 

He pops up between her thighs, licking his lips, a huge smirk on his face. And if that face doesn’t completely do her in. She chews on her lip, feeling very self-conscious of her wasted, naked form lying before him. 

 

Phillip bends, picking up his wallet from his shucked jeans, and removes a spare condom. Fran meticulously follows his every movement. She can’t help the gasp that escapes when he shoves his boxers to the ground. 

 

She’d be lying if she said she hasn’t heard the rumors about Phillip Altman around campus. He’s not exactly known for his celibacy. In fact, he’s more known for the thing she can’t stop staring at. And she’s gotta admit, the rumors all appear to be true. 

 

Not that she has any others to compare it to. 

 

“My eyes are up here, Larsen,” he quips with a cocky grin, making her skin flush yet again. 

 

He tears the condom open with his teeth—something she finds strangely erotic—and rolls it down his cock before crawling up her body. Her heart beats out of her chest and she’s sure he can hear it, if not see it. His fingers brush the hair from her face and he leans down to capture her lips once again. 

 

She loses herself in the feeling of his kisses and the weight of him hovering over her, but her nerves come back with a vengeance when she feels him press up against her entrance. 

 

He simply looks down at her with calm eyes. “We can stop…” 

 

But she doesn’t want to. She’s wanted him for so long, she’s not going to let herself chicken out now. So she shakes her head and presses her lips up to his, finally gaining the courage to initiate a kiss. He melts against her, deepening it. 

 

She feels his cock rub against her and pulls back with a tiny moan. The head grazed her over-sensitive clit at just the right angle to send shivers down her spine. 

 

He smirks down at her and rubs himself against her again before repositioning back at her entrance. “We’ll go slow,” he vows. 

 

She nods back at him before a tiny cry escapes her lips as he slowly presses into her, stretching her more than she thought possible. Her hands grip onto his shoulders, her fingertips digging into his skin. A few tears roll down her cheeks but he simply kisses them away. 

 

Phillips kisses all over her face. “You’re doing so good, Frannie. Almost there,” he praises next to her ear. He eases forward more until finally he’s fully seated inside her. He freezes and continues peppering her face with kisses, waiting for her permission to continue. 

 

Fran lays there breathing for a moment, her body stretching to accommodate this new, foreign object inside her. She looks up at Phillip and she honestly doesn’t know if she could love him any more than she does at this moment. She’s heard rumors of his exploits. How he’ll bang a chick hard and fast in the bathroom and never see her again. But this Phillip is so different from the rumors. He’s soft and caring. It’s her Phillip. The one that only she gets to see. 

 

She leans up and kisses him to signal she’s good. She even bucks her hips a little, pulling a moan from deep in his chest. 

 

“Fuck, Fran,” he groans. That fire returns to his eyes as he begins to gently rock in and out of her. 

 

It’s awkward at first, her body still getting used to being so full, but eventually, the discomfort turns to something else. Something bordering on pleasure. Her fingers dig into him for a new reason, urging him on as that familiar warmth fills her stomach again. 

 

Her moans start out quiet and get louder with each meeting of their hips. His groans echo hers as he thrusts harder into her. The self-conscious part of her seems to have gone missing because she no longer cares that they’re on a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s house with people outside in the hallway who can probably hear what they’re doing. All she can focus on is the man—her best friend and the boy she’s been secretly in love with for years—on top of her. 

 

He continues to snap his hips into hers and she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him even closer. Her hands roam across his neck and back, her face pressed into his neck. 

 

That red hot coil starts to twist again and the pressure builds but this time she doesn’t run from it. She embraces it, her moans turning to whimpers. 

 

As if he can sense her climax approaching he braces himself on one hand and trails the other down between their bodies. He gently thumbs her clit in time with his thrusts. 

 

“Phil…lip,” she pants. 

 

“That’s it,” he praises before groaning loudly, “Fuck, Frannie.”

 

The coil snaps again, her walls clenching hard around him. She bites down on his shoulder, trying to contain the echoing gasp that leaves her lips as she rides her release. 

 

Phillip quickly follows, her spasming walls ripping his own orgasm from him. He grunts, pounding harshly into her a few more times. “Fuck!” He falls to the side to avoid crushing her, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

 

Fran lays there beside him, her mind whirling with everything and nothing at the same time. She tilts her head to the side and sees a soft, sated smile on his face. He looks down at her and breaks into that familiar goofy grin before pulling her close so her head is on his chest. 

 

Riiinnnnggggg rrrriiiinnnnggg

 

---

 

Her phone blaring from the other room shocks her out of the memory. The rest of that night sort of becomes slightly blurry from the strange euphoria she was in. She just remembers they laid there and talked all night until they were kicked out. Then they had breakfast at some dingy diner before going back to campus and moving out of their respective dorms.

 

Two days later he left to travel across the country with some friends, and they haven’t talked about that night since. He was away for two months, has been back for a week, and now leaves tomorrow for New York City. 

 

Meanwhile, she’s been getting sick every day for two weeks and dealing with sore breasts. 

 

Riiinnnngggg

 

She groans and pushes her aching body up from the bathroom floor and clambers to her room. She picks up the cheap cell phone her Gran bought her when she left for college and another wave of nausea washes over her as she sees the caller ID. She fights the urge and swallows it down. 

 

Pressing the answer button, she holds the phone to her ear. “Hello?” 

 

“Frannie Frannie Frannie,” Phillip’s excited voice blares in her ear. 

 

“Hey, Phillip,” she replies. “Why are you calling?” She tries to keep her tone nonchalant instead of defensive but she thinks she fails. 

 

“Was just seeing if you were coming over to say goodbye to me. You promised, remember?”

 

Her face scrunches at his question. “Goodbye? But I thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow? No, Frannie. It’s today. It’s always been today,” he answers. “Judd’s helping me pack my shit in his car as we speak.”

 

“I—I must’ve gotten the days mixed up,” she mumbles, embarrassed at her error. She’s clearly had other things on her mind.

 

“Well, then you better get your ass over here so you can wish me good luck. I can’t leave without saying goodbye to my Frannie.”

 

Her heart breaks and starts pounding out of her chest at the same time. Her eyes drift across the room to the little plastic stick still on the floor of her bathroom. Panic fills her mind as she wrestles with herself on what she should do. 

 

She knows she should tell him—that that’s the right thing to do. But he’s also Phillip; the boy who’s been dying to get out of this town since they were sixteen. Telling him would just keep him here and she knows he’d grow to resent her for it. For trapping him. 

 

And she couldn’t bear it if he grew to resent their child as well. 

 

“Frannie?” his voice calls, breaking her from their train of thought. 

 

“Yeah? I mean, yeah. I’ll be right over,” she promises. “See you in a few.” And without another word, she hangs up her phone. 

 

Walking back to the bathroom, she picks up the positive test, wraps it in way too many layers of toilet paper, and shoves it to the bottom of the trash where her Gran won’t be able to see it. 

 

She looks in the mirror and only sees a sickly pale mess looking back. She runs a brush through her hair and pinches her cheeks to bring some color back into them. Hopefully, he won’t notice the purple bags underneath her eyes. Once she brushes her teeth to rid her mouth of the awful taste from throwing up, she sets off out of the house and down the street and prays she can keep the nausea down until he drives away. 

 

He’s waiting outside, leaning casually against the car when she walks up—the fortunate thing of living just down the road. His eyes light up and he takes four large steps over to meet her. 

 

“Hey, Francake,” he greets her with a grin. 

 

Her lips can’t help but quirk up at the old nickname but then the reality of the situation hits her full force. “You’re really leaving, huh?” Her hands fidget together in front of her stomach. 

 

The stomach where his child apparently resides. 

 

Phillip sombers slightly at her tone. “Yeah… But it’ll be good. Get some experience under my belt, I guess.” He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “I can’t convince you to come with me?”

 

She chews on her lip and shakes her head. “No… I have to stay here and help Gran. It’s the least I can do after everything.”

 

He nods his head in acceptance but his face falls slightly at the rejection. Then he closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much, Frannie.”

 

Tears flood her eyes but she wills them not to fall. Her hands clutch onto the back of his shirt for dear life. “You’ll be fine,” she replies. “You’ll be so busy you won’t even think of me.”

 

“That’s not true,” he refutes. “I’ll always think of you. You’re my person, Fran. My best friend.”

 

Her lips stay pressed together. If she opens them now she’ll either burst out sobbing or tell him everything. But he deserves to go. He deserves to go have a life away from here, to not be tied down to her and a child at twenty-two. So she keeps her mouth shut and just savors his arms around her. 

 

“Phillip, come on,” Judd calls from the car. “Let’s get going.”

 

Fran extracts herself from his arms and looks up at him, memorizing his face one last time. 

 

“One last chance, Frannie. There’s room for you,” he offers—pleads.

 

She sadly shakes her head again but then forces a smile. “Go… Go do fun, exciting things.”

 

He steps up to her again, cupping the sides of her head, and pressing his lips to the center of her forehead. “Promise me you won’t get too complacent here. That you won’t fall into the trap of hellish monotony.”

 

“I promise.” Not exactly like she could, considering she basically just chose to become a single mother in her early twenties. Not really a monotonous life ahead of her. “Now go,” she says as playfully as she can, giving him a little nudge. 

 

He steps back, his eyes raking up her body. “I expect replies to all my emails and calls. No exceptions, Larsen.” He slowly walks backward towards the car. 

 

“As long as you do,” she retorts, making him chuckle. 

 

He opens the door and stands there for a moment. “Bye, Frannie.”

 

“Bye, Philly,” she replies, using the ancient nickname she gave him when they were still kids. His eyes crinkle at the sound of it. He nods to her, gets in the car, and shuts the door, effectively ripping her heart out one last time. 

 

As she watches the car pull away from the curb and start to drive away, her hands subconsciously press against her stomach. Her mind reels. She must be the dumbest, most selfless woman alive. She’s a recent college graduate who just found out she’s pregnant and the father of her child just drove off to start a new life. And she encouraged him to do it. 

 

At least she can count on one thing to remain a constant in her life; loving Phillip Altman is never simple.

 

But she knows loving his child will be as easy as breathing.

 

In fact, she already does.

 

Now the question is, how does she tell her Gran?

Chapter 2: The Wake

Summary:

Fran attends Mort's wake and tries to avoid being seen by Phillip.

Eight years later…

 

“Alex, will you please put your shoes on? I’m not asking again,” Fran calls down the hall from her spot in the bedroom. She’s rushing to finish getting ready. “We’re already running late, and I still need to drop you off at Penny’s.”

 

Her seven-year-old pops up in the doorway, shoes dangling in his hands and not on his feet. “Why do we have to go anyway?” he grumbles for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. 

 

Lord, give her strength. She loves her son to death, but boy, is he just as chaotic and stubborn as his father. She pulls him over to her bed and sits him down. Bending down, she grabs the shoes from his hands and puts them on his feet, tying the laces that he just hasn’t fully mastered yet. “You know why… We’ve been over this. Penny’s going to watch you because I have to go over to the Altman’s for a bit.”

 

“Cause Mr. Mort died?”

 

His words remind her of the somber occasion. “Yeah… Because Mr. Mort died.”

 

“I liked him,” Alex softly declares. “He was nice. He always gave me quarters for the candy machines at his store.”

 

The memory brings a small smile to her face. The man was always very kind to her son just as he was to her since she was little. He was practically a surrogate father to her once she came to live with her Gran after her own parents died. Rarely a day passed where she didn’t see the nice man down the street. He was such an integral part of her life that it almost doesn’t feel real that she’s going over to their house for his wake.  

 

“I liked him too, monkey,” she replies, brushing his thick hair away from his forehead. It only serves to remind her that she needs to book him a hair appointment. Also like his father, his hair tended to become unruly and have a mind of its own after a certain length.  

 

Looking at her son and thinking of Mort Altman, she gets lost in thought. She knows he knew her secret. She saw the recognition light in his eyes when he laid eyes on her son for the first time, and saw the love that shone through them every time after that. But he never said anything. Never asked any questions or hinted at the topic. And she admired him for that. Instead, he simply loved her little boy in the limited capacity that he was allowed. 

 

She looks at her son and Mort’s kind eyes reflect back at her and it helps lessen the ache in her heart. “Come on, kiddo,” she says, patting his knee. “Go get your backpack and we’ll get going.” He hops off the bed and races back to his room. Meanwhile, Fran slips on a pair of modest heels, smooths out her dress and hair, and leaves her room to collect her purse and keys. 

 

Alex is waiting by the door bouncing on the balls of his feet. His backpack is stuffed with things to keep him busy and is slumped over one shoulder. She quickly shuffles them out the door and into the car. It doesn’t take them long to reach Penny’s, who she thanks profusely. After smothering Alex in kisses, she gets back in the car and makes her way to the Altman’s house. 

 

During the drive, her mind starts to race a mile a minute. She hasn’t been this nervous to see the Altmans in a long time. In fact, she’s had fairly regular contact with Mort and Hilary over the last few years. Same with Paul after he started working at the store with Mort. She’s even kept some contact with Wendy—the older sister she never had—emailing back and forth, just staying updated with their lives.

 

The two Altmans she hasn’t seen or heard from in years are Judd and Phillip. Not since that day when she told him to go live his dreams and watched him drive off with his brother and out of her life. They kept up contact for a bit, some emailing and phone calls, all the while keeping her rapidly growing stomach a secret. They even talked a little while she had a newborn and a sick grandmother to take care of. Not that she ever told him about any of that. But eventually, the calls and emails faded to nothing. Whatever friendship they had left slowly became a thing of the past.

 

His exciting new life took over and she can’t even fault him for it. She was the one who told him to go and enjoy himself.

 

Her heart races at the idea of merely seeing him again. How is she supposed to look him in the eye after the last eight years? Look at him in the eye having just dropped off his miniature carbon copy that he knows nothing about.

 

Maybe she can get through this wake without running into him? 

 

If only she could be so lucky. 

 

She turns onto the familiar street. It feels like it’s been forever since she’s been here. She passes her old home—the one just seven houses down the road from the Altman’s. She grew up in that house. Her son lived the first few years of his life in that house. Hell, her son was very nearly born in that house. 

 

But when her Gran passed a few years ago she just couldn’t justify all the space anymore. It was one thing when it was her, Gran, and Alex, but it was just too much house for the two of them. That, and selling it and downsizing left some nice padding in her bank account. Padding she desperately needed as a single mother of a three-year-old. 

 

She pulls up to their house and parks, but instead of getting out she just sits there frozen, her hands clutching too tightly onto the wheel. She can see the room full of people through the window and her anxiety spikes. 

 

“Come on, Fran,” she mumbles, attempting to give herself a pep talk. “You can do it. Just go in, give your condolences, and then you can leave. A quick in and out.” She checks herself one last time in the rearview mirror, smoothing out her hair, before taking a large breath in and opening the car door. 

 

Stepping up the walkway brings on a new set of anxieties and she has half a mind to turn around and drive away. She fiddles with the strap of her purse and psyches herself up. Holding her breath, eyes shut tightly, she lifts her hand and knocks. She hears the shuffling of feet and then the engaging of the doorknob. 

 

Please don’t let it be Phillip.

 

“Fran, dear. Oh, Hilary will be so pleased.”

 

Her eyes fly open, meeting the familiar friendly face standing in the doorway. “Hello, Linda,” she replies with a small—rather relieved—smile. 

 

Mrs. Callen was another influential person from her childhood. Living right across the street from the Altmans, she saw her just as much as Hilary and Mort. Fran remembers taking over meals that her grandmother made to the Callen’s after her son Horry had his accident. Anything to help out during their difficult time. 

 

She also remembers Linda giving her some of Horry’s old things to have for Alex so she didn’t have to buy everything. 

 

“Come in, come in,” Linda says, ushering her in. “I’ve been relegated to door and concessions duty. Everyone is in the living room but feel free to grab a drink or snack first. They’ve been quite busy with visitors.” She gives Fran a small, quick hug, knowing she’s not super fond of touching. “I’m glad you could make it.”

 

Fran nods. “How is everyone? Well… Despite the circumstances?” 

 

What a stupid question to ask at a wake.

 

“They’re as can be expected. Though this is the first time all of them have been in the same house in a long time, so the Altman Bomb is bound to go off eventually,” she answers with a conspiratory look.  

 

It makes Fran smile. The Altmans did have a way of being the craziest family she knew. So many personalities in one household. Very different from her own family. That might’ve been part of the reason why she gravitated towards them. They contrasted the reservedness of her and her Gran. 

 

Her eyes flitter over to the packed living room. “I think I’ll just go get a drink,” she says. “It’s good to see you.” Linda gives her a smile and a pat on the arm before leaving her be.

 

She slinks her way, head down, into the thankfully empty kitchen. There’s a small spread of different finger foods—appetizers and such—and a few different drinks. She pours herself a glass of sparkling water and squeezes a lemon wedge into it. 

 

“If you need something stronger just let me know.”

 

The voice behind her makes her jump, nearly spilling the drink she just poured. She quickly spins around to find the culprit. “Wendy!” she gasps. “You scared me.”

 

“Good. Thought it was you sneaking off into the kitchen to hide.” 

 

Fran has no rebuttal so she stays quiet. 

 

“It’s been a long time,” Wendy says, “Mom will be glad you came by.”

 

“How are you? And the kids?” Fran asks. 

 

“They’re doing well. Attempting to nap right now though Lord knows how it’s possible with all these people here,” she replies with an eye roll though Fran noticed she ignored the first question. 

 

“And Barry?”

 

Wendy quirks an eyebrow and stares her down. “Do you see him around? That’ll tell you how he’s doing.”

 

Fran grimaces. She knows from the chats they’ve had over the years that Barry isn’t the most attentive husband a person could have. 

 

“How’s Alex?” Wendy asks, turning the inquisition onto her. 

 

The question sends her nerves spiking. Her eyes quickly dart around the room to assess if anyone can hear their conversation. Or to see if Phillip is nearby. “He’s good. He’s with Penny for the day. I didn’t think a wake would be the best place for a seven-year-old.” 

 

Wendy stares at her a little bit too long for comfort. “Probably right about that…” She touches Fran’s arm gently. “Forewarning, my idiot brother brought a girlfriend to our father’s funeral.” She gives a sarcastic smile. 

 

Now that makes her ears do a double-take. Trying to remain nonchalant, she replies, “Is it serious?”

 

“He called her his ‘fiancé’.”

 

Her face falls despite her attempt to keep it neutral. “Oh… Well, that’s exciting, I suppose.”

 

“Oh please. It won’t last,” Wendy retorts with an eye roll. “She’s almost as old as my mother and his therapist. I give it three days tops after she witnesses this family’s insanity.”

 

That perks her up a bit. 

 

Wendy has always been able to do that. Make her smile when she has a thousand thoughts running through her head. Another staple Altman in her life—the bigger sister she always wanted. She and Phillip were babysat by Wendy more times than she can count. She was always helpful and encouraging, the way Fran expected a sister to be, even if her tone and words were sometimes brash. She’s confident enough to speak her mind and Fran always wished she could be like that. 

 

Wendy’s also kept her updated with Phillip’s doings and whereabouts over the years since the man himself seems to be too busy to remember she exists. 

 

“I didn’t give you my condolences yet,” Fran says, changing the subject. 

 

“Thanks... It’s strange. Him being gone,” Wendy solemnly replies. “I don’t know if it’s quite set in yet.”

 

Fran nods along. “How’s everyone doing… you know, considering…?”

 

“Let’s see… Mom’s gone completely insane, telling us that Dad’s final request is for the five of us to sit Shiva for the next seven days. Phillip arrived late to the funeral yelling ‘shit’ all the way across the cemetery for everyone and God to hear. I’m pretty sure Annie is plotting to steal my baby unless Paul pumps one into her real soon. Also, Judd’s life is in complete disarray, but we’ll have lunch later this week and I’ll catch you up on that." 

 

It’s a lot to follow at once, so Fran decides to start with the first point. “Sit Shiva? I didn’t think any of you were particularly religious.”

 

“We’re not. That’s why this whole thing is crazy,” Wendy retorts. “But enough about my family and our depressing, chaotic lives. Let’s talk about you. Have you decided on Paul’s offer yet?”

 

Fran takes a quick sip of her water, her throat clamming up at the question. “Umm no. I—I’m still weighing my options.”

 

“What options are there? Your office is closing and you need a job.” Wendy narrows her eyes and stares Fran down. “Is this because you still think Annie hates you because you got pregnant on a whim eight years ago?”

 

Fran splutters to find an answer. “I-I-I don’t think she hates me…” 

 

Okay, maybe that’s not the complete truth. Maybe more so that Annie is jealous of her unbelievably unlucky rate of conception. 

 

“It’s not that…” she says instead. “It’s just that I need to think about all the factors in my life.” 

 

“You know Paul will totally allow you the flexibility to work around Alex’s schedule,” Wendy adds. 

 

And she knows he would. He’s told her. He knows Alex comes first and his offer was quite generous. “I—I know that. I just—I need more time to think about it,” she answers, hoping Wendy will drop it. 

 

Luckily she does. 

 

The echo of shuffling people fills their ears. “Sounds like the hoard has moved. How about I go distract Phillip so you can talk to my mother,” Wendy suggests as an olive branch. 

 

Relief floods over her. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”

 

“The things I do for you all…” Wendy sighs with a playful eye roll. She leans forward and gives Fran a quick hug. “I’m glad you came. And we will get together this week… When I’m not sitting in a chair with my brothers for hours on end.”

 

Fran nods and watches as she walks away. She gives it a few moments to make sure Wendy has time to reach the desired target, then she tosses her drink in the trash and slowly ventures out into the living room. Over in the corner of the room, she spies Wendy talking to Phillip, and despite him facing the opposite direction, she still ducks her head to avoid being seen. 

 

She sees Hilary, who’s luckily void of other guests at the moment and makes a beeline toward her. The older woman’s eyes light up when she steps into view and Fran can only pray that the woman she sees as a second mother keeps her voice down low. 

 

“Oh Fran, dear. Thank you so much for coming,” Hilary says, bringing her into a quick but tight hug. “Mort would've been so pleased.”

 

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” she replies, angling her back towards Phillip. “Seems like a good turnout.”

 

Hilary rolls her eyes and laughs. “He’d be mortified by the pomp and circumstance of it all. Way too much fanfare for that man. How’s Alex doing?”

 

Fran quickly glances over her shoulder in a hopefully nonchalant way before returning to Hilary. “He’s doing alright. It hits him differently than it does everyone else, I think. Being seven and dealing with death is weird, but I know he misses him.” A small smile graces her face. “In fact, he was just reminding me of all the times Mort gave him quarters for the candy dispensers at the store.”

 

The older woman gives a quiet laugh, her eyes lighting up. “He certainly loved spoiling your little boy in the tiniest of ways.” 

 

“It’s who Mort was,” she deflects from the topic of her son. “He was always kind. Even when I was little.” 

 

“He always had a soft spot for you,” Hilary replies with her own loving expression. “Have you had any chance to mingle? I know there’s a few people here you haven’t seen in years.”

 

She’s known Hilary long enough to know her meddling tone. And Hilary Altman was definitely one to meddle in her loved ones’ affairs. “I was talking to Wendy before,” she quickly says, hoping the woman doesn’t ask too many questions. “I haven’t been here that long, but I wanted to make sure I talked to you.”

 

“And now you have, my dear,” Hilary says, clasping a hand over Fran’s. “And as much as I would love to chat for the rest of the afternoon, I unfortunately have to hear a hundred more people’s condolences before the day is out.” She reaches up and cups her cheek. “But thank you for being here. It means everything. And you’ll say hello to Alex for me, yes?”

 

“I will,” Fran promises with a nod. 

 

Hilary smiles and lets go. She gives Fran one last hug before wading through the crowd of people, leaving her all alone in the middle of the room. 

 

She stiffly looks around. A few familiar faces pop out to her but none she particularly wants to talk to. In fact, she pretty much just wants to leave. She did what she came here to do. She honored Mort by being here and was able to talk to Hilary. Check and check.

 

She turns around, ready to make her exit, and sees Phillip—now sans Wendy—across the room standing next to some gorgeous, red-headed woman whom she assumes is the ‘fiancé’. It shouldn’t—she has no right, no claim to him—but seeing them together still feels like a dagger to the chest. So she picks her heart up off the floor and tries her best to casually leave the room, deciding returning through the kitchen is the best bet at avoiding him. She walks calmly but swiftly, praying she’s not drawing too much attention to herself, lest he sees that she’s here. 

 

Unfortunately, his oldest brother has other plans. 

 

“Hey, Fran,” Paul greets, stopping her in the middle of the room. “Thanks for coming. It means a lot to Mom.”

 

“Hi, Paul. It—It was no trouble,” she stutters, looking past him to his younger brother. Her eyes, by an unlucky twist of fate, make contact with Phillip’s and notice him do a double take. She sees the recognition on his face from across the room so she whips her eyes back to Paul’s. She scoots behind the man more to block his brother’s view of her. “Mort was a good man.”

 

“Yeah, he was,” he replies before changing the topic. “Have you put any more thought into my offer? I know you were still on the fence the last time we talked.”

 

Fran begins to sweat. Standing here is only prolonging her chances of leaving. “Should we really be talking about business right now?” she asks, her voice getting pitchier. She sees Phillip desert the woman he’s with. He skirts around people, heading straight toward her and Paul. 

 

That’s when the panic fully sets in. 

 

“Honestly, I’d rather talk about business than be asked about my dead father for the hundredth time,” Paul deadpans. 

 

She scoots more to the left, practically ducking behind the tall man as she starts to walk away. “Ummm, Paul, can we actually talk about this later? I have to go… umm… to the restroom.”

 

“Okay… Sure? How bout I call you in a week or so?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s perfect.” She barely hears his reply as she dashes off through the hoard of people. She keeps her eyes trained on the door and her feet moving. 

 

That is until she hears him call her name. 

 

“Fran!”

 

Crap.

Notes:

They certainly have a lot to catch up on after 8 years...

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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Chapter 3: Small Talk

Summary:

Fran is forced to make small talk after being intercepted by Phillip.

Notes:

Oh our babies are awkward and it's painful

“Fran!” Phillip calls again, this time rooting her to her spot. It’s as if chains sprung from the floor and clamped around her ankles, holding her from taking another step forward.

 

She was less than ten feet from the door. So close to escaping yet so far. If only she had been a fraction of a second faster.

 

Damn his long legs. 

 

Instead, all she can do is take a deep breath, attempt to calm her racing heart, and center herself. Of course, that’s all easier said than done. Once she pulls enough of herself together she slowly turns around to face the man she hasn’t seen in eight years.

 

“Holy shit, it is you,” he starts, staring at her with wide eyes. 

 

She attempts to swallow, but all the moisture is suddenly gone from her throat. “Hi?” she weakly chokes out, not fully looking up at him. She knows that if she said anything more her voice would tremble and he’d know something was wrong. 

 

He always knew when something was wrong with her. 

 

Well, except maybe the day he left. He was pretty oblivious that day.

 

“Hi?” he half scoffs, half laughs. “That’s all you’re gonna say? I haven’t seen you in God knows how long and the only response I get is ‘hi’?”

 

She finally brings her eyes up to his. She didn’t get a great look at him before but now she scans his body, taking him in. His hair is still as thick as ever, cropped just long enough to hide the tips of his ears she knows he hates. He’s somehow managed to fill out even more since the last time she saw him, definitely putting himself into the lanky but clearly strong bracket, though she can guess his stomach still remains a little soft. He never could fully get a six-pack no matter how hard he tried. But she didn’t mind. She quite liked the little soft tummy he had. 

 

He somehow managed to get better looking with time… All the while pregnancy and birth took her body, chewed it up, and spit it out softer, looser, and more scarred than before. Not that she would trade Alex for the world. But right now, in front of Phillip Altman with his smoking hot ‘fiancé’ walking around somewhere, she feels ever so much like Frumpy Fran in her modest dress and clunky kitten heels. 

 

He’s still staring at her expectantly and she realizes she’s been stuck in her own thoughts for an awkward amount of time. 

 

“Sorry! I mean… hi, Phillip.” Her second attempt isn’t much better but it’s what her mouth could form at the time. 

 

“Still a girl of few words, huh Larsen?” he teases as if no time has passed. He looks her up and down, his smile widening as he takes her in. “Fuck, it’s good to see you.” 

 

He goes in for a hug, wrapping his arms around her, but it comes out foreign and awkward after eight years. Partly because she mostly stands there like a statue, just patting his back lightly while praying for her escape. 

 

They pull away and Fran brings her attention back to her purse strap, giving her hands something to do so they don’t shake. “I’m sorry… a-about your dad and all…” she weakly supplies. 

 

He sobers slightly but doesn’t remove his gaze from her face. “Yeah…thanks.” He brightens up a bit and adds, “He’d be thrilled as fuck you’re here though. Dad always loved you.”

 

It’s such a Phillip response that Fran can’t help but soften slightly. A little brash but mostly heartfelt. It’s definitely not something one usually hears at a wake but that’s who Phillip is. Who he’s always been. 

 

“I heard about your Gran… I’m sorry, Fran,” he gives his own condolences.

 

It was four years ago but—

 

“Thanks,” she mumbles back. It’s been years since she passed, yet it’s still hard to talk about the woman who raised her since she was six. She didn’t enjoy the pity then and she doesn’t enjoy it now, even coming from his lips. 

 

He looks at his shoes with his hands sliding into his pockets, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I was gonna reach out but I think something came up and I got swamped with work and it must’ve slipped my mind.”

 

The excuse makes her brow furrow. It hits a chord wrong inside her. “My grandmother dying… slipped your mind?” she repeats slowly to make sure she heard it right. Or maybe to give him a chance to come up with a better answer. 

 

“Yeah… Fuck.” His hand comes up and brushes through his hair awkwardly. A nervous tick he’s had since the day she met him. “I’m sorry about that. It’s a shitty excuse, I know.”

 

She just politely nods. “It’s alright,” she waves off. A large part of her just wants this whole conversation to be over so she can leave. 

 

“It’s not alright,” he counters, looking back into her eyes. “I should’ve reached out. She was a nice woman. And I was an asshole for not. Especially since you were nice enough to come today.”

 

Fran just nods again, taking in his apology. They then fall into an awkward silence, probably for the first time in their lives. She continues to play with her purse strap, not wanting to be the first one to initiate new topics of conversation. 

 

“So what are you up to these days?” he asks, hoping to break the strange tension. “Still working at that florist shop in the center of town?”

 

Not in seven years. 

 

“Umm no, umm… actually I work in the accounting department for a small transportation company.” She brings her eyes up to him again, trying to act like she’s fully present in the conversation despite wanting to be as far away from here as possible. “A-And you? Still making your way in the big city?”

 

It would’ve been imperceptible to anyone else, but she sees Phillip stiffen slightly at her question. She somehow still knows his body language after all these years. He’s trying to play it off cool; a facade she’s able to see straight through. Everyone else might buy into his little entrepreneur act but she doesn't. 

 

“Oh, you know. It’s kept me busy. Started really leveraging some funds and stocks and…” 

 

He trails off and she knows he’s lying through his teeth. She’s learned quite a bit about his life from Wendy and she knows he’s definitely not getting his funds from the stock market. At least not the majority of them. No, those funds are coming from a certain demographic of the older female pocketbook. Though now they probably come from his ‘fiancé’. 

 

“Earth to Fran. You okay?” his voice pipes up.

 

Her eyes whip back up to him, having been too deep in thought. “What?”

 

“Are you okay?” he repeats. “You just look… like you’re somewhere else.”

 

“Oh no. I’m—I’m fine. Really.” She looks around nervously, trying to ignore the fact that he’s seeing right through her the way he always has. She’s never been able to be invisible to Phillip Altman like she is with other people. A fact that used to make her so incredibly happy. It made her feel incredibly special. Now it just terrifies her that he’ll see right through to her secret. “Just umm, weird circumstances for being here.” 

 

“Yeah, I get that.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve heard the word ‘sorry’ so many times in my life. And honestly, I never want to fucking hear it again.”

 

The statement hangs over her like the blade of a guillotine, so she quickly changes the conversation away from any apologetic phrases she may or may not have to use in the near future. “So I—I heard about the Shiva. That’ll be… interesting,” she awkwardly muses. 

 

“You can say it…” he replies with a growing grin. When she gives him a confused look, he finishes, “My mother is out of her fucking mind.” Fran coughs out a surprised laugh at his bluntness but quickly covers it with her hand. “Which is probably an awful thing to say about a grieving widow, but is nonetheless true.” 

 

He looks proud of himself to have gotten the small laugh from her, the corners of his lips tilting upwards as he stares at her. And for a brief moment, it almost feels like how they used to be. How his complete lack of tact could get her to laugh no matter the situation. It’s almost how she wishes they still were. 

 

But they can’t be. 

 

Too many things have changed. She’s changed. She’s changed in ways he can never know of.

 

She just has to get through this wake and then after seven days, he’ll be back in New York City where she doesn’t have to lie straight to his still wonderfully charming face.  

 

“It'll be a miracle if you all get to the end unscathed,” she quietly quips. 

 

His grin grows as her confidence in talking to him does. “Oh, I fully intend to beat Paul’s smug ass. Someone’s definitely getting a black eye.” 

 

It pulls a tiny smile to her face, making her purse her lips and look at the ground. She looks back up at him after a moment and, over his shoulder, she spies the tall, red-headed woman he was with earlier. Their eyes briefly meet and Fran quickly brings her attention back to the floor. Her mood instantly plummets and the strange tension that had been lessening falls over them again.

 

“I heard that you—” she starts but is cut off by someone else.

 

“Well if it isn’t Phillip Altman and Fran Larsen back together again!” a voice loudly announces.

 

They both look over to see an older woman barging up to them and breaking into the middle of their conversation. 

 

“You two used to be tied at the hip,” the woman continues on. “Inseparable even. It sure was a shock when only Phillip moved away. We all expected the both of you to stay together. I can’t even remember the last time this town saw you two in the same room. You must’ve been no older than twenty-two and freshly graduating college!”

 

“Hello, Mrs. Moskovitz,” both of them reflexively mumble in unison. 

 

Fran looks at the ground almost thankful for the interruption. It saved her the awkward conversation of having to ask about his supposed ‘fiancé’. A conversation that might’ve actually torn her heart from her chest to have. Phillip’s eyes, on the other hand, remain directly on her.

 

“You must forgive an old woman for interrupting. Just wanted to make sure I made it around to see every Altman before I left. Phillip, dear. I’m so sorry about your father.”

 

Phillip grimaces at the word, obviously sick of hearing it again. “Thank you, Mrs. Moskovitz,” he replies, his eyes flitting over to the old woman before returning to Fran.

 

“Mort was a good man. One of the best. Very loved in this town. It was such a shame to hear that he got sick. Even more of a shame to hear the news of his passing.”

 

Phillip politely nods at her as she drones on, but all he wants is for her to move along so he can get back to talking to Fran. He shoves his hands in his pockets and taps his foot impatiently.

 

“And you, Fran,” the woman adds, pivoting her attention and addressing Fran. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you around. How is your son doing?”

 

Crap.

 

Again.

 

Fran instantly freezes, wishing the floor could open up and swallow her. She should’ve known one of them was bound to ask about him. She always gets asked about Alex by the old women in town. The ones that used to whisper about her being a young, single mother. ‘That poor girl’ they called her. 

 

The question causes Phillip to do a double-take at the old lady. “Son?” he repeats as if he heard it wrong.

 

Fran diligently avoids Phillip’s eyes as if her life depended on it. The same eyes that are now piercing through her skull like a laser. She swallows thickly, finding the courage to speak. “He-He’s doing well, Mrs. Moskovitz.”

 

“Getting to be quite big by now, isn’t he?”

 

“Mhm hmm,” she answers stiltedly. Her fingers fidget frantically with her purse strap. She swears she can feel the sweat pooling across her forehead and her pulse pounding in her ears. She briefly wonders if her two companions can hear every thump of her heart as well. 

 

“That’s good, that’s good. It’s simply been ages since I’ve seen that boy. Anyways. I’ll let you two get back to your talking.” She puts a hand on Fran’s forearm and squeezes. “Was good seeing you, dearie.” 

 

“You too, Mrs. Moskovitz,” Fran nearly chokes out. 

 

“Phillip, tell your mother I’ll bring around a casserole in a few days.”

 

Phillip distractedly nods and the old woman walks away, leaving him and Fran alone again. She still doesn’t move to catch his eye even though he’s staring a hole through her head. Her whole body trembles as she waits for the other shoe to drop in front of her. 

 

“Frannie, you’re a mom… ?” Phillip breathes in disbelief once he can finally form words. 

 

Her fight or flight response kicks in as soon as he opens his mouth. 

 

She picks flight. 

 

“I-I have to go. T-T-Tell Judd I said hello.” Without another word, she spins around and books it towards the door, ripping it open and stepping outside. She’s barely aware that it shut at all behind her until she hears it being wrenched open again and large stomps chasing after her. 

 

“Fran! Wait a minute!”

Notes:

Oh it’s so painful 😭

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 4: The Confrontation

Summary:

Fran and Phillip confront each other about the consequences of the fallout of their friendship.

Notes:

Gotta love arguing in the middle of the road while everyone at your father's wake is probably staring out the window watching

“Fran, wait!”

 

His cries only make her walk faster, her hands already fumbling into her bag to collect her keys as she nears her car. She gets it unlocked and opens the door just for an arm to reach over her and slam it shut again. She gasps and freezes when she finds him nearly looming over her. 

 

“Fran, just hold on for a second. Fuck… I’m trying to talk to you,” he huffs, slightly out of breath as he stares down at her. “Why do you keep running from me?” 

 

She keeps her head down. Their bodies are too close now and she can’t bear to look him in the eyes. “I have to get home, so can you please move?” she asks, her voice more timid than she means it to be. 

 

“Why? Gotta get back to your son?” he fires back, his hand staying firm on the car door. 

 

Her eyes shoot up to his and then she looks down in shame when she sees the confusion on his face. The confusion and hurt. 

 

Phillip stands there, shaking his head in disbelief. “How the fuck did I not know you were a mom?" he demands. “That’s kinda a big life event… Why didn’t you tell me you had a kid?”

 

“Why would I?” she quietly counters, her eyes staying on the clip of his tie. 

 

He flinches back slightly at her words as if she poked him with a piece of red hot metal. “What does that mean?”

 

She slowly shakes her head, still not daring to look at him again. Seeing his expressive eyes would just crumble all of her resolve. “Phillip, we haven’t talked in over six years… Why would I have told you I have a son?”

 

Umm, maybe because the boy is his child, Fran!

 

“Because we’re friends,” he scoffs like she’s talking nonsense. “You’re my best friend.”

 

“We haven’t been friends in a long time, Phillip,” she quietly corrects even though it’s like a knife to the heart for the words to come out of her mouth.

 

His face scrunches up and he runs a hand through his hair. None of what she’s saying is making any sense to him. “Yeah, I mean, I guess our communication got a little shitty over the years,” he defends, “but that didn’t mean I stopped being your friend.”

 

“Then what was it supposed to mean?” she softly argues back.

 

Her indifference is starting to frustrate him and all he wants is for her to finally look at him. But instead, she keeps avoiding his eyeline. “It just means that life is hard and people get busy sometimes,” he answers, though he’s not sure he fully believes it. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know about the big things in your life like you having a kid.”

 

Fran is quiet for a few moments, just blinking as she processes his response. “Busy? You call no contact in over six years ‘busy’?”

 

His face drops, annoyed that that’s the part that she gets stuck on. “Okay, I’m not the only one to blame here, Fran. You also stopped trying to reach out.” 

 

She finally looks up at him, his accusation hitting her in the wrong way. “I only stopped because I felt pathetic still trying,” she retorts with a small glare. “You were having the time of your life away from here and I started to feel like an inconvenience.” She puts a hand on her forehead, willing herself to calm down. There’s no need to make a scene in the middle of the street. “You moved away and forgot all about this town and that’s fine, Phillip. I get it. New York had so many new, cooler people for you to meet… You didn’t need me anymore.”

 

“That’s not fair, Fran. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to go and play the martyr,” he snaps, taking a step away from her in his frustration. His hands start flailing around like they always do when he gets intense in conversation. “Didn’t need you—? You told me to go. You told me to go have an exciting life and that’s what I did!”

 

“Your fun, exciting life with your rich, older women?” she criticizes before she even knows it’s out of her mouth.

 

Well, there’s no taking that back.

 

He freezes, staring at her in shock. “How do you even know about that?” he chokes out. She’s the last person he wants to know about his ‘lifestyle’. He couldn’t bear knowing Fran was disappointed in him for his choices. 

 

Since she’s already stuck her shoe in her mouth she might as well be honest. “Just because you stopped talking to me doesn’t mean the rest of your family did.”

 

That one hurts. Phillip bites his tongue, stomps away, and yells into the empty street, “Fucking Wendy!” He quickly pivots and takes three large, angry steps back to her, pointing at her face. “If you remember correctly, I asked you to come with me.”

 

“I had a sick grandmother that needed me, Phillip,” she calmly reminds him.

 

“I know that!” he snaps back, his tone moving from angry to sad. “And I understood that, I did. But fuck, Fran… did it break my fucking heart leaving you here.”

 

The confession makes her feel like she’s been stabbed between the ribs. It hangs there in the air and all they can do is stare at each other with brokenhearted expressions. 

 

“Oh, you kids didn’t leave!” 

 

The voice rips them from their argument, making them both jump. They turn to see Mrs. Moskovitz yelling at them from the front door. 

 

“Your mother was asking where you went!” She pokes her head back inside the house. “Hilary! He’s outside with Fran!” She then makes her way down the walk and to her car. “You two be good now! And Phillip, remember. The casserole!” Mrs. Moskovitz calls out to them as she climbs into her car. 

 

“Goodbye, Mrs. Moskovitz,” they both drone in unison, their tone tense but polite. Phillip raises his hand in goodbye and Fran awkwardly waves as the old woman drives past them. 

 

Phillip turns to look at Fran and sighs loudly. He plops down on the curb, resting his arms on his bent knees. His eyes narrow in on a twig in the road, too emotionally exhausted to look at her anymore. 

 

The both of them just exist there in the middle of the street in silence for a few moments—something they haven’t done in forever. Before, they could go hours without a word, just enjoying each other’s company. Now there’s this awkwardness that Phillip can’t stand. 

 

“It’s just… we did everything together since we were six years old. Then one day that was just gone.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “You never tried to visit despite me asking thousands of times. And even when I’d come back here you always seemed to be busy.” His chin wobbles so he clenches his teeth together. “It just got too hard, Fran. Every phone call got harder to make, every email harder to write… It hurt too much to just have a few tiny blips of you.”

 

Fran silently moves closer, pulls her dress taut around the backs of her thighs, and sits down on the curb next to him. Her eyes focus on his house across the street. She can see people walking past the window, some looking out at her and Phillip like they’re the entertainment of the day, so she moves her gaze to the ground. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she says softly after a few seconds. “You’re right. I wasn’t very good at being a friend either.”

 

He hangs his head with a large sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, Frannie… I’m sorry. You were nice enough to come today and I’ve been an asshole.”

 

She bites her lip. “That’s not exactly new,” she shyly jokes.

 

He can’t help but break into that old goofy grin of his and chuckles. “Damn, Larsen. That’s cold,” he teases. “And on the day of my father’s funeral. Vicious.”

 

His laugh brings the tiniest smile to her face. 

 

Phillip finally turns to face her now that the ice has broken a bit. He gets a good look at her for the first time in eight years. She’s cropped her hair even shorter than it was in college, but she still styles it in her own plain way. She’s still the timid Fran he used to know, except now there’s this maturity about her. A maturity that only comes from a life full of responsibilities.  

 

She’s also still just as pretty as he remembers.

 

Maybe moreso. 

 

“So you’re a mom,” he repeats in disbelief.

 

She clears her throat. “Yeah.”

 

He looks at her expectantly and she just continues to stare blankly at the ground. “And??” he pesters. 

 

Her eyes finally drift up to him. “And what?” she asks obliviously. 

 

“Umm, I don’t know,” he scoffs out a laugh. “How bout tell me about it!” He leans over and bumps her shoulder with his. “How the fuck did Fran Larsen become a mom? Don’t think I haven’t noticed there’s not a ring on your finger.”

 

He noticed that?

 

Fran freezes, not quite sure what to tell him. The most rational thing would be to come clean. To tell him the truth. But they just stopped arguing and found a bit of a calm camaraderie again and a large part of her isn’t ready to ruin that yet. 

 

So she settles for the closest thing to the truth without telling him. 

 

“I didn’t plan to,” she explains. “It was stupid. It was one night. We were responsible and everything, but it just didn’t work… I never saw him again.”

 

“What a fucking prick.”

 

His reaction surprises her. “What?” she chokes out. 

 

Phillip shakes his head, looking offended for her. He glares at the ground. “What kinda asshole just abandons the woman he knocked up?” Oh if he ever found the guy who abandoned his friend… There’d be hell to pay. 

 

Fran’s eyes go wide. She can’t believe she has to defend him against himself. Never could have imagined that in a million years. “H-He didn’t know,” she adds in an effort to quell his misplaced anger. “I… I didn’t tell him.”

 

“Still…” He turns back to her and bumps her shoulder again. “But hey, you’re better off without the jerk. I bet Frannie Larsen makes a badass single mom,” he adds with a smirk.

 

Her face flushes at the compliment, as misguided as it is. If he knew the truth he probably wouldn’t be saying such a thing. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be talking to her at all. 

 

“So… tell me about him. If Mrs. Moskovitz likes him, he must be something special 'cause I thought she hated kids. I swear, that woman didn’t like me until I was at least nineteen,” he says with a chuckle. 

 

Fran’s brows crinkle together as a small smile graces her face. “That’s because you used to chase her cats through the neighborhood and tried to put a smoke bomb in her mailbox.” 

 

He laughs again, picturing his past shenanigans. “You might have a point. But besides that, I was an angel.”

 

“No you weren’t,” she counters, raising her eyebrows.

 

“Okay, no I wasn’t,” he concedes with a full-on grin and a shrug. “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about your kid.”

 

Fran stares at him, swallowing thickly. It would look weird if she just up and ditched him right now so she surrenders to the friendly interrogation. “His name is Alex,” she begins. “He’s… six.”

 

“And?” he prompts after she doesn’t give any other information. 

 

“And… I don’t know!” she replies with a flustered laugh. Her attention falls to her knees, picking an invisible piece of lint from her dress. “He’s super sweet and sensitive yet extremely chaotic and stubborn when he wants to be.”

 

Phillip’s smile grows at the soft look on Fran’s face. He can practically hear the love she has for her son just by the tone of her voice. “Fran Larsen has a wild child?” he can’t resist teasing. “Impossible. The Frannie I know would raise little saints.” 

 

She just rolls her eyes at his little joke. “Yeah, well, he must’ve gotten it from his father.”

 

Because he definitely did.

 

“Phillip!”

 

Another voice breaks their conversation. They look up to see Wendy’s head popping out from the window. 

 

“Mom said to get your ass back in here!” she yells across the street to them. 

 

“I’ll be there in a second!” he calls back to her. 

 

He gets up from the curb and holds out his hand to Fran. She stares at it for a moment before letting him haul her up to her feet. There’s a brief second where neither of them lets go. Memories of his hands come flooding back and she rips her hand away, lightly patting away the dirt from her dress as a distraction. 

 

He shifts back and forth, almost like a child with too much nervous energy. “So like… I’m in town for the next week or so,” he starts. “Do you wanna like… meet up or something? I’d kinda like to get back to being friends… Like the old days.”

 

The question throws her a bit, but she finds she doesn’t exactly hate the idea, despite her better judgment. Fran nods, her lips pinched between her teeth. “No, no, that… sounds… good.”

 

“Awesome,” he replies, a large grin back on his face. “You should also come to temple in a few days. They’re doing this celebration of life thing for Dad. You’ll even get to see Rabbi Boner in action.” He wiggles his eyebrows, thoroughly amused at the idea. “Still can’t believe that asshole became a man of God.”

 

“He’s actually pretty good at it, you know,” she supplies. “The town seems to really enjoy his sermons.”

 

Phillip snorts in disbelief. “I’ve seen that loser so drunk and high that he walked down the street in just his tighty whities. There’s no way in hell he’s as good as you say.” His body jerks a little as if he just remembered something. “Oh! And you’ll also have to introduce me to your kid before I leave. With Frannie Larsen as his mom, he’s bound to be like the coolest kid ever.” He reaches forward and grazes a hand across her shoulder, giving her a wink. “Maybe even cooler than his Uncle Phillip.”

 

Shit. 

 

“Phillip! Now!” a different, less patient voice calls out. 

 

“Keep your fucking panties on, Paul!” he yells loudly enough for the neighborhood to hear before turning back to her. “I gotta go... It really means a lot that you came.” He moves to leave then takes two quick steps back, bends over, and awkwardly pecks her cheek. “Bye, Frannie,” he whispers in her ear. 

 

She stands there in shock, her breath stuck in her throat. “Bye…” 

 

Fran watches as he turns around and heads back to his house. He pauses briefly at the door to wave at her before disappearing back inside. 

 

She slowly walks back to her car, getting in and dropping her head onto the steering wheel. Her mind is reeling from what all just happened and she’s frozen in place. Plan: Avoid Phillip was a total fail, but part of her didn’t hate catching up with him, all the lies aside. She’s missed it. Missed him. Missed being able to laugh and let her guard down around him.

 

Maybe this next week won’t be so bad. That is, if she can manage to keep the quite large elephant in the room a secret for just a few more days. Only a few more days and she’s in the clear. 

 

Pulling her head off the wheel, she starts the car and takes a deep breath. 

 

Now to go pick up her son and act like she didn’t just spend the last hour talking to the father he knows nothing about. 

 

There’s no way this ends well.

Notes:

Oh, Frannie... You little liar

And Mrs. Moskovitz definitely makes the terrible kugal that Phillip accidentally spits in haha

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 5: You All Knew?!?

Summary:

Phillip confronts his family about keeping secrets from him.

Notes:

We get some Phillip POV!

Phillip impatiently waits for the last guest to leave. The rest of the afternoon dragged on as he made small talk with way too many people. Part of him wishes Fran had stuck around to make this all just slightly more bearable. 

 

Fuck.

 

Fran Larsen. 

 

He hasn't seen her since the day he loaded up Judd’s car and left. Seeing her across the room talking to Paul was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice over his head. All the memories they made together came flooding back to him. His breath was stolen from him and he could think of nothing else but his desire to talk to her. His only goal from the moment their eyes met was to hear her sweet, soft voice after all these years. 

 

God, he didn’t realize just how much he had missed her until she was near him again. Then she kept running from him as if he was the plague and it was like a dagger to the heart each time. Not to mention the fact that she constantly kept avoiding his gaze like he was Medusa or something and she’d turn to stone. She’d always been a shy person ever since they first met, but she never had an issue looking at him before, so it hurt every time she averted her eyes back to the floor. 

 

And then there was the mic drop of her being a mom. 

 

A mom!

 

He’s spent all afternoon trying to wrap his head around it. She’s been a mom this entire time and he hasn’t had a clue. It broke him to realize why she didn’t reach out and tell him the news. How the hell did their friendship just shrivel into dust? The better question is why did he let it? He was supposed to be there through all the big things like weddings and babies—things you’re supposed to celebrate with your best friend. And he just let her slip from his life. 

 

So much so that she conceived and had a child and he never heard so much as a whisper. 

 

All he knows is if that lazy son of a bitch baby daddy ever comes back, there’s gonna be hell to pay for leaving his Fr—leaving Fran alone and pregnant. It hurts his heart to think about how scared she must’ve been. A sick grandmother and a baby on the way at twenty-four? It’s more than she should have had to deal with all by herself. 

 

He should’ve tried harder to stay connected and invested in her life. He could’ve helped her. After sixteen years of friendship, he owed her that much. His support. But now he’s determined to make up for the last six years he spent being a total dumbass. 

 

Before he does any of that though, he has a family to confront. 

 

The door finally shuts behind the last person and his mother walks back into the living room where they’re all still sitting in their shiva chairs. As soon as she sits back down, Phillip jumps from his seat and blocks everyone from getting up. 

 

“So how many of you assholes knew Fran was a mom and just didn’t tell me?” he very bluntly asks with no preamble. “Dad literally died on Thursday yet that new piece of information was the biggest shock of my week.” He levels them all with a glare. “So who knew?”

 

Everyone but Judd raises their hand, all of them looking way too nonchalant about the situation for his liking. It’s like they don’t even care that they’ve essentially lied to his face for the last six years. 

 

“To be fair, I’m just learning this now,” Judd offers casually. “Fran’s a mom?”

 

Hilary, being the rational one, speaks up, “It wasn’t our news to tell, Phillip.”

 

Wendy simply rolls her eyes at his dramatics. “If Fran wanted you to know, she would’ve told you,” she reasons.

 

“Maybe you should take it as a hint that you’ve been too absorbed in your own life to care about anyone else’s,” Paul unhelpfully adds. 

 

“Umm, maybe you should fuck off,” Phillip snaps back. 

 

“Wow. Okay. Anyone want a drink? Imma just…” Judd mumbles before slinking off into the kitchen to get away from the craziness.

 

“Phillip…” Hilary chastises. 

 

“Sorry, Mommy.”

 

Tracy finally decides to interject as tensions are getting high. She gets up and stands next to Phillip. “Who’s this Fran girl?” she asks, feeling quite out of the loop. 

 

“She’s an old friend of Phillip’s,” Wendy answers for him. 

 

Phillip rolls his eyes at the downplaying of their whole relationship and corrects, “My best friend.”

 

Tracy stares at him for a moment, a strange expression crossing her face for only a millisecond. “If she’s your best friend, how have I never heard you talk about her? You’ve never mentioned her until just now.”

 

“See?” Wendy says with a wave of her hand. “Case in point. You can’t still be best friends when you haven’t talked to the poor girl in six years.” She gets up and heads to the kitchen for a glass of wine. 

 

“I got busy!” He runs his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends. “It’s not like I’m a stay-at-home mom who has all the time in the world to talk to her,” he accuses, calling out from the other room. They hear a large scoff from Wendy. “Yeah, that’s right. I heard all about your ‘talks’.”

 

She rolls her eyes at Judd who’s hiding out in the kitchen still and brings her full glass back to the living room. “Of course, I was still going to talk to her. She was like the sister I never had. The one I prayed for. Instead, I had to deal with you three idiots.”

 

“So you just thought you’d conveniently leave out the fact that my best friend since I was six had a kid?”

 

“Again, it was not my secret to tell,” she says, sitting back down and taking a large sip of her drink.

 

“Honey, don’t you think you’re being a little unfair to everyone?” Hilary pipes up. “Are you sure this isn’t just you taking out the anger you have about your own inadequacies on all of us?”

 

Phillip pouts and crosses his arms. He hesitates before grumbling out a childish, “No.”

 

His mother looks at him with her therapist-eyes and he immediately wants to crawl in a hole. “Who are you really mad at, Phillip? Us for staying here and keeping up contact with Fran, or yourself for moving away and letting your friendship fizzle out?”

 

It cuts deep. Of course, it cuts deep. She’s been a therapist for the last God knows how many decades and knows how to make it cut deep. He lets out a loud groan before calling out, “Judd, please come here and back me up!” His brother’s head pops in just around the door frame. “Would you please tell our family that they’re in the wrong for keeping this from me?”

 

“Oh, yeah, no. I’m not gonna do that,” Judd replies. “I’m staying out of this entire situation.” 

 

“Look, little brother. You can’t keep blaming us for you being a shitty friend,” Paul bluntly states, becoming thoroughly tired of Phillip’s little blame game. “It’s your own fault you didn’t know about Alex.” 

 

“Paul…” Annie quietly pleads from her place on the couch. 

 

“Did you just call me a shitty friend?” Phillip barks back. His brother’s statement isn’t far from the truth but it still pisses him the fuck off to be called out on it by an outsider. Especially by Paul. “How bout you stand up and say that to my face. I dare you. Call me a shitty friend again.”

 

Not backing down, Paul jumps from his chair and gets nose-to-nose with him. “You were a shitty friend,” he says slowly with a single raised eyebrow. “Fran was nothing but wonderful to you for years and you ditched her the second you left this town.”

 

Phillip glares at his brother for a moment before jumping to the attack. He wraps his arms around Paul’s shoulders and the two brothers engage in a shoving match. Everyone else in the room flies from their chairs, yelling at both of them to stop. 

 

Judd, being the only other man in the room, quickly jumps in and tries to pry Phillip away. Also, Judd, who’s a good four inches shorter than either of them, is quickly pushed to the side as they continue to wrestle. 

 

Just before the punches start a loud cry echoes in the room, breaking through the commotion. Everyone freezes and turns to the baby monitor on the counter. 

 

“Well, now you’ve done it,” Wendy snaps with a glare at the both of them. “Now I have to fight to get my children back to sleep. Thank you so very much.” She sighs and storms down the hall. 

 

“Wendy, I’ll help you,” Annie says, staring at Paul in disappointment before catching up with her sister-in-law.

 

Hilary looks between her two sons, her mom-glare on point. “Are you two ready to act like adults now?” They’re still standing there, breathing hard and their hands fisted in each other's shirts. “How about we all call it a night? It’s been a long, emotional day and tensions are high. Let’s just all go to bed so we can behave like a happy, loving family tomorrow.”

 

“She’s right,” Tracy says, coming up and placing a hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “Let’s take it down a notch, shall we?”

 

Phillip glares at Paul again before sighing. He shoves his brother away with a roll of his eyes. Paul glares back at him before storming down the hall without a goodnight to anyone. 

 

“Well the Altmans are definitely back together,” Judd deadpans, much to his mother’s dismay. “Let’s hope the neighbors don’t call the cops for a domestic disturbance like last time.”

 

“They didn’t call the cops,” Hilary quickly chastises in horror. “Now, if the rest of you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.” She pats both of her sons’ cheeks. “I love you all, but God help us.” Without another word, she leaves the room and heads up the stairs. 

 

Judd turns to Phillip. “How bout we don’t provoke Paul, okay? You know he's just gonna be an uptight asshole about it.”

 

“I didn’t provoke him, he provoked me,” Phillip childishly argues. “He always provokes me.”

 

“Well, whoever provoked whoever, let’s just not. We have six more days of this and we all need to make it out alive at the end without any assault charges.” Judd claps him on the shoulder. “Night, little brother. Goodnight, Tracy.”

 

“Night, Judd,” he replies with a nod. Taking a deep breath, Phillip wraps his arms around Tracy’s waist from behind for some comfort. Except now the embrace weirdly doesn’t feel the same way it did this morning when she first showed up. Her body almost feels foreign in her arms. Almost feels like it doesn’t belong. Maybe even like it’s wrong.

 

He quickly shoves the thought away, pressing his nose into her neck and giving it a nuzzle. “How about you and I head to bed,” he says suggestively. 

 

Tracy turns in his arms and places her hands on his shoulders. “Or how about you tell me about this Fran and why you just attacked your brother because of her,” she counters using her therapist-voice. 

 

Where he once found it calming and incredibly sexy, now he just feels instantly annoyed. He doesn’t want to talk about Fran, least of all to Tracy. “Or or or, how bout we don’t talk at all,” he whispers, leaning in and kissing her needily. 

 

There’s a flash of a memory, and for the briefest moment, he can almost feel the lips he kissed that night—the night he finally got to learn what Fran Larsen tasted like. It had been a curiosity he had had for a long time but was never brave enough to find out for himself. Not until neither of them was fully sober.

 

He might’ve had a couple of beers and the rest of hers but God does he remember that night. The way she tasted, the sounds she made. The way she felt. All of it was intoxicating, and he had told himself he could only have it the one time. Just the once and he would be able to get the weird urge out of his system. That’s all it was; just an obsessive itch he needed to scratch and be done with. They were friends and he felt awful even having the thought. He shouldn’t have been thinking about her that way anyway.

 

Besides, even if he had wanted her that way, nothing could’ve ever come from it. She was way too good for him. 

 

She still is. 

As quickly as the memory came, it’s gone, reminding him that the person he’s kissing is not, in fact, Fran, but his girlfriend/fiancé, Tracy. Fuck. He forces all thoughts of Fran from his mind and settles on what he does best; shoving his feelings down and using pleasure to numb everything else.

Notes:

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 6: Temple

Summary:

Attending temple means being roped into shenanigans with the Altmans.

Notes:

I couldn’t NOT include the temple scene. It’s too comedic, and adding Fran was a special touch :D

Fran moves through her house, blindly putting the tiny stud through her ear. She has a pair of simple heels clamped underneath her armpit, stopping temporarily in the hall to slide them on. “Alex. Shoes. Now,” Fran calls out as she enters the small living room. The living room that’s currently covered in almost every Lego and toy car Alex owns. 

 

With a large sigh, she drops to the floor, grabs the toy box, and starts to throw everything into it. Alex comes out of his room holding his shoes and a piece of construction paper. “I thought I told you to clean all this up,” she softly admonishes. They definitely don’t have time to pick up the whole room before they have to leave. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he replies with an apologetic pout. “I got distracted…”

 

She sighs again, her frustration ebbing away. She knows he can’t help it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not tiresome at times. “It’s okay, monkey. That’s why we make the lists, remember? So that you don’t forget.” She notices the paper in his hands as he drops down to the floor, abandons his shoes, and helps her. “What do you have there?”

 

He stops and fiddles with it in his hands. “It’s what I got distracted with. I knew you were gonna see Mrs. Hilary today and…” he trails off, suddenly withdrawing into himself. 

 

She holds her hand out and Alex reluctantly hands it over. It’s a handmade card addressed to Hilary. “Did you make this for her?” He gives her a shy nod that makes her smile. “Oh, monkey. I’m sure she’s going to love it. Now, come on. Let’s leave this for later and get your shoes on. I really can’t be late for this.”

 

They quickly put Alex’s shoes on and fly out the door. Fran drops him off with Penny, thanking her profusely again for watching him, and then books it all the way across town. She pulls into the parking lot of the Elmsbrook Synagogue with only five minutes to spare and jumps from the car, making sure to grab the card Alex made from the backseat.

 

Much to her relief, it looks like everyone is still wandering around and mingling instead of her walking into a quiet room full of sitting people. Looking around, she figures she’ll just slip into the row at the back of the room. Not close enough to have to socialize but still present where she could say she was there. Then she can slip the card to Hilary after the service on her way out.

 

Unfortunately, fate has other plans. Like always.

 

“Frannie!”

 

Phillip’s voice carries through the entire room, echoing amongst the rafters. Fran takes a deep breath and turns around to see the entire Altman gang entering—well, the entire gang sans Barry, Annie, Wendy’s kids, and Phillip’s fiancé. 

 

“You came!” Phillip announces loudly, swooping in to give her a hug. 

 

She pulls back and nervously fiddles with the paper in her hands. “I told you I would, didn’t I?” she mumbles, silently saying hello to the rest of them. “Oh, Hilary. I’m supposed to give this to you. From Alex.” She hands the card over with an awkward smile. 

 

Hilary takes it and looks it over, dutifully reading every word, before bringing it to her chest with both hands. “Well, you tell him that I love it and he’s very thoughtful,” she replies, her eyes getting a little misty. 

 

Her smile grows at the woman’s reaction. “I will,” she promises. “He’ll be thrilled you liked it.” 

 

“You didn’t bring him?” Phillip asks in curiosity. He looks around to see if a little boy is nearby that he might’ve missed.

 

She shakes her head, trying to appear like she’s not totally avoiding his eyes. “Alex and long, quiet services don’t really mix.” It’s a short reply to an answer that she really doesn’t want to have to explain at the moment. It’s too personal for a synagogue full of people. 

 

Luckily she doesn’t have to because Phillip’s easily adaptable. Or just has a very short attention span. Probably both.

 

He nudges her with his elbow. “Well then you need to bring him by the house cause I still want to meet the wild child,” he teases, his mouth stretching into that goofy grin she loves—loved. Loved.

 

“Yeah, Fran. Phillip really wants to meet him,” Wendy repeats quite pointedly. 

 

Fran’s eyes widen at the tone and all-knowing look on her friend’s face. She subtly shuffles closer to Wendy and mutters, “Shut up. Please,” under her breath. Inside she’s panicking but on the outside, she has to remain completely calm and she’s very much not good at that.

 

“Yeah, so you’re a mom, Fran?” Judd says. “That was certainly news the other day. Whole house was up in arms.”

 

She forces herself out of her head. His other statements confuse her so she just focuses on his inquiry. “Umm, yeah. I have a son named Alex,” she politely replies. 

 

“Judd here’s actually gonna be a dad, so that’s fucking nuts,” Phillip pipes up. 

 

His entire family turns to him with disappointing looks but for different reasons. 

 

“Goddammit, Phillip. Tell everyone in temple why don’t you,” Judd snaps, looking like he wants to strangle his brother.

 

Hilary steps in before anything escalates. “Can you all behave for one, single hour? We’re here for your father so let’s act like a respectable, religious family please.”

 

“Really, Mom?” Wendy interjects. “We’ve come here like three times in my entire life.”

 

“And stop swearing in temple,” Hilary continues, completely ignoring her daughter’s sass. “Let’s just take our seats before you kids get us kicked out.” 

 

She leads them all—now thoroughly reprimanded—to their seats. Phillip puts his hand on the small of Fran’s back and brings her along with them, effectively squashing her plan of sitting in the back row. 

 

“Frannie, you can sit next to me,” he says once they reach their designated pew. 

 

Wendy butts in, grabbing onto Fran’s arm and tugging her from Phillip. “Oh no. She’s mine. Girl talk time.”

 

“You can’t have girl talk in temple,” he snaps back childishly. He’s already pouting about not being able to sit next to his friend—the friend he might’ve spent the last two days thinking about, much to the displeasure of a certain woman he left back at home. Not that anyone needs to know that.

 

She simply raises an eyebrow that says ‘Watch me’. She pulls Fran along, shuffling into the pew after Paul. Hilary, followed by Judd and then Phillip, take their seats as well. 

 

Being squished in between Wendy and Hilary in a synagogue is definitely not the most comfortable thing, but honestly, she’d take it over being stuck next to Phillip for an hour. She might sweat through her dress if she had to do that. 

 

The entire room quiets down as Rabbi Charles Grodner comes out and greets the congregation. From down the row, Phillip loudly snorts but covers it up with a cough after a swat to the back of the head from Hilary. 

 

“So how have you been since we last talked?” Wendy quietly asks. 

 

Fran looks around, worried the people near them are going to get angry about the taking but softly replies, “Good. It’s been quiet. Like normal.”

 

“Lucky. My life has been chaos. Paul and Phillip have nearly gotten into two fistfights—”

 

“Stop talking about me,” Paul interjects from beside her. 

 

“Shut up,” Wendy replies, turning back to Fran. “Two fistfights in which Judd pathetically tried to intervene.”

 

“Is that why he has the cut on his forehead?” Fran asks. 

 

“Glass. Right in the temple.” She nods her head as Fran’s eyes widen in shock. “Yeah, the two other idiots smashed him into the cabinet. Anyway, Quinn apparently showed up and told Judd that she’s pregnant which Phillip loudly announced to the kitchen table this morning.”

 

“Is that why Annie isn’t here?” She can imagine the poor woman being upset about yet another person getting pregnant before her. 

 

A rare look of empathy falls over Wendy’s face. “She didn’t take it well so she’s back at the house with Cole and Serena since God knows Barry wasn’t gonna watch them.”

 

Fran gives an apologetic grimace. She looks around down the pew and notices Phillip looking bored out of his mind. “And Phillip’s fiancé? She didn’t want to come?” she asks, hopefully sounding nonchalant about it all. 

 

Wendy leans in even closer. “There’s been trouble in ‘paradise’ lately. They keep fighting over something. Personally, I think she’s realizing that dating my idiotic, impulsive brother who’s seventeen years her junior probably isn’t the wisest decision she’s ever made.”

 

It silences Fran for a moment. She can’t say she was the biggest fan of hearing that he was ‘engaged’ to anyone at all, nonetheless to one of the older women he has a particular affinity for ever since moving to the city, but that doesn’t mean she enjoys hearing about them fighting. Phillip deserves to be happy, no matter who that’s with. It’s not like she has any say or approval over the person. They’ve only been back in each other’s lives for two days. 

 

He doesn’t even know her deepest, darkest secret. 

 

Shaking her head, she moves her focus from her racing thoughts back onto the service. 

 

Rabbi Grodner is standing at the podium. “Now, as many of you know, Mort Altman passed away this past week,” he begins, staring directly at the entire Altman family. “His family's joined us here today to mark his passing before God and community. Wendy… How are you? You look good.” He sends her a wink across the room.

 

Wendy grimaces at the greeting. “Ew.” Her brothers on the other hand can’t help but grin in amusement. 

 

He continues, “On a personal note, I grew up in the Altman home.”

 

“Oh, shit,” Phillip mutters under his breath.

 

“Hanging out with Phillip. Remember?” Charles asks, pointing over at them. Phillip gives him a half-enthused nod of acknowledgment. “Playing ball with the boys.”

 

“Getting wasted,” Phillip mumbles with a fake smile.

 

Paul looks disgusted. “Jerking off.”

 

“Trying to touch my boobs,” Wendy sarcastically adds with a glare.

 

Charles goes on, completely unaware of their comments. “And I mourn with them. I do.” He’s quiet and somber for a brief second before clapping his hands and pepping back up. It’s almost like whiplash for the lot of them. “What do you say we get this party started? Does now feel like the right time? It feels like the right time to me. Cantor Mia. Bring them back up!”

 

Fran angles towards Wendy, confused. She very much doesn’t remember those memories with the boy they used to know. “I don’t understand,” she whispers. “Charlie was always so nice to me. How do you all have such different experiences with him?”

 

Wendy scoffs and rolls her eyes. “It’s because he had a huge crush on you.”

 

Her head whips over, her eyes flitting back and forth from the woman on her right to the man on the stage. “He had a crush on me?” she asks in disbelief.

 

“Of course he did,” Wendy replies like it’s obvious. “But Phillip threatened to smash his balls with a baseball bat if he ever tried anything.”

 

Fran’s eyes nearly bug from her head. She leans forward slightly and casually looks down the pew in shock. Phillip threatened Charlie over a little childhood crush? Why would he do that? 

 

Then not even a second later said man slinks out of his seat, bobbing along to the prayer. He catches her eye and gives her a wink as he tries to inconspicuously walk out of the room. She stares in confusion before watching Judd and Hilary whisper to each other. A moment later Judd gets up and follows Phillip out. 

 

“Where are those idiots going?” Wendy grumbles from her side. 

 

They settle back down to focus on the prayer. Fran is fairly lost but tries her best to follow along. Granted the remaining Altmans seem just as confused—merely mumbling along—which makes her feel slightly better. 

 

The minutes tick on and yet Phillip and Judd don’t return to their seats. Hilary leans over both her and Wendy, asking Paul to go and search for them in case they’ve gotten lost. He rolls his eyes and ducks his way from the pew and out of the room. 

 

Another twenty, maybe thirty, minutes pass and now none of them have come back, leaving the three women completely confused of their whereabouts.

 

“Fran, would you please be a dear and go search for my absent children?” Hilary quietly asks her. “I have a feeling they’ve ditched the service.”

 

She really doesn’t want to. She knows the second she gets up half the congregation is going to stare straight at her and she’d rather die. But Hilary has done so much for her over the years so she kind of owes her, and it’s not like it’s a difficult request. 

 

Fran nods and hunches over, creeping her way from the pew and through the back doors. She wanders through the halls, totally confused about how three adult men just disappear. She checks room after room, even going as far as checking the men’s bathroom—a task she does not want to repeat anytime soon. 

 

Turning the corner near the hall of classrooms, a strange smell wafts into her nose. It’s like a skunk sprayed the entire corridor. As she walks along, the smell gets stronger and stronger until she reaches the source. 

 

She peeks through the tiny glass window, seeing the forms of black suits, and she knows she found the correct room. She opens the door and the smell nearly smacks her in the face as she takes a step in.  

 

“Francake! Hey!” Phillip happily yells from his prone position on the countertop, a plastic crown perched around his head. 

 

“What are you three doing in here?” she asks through the smoky haze. 

 

But before anyone can give her an answer, the sprinkler system activates, causing Fran to gasp loudly in shock. Within seconds the four of them are fully drenched yet she seems to be the only one who cares. 

 

“This probably isn't gonna go over very well,” Paul unhelpfully states. Judd immediately breaks out into laughter whereas Phillip just lays there, trying to relight his now extinguished joint. 

 

Fran sighs and fixes them all with her best mom glare accompanied by the classic hands on her hips. “Altman boys. Out. Now,” she demands. She’s annoyed. Everyone is going to think that she had a hand in this and she’s never going to be able to face the people in this town again. 

 

They turn to stare at her like idiots before looking down in shame. “Sorry, Fran,” all three of them mumble. 

 

She raises a hand and points out the door, waiting impatiently for them to get up and stumble from the room. Phillip’s the last out and his gaze is locked on something south of her face. If she didn’t know any better, it almost looks like he’s licking his lips. But that’s probably just from the water still raining from the ceiling. 

 

“What? What are you looking at?” she asks, her tone still snappy but less so as her nerves return from him looking at her like that. 

 

“Umm, your dress…” he replies with a nod downward. 

 

Her eyes widen in panic as the light-colored dress is now quite visibly translucent and giving everyone a show of her not-so-light-colored bra. “Oh my god,” she nearly cries in mortification. She quickly raises her arms and crosses them over her chest, wanting to simply die in this very spot. Not only have Phillip and his brothers just seen her wet bra, but now she’s going to have to walk out for a whole congregation to see. 

 

There’s a cough before a suit jacket is placed around her shoulders. She looks up to see Phillip still staring very intently at her face, his pupils blown wide—though that is probably due to the weed flowing through his system at the moment. 

 

She grabs the jacket and slides her arms through the sleeves, focusing more on fastening the buttons than on his intense gaze. “Thank you,” she mumbles. His jacket is quite large on her but at least it’ll prevent anyone from seeing her undergarments. However, she can also see this town running amuck with rumors about her wearing his jacket while soaking wet.

 

“No problem… I gotchyour back, Frannie,” he vows, his hand coming up to brush away a lock of wet hair that’s stuck to her cheek. “Always.”

 

Fran’s frozen for a moment as if his touch had turned her to stone. She blinks out of it—her cheeks feeling like they’re on fire—and silently slips past him, following Paul and Judd. She can hear his long legs quickly catch up to her.

 

They all exit the building to find the entire congregation standing around outside and Fran’s nerves immediately hit the roof. She ducks her head, trying to hide between the three men. 

 

“Just blend in,” Phillip mutters, slipping on a pair of shades he pulled from his pocket.

 

He’s completely out of his mind. She’s in the company of three men who are high off their butts, and all of them are soaked to the bone. There’s no blending in no matter what she does. 

 

The looks on Hilary and Wendy’s faces will be forever imprinted into her mind. 

 

“We got it,” Judd says as they reach the two women.

 

Hilary stares at them in shock and part horror. “What did you do?” she demands. 

 

“No. Nobody did anything,” Paul shakes his head, trying to sound nonchalant. 

 

“We put it out,” Judd adds. “Hose got away from us, though.”

 

Wendy simply rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You guys smell like a dorm room.”

 

From beside her, Hilary gasps quietly. “You got high in temple?” she says in disbelief. 

 

“No, no, no, please, Mother,” Judd answers with an eye roll. He looks at her as casually as can be. “We knocked out a fire.”

 

“Who's hungry?” Phillip loudly asks, seemingly unphased by everything. 

 

“Phillip,” Fran chastises under her breath. She lightly smacks his side to which he lets out a tiny “ow”. He could have a little more awareness than that. Here she is, still cowering from everyone’s gazes like she was the one smoking and he’s only thinking with his stomach. 

 

They hear footsteps and all turn to see Charles making his way over, fury written across his face. It only serves to make her more horrified by what happened. 

 

“We got it,” Judd tells him before he can say anything. 

 

Charles grabs Phillip’s wet shirt and tugs him closer. “What the hell, Phillip?!” he accuses despite the other man trying not to snort. 

 

Paul steps in, pushing Charles back from his brother. “Phillip had nothing to do with it,” he somehow coherently defends. Phillip attacks him with a hug from behind, suddenly overcome with gratitude for the man protecting him. 

 

“It was probably electrical,” Judd adds in an effort to help defuse the situation. 

 

Charles’ eyes nearly bug from his head. “It wasn't electrical,” he cries. He sniffs the air slightly. “Is that weed I smell? Was everybody smoking weed?”

 

“We smelled the fire. Mom smelled the same thing,” Judd calmly answers. 

 

“Yeah, I did,” Hilary quickly confirms to save her sons’ asses. “I smelled it.”

 

“Fran?” Charles turns to her, looking at her like she’s the one sane person he can trust. 

 

Her eyes flash between all the Altmans. “A-A fire…” she stutters, sticking to their very obviously fake story.

 

“It's not fire,” he snaps, turning back to the boys. “It's weed. You guys were smoking weed, right?”

 

“You'd know,” Phillip loudly quips. 

 

Charles’ eyes bug out of his head again. He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his temper under control. “You know what? How about you just head out before the cops come, okay?”

 

Phillip gives a big nod and brushes past him. “Thanks, Boner. You rock,” he says, his hand swinging down to tap Charles’ nuts. The man immediately turns on him. 

 

“I swear to God. Don't touch my balls,” Charles cries, his hands flailing out and grabbing onto Phillip, who’s simply laughing at the overreaction. He pats Phillip’s cheeks none too softly over and over again. “And secondly, stop calling me that. That was the very last time you'll ever call me ‘Boner’.”

 

“Boner, God's watching,” Judd deadpans over the commotion. 

 

“Oh, my God!” Charles lets go of Philip and turns to rush Judd, but Paul gets in the way, grabbing onto the attacking man. The both of them get into a little slapfight. 

 

“Your bones are, like, hollow,” Paul comments with a snort. 

 

“Get off of me!”

 

Paul continues to laugh while holding the smaller man off while his brothers dash towards the parking lot. “You're so easy to manipulate,” he teases. 

 

“You're so strong,” Charles whines, finally throwing the taller man off of him before Paul races after his brothers. 

 

Hilary looks between the man and her other children, trying really hard to stop herself from laughing. “I'm sorry, Boner,” she snorts under her breath. 

 

“Come on!” he cries, nearly stomping in indignation. 

 

Wendy follows after them all, rolling her eyes. “Oh, my God, you guys are so going to hell.” Her face scrunches as she thinks about it. “Do we believe in hell?” she rhetorically asks. 

 

Fran’s just frozen there next to Charles. He turns to her looking exasperated and thoroughly bullied. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before awkwardly muttering, “Sorry…” Then she slinks off as quickly as she can to catch up to the Altmans and get away from the staring crowd. 

 

The boys are all still laughing and gently roughhousing like ten-year-olds when she reaches them. Wendy is shaking her head, looking at them like they’re the biggest idiots in the world—which isn’t that far off the mark in Fran’s opinion at the moment.

 

“I can’t believe you guys got high in temple,” Wendy chastises despite her thinly veiled amusement. 

 

“Judd started it,” Phillip replies. “He was the one with the joints. But seriously, who’s hungry? I’m starving.”

 

Hilary rolls her eyes at his dramatics. “We are all going to get out of here before you three get arrested for possession. We can get some food at home. Fran, you’re more than welcome to come along,” she kindly offers.

 

It catches Fran off guard. “Oh, umm, I—”

 

“Yeah, Frannie, you should come,” Phillip echoes, saddling up close to her and bumping her shoulder with his arm. 

 

Oh, she’s never been good at saying no to him, and it seems that eight years of not seeing the man hasn’t changed that fact at all. 

 

“S-Sure…” she sighs. She supposes she can text Penny and ask if she can watch Alex for a little longer. 

 

“Awesome! Meetcha back at the house,” Phillip calls before walking off to his car. 

 

“He knows we’re not stupid enough to let him drive while he’s high off his ass, right?” Wendy asks with a raised eyebrow. 

 

Hilary sighs and calls out, “Phillip, darling, come back here!”

 

He pauses and swings back around, practically stomping over to them. “What, Mom?” he replies with a little too much sass. 

 

“You’re coming with us. We can come back to get the Porsche later. You’re not fit to drive at the moment.”

 

Phillip stares at her for a second, his eyes narrowed. Then he lets out a huffish groan. “Fine. But I’m riding with Fran,” he states obstinately without even asking her permission. 

 

Hilary—who also doesn’t check to see if it’s ok with Fran—nods and replies, “Fine. We will see the two of you at the house. Paul. Judd. Get in the car, please.” 

 

The rest of the Altmans head towards Hilary’s SUV, Wendy looking over to give Fran a knowing look before getting in herself. Fran stands there wondering how she suddenly got stuck having to drive Phillip Altman across town… both of them in the car… together. She turns to the man who’s swaying side to side beside her and holds back a groan. 

 

Phillip gives her a big, goofy grin. “Hey, Frannie.”

 

She shakes her head and sighs at her luck. “Hi, Phillip,” she replies, all for his amusement. His smile gets even bigger if that’s at all possible. Oh, the things she does for Phillip Altman. 

 

He grabs her hand and pulls her across the parking lot. 

 

“Phillip, we’re not driving your car,” she reminds him as they near the fanciest Porsche she’s ever seen. Honestly, the only Porsche she’s ever seen. 

 

“We’re not,” he answers, reaching into the back and grabbing a duffle bag. He then gives her a nod and waves her forward like he’s expecting her to lead him to her own car. 

 

She does, briefly wondering why he keeps the top of his car down, and almost suggesting he puts it up. It just seems like a surefire way to get your things stolen, but he doesn’t seem too concerned about it so she keeps her mouth shut. 

 

They reach her car and she unlocks it. Phillip opens the back door, plops the bag down, and immediately shuffles through it. 

 

“What are you doing?” she asks, confused at his sudden task. 

 

“Well, we can’t have you driving around in wet clothes, now can we?” he replies, pulling out a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants from the bag. He holds them out to her. “Here, change into these.”

 

Her eyes widen at the command. “Phillip, I’m not changing my clothes in the middle of a parking lot,” she hisses, her cheeks already burning bright red at the mere idea. 

 

“It’s fine. I’ll cover you,” he says as if that suddenly makes everything better. 

 

She doesn’t move a muscle. She just continues to stare at him like he’s lost his fricking mind.

 

“Frannie, you’re soaked to the bone and shivering. Just put the damn clothes on before I put them on for you. You know I will,” he threatens, suddenly sobering up slightly. 

 

She stares at him for a second more before ripping the clothes from his hand. His smile instantly returns, this time looking quite proud. She climbs into the back of her van, ducking down as low as she can. “You better block me good, Altman. And no peeking.”

 

“Wouldn’t dare, Larsen,” he replies in a coy manner that she doesn’t fully trust. He spreads out, his body covering the entire door so no one can see in. 

 

She quickly sheds the jacket and her wet dress and slides into the sweats that he gave her. Instantly, she’s five times warmer despite her still damp underthings and can’t help but snuggle into the new layers of clothing for a moment. They even smell like him. It’s just as she remembers—his scent somehow unchanged in eight years. Then she realizes what she’s doing and shakes out of it, letting out a small cough to let him know she’s done. 

 

Phillip turns around and stares at her, his eyes scanning up and down. He swallows thickly at the sight of Fran wearing his clothes. A small part of him likes the image way too much and he’s forced to shove that part way deep down inside. 

 

She slides past him and walks around the car, getting into the front seat. She turns on the car and looks over to find him unbuttoning his shirt and removing it. “Phillip, what are you doing?!” she cries, completely scandalized. 

 

He throws his wet shirt into the bag along with his jacket and Fran’s dress. Then he starts to undo his belt and pants, making Fran panic even more. “Your seats are cloth. If I get in like this, Imma just soak them,” he bluntly states. “And I don’t wanna get your car all wet. Duh.” He removes his pants and throws them into the bag as well. 

 

“Don’t you have other clothes to wear?!” she asks, her voice still higher than normal.

 

He gives her a simple look up and down, his eyes pointed at the clothes she’s wearing. 

 

Aka, you’re wearing them, Fran.

 

Now he’s just standing in the middle of the parking lot in just his boxers, his extra set of clothes on her body, and all Fran can do is stare in horror—well, horror and half… something else she’ll never admit to. “Oh my God, Phillip. Please just get in the car.” She can just feel everyone’s eyes staring over at them and seeing his nakedness, but of course, the dunce doesn’t care. Even if he wasn’t high she knows he wouldn’t care. “Please,” she begs again.

 

He shuts the back door before climbing into the passenger seat and closing the door behind him. He buckles himself in then turns to her with an expectant grin. 

 

Her eyes scan him one more time, and part of her wants to pinch herself. How the heck did she get here? Phillip Altman is sitting in her car in nothing but wet boxers that aren’t leaving much to the imagination—not that she needs to imagine when she’s already seen it. In addition, she’s also sitting there in his clothes when only two days ago they hadn’t talked in over six years. 

 

Not to mention there are hundreds of toys and items from the son that he doesn’t know about currently littering the back of her car. 

 

God must be playing some kind of joke on her. This is what karma must be.

 

Phillip takes off his crown and puts it on the dashboard. He then looks around, taking in the chaos that is her backseat. “You got a real ‘mom car’ here, Frannie,” he unsolicitedly informs her. “Did you know that?”

 

She scrunches up her nose, his comment shaking her from her thoughts. She puts the car in drive and pulls out of the spot. “I kinda am a mom… so… yes?” Driving out of the parking lot, they start their journey back to his house. 

 

“Who knew that Fran Larsen would ever let her car get this messy?” he teases. “I remember your car always being pristine. Not even a fingerprint on a window.”

 

She shrugs and feels the need to defend herself for some reason. “Yeah, well… things change when you have a kid. Especially one like mine.” 

 

“The wild child,” Phillip adds with a chuckle. He reaches into the back and Fran has to force herself to keep her eyes on the road and not his straining pectoral and bicep muscles. He brings back a folder and places it in his lap. “What’s this?”

 

Fran glances over as he begins to flip through it. “It’s Alex’s homework folder. He must’ve forgotten it in here.” She quirks her head to the side, thinking of her ever-forgetful child. “Honestly, it’s probably a good thing you picked it up because he more than likely wouldn’t have remembered where he left it.”

 

“Kid really likes cars, doesn’t he?” he muses after seeing at least five drawings of cars. 

 

It makes her smile. “Yeah, they’re kind of his thing. Pretty much the only toy he ever asks for, whether it’s Christmas or a birthday. I probably have hundreds scattered around the house.”

 

Phillip stares as she talks, watching her smile grow fonder with each word. He can’t help but smile along as she talks about her son. “You were made for this, Frannie… Like totally in your element,” he says, shaking his head and returning his gaze to the folder full of papers.

 

She looks over at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Made for this? My element?”

 

“Being a mom. It’s like your calling in life.”

 

Her brows scrunch together. “How can you possibly know that? You’ve never actually seen me parent. I could be awful at it for all you know.”

 

He looks at her and shakes his head. “I don’t need to see it… It’s all over your face,” he answers. 

 

It touches her yet also makes her incredibly uncomfortable that he’s watching her that much to make that assumption. She clears her throat and focuses back on the road as he continues to flip through Alex’s work. 

 

“He’s pretty smart,” Phillip says. “96, 92, 95, 94. Better than I was at school at least.”

 

She looks over in confusion at his comment and tries not to panic when she notices the paper in his hands—Alex’s report card. The one paper in the entire stack that just happens to say his full name and grade. She watches as Phillip’s eye scans the paper and prays to God he’s too high to notice the bolded Alexander Phillip Larsen - Grade 1 written at the top. 

 

As casually as she can, she reaches over and flips to a new page. “There’s even more drawings of cars. He’s even written poems about them. It’s actually quite cute,” she ad-libs. Anything to get him away from the report card. 

 

“Is this supposed to be you?” he asks, pointing at one of the drawings. 

 

She glances over and blushes slightly. “Yeah.”

 

He scans her up and down and holds the picture up against her. “Kid’s good. Can’t even tell the difference. You know, I think the blue hair suits you,” he teases.

 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she softly replies, biting her lip. It’s been forever since she’s been around him for this long and it’s messing with her mind. She forgot that his teasing made her feel weirdly special. That he would do anything to make her laugh. 

 

“What’s this?” he asks, once again breaking her from her thoughts. 

 

She looks over and her heart drops at the paper he’s turned to. Clearing her throat she chokes out, “It’s Alex’s family tree project. They did it a few weeks ago in school to show the different types of families.”

 

Phillip’s fingers graze along the page. “It’s so… blank…” he mumbles before looking back up at her, his expression suddenly somber. 

 

He’s not wrong. The only names listed besides Alex are herself, her parents (Simon and Jean), and her Gran (Margaret). The paternal side of the tree is completely blank. 

 

Fran’s not fully sure what to say—she’s almost afraid that if she opens her mouth right now everything will come spilling out like a waterfall—so she stays silent. 

 

He notices the change in her demeanor. “You know what? Good riddance,” he continues, startling her with his reaction. “If that douchebag couldn’t stay around he doesn’t deserve to be on the tree. Right, Frannie? Fuck him.”

 

“R-R-Right,” she stutters back. She swallows thickly and, thank the Lord, finally turns onto the Altman’s street. They pull up next to his house and she puts the car in park. From outside they can see that everyone must be home since Hilary’s SUV is already in the driveway. 

 

Fran pulls out her phone and quickly sends off a text to Penny asking if she could watch Alex for another hour or two since she’ll be at the Altman’s. She’s lucky her friend is one of the nicest people on the planet and absolutely loves her son. Her phone dings with a simple Of course. Have fun with Phillip ;).

 

Her friend is also a piece of work. And one of her biggest confidantes—part of which she’s regretting at the moment. 

 

She looks over at said man who appears to be staring at her quite intently. “What?” she self-consciously asks.

 

He blinks out of it, bringing his attention to her face. “What?” he asks back like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

 

“You were staring…” 

 

“No I wasn’t,” he quickly replies. He unbuckles his seatbelt and grabs his duffle from the back. “I’m really starving so we should probably…”

 

“Oh, yeah,” she agrees awkwardly. She turns the car off and they both get out.

 

It’s not until they get closer to the front door that she sees the redheaded woman standing by the window staring at them. She can practically feel the woman’s gaze piercing over her as she takes in the two of them and their attire. 

 

Fran knows how it looks, she’s not stupid. Standing there in Phillip’s clothes while he’s only in his boxers definitely isn’t the introduction she’d like to have. Consciously, she slows down, putting more distance between her and Phillip. She doesn’t want to give this other woman any ideas. 

 

Not that his fiancé is another woman. She’s his fiancé and he loves her. 

 

If anything, she’s the other woman.

 

Which she’s not! Because nothing happened between her and Phillip. Everything is strictly platonic. Just two people trying to be friends again after eight years. 

 

Two people who just also happen to have a child together that he knows nothing about. 

 

“Fran, you coming?” his voice rings out over her way too many thoughts. 

 

She looks up to find him at the open doorway, the gorgeous, redhead standing behind him scanning over her like she’s a specimen in a lab. She steps into the house despite her heart telling her to run back to her car and leave. 

 

The redheaded woman holds her hand out after giving Phillip and his boxers a long look. “You must be Fran. Phillip has told me so much about you. I’m Tracy.”

 

Oh god. 

 

“H-Hello.”

Notes:

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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Chapter 7: Lunch Date Munchies

Summary:

Tracy confronts Phillip about the whole nearly naked situation. Then Phillip and Fran reconnect a bit over a late lunch.

Notes:

More Altman shenanigans.

“It—It‘s nice to meet you,” Fran stutters, reaching out and quickly shaking the woman’s hand. 

 

“Well, let’s not keep you in the doorway,” Tracy replies in an overly happy tone. “Right, Phillip?”

 

Phillip waves her into the house and she hesitantly follows, feeling more like she’s heading into the lion's den. “Come on, Frannie,” he says. “You can go sit. Imma just gonna hang this stuff up to dry.” He lifts the duffle bag full of their wet clothes and then ditches her to run down the hall. 

 

She bravely keeps walking through the house with Tracy until they reach the dining room where everyone is gathered. They all look up and stare at her attire. There’s a long moment of silence where no one says anything and Fran simply wants to sink through the floor. She can practically see the thoughts rolling through each of their heads. 

 

Annie—nicely—is the first person to break the silence. “Fran,” she exclaims, coming over to her and giving her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“You too,” she chokes, remembering she even has a voice and can speak. “I’m sorry I missed you the other day. I wasn’t able to stay long.”

 

“Oh, it’s alright,” Annie reassures her. “The day wasn’t about me anyway.” She lightly pats her arm and changes the subject. “Can I get you something?”

 

“Ummm, maybe a water?” Fran half-answers. She already feels like too much of a burden at the moment.

 

“Nonsense. I’ll get you a tea. Warm you up from those dang sprinklers. I think Hilary might have some of the stuff you like. Sit.” She flitters off into the kitchen without another word or rebuttal from Fran. 

 

Fran awkwardly glances at Tracy before scurrying over to the extra seat next to Wendy, who’s staring at her with a raised eyebrow. Wendy’s eyes rake over her outfit and she knows the woman she considers an older sister is dying to ask her questions. She silently takes her seat, wishing she were anywhere but here.

 

“So, everyone was telling me all about what happened at temple,” Tracy starts, addressing her. “Must’ve been… interesting to get caught up in it all. Phillip really has a knack for trouble.”

 

Before she can say something, Phillip comes back into the room, wrapping his arms around Tracy from behind. “It’s nothing new. Frannie’s used to getting caught up in my shenanigans. She’s had years of practice. Isn’t that right, Fran?” he asks with a wink.

 

Fran quickly nods, her eyes averting down to the table, not only so she doesn’t have to watch him practically nuzzling Tracy, but also so she doesn’t have to watch him do it while he’s still only in his boxers.

 

Tracy turns around, looking like she’s fighting to keep the smile on her face. “Phillip, why don’t you go put some clothes on?” she suggests quite pointedly.

 

“Why?” he asks, moving out of the embrace and coming over to sit in the chair across from Fran. “It’s not like everyone here hasn’t seen me like this before.”

 

“Everyone?” Tracy repeats, looking curiously at Fran.

 

Phillip must be oblivious to the implication because he simply replies, “Yeah. Everyone here’s seen me in my boxers.” 

 

“Some of us in even less,” Judd complains with a wince.

 

Fran chokes on nothing, Judd’s words hitting way too close to home. Phillip looks at her with concerned eyes to which she simply waves him away, her cheeks burning off of her face. She’d be absolutely mortified if everyone knew she could be included in the few that have seen Phillip in all his… glory. 

 

Wendy lightly glares at Phillip. “Some of us against our will, mind you.”

 

He pulls his attention from Fran and points a finger at her. “I was five, and you were babysitting,” he bluntly reminds her.

 

“Still doesn’t mean it wasn’t traumatizing,” she sasses back.

 

Fran goes back to sitting there in silence listening to them all bicker. It’s been years since she’s been around them all together at the same time, but it’s like nothing has changed. They’re still very much the dysfunctional Altman siblings that she grew up with. She learned a long time ago to not get in the middle of things while tensions are high. 

 

“Phillip, I really think you should put some clothes on,” Tracy urges, the forced happy expression slipping from her face. “I think everyone would be more comfortable.” Her eyes briefly glance at Fran, once again taking stock of what she’s wearing.

 

“Just go put some clothes on so we can enjoy lunch without losing our appetites,” Paul demands. 

 

Phillip rolls his eyes dramatically and nearly throws himself out of his chair. “Ughh, fine,” he groans. “I’ll go put on some fucking clothes.” He stomps back down the hall, Tracy hot on his heels.  

 

Fran flinches slightly when they all hear the door shut a little harder than needed. From behind her, Annie comes up and places the cup of tea on the table. “Thank you,” she mumbles with an awkward smile. Annie matches her smile and heads back to the kitchen to help Hilary bring in the food. 

 

They hear voices rising from down the hall and Fran sips on her tea, trying to block them out. 

 

“Oh, boy. Not another one,” Wendy muses. “Those two keep going at each other’s throats every free minute they have.” She angles her body towards Fran. “Okay, now that Tweedledumb and Tweedledee are gone, you have to tell us. Why are you in my brother’s clothes and why is Phillip naked?”

 

She takes another sip of tea in an effort to stall. Everyone’s eyes are on her. Even Annie and Hilary have now returned with plates of food and are sitting at the table waiting for her answer. “Phillip didn’t want my car to get wet,” she explains softly.

 

“And the boxers?” Paul counters with a raised eyebrow.

 

Fran blushes hard. “He only had the one pair of extra clothes…” she says before burying her face in her cup. 

 

“Well, we all know Phillip isn’t one to do things in halves. Always has to make a spectacle,” Hilary quips. “Everyone, eat.”

 

Everyone at the table starts to dig in, piling the small feast of sandwiches and various leftover casseroles that people have dropped off onto their plants—Paul and Judd moreso than everyone else. Fran takes a single half sandwich, feeling quite nauseous from just being in their house. 

 

“So, Fran, how is Alex?” Annie asks, trying to start some conversation instead of them all just listening to the increasingly loud voices from the other room. 

 

She puts her barely nibbled-on sandwich back on her plate. Why does she always feel so guilty talking about Alex in front of the other woman? She’s one of the nicest people she knows, yet she always clams up having to talk about kids. “He’s good,” she concisely replies. 

 

Phillip’s loud voice rings out, carrying through the hallway to the dining room. “You’re being ridiculous right now.”

 

“O-kay,” Judd reacts, his fork freezing inches from his mouth. “We’re going there.”

 

“Oh yes, because women love being called that. This is sure to go well,” Wendy sarcastically responds to her brother’s idiotic argument as if he can hear her.

 

“I’m being ridiculous? She’s wearing your clothes!”

 

“I don’t think we should be listening to this,” Annie frets, and Fran can’t help but agree. In fact, she vehemently agrees. Especially because they’re apparently arguing about her.

 

“If he’s dumb enough to be yelling it for the whole house to hear, then that’s his problem,” Paul reasons, continuing to stuff his face with casserole. 

 

Fran on the other hand has completely lost her appetite. To be frank, she’s planning the fastest escape route out of their house. She vaguely hears Hilary try to continue the conversation but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to focus on anything except the two people arguing in the other room. 

 

“I’ve known her since we were six! It’s not the first time she’s worn my clothes!”

 

“How many then? How many times has she worn your clothes?”

 

“Fuck, I don’t know! Why does that even matter?”

 

“Because you were in your underwear, Phillip! In her car. As she wore your clothes.”

 

“So? Her seats are cloth. Forgive me for not wanting to completely ruin them.”

 

She sits there staring at her barely eaten sandwich, her heart starting to beat faster with each sentence that echoes down the hall. Her breath sounds shallow in her ears. She shouldn’t be listening to their fight. She shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t have let him talk her into changing into his clothes. She shouldn’t have even gone to temple today. If she had just stayed away none of this would be happening.  

 

“I know there’s a gym towel in your bag. You could’ve sat on that. You didn’t have to strip down.”

 

“Yeah well, I smoked fucking weed and wasn’t thinking properly.”

 

“Clearly,” Wendy mutters. 

 

“Unless subconsciously you wanted to be nearly naked in front of her.”

 

The entire mood changed with one simple sentence and the fight or flight bells have begun to ring off inside her head. There’s something new about their argument and it’s screaming that it’s time for her to leave. Fran all but jumps out of her seat. “I—I should get going. I have to pick up Alex and have a few errands to do.” She starts making her way around the table and turns to Hilary and Annie. “Thank you for the food. It—It was delicious.”

 

“But your dress…?” Hilary reminds her. “It’s still wet. I can go quickly dry it if you want.”

 

She simply waves the older woman off. “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll just p-pick it up some o-other t-time.” With another attempt at a smile, she essentially races towards the door, ripping it open from the hinges and running out.

 

The rest of them are left around the table slightly dumbstruck. Well, everyone besides Hilary and Wendy. They both have a fairly good idea as to why Fran fled as fast as she could even though they don’t voice it aloud.

 

“Well, that was strange,” Paul supplies. “Anyway—”

 

“Do you love her?”

 

Anyone at the table could hear a pin drop from the sheer silence that follows. All of them slowly turn their heads to face the hallway the voices are coming from, nosily listening for the answer.

 

“Love her? Of course, I love her. Again, she’s been my best friend since I was six!”

 

“You know that’s not what I was asking.”

 

“Oh boy,” Wendy mumbles, meeting her mother’s equally as concerned eyes.

 

“Are you in love with her?” Tracy asks—demands—for all of them to hear.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Answer the question, Phillip.”

 

There’s silence before his voice picks back up. “That—That’s ridiculous. Are you even hearing yourself right now? You sound insane. I invited you here with me. Why would I do that if I had feelings for someone else? Fran is my friend and I haven’t seen her in a very long time.”

 

“Stop avoiding the question and answer it. Are you in love with her?”

 

Everyone around the table holds their breath, no one daring to make a single noise that would distract from the argument at hand. 

 

“May—Maybe at one point in my life I had a crush on her and thought we could’ve been something, but it didn’t happen. I realized our friendship was more important than some silly little crush so I got over it. Life moved on and I haven’t thought of it since.”

 

“Annnnndddd there’s the spectacle,” Judd deadpans, standing up and heading to the kitchen. “Anyone need a refill? Lunch wine? Something stronger?” Almost everyone immediately lifts their cups above their heads, the shock of Phillip’s confession hanging thick in the air.

 

“Phillip, you’ve barely talked about anything else in two days. It’s been nothing but ‘Fran this’ and ‘Fran that’. Forgive me for feeling a little insecure.”

 

“Look. I haven’t seen her in eight years. And I know that I’m partially to blame for that. But excuse me for being a little excited that she’s finally back in my life.” 

 

There’s the sound of a door slamming and it snaps everyone out of their stupor. They quickly go back to eating as if they didn’t just listen to the entire fight like a daytime soap opera. The sound of small talk fills the room, all of them talking about nothing yet everything simultaneously in an effort to look like they’ve been conversing the whole time. 

 

“The sandwiches are really good today,” Paul mumbles to Annie.

 

“Thank you, honey,” she replies, giving him a tense smile. 

 

A now fully dressed Phillip storms into the room. “Yeah, apparently I’m an irredeemable asshole, and talking to your friend counts as cheating nowadays,” he snarls, plopping down in his previous seat. He looks around, finding the chair in front of him vacant. “Where’d Fran go?”

 

“She left like two minutes ago…” Wendy softly tells him. 

 

“She left?” he yelps before flinging himself back out of his chair. He books it to the door and runs outside. Luckily her car still appears to be across the road, and it looks like she’s just getting ready to leave. “Thank fuck. Fran, wait a minute. Fran!” he calls, racing over to where she’s starting to drive away. He leaps into the street in front of her car, holding his hands up to stop her. “Stop!”

 

Fran quickly hits the break. The lunatic just practically threw himself onto the hood of her car. She lowers the window and sticks her head out, demanding, “Are you crazy? What are you doing?”

 

“This is the second time you’ve made me chase after your ass so I’m not moving until you get out of the car,” he retorts, placing his hands firmly on the hood. 

 

“Just let me go, Phillip,” she says, hoping it doesn’t sound like pleading. “I need to get home.” Her voice gets quiet and she adds, “I shouldn’t even have come here.”

 

“Please, just… get out of the car,” he all but begs. “Please, Frannie?”

 

He knows she can’t resist when he calls her that. It’s always been her kryptonite. “Fine,” she sighs, turning off her car and climbing back out. She leans her back against the door, keeping her distance. “Now what?”

 

Phillip stands up straight and takes a step towards her. “How much of that did you hear?” he asks, looking more uncomfortable and nervous than she’s probably ever seen him in her life. 

 

She gives a small shrug, wrapping her arms around her torso. “Not that much… Just that she’s not happy about the clothes situation.” If she didn’t know better, she’d say he almost looks relieved at her response, the tension in his shoulders releasing. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to cause a fight between the two of you.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” he instantly argues. “She’s being overdramatic about it all. They’re just clothes for fuck’s sake. What else were we supposed to do? Stay soaking wet?”

 

“Still…” she continues, biting her lip. “It was never my intention to cause any trouble.”

 

He takes another step towards her, his hand coming up like it’s going to touch her arm before falling back down to his side. “Frannie, if anyone has to be sorry it should be me. It was my suggestion in the first place and I put you in an awkward position. So I’m sorry.”

 

Her brows scrunch together as she takes in his words. She stares at his chest, not quite feeling confident enough to look him in the eyes while she’s still wearing his clothes. “That’s the second time you’ve apologized to me this week… and I just have two questions.” Through her lashes, she sees his face contort with confusion. “Who are you and what have you done with Phillip Altman?” she shyly jokes.

 

A grin breaks out across his face and he chuckles breathily. “You know, Frannie… Some people can change. I’ve matured over the last eight years,” he says matter-of-factly though there’s a teasing gleam in his eye.

 

“You smoked marijuana in a synagogue today during your father’s celebration of life service and set the fire sprinklers off,” she frankly reminds him. 

 

“Okay, maybe I haven’t matured that much,” he admits, his grin growing until she can see all his goofy, little teeth. “But to be fair, Dad would’ve laughed his ass off at that. So really, we were just honoring him.”

 

Well, he’s not wrong. Mort probably would’ve found it amusing. She simply shakes her head at him, the ghost of a smile present on her face. 

 

He smiles back at her. “Hey. You wanna go somewhere?” he randomly asks as if he didn’t just get in a huge fight with his fiancé. “I’m still really fucking starving.” He leans closer and bumps her arm with his elbow. “It’ll be my treat. We could pick up the Porsche after so you wouldn’t even have to drive me back.”

 

“Would you even be sober enough to drive by then?” she asks in concern.

 

“Oh yeah,” he assures her. “Get some greasy food in me and I’m golden. Just like college.”

 

She hesitates, to which he leans even closer and sticks his bottom lip out in a pout, and like always, she caves. “Okay, fine. But not for long. I do have things to do today that don’t involve you or your family.”

 

“Awesome,” he replies with a spring in his step. “I know the perfect place.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Joe’s Famous Hot Dogs… Now this is a throwback,” he claims with a chuckle. The two of them take their food and settle down on one of the outdoor benches. “We must’ve spent at least half of our afternoons here in middle school and yet you never once ate a hot dog.”

 

“They just weren’t my thing,” she replies with a shrug, beginning to nibble on her order of fries. 

 

He steals one of her fries, pops it in his mouth with a grin, and looks around. “This place hasn’t changed a bit,” he muses. “Whole town hasn’t changed… I wonder if it’s still there…”

 

“Wonder if what’s still there?” she asks, confused by his vague reminiscing. 

 

He’s just about to take a bite of hot dog and his mouth drops. He stares at her with wide eyes. “Did you seriously ask me that?” Shaking his head in disappointment, he adds, “I guess we’re just gonna have to drive by it.”

 

Fran still has no idea what he’s talking about. “Drive by what?”

 

“Oh my God, you’re killing me, Frannie,” he groans with an exaggerated eye roll. “Are you seriously telling me you don’t remember?”

 

She feels stupid that she’s lost. He’s just staring at her like she told him she lost his favorite toy. “What am I supposed to be remembering?”

 

He puts his hot dog down, simply too appalled to even fathom eating at the moment. “You. Me. Making our mark on the old water tower in senior year,” he slowly states in hopes it’ll jog her memory. 

 

It does. 

 

“You mean, when you spray painted our names on the water tower,” she clarifies. 

 

“So you do remember!” he excitedly cries, his hands slapping onto the bench loud enough that the surrounding people all turn to stare at them. She looks around, embarrassed, but he pays no mind, continuing on in his reminiscing. “I wonder if they ever washed it off.”

 

Fran doubts they did. The tower’s been abandoned forever, no one really goes over there anymore. Even the high school students nowadays have found a new cool spot to hang out at. 

 

She absentmindedly chews on another fry. “You know I got in trouble for that, right?” she quietly asks. “You somehow convinced me to stay out past curfew and Gran was mad when I came home at midnight.”

 

“I know,” he replies with a half-cocky smile. “You were grounded for like a week and I only got to talk to you during school hours. It killed me.” His smile grows. “But you gotta admit, it was a fun night.”

 

She subconsciously shakes her head. They seem to have two very different definitions of what’s considered a fun night. “I just remember telling you ‘Gran is going to kill me’ about a thousand times.” She shakes her head again, thinking of the crazy stuff he used to do. “You were good at getting me in trouble.”

 

“Yeah but you were just as good at keeping us out of it,” he argues, his smile softening. His eyes rake across her face, intensifying in a way that sends a shiver up her spine despite being covered with his sweatshirt. “I need you in my life, Frannie… I’m better with you in my life. ‘Cause without you…” He rolls his eyes at himself. “I apparently flood synagogues after getting high.”

 

She wants to laugh—she knows he’s expecting her to laugh—but there’s something about him saying he needs her that’s frightening, so instead, she deflects. “You’re still a little high, aren’t you?”

 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Mostly sober,” he replies before getting serious again. “You always were my conscience. You keep me on the straight and narrow. Without you and Wendy in my head, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

She’s not quite sure how to respond to that admission. It’s too personal, too serious, and she ends up chickening out of the conversation. “Can I try some hot dog?” she quietly asks, gesturing to his still-uneaten food.    

 

Phillip blinks, briefly put off by the change in topic but quickly recovers. “You wanna try some hot dog?” he repeats, sounding completely doubtful. She hasn't eaten a hot dog in over eighteen years and now she wants to try one?

 

Fran simply nods.

 

“Okay, Larsen. Have at it,” he replies. This should be amusing. He holds it out for her to try, weirdly not able to let go of it. She also weirdly doesn’t try to take it from his hands. His heart starts to beat faster as he watches her lean forward and tentatively wrap her mouth around the end and he’s not sure why. Or at least, doesn’t like the reason why. 

 

She takes a bite and their eyes meet for a moment. His gaze falls to her mouth and she quickly pulls back, chewing on the piece of hot dog. Instantly, her face scrunches up in disgust. She shakes her head vigorously, grunting, “Uh-uh.” She swallows, grabs her water, and starts to chug it back. Meanwhile, Phillip can’t help but burst into laughter at her reaction. 

 

“Still not your thing?” he asks, a huge smirk on his face. 

 

Fran shakes her head again, nearly gagging. She goes back to eating her fries to get the taste of hot dog out of her mouth. If it were anyone else but Phillip, she’d be mortified by her behavior, but after knowing him practically her whole life she knows he’s not laughing at her. He’s seen her in more compromising positions anyway.

 

“Hot dogs are still a no. Got it.” He nods along as if he’s studying her and taking in new information. “So is cottage cheese still like your favorite food in the entire world?” he asks, stuffing his face with nearly the rest of his hot dog all the while trying not to think about the fact that her lips touched the other end. 

 

Her brow furrows and she stares at him in disbelief. “You remember that?”

 

“Of course I remember that,” he counters with a grin. “I beat up Donnie Grossman in the cafeteria in like the seventh grade for teasing you about your lunch. I think I got detention for two days because of it.”

 

She goes silent for a few moments. She doesn’t remember that. First threatening Charlie, now beating up Donnie… Did he confront other boys in the name of her honor? If he did, how did she not know?

 

“I still like it,” she says with a small shrug, “but Alex hates the texture so I don’t get to have it as often. My meals consist more of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, carrot sticks, and apple slices now.”

 

“Dino nuggets, carrot sticks, and apple slices,” he muses. “That’s like three of the five food groups. Four if you count the breading on the nuggets.” She lets out a small laugh that he can’t help but join in with. “Sounds like a perfectly fine meal.”

 

“Tell me that again after you’ve had it seventeen times in a row,” she quietly quips.

 

“Sick of dino nuggets? Impossible.” He stares at her in amusement before shaking his head in disbelief. “God… I still can’t believe you’re a mom. It’s fucking nuts. Alex is one lucky kid.”

 

She blushes, ducking her head into her nearly empty fry basket. “I wouldn’t say that…” Then her eyes go wide and her head whips back up to his. “Wait. Alex! Shoot. What time is it?” She leans across the bench and grabs his wrist, turning his watch so she can see the time. “Crap. I gotta go. I told Penny I’d pick him up by four.” She starts piling up their trash, grabs her purse, and stands up.

 

He gets up slower than she does but grabs the trash from her hands. “Penny?” he asks, his brows scrunched together in thought. “As in Penny Moore? As in Judd fucked Penny Moore, Penny Moore?”

 

It makes her freeze in her spot. “Judd slept with Penny?” she repeats, looking up at him in shock.

 

“Hell yeah, he did,” he answers, chuckling. He walks over to the trash barrel and throws away their stuff. “Penny watches Alex?”

 

Together they start making their way back to her car. “Yeah. We got pretty close after graduation,” she replies. “She helps me out every now and then. And now I’m going to completely be late because I still have to drop you off at the synagogue first then make it across town to her house.” She fretfully rummages through her purse to find her keys. 

 

Phillip places a hand on her arm. “Then let’s just go get Alex and you can drop me off after,” he suggests. 

 

She freezes again, this time in fear rather than shock. Her keys fall from her fingers onto the sidewalk. “What?” she croaks.

 

He bends down and grabs the dropped keys, tossing them between his hands. “It’s a win/win really,” he says with a huge grin. “That way you’re not late and I get to meet the little dude. It’s the perfect plan.” 

 

He unlocks the car, places the keys back in her hands, and opens the driver’s side door for her. She sits down in a daze, too afraid to say or do anything. There are vague sounds of him shutting her door and going around to climb into the passenger seat. 

 

She tries her hardest to not break into a full panic attack as he buckles himself in. All she prayed for was to get through this week without any hiccups, and so far it’s been nothing but hiccups, and now Phillip is mere minutes away from meeting Alex.

 

Something she never thought would ever happen.

 

A thousand thoughts, fears, and doubts start running through her head. 

 

“Well chop chop, Frannie. It’s 3:48,” Phillip happily states. 

 

Right. Chop chop.

 

Fran slowly wills her arms to move, putting on her seatbelt and turning the car on. From her peripheral, she can see the look of excitement on Phillip’s face. 

 

Oh God. 

 

She’s so screwed.

Notes:

Poor Fran can't catch a break. Also, Phillip's not a very good fiance chasing after the girl his "fiance" accused him of liking...

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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Chapter 8: Car Ride

Summary:

Phillip finally meets Alex!

Luckily the drive over to Penny’s is fairly silent because if Fran had to speak more than five words in a row she’d hurl all over the dashboard. She parks the car—4:03, just a few minutes late—and looks over at Phillip who is practically buzzing in his seat in anticipation. 

 

“Just stay here. I’ll only be a second,” she tells him. He smiles and gives her an obedient nod. She unbuckles herself, opens the door, and gets out. 

 

He leans over the center console towards her. “Get some deets about her and Judd if you can!” he calls as she’s walking up to Penny’s door.

 

Fran rolls her eyes and waves him off though admittedly she’s also quite curious about that. She knocks on the door and waits. Soon enough Penny opens the door, a knowing grin blooming on her face when she sees Fran’s strangely large outfit.

 

“Alex, your mom is here!” she calls back into the house. She then addresses Fran with a smirk. “Have fun with the Altmans?” 

 

Before Fran can answer her son comes running up. “Hi, Mommy,” he exclaims, excited to see her.

 

“Hi, monkey!” She bends over slightly, pushing his too-long hair out of his eyes. “Where's your backpack?”

 

“Oh yeah, that’s right!” Without another word, he leaves them and runs back down the hall. 

 

“Make sure you grab everything!” Fran reminds him with a shake of her head. She turns back to Penny who’s still looking at her with an eager expression. “It was… interesting to say the least.” Penny raises an eyebrow fully well knowing there’s more to the story, so she continues, “They ended up setting the fire sprinklers off at the synagogue thus the wardrobe change.”

 

“And is this wardrobe change supplied by a certain man?” Penny asks before something—well, someone—catches her gaze behind Fran. “The same man that happens to be in your car right now?” She raises a hand and gives him a wave from the doorstep, to which he kindly waves back. “What is Phillip Altman doing in your car?”

 

Fran’s face flushes slightly. “We went out for a quick bite to eat. I have to drive him back to the synagogue to pick up his car… He suggested we pick up Alex first and I couldn’t say no.” Penny’s eyes go wide at that piece of information so Fran changes the subject, desperately wanting the topic of conversation off of her. “Also… Judd? How did that happen?”

 

“You tell me about your day with Phillip and I’ll tell you about my night with Judd,” Penny replies with a challenging grin. 

 

Before any more information is revealed, Alex bounds back to the door, his backpack strapped tightly over his shoulders. “I got it, Mommy!”

 

“Everything?” she repeats. He nods and she forces herself to believe him. Her little boy can be slightly forgetful at the best of times and straight-up oblivious at the worst. There's been many times he’s forgotten stuff at Penny’s or at school. She’s trying to work on it with him, but usually, he can’t help it. 

 

“Tell Penny thank you,” she kindly prompts him. 

 

“Thank you, Penny,” he says, smiling up at the other woman.

 

Penny reaches down and boops him on the nose. “You’re welcome, bug. I always love having you here.” She gives him a hug before wrapping her arms around Fran. “I’m gonna call you later and I want to know everything,” she whispers. 

 

Fran pulls away and gives her a look of warning before her face softens. “Thank you again for looking after him. You know how much I appreciate it,” she says, running her hands through Alex’s hair. 

 

“Really, it’s no trouble,” she replies with a smile. Then she gives Fran a wink. “You better go before you know who comes over here.”

 

With one last weary look at her friend, Fran leads Alex to the car but it feels like she’s marching towards her death. Her heart is beating faster than it ever has in her entire life. It’s a fine Spring day yet she feels the sweat pooling in her shoes. 

 

What if he notices? What if he takes one look at Alex and just knows? She’s not ready. Not ready for him to know, not ready for the confrontation. Oh God.

 

What if he starts an argument right in front of Alex? 

 

Now that’s something she definitely can’t handle at all. She’ll gladly take all of the yelling just as long as they’re far away from Alex.

 

She’s practically hyperventilating by the time they reach the car. She spies the excitement on Phillip’s face through the window and forces herself to take a deep breath. 

 

She can do this. 

 

Maybe he won’t notice. 

 

Hopefully.

 

Fran opens the back door and almost instantly Alex ducks behind her, obviously seeing the stranger in the passenger seat. She puts her hand on his head and gently runs her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, monkey,” she reassures him, nervously looking over at Phillip who’s turned around in his seat. “This is a good friend of mine. He’s Mrs. Hilary’s son. We’re giving him a ride. You wanna say hello?”

 

Alex slowly peeks out from behind Fran. “Hello…” he softly says. 

 

A grin blooms on Phillip’s face. “Hi,” he replies just as quietly as to not frighten the kid. He’s instantly thrown back in the past to another shy child and can’t help but give Fran a huge smile. The apple certainly didn’t fall that far from the tree. 

 

“And this is Alex,” she adds, brushing his hair from his eyes so she can ignore Phillip’s gaze. “Come on, let’s get you in the car.”

 

He continues to look at Phillip with uncertainty as she takes his backpack and gets him buckled into his booster seat. Then Fran quickly walks around the car and gets into her own seat. 

 

“What’s your name?” Alex asks, his brow furrowed as if sussing him out. 

 

Oh no, Fran thinks, her gaze switching quickly between the two. She holds her breath and waits for her life to be over. 

 

“Phillip,” the man beside her casually answers.

 

Alex’s eyes go wide and his demeanor brightens a bit. “Your name’s Phillip? That’s my middle name!” he excitedly replies. 

 

“No way, that’s totally cool. It’s a good name,” Phillip reacts just as enthusiastically. He turns to her and dramatically puts a hand over his heart. “Awww, Frannie. I’m honored.” He must somehow miss the look of complete panic on her face because he just keeps talking. “If I ever grow up and have a kid, Imma name them after you as well.” 

 

Oh God.

 

He gives her a large smile and a wink before turning back around to face Alex. “You know, Alex… I’ve known your mom since we were your age.”

 

“Really?” Alex asks, becoming more interested. 

 

“Yeah. We were best friends,” he answers, happy he’s bringing more conversation out of the boy. He narrows his eyes and gives a mischievous look at Alex before grinning over at Fran. “I still remember seeing her for the first time. She was this quiet thing coloring all by herself in the corner of the room.”

 

“And you were the loudest,” she mutters to herself. She puts the car into drive and pulls away from Penny’s, hoping they can make it through this ride without her world as she knows it falling apart. 

 

But he must’ve heard because he replies, “And that’s why we worked so well together, Frannie. We balanced each other out.”

 

“Frannie?” Alex asks, confused. “But that’s not your name, Mommy. Your name is Fran.”

 

“You’re right. It’s not my name,” she dares to speak actual words, looking at him through the rearview mirror. “It’s just a nickname. Like, you know how I call you monkey and Penny calls you bug?” He gives her a nod. “Well, Phillip sometimes calls me Frannie.”

 

“Or Francake,” Phillip adds with a smirk before turning back to Alex. “But that one’s reserved for special times.”

 

“Francake sounds like pancake!” Alex giggles. 

 

Phillip gives him a nod, smiling at the little boy’s laugh. “You’re right. Francake does sound like pancake.”

 

Fran rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him. “It’s not very clever,” she gently says. 

 

“I was eight,” Phillip retorts with a laugh. “Gimme a break for it not being the cleverest nickname in the world. The important thing is that it stuck. Isn’t that right, Francake?”  

 

More giggles come from Alex as Phillip teases her. Part of her is calming down enough to enjoy the smile on her son’s face and the fact that he’s seeming to relax around Phillip. Normally he’s not very good with strangers but he appears to be okay with the man beside her. But that could very well be because Phillip’s practically a child himself with his easygoing attitude.

 

Phillip. 

 

His father. 

 

And that brings her to the other part of her that hasn't calmed down at all—the part that’s been screaming in her head since they got into the car. Right now her son is in the same car as his father and neither of them knows it. They’re just getting along and laughing without the knowledge that they share DNA. 

 

Oh, she’s so going to Hell. 

 

“So Mrs. Hilary is your mommy?” Alex asks, making Fran look back at him in shock that he actually remembers that little detail. Normally those are the things that go in one of his ears and out the other.

 

“She sure is,” Phillip replies with a smile though internally he’s sighing. “Why? Do you like her? She’s kinda crazy.”

 

“Phillip…” Fran quietly chastises.

 

He gives her a look of ‘you know I’m not wrong’.

 

Alex continues as if nothing happened. “Mrs. Hilary’s really nice. She gives me presents.”

 

“Alex!” Fran chokes, slightly appalled that that’s his reasoning. She knows that her son loves Hilary for more reasons than just presents and she desperately doesn’t want Phillip to think their—her son only likes people who give him gifts. 

 

The gentle reprimand doesn’t even faze him. He just keeps conversing with Phillip. “So if Mrs. Hilary is your mommy, does that mean Mr. Mort is your daddy?” 

 

She looks over at Phillip, worried about how he’s going to take the question. He seems to take it in stride, keeping a smile on his face. 

 

“Yeah, he is—was,” he corrects himself before quickly brushing the weird, brief sadness aside. “Did he give you presents too?”

 

“Yeah! And when we would go to the store he would give me quarters for the candy machines and he would always have the red gumballs because he knew they were my favorite. The red ones taste like strawberry and they’re wayyy better than the gross grape ones.” He deeply inhales to catch his breath. “He was really nice,” he adds, remembering the actual topic of conversation. 

 

Phillip’s smile softens at the long-winded answer. “You’re right. He was nice.”

 

“I miss him,” Alex admits.

 

Fran tries as hard as she can to hold in her gasp. It’s the first time Alex has actually said those words aloud, and to Phillip nonetheless. She looks from her son to the man beside her in wonder. They only met ten minutes ago yet her son is already opening up to him more than she’s been able to pry from him this past week. 

 

It makes her happy and yet she feels even more awful than before. She kept this relationship from them. She truly is a monster. 

 

“Yeah, I miss him too, little dude,” Phillip agrees. “He really loved your mom though. Did you know he taught her how to ride a bike?”

 

Alex’s eyes go wide and he looks at Fran, brows furrowing in childish doubt. “Mr. Mort taught you how to ride a bike?”

 

She sighs at Phillip. “Mr. Mort taught me a lot of things,” she answers. And it’s true. She lost her parents quite young and her Gran was just simply too old to teach her basic things like bike riding. So Mort very nicely filled in during those childhood milestones. “Riding a bike was just one of them… Even if I wasn’t very good at it.”

 

“You were pretty bad at riding a bike,” Phillip teases with a laugh. “Like… strangely awful. Absolutely no balance.”

 

“Is that why I don’t know how yet? Because you were bad at it?” Alex pipes up from the back. 

 

“Alex!” Fran gasps, shocked at the sassy response. Meanwhile, Phillip has broken into a round of laughter, reaching back and giving Alex a high five. She glares over at Phillip. “I wasn’t that bad… And I told you I was going to teach you how,” she adds, looking back at Alex. 

 

“Oh, Frannie… don’t put the kid through that,” Phillip interjects with a dramatic shake of his head. “You want him to actually be able to keep up with his friends, right?” He ignores her disgruntled, offended look and turns back to face Alex. “I’ll teach ya, kid.”

 

Fran’s eyes whip over to him. “Phillip…” she mutters, slightly alarmed by the unexpected offer.

 

“You will?” Alex asks excitedly. His whole face is lit up in a way that breaks Fran’s heart. “You’ll really teach me how to ride a bike?”

 

Phillip ignores her look of warning. “Of course I will. We certainly can’t have your mom doing it,” he jokes, making Alex laugh. 

 

Before Phillip can make any more promises to her son, they reach the synagogue and Fran pulls up next to his car. Honestly, she’s just surprised it’s even still here and nothing seems to be stolen. 

 

“We’re here,” she announces awkwardly, semi-desperate for all the conversations to end. 

 

Alex looks out the window and his eyes widen. “Is that your car?” he nearly breathes like he can’t believe his eyes. Phillip answers with a nod. “No way! You have a Porsche Carerra?! I have a red one of those at home!”

 

“You know it’s a Porsche Carerra from one tiny glance?” He looks at Fran, shockingly impressed. 

 

She gives him an almost shy shrug. “I did tell you his thing was cars…”

 

“Can I see it? Please please please?” Alex continues from the back seat.

 

“I’m cool with that,” Phillip replies, “but your mom’s the one to ask.”

 

Oh great. 

 

Of course, he put it on her. Now she’s going to look like the jerk if she says no. 

 

“Mommy, please! Just for a minute. I’ll never ask for anything ever again. It’s a real live Porsche,” Alex begs. “I really wanna see it.”

 

“Yeah, Mom,” Phillip unhelpfully adds with a smirk. “Let him see the car.”

 

With a quick glare at Phillip, she turns back in her seat to face Alex. “Okay, fine,” she sighs. “But only for a few minutes. When I say we’re done, we’re done.”

 

Alex excitedly nods his head, essentially bouncing in his seat. She turns back to see Phillip—also with a huge grin on his face—and shakes her head. With another sigh, she turns off the car and gets out. She walks around to find Phillip already out and opening the back door. Alex quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and practically leaps from the car. 

 

He takes a step towards the Porsche and stares in awe. His little body nearly vibrates with excitement. “Mommy, look at it. It’s like the one I have. But real. And not red,” he gushes. 

 

“I see that, monkey,” she replies, not fully getting the allure of it all. She just had to have a son who loves cars. It’s just never something she’ll understand. If only he liked sudoku…

 

Phillip stands there with his hands in his pocket and looks down at Alex with raised eyebrows and a smile. “You wanna sit in it?” he asks. He almost laughs at how comically wide the kid’s eyes get at the prospect. 

 

“Can I?” Alex gasps. “Wait. Really?”

 

“If it’s okay with your mom.”

 

Alex’s head whips up to Fran, the puppy dog pout out in full force. “Can I, pretty please?”

 

She sighs again and nods. 

 

It’s all the answer the two boys need before they’re racing around the car. Phillip doesn’t even open the door, instead lifting Alex up and down into the seat before going around and hopping in the other side.  

 

“Wowwww…” Alex breathes, his hands reaching out and ghosting over the dashboard. “You get to drive this?”

 

“Sure do.” Phillip grabs the keys and turns the car on so Alex can hear the hum of the engine. 

 

“Awesome,” he replies with a wide smile. “Where’d you get it? I bet it cost a lot.”

 

“My fia—friend gave it to me,” Phillip stiltedly answers. “As a gift.”

 

Alex looks at him with the most innocent expression Fran’s ever seen on her child’s face—a thousand percent manipulation. “Do you think we could go for a ride?” Alex asks Phillip. 

 

And it’s her time to step in. “No. Absolutely not,” she responds before Phillip can even breathe. 

 

“But Mommm,” he whines. 

 

“No, Alex,” she repeats, her arms crossing into her deemed mom pose. “You’re not even supposed to be in the front seat anyway.”

 

Phillip looks between the pouting boy and the resolute woman beside him. “What if we just did a few laps right here?” he casually suggests. 

 

Fran’s attention and exasperation snap to him. “Phillip, no.”

 

He throws an arm over the door and leans closer to her. “Frannie… I promise you, nothing’s going to happen. He’ll be perfectly safe.” He gestures around, giving her a pointed look. “It’s an empty parking lot, and I won’t go above fifteen miles an hour. Just a couple of laps.”

 

She steps closer to his door, their heads practically level despite him sitting in the car. “Phillip, I know the way you drive, and I doubt it’s changed. You are anything but safe.”

 

He beckons her closer and she ducks her face near his. “This is different,” he reasons softly. “I don’t normally have your son in the car with me.”

 

The response and the look he’s giving her hit home, much to her displeasure. She glances over at Alex who’s buzzing with anticipation, his little eyes darting between the both of them in wait. She’s not sure if she’s ever seen him so excited before in his life. 

 

She brings her focus back to Phillip and stares him down. “If anything happens to him—” she stresses before he cuts her off. 

 

“Then you’re allowed to kill me. I know the drill, Larsen,” he nonchalantly drones. “You’ve been threatening my life since we were thirteen.”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t so reckless I wouldn’t have to,” she counters, her face scrunched. 

 

“You like me reckless.” He winks at her, puts his hand on the wheel, and turns to Alex. “You ready, kid?”

 

“Uh-huh!” Alex cheers. 

 

“Buckle up,” he demands. 

 

And with a click of a seatbelt, they’re off, leaving Fran in the dust. She stands there, anxiety overflowing, as she watches Phillip drive Alex around the parking lot. But as much as she’s worrying, she can hear the faint sounds of joy coming from the car every time they pass her. 

 

She supposes it’s good though—Phillip taking him out. It gives her a brief moment alone to think. Think about what an awful person she is for keeping this big of a secret from him. Not only can she hear her son having a good time, but it appears Phillip is enjoying himself as well. 

 

With their son. 

 

That he doesn’t know about. 

 

They’re like two peas in a pod in that car. 

 

Just another layer of guilt on her conscience. 

 

It’s not long before they’re pulling back up in front of her, huge smiles plastered onto both of their freakishly identical faces. How Phillip hasn’t seen it yet, she’ll never know. 

 

“That was way more than fifteen miles an hour,” she reprimands as she walks around and opens the door for Alex. 

 

“Eh, it’s a Porsche. You gotta go at least twenty,” Phillip replies with a smug smile, turning off the car. “But hey, all limbs are still intact, right Alex?”

 

The little boy nods as Fran helps him from the car. “Mommy, did you see?” he cries, breathing hard from the excitement. “Did you see how fast we were going?”

 

She forces a smile onto her face. “I did. Did you have fun?”

 

“So much fun! That was the most fun I’ve ever had ever,” he answers, his voice still loud from the adrenaline. 

 

“I’m glad, monkey.” She runs a hand through his hair, her smile turning more genuine. “Why don’t you say thank you for the ride and then go get in your seat so we can leave?”

 

“Aww,” he pouts, his chaotic energy immediately deflating. “Do we have to?”

 

She gives him a look and nods. “Remember? You promised.”

 

His shoulders slump, remembering the agreement they made before getting out of the car. “Okay…” he bemoans. He looks over at Phillip who’s gotten out of the car and is sitting on the hood. “Thank you, Uncle Flip for showing me your car. I had lots of fun.”

 

Oh God, Fran thinks, freezing at the name. This can’t possibly get any more awkward. 

 

“No problem, bud,” Phillip replies, ruffling Alex’s hair. “I had a lot of fun too.” 

 

She shakes out of it. “Come on,” she prompts with a nudge. “Go get buckled. I’m just gonna talk to Phillip for a second, okay?”

 

Alex gives her a pouty nod and sulks off into their car. 

 

“Uncle Flip?” she begins, wrapping her arms around herself. “When did that happen?”

 

“What?” Phillip asks before shrugging. “We chatted in the car. You have a nickname, he has a nickname, and now I have a nickname.”

 

As much as she wants to, she knows she can’t put up that much of a fight without it looking all suspicious. As far as Phillip knows, he is only in uncle territory.

 

As for the Flip part, she can’t believe he remembers that. It was one time when she had the worst cold of her life and could barely talk. The only sounds that came from her throat were the “Ph” “L” and “P”, so, of course, he ran with it and dubbed himself Doctor Flip the rest of the time that she was sick. 

 

She fights her instincts to stare at the ground, instead settling on his chest—not much better but she’ll take it. Everything in her wants to avoid the eyes that always feel like they’re staring through to her soul. “T-Thank you… for that. I’m sure he’ll be buzzing about it for a long time.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Phillip answers with a grin. “It was fun.”

 

She awkwardly looks around, her feet subconsciously shuffling closer to him. “Look, I’m so sorry about all that, earlier in the car,” she starts, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. “You probably didn’t want to talk about your dad. I shouldn’t have even mentioned Hilary. I didn’t think he’d bring it up.”

 

Phillip simply waves it off. “No. It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

 

“To be honest, that was kind of the first time he’s really opened up more about Mort since he heard the news. I guess I selfishly wasn’t keen on shutting it down. So I’m sorry.”

 

“Really, Fran. It’s fine,” he repeats. He stands up and puts his hands in his pockets, briefly looking over at the boy patiently waiting in Fran’s car before turning back to her. “So he spent a lot of time around my dad?”

 

She tries to play it off cool with a shrug. “I wouldn’t say a lot,” she replies. “But there were some occasions when I was doing errands in town and Mort would offer to watch him at the store. I suppose they got close during those times.”

 

He nods along with her answer. “I guess it makes sense… Dad caring about him. He was bound to love any kid you had like a grandchild. You were practically the second daughter he never had.” He shakes his head, his brows pinched together. “It still fucking sucks that I was the last to know about him. Well, besides Judd but he doesn’t count.”

 

“I know…” she nearly whispers, her eyes averting to the ground. Shame fills her face once more, the pit in her stomach growing even deeper. 

 

“I get why you didn’t tell me. It hurts but I do,” he adds. “But fuck, I don’t understand why none of them did. They all knew and left me in the dark.”

 

She’s not really sure what to say, mostly in fear of treading into more dangerous waters. 

 

He continues on, “I wish I had known earlier… ‘cause he’s a great kid, Frannie. Really. You did good.” He gives her a big smile and she can’t help but give a small one back. “If only I had known, I would’ve been the best fucking uncle. He wouldn’t have even needed a dad if I was around. I would’ve taught him everything.”

 

And back to awkward.

 

Her hands come down in front of her and her fingers tangle fretfully in each other. “Speaking of… Look, Phillip. About the whole bike riding thing…” she nervously trails off, knowing this isn’t a fun conversation. “You can’t just go on promising things to Alex that you’re not going to follow through on.”

 

His head moves back as if he’s offended. “Who said I’m not gonna follow through?” he counters, standing up straighter. “I’m gonna teach him. He’s your kid, Frannie. Of course, I’m gonna teach him.”

 

She subconsciously shakes her head. “This isn’t like promising to call or email. He’s an actual kid with very real feelings.” This is probably the longest she’s looked at him in the eyes but she needs him to fully understand what she’s saying. “You can’t be making promises you can’t keep. He’d be devastated and I have to protect my son.”

 

“I get that,” he insists, stepping closer so she’s forced to look up at him. “And I’m telling you I’m going to keep it.” He looks down at her, his eyes intense. “I’m not making the same mistake, Fran. I can’t let you slip out of my life this time. Our friendship means more than that. I fucked up before. I’m not fucking up again.”

 

She stands there, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, not sure how to respond. Honestly, it’s all quite frightening. 

 

He reaches out and closes her mouth with a finger on her chin. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Larsen,” he adds with a smirk. “Uncle Flip is here to stay.”

 

Oh God. 

 

She weakly nods, not trusting herself to say anything else. 

 

Phillip bends and pecks her on the cheek, sending shivers down her spine against her will. Then he hops in his car, turns on the engine, and slips on his sunglasses. “See you around, Frannie,” he says, his lip quirking up before he speeds off out of the parking lot. 

 

“Bye,” she whispers to herself.

 

She somehow survived the day.

 

But what does she do now?

Notes:

Oh Phillip, what a big dum dum dummy

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

kylosroboarm on Tumblr
@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 9: Coffee Confessions

Summary:

Fran and Wendy catch up on the shenanigans that the Altmans have been up to. Fran learns her secret isn't as well kept as she thought.

Fran sits patiently in the little cafe, eating her croissant and taking small sips of her tea. Normally she wouldn’t be here during her lunch break, but this week has been anything but normal. She hasn’t seen or heard from any of the Altmans in a few days. Part of her even thought that she might’ve made it through the funeral and shiva mostly unscathed and now she can return to her normal life. 

 

That is until Wendy texted her last night asking—demanding—that they meet for coffee. 

 

She vaguely hears the cafe door open but pays it no mind until a large purse is dropped loudly down onto her table, making her nearly jump from her chair. 

 

“I had sex with Horry,” Wendy blurts with no preamble, plopping down across from her.

 

If she was sipping her tea at the moment, it would’ve blown all over the other woman’s purse. “I’m sorry, what?” she repeats. “Y-You had sex with Horry? W-Why?”

 

Wendy sighs loudly, grabbing her purse and placing it on the free chair beside them. “Because… my marriage is in shambles and he’s the love of my life.”

 

Fran sits there, slowly digesting the information. “H-How did that even happen?”

 

“Well, Barry ditched me to go to London for some business emergency, leaving me alone with our two kids under three, my father died and this past week has been insane, and honestly, I’m feeling quite lonely. He was there to comfort me and it just… kinda happened.”

 

Wendy’s about to say more when the waitress comes up and asks for her order. “I’ll have a coffee. Black. And give me three of your gooiest cinnamon rolls, thank you.” 

 

No matter how badly she wants to continue the conversation, Fran stays silent as the waitress leaves and comes back with a mug of coffee and a plate of cinnamon rolls. Wendy thanks her and stuffs half a roll in her mouth before the waitress can even walk away. 

 

She notices Fran staring. “What? My life is very stressful at the moment,” she retorts. “And don’t look at me like that, Fran… I know what you’re thinking. How could I possibly cheat on Barry?”

 

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Fran softly argues. 

 

Wendy bites her lip and subconsciously shakes her head. “He’s just never there, ya know? Work has always been more important. And Horry… Well, Horry’s Horry. He was the one for me and now I’m doomed to walk the earth in a loveless marriage for the rest of my life.”

 

Fran reaches forward and lays her hand on Wendy’s arm. She’s not quite sure what to say—if there even is anything to say. She’s known about the state of Wendy’s marriage for a while now. She also knows Wendy’s too stubborn to call it a failure and ask for a divorce.

 

Wendy takes a large sip of coffee and finishes off her first roll. With a clearing of her throat, she’s almost a new woman, her demeanor completely flipped. “Now… speaking of men we can’t have—”

 

“I’ve told you before,” Fran cuts off before the other woman can continue with the implication. “I don’t want him like that. He simply used to be my friend.”

 

Wendy snorts and nonchalantly replies, “Your friend who just so happened to father your child.”

 

Fran’s life flashes before her eyes in an instant. The mug slips from her hands, the rest of her tea spilling over the table. She gasps, her face instantly flushing bright red in embarrassment and terror. Picking the mug back up, she starts blotting the liquid with a handful of napkins, stuttering, “That—I-I—I don’t know what you’re talking about…” She quickly looks around the cafe to make sure no one is listening in on their conversation. It’s a small town and news travels fast. Especially if the Aunts catch wind.

 

“Oh please,” Wendy rolls her eyes. “Did you really think I didn’t know? They’re practically identical.” She catches the terrified look on Fran’s face. “Oh, don’t panic. It’s not like anyone in here is listening.” She gestures around to the room of three other people, all too busy on their laptops. Her hand comes back to her plate as she casually picks at her next roll. 

 

Fran sits there holding her breath, her whole body trembling. She’s never been confronted with her secret before. Mort never said a word to her and she always appreciated that. She closes her eyes, ready to be yelled at for keeping such a big thing from all of them. 

 

“Look,” her friend sighs. “I’m not here to reprimand you for not telling him. You obviously had your reasons… But as his older sister, you can’t keep it from him forever. He deserves to know now that he’s not in the dark anymore. Especially since he hasn’t stopped talking about Alex since he came back to the house the other day.”

 

Her eyes blink rapidly, her brain trying to keep up. “… He—He hasn’t?” she hesitantly mumbles, not believing what she’s hearing. 

 

Wendy gives her a pointed look. “Of course, he hasn’t. He’s been talking about the day you three had every chance he gets, almost to an annoying degree. I swear, it’s like he instantly fell in love with that kid.” She cocks her head to the side and stuffs more cinnamon roll in her mouth. “Though I suppose loving Alex isn’t very hard.”

 

Fran’s face scrunches as she takes in all the new information. It’s been three days and he’s still talking about meeting Alex? They were only together for maybe an hour. That’s definitely not enough time to get too attached, much less love him.

 

Right? 

 

“I have a feeling it’s part of why Tracy left,” Wendy adds, casually sipping her coffee. 

 

It breaks Fran from her thoughts. “Wait, what?” She practically perks up like a dog hearing the word ‘walk’.

 

“Yup,” Wendy answers with a thinly concealed smirk. “Miss Cradle Robber ended up leaving the other day. It was quite dramatic really.”

 

Her brows furrow even more and she shakes her head. “I-I don’t understand… Is this because of the other day and the clothes? I really didn’t mean to cause any trouble between the two of them,” she tries to explain, beginning to fret about the whole thing. Her thoughts instantly go to the worst; that she’s the reason they broke up. 

 

“Relax,” Wendy replies. “Could the clothes have been a contributing factor? Maybe. But were they the entire reason? Probably not. That whole relationship was dysfunctional from the start. Oh, wait, speaking of clothes!” She wipes her hands and reaches into her bag, grabbing Fran’s dress and handing it to her. “Since you left in a rush.”

 

“Oh, thank you,” Fran says. She grabs the pile of clothes next to her and switches bundles with Wendy. “I washed Phillip’s, so they’re clean.” Wendy takes them and just throws them into her bag. “So… Why did Tracy leave then…? If it wasn’t the clothes?”

 

“Honestly, I don’t know the complete answer,” she says with a shake of her head. There are definitely a thousand things that could’ve been the reason for their break up, but also more specifically one thing. But she’s not going to tell Fran that. Poor girl would just feel guilty. “I was a little too busy watching Paul attempt to murder Judd to pay attention to the reasons she was spewing.”

 

“Paul tried to murder Judd?” she repeats in disbelief and concern. 

 

“In true Altman fashion, we once again got into a domestic dispute. This time it was on the front lawn for everyone to see,” Wendy answers, giving a fake smile. 

 

“What happened?”

 

“Apparently Paul caught Judd and Annie hugging or kissing or who the hell knows. Chased him straight out of the house into the yard, trying to kill him. Phillip decides to play peacemaker, as if that was ever going to work, and tries to break them apart which of course just led to Phillip getting in the fight.” She takes a sip of coffee before continuing. “Phillip and Paul are rolling around in the dirt when Tracy comes out with her suitcase packed, taxi waiting, and says she’s leaving. Phillip tries to stop her, leaving Paul free to attack Judd again. So Phillip’s pleading Tracy as she gets in the car, the boys are fighting with the friggin hose, and the entire neighborhood is all standing around watching this. And then out of nowhere, Mom walks up and makes out with Linda in front of everyone.”

 

Well, she certainly was right. 

 

That is dramatic.

 

“Your mom kissed Linda?” is the only question Fran can think to ask. Everything else is taking longer to process in her mind. Though mostly her mind is stuck on the whole Tracy leaving Phillip part. 

 

“Yeah. That definitely was unexpected. Apparently, it’s not a new thing and Dad was aware and approved.”

 

Okay. Wow.

 

“Well, I-I guess congratulations to Hilary,” she awkwardly mumbles. 

 

Wendy snorts. “My mother comes out as bi by sucking face with our neighbor and that’s your reaction? Way better than how any of us took the news.” She suddenly slaps the table. “Oh! I didn’t even tell you! The whole Shiva thing? Total bullshit. It was completely her insane idea just to get us to spend time with each other. Wasn’t Dad’s last request at all.”

 

“I mean, the four of you haven’t really been in the same place in a long time,” Fran reasons. It makes sense for Hilary to want all her kids in one location for more than a day. 

 

“Fran… you’re not supposed to be on her side,” Wendy argues, stuffing her last roll in her mouth. “Sisters are supposed to have each other’s back. I didn’t go blabbing your secret to anyone.”

 

She gives a weak shrug. “Hilary’s done a lot for me over the years,” she softly counters. 

 

Wendy sighs and can’t help but agree. “I know she has.”

 

Fran swallows thickly, looking down at the table and playing with the string from the tea bag in her mug. “Do y—Do you think your mother knows?” She doesn’t specify, but she doesn’t need to. 

 

“We haven’t talked about it, but I think it’s a safe bet to say yes.”

 

A large breath leaves her body and she nods. “Do you think she h-hates me?” 

 

“It’s clear she doesn’t. She’s not really someone that holds back her opinions” Wendy wryly answers, hoping to quell her fears slightly. “Like me, she knows there must be a reason why you never said anything. But also like me, after seeing Phillip rave about Alex, she’d probably tell you the same. You need to tell him.”

 

Her chin starts to wobble, her eyes beginning to burn as tears form behind them. “He’s going to hate me,” she whispers. 

 

Wendy reaches out and puts a hand over her fidgeting one. “Phillip isn't going to hate you, Fran. I don’t think he’s physically capable of it.” She tries to give a reassuring smile. “I leave for Boston tomorrow and I suspect he’s going back to the city. Though I’m pretty sure he’s homeless now that Tracy won’t be paying his rent.” She gives Fran’s hand a squeeze. “I’m not saying you need to do it within the next twenty-four hours… but you should do it soon.”

 

Fran knows. 

 

She’s known since the moment he found out that Alex even exists that this was a possibility. She’s just not ready. 

 

She’s not ready to face the reality of her crime. She doesn’t want to face him and his reaction. No matter what it is, it can’t be good. There’s no way this ends with his being purely happy. 

 

He’s either furious at her for keeping the secret, or he doesn’t want to be a father at all. 

 

She’s not sure which one is worse.

 

“I will,” she quietly promises. “I don’t know when… but I will.” Wendy lets go of her hand with a nod and Fran goes back to playing with the string. She hesitates before asking her next question. “He’s really been talking about Alex?”

 

“Fran, you know I love your son, but if I hear his name one more time from Phillip’s mouth, I might crack,” she dryly replies before rolling her eyes. “The man’s infatuated.”

 

She shouldn’t have asked. 

 

It only serves to make her feel a thousand times worse, just like when she saw the huge, identical smiles on their faces after Phillip took him on a drive around the parking lot. It seems Phillip took to her son as much as Alex took to Phillip. So much so, that the only toy car Alex has played with since has been his red Porsche Carerra in honor of the car Phillip drove him around in. Her little boy hasn’t stopped obsessing over it since.

 

She can’t help but mourn the life she had a week ago. The uncomplicated one where she only had to worry about herself and her son. She didn’t have to constantly worry about people figuring out who the father of her child is, nevertheless, the father of her child figuring out who the father is. 

 

She’s surprised this last week hasn’t turned her hair gray from all the stress. 

 

But tomorrow he heads back to the city and then she’ll finally be able to breathe. Breathe and figure out how the heck she’s supposed to tell him she’s kept this big of a secret from him for eight years. 

 

Or maybe she can just stall indefinitely.

 

Unfortunately, she has a feeling the woman across from her would keep nagging her if she tried. 

 

The clock on the wall catches her eye. 

 

1:18. 

 

“Crap. I really have to get back to work,” she apologizes awkwardly, grabbing her purse and dress before dropping a few bills to cover her order on the table. 

 

“Your office closes in a few weeks,” Wendy argues, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “You can’t take a long lunch?

 

Fran stands up and fidgets with the fabric in her hands. “Unfortunately no. There are a lot of last-minute things we have to process. But it was really good seeing you. Despite the circumstances that is.”

 

Wendy stands up and wraps her arms around Fran. “You were one of the bright spots of this past week, so thank you for that. But next time let’s not get together because someone died.”

 

She can’t help but giggle softly. “Deal.”

 

“And I expect to hear news from either Phillip or you soon, alright?” Wendy lightly threatens, pulling back and staring her in the eyes. “I want to be able to acknowledge and spoil my nephew while he’s still a cute little boy and not a sarcastic, grouchy teenager like Phillip was.” 

 

Gulp.

 

She doesn’t trust herself to reply to that demand without losing her lunch so she simply nods. Even the mere thought of telling him makes her nauseous as all get out. “You’ll let me know when you and the kids get back to Boston?” she asks, ignoring the Alex and Phillip subject.

 

Wendy catches it but says nothing. “Of course,” she answers with a smile. “Now go. Go back to your boring job. Just means I have a little more me-time to stuff my face with this last cinnamon roll and ignore reality while Annie watches my kids.” She gives Fran a fake smile and pats her on the arm. “Don’t be a stranger.”

 

“I won’t,” she replies, giving her one more smile before heading out the door and to her car. She climbs in, throwing her purse and dress into the passenger seat, and sits there for a while just trying to fend off the panic attack that’s been bubbling inside since she learned Wendy—and probably Hilary—knows her secret. She leans her forehead against the steering wheel and breathes deeply.  

 

How the heck is she supposed to handle telling Phillip that Alex is his when she can barely survive being confronted by Wendy?

 

He’s going to hate her.

 

Alex is going to hate her. 

 

A knock on the window interrupts her breakdown, making her gasp loudly and jump in her seat. She quickly looks up to find Mrs. Moskovitz nosily standing beside her car and staring at her. She slowly rolls the window down. “Yes?” she mumbles and clears her throat in hopes of relaxing the muscles that were tightening to hold back her tears.

 

“Are you alright, Fran dear?” the older woman asks.

 

“I—I’m fine, Mrs. Moskovitz,” she tries to brush the woman off. “Just a stressful day with the office closing and all.”

 

“Still no job lined up?”

 

She slowly shakes her head, wanting to be anywhere but here at the moment. “No,” she replies curtly. “Still looking.”

 

The older woman either doesn’t get the memo that Fran really doesn’t want to chat, or she just doesn’t care. Probably the latter. 

 

“Have you not accepted Paul’s offer?”

 

Fran’s eyes widen by a fraction and she bites her lip. Of course, the Aunts somehow know about his offer for her to work at the store. How the information got out is the better question. Paul isn’t one to tell the world his business and neither is she. It had to have been someone else. Probably an Altman. 

 

She sighs, giving the woman a polite smile. “Still thinking. Lot of factors to worry about.” She looks around before buckling up her seatbelt. “I really have to get back to the office…” she says, hoping the woman gets the hint. 

 

“Oh! Oh yes, of course. Don’t let this old woman keep you,” Mrs. Moskovitz nearly yells for the street to hear. “Oh dear, before you go. I just have to say, it warmed my heart to see you and Phillip together again. Broke all our hearts to see your friendship fizzle out. Truth be told, we all thought the two of you would end up together until he moved away to the city. ”

 

Fran blushes hard and doesn’t know how to respond. She sits there with her mouth agape like a fish stuck on a dock gasping for air. 

 

“Anyway… you have a good day. Say hi to Alex for me!” she concludes with a huge grin and a wave. 

 

Fran weakly waves back, watching the woman walk off, and rolls her window back up. With a large groan, she smacks her forehead against the steering wheel again. 

 

What she’d give to go back in time to seven days ago when her life wasn’t complicated. Though she supposes everything having to do with the Altmans is complicated. 

She just had to go and get pregnant by one. Now she’s tied to them and their messy lives forever.

Notes:

Mrs. Moskovitz strikes again!

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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Chapter 10: The Park

Summary:

Fran gets a shock when she learns that Phillip has moved back. How is supposed to keep her secret now that he lives in town?

“Can I go play now? Please?”

 

Her little boy is nearly bouncing in his seat as they finish up their lunch. “Yes, you may.” He breaks into a smile and jumps off of his chair. “Hey. Remember? Sink, please,” Fran reminds him before he tries to run from the kitchen. 

 

Alex quickly walks back to the table, grabs his plate and cup, and places them in the sink. He looks towards Fran and receives a nod before racing off to his room. 

 

Working on learning household chores has been an adventure with her son. It’s not that he doesn’t care. When he does them he’s very helpful and never complains. It’s the memory part of the equation that he has difficulty with. 

 

Fran sits there finishing her lunch; peanut butter and jelly sandwich—a new kick for Alex—a handful of blueberries, and a small bowl of cottage cheese just for herself. She hasn’t had it in a long time, but something about her conversation with Phillip spurred her to buy some during her last trip to the grocery store. Something about talking to him reminded her that she’s more than just a mother. That she can have likes and wants outside of Alex. That she doesn’t have to eat exactly what he eats every day. 

 

She might’ve had to stealthily take bites of it so her son didn’t spy the curds and get grossed out by the texture but it’s a refreshing victory in her book. And now that he’s run off to his room, she’s free to eat it however she wants. 

 

Her mind wanders to Phillip and the Altmans. It’s been nearly two weeks since she’s seen or talked to any of them. Wendy and the kids arrived safely back in Boston and Phillip and Judd headed back to the city. 

 

Part of her was a little disappointed he didn’t say goodbye, but then again she knew when he was leaving and didn’t fight to reach out either. She feels a little stupid for caring anyway. It’s not like they had gone back to being best friends. It was only a week and they had only seen each other a couple of times. 

 

And besides, Phillip being gone is for the best. It gives her time to figure out how she’s going to tell him and what she’s going to say. 

 

A large part of her—the cowardly part—wants to just send him an email or leave a voicemail explaining everything but she knows that’s an awful way to do it. He deserves better than that. He deserves to be told in person, something she was too chicken to do before he left, so now she’s stuck in this weird limbo and has no clue how she’s going to ask him to come back to town. Would he really travel all the way back just because she says they need to talk?

 

She sighs and gets up, bringing her dish to the sink and turning the faucet on. Grabbing the sponge, she sets on cleaning up lunch. As she’s doing that, Alex comes running up to her, flinging a piece of paper around.

 

“Mommy Mommy Mommy.”

 

“What, monkey?” she asks, turning to look at him. She pulls her hands out of the sink and wipes them on a towel. “What do you have there?” He hands it to her and she instantly recognizes it. 

 

It’s the little league sign-up flier they picked up at the Altmans’ store the other week.

 

“We have to sign up now or we’re gonna miss it,” he urges. “See?” He points to the sign-up cutoff date.

 

Tomorrow. 

 

Yikes. 

 

It must've slipped her mind with everything else going on. “Have you just had this in your room this whole time?” she asks.

 

He nods. “I looked at it every day but you always seemed too busy but today you weren’t so I gave it to you now.”

 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath at his words. “You can remember to look at this every day for two weeks but can’t remember your homework folder?” she deadpans. He gives her a nonchalant shrug, but she knows the exact answer why. Baseball is more fun than school so it sticks in his little brain easier. “How about you go get your shoes on while I finish this and then we can go get you signed up before the park? Sound fair?”

 

His face lights up. “Deal!” He runs out of the kitchen before she can say another word. 

 

Fran silently finishes washing the dishes, leaving them on the mat to dry. Once she’s done she meets him in the foyer where he’s slowly attempting to tie his shoes. She waits a few moments to see how he's coming along but once the knots begin to form she takes over. She ties them in a jiffy and he sprints towards the door. 

 

“Come on, Mommy!”

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Slow down, baby.” Slipping on her own flats, she grabs her purse and keys and heads out the door with him. They get him buckled up and make their way to the Altmans’ store. 

 

Being the only sports store in town, most children’s sports registration goes through them. Pretty much every sport but swimming and golf run through the store with Paul taking on the load of making sure every child who signs up gets registered with a team. He even goes as far as coaching some of the younger ones. He’s pretty good at it and Fran knows Annie just loves watching him with all of the kids. She’s even vaguely heard the other woman call it ‘dad practice’.

 

When they reach the town square, Alex is practically unbuckled and out of his seat before she’s even parked. She gets out, opens the back door, and he all but leaps from the car and takes off in the direction of the store. 

 

“Alex, wait for me!” she calls but it’s no use. He’s still running in front of her. Luckily the town center isn’t big and the store isn’t far from where they parked. 

 

“Coach Paul Coach Paul!” Alex says, opening the door and racing into the store. 

 

“Well, if it isn’t Alex Larsen,” Paul happily replies as Fran enters behind her son. He slots his hands under Alex’s armpits, picks him up, and plops him onto the counter so that they’re relatively the same height. “Fran,” he addresses her. “What brings you two in today? Finally have an answer for my offer?”

 

Fran ignores the second question, instead handing him the baseball flier. “He reminded me of the cutoff date, so we figured we’d come in and get signed up.”

 

“It ends tomorrow and we almost missed it!” Alex adds, horrified at the very thought.

 

Paul walks around the counter and reaches under it for a signup sheet. “I think we could’ve figured something out if you had.” He places the piece of paper on the counter and slides a pen over. 

 

Fran gives him an appreciative smile. She takes the pen and begins to fill it out, Alex perched happily on the counter next to her, his legs swinging back and forth. 

 

“So you ready for the big leagues this season, Alex?” Paul asks him. 

 

“Uh-huh! It’s gonna be so fun. We’re actually gonna be able to throw the ball instead of just hitting off the tee.”

 

A deeper voice interrupts them from behind her. “Paul, where’s that box of mouthguards? Horry can’t find it for the life of him.”

 

Alex’s face brightens as Fran freezes in her spot at the voice. 

 

Oh no.

 

“Uncle Flip!” Alex exclaims. 

 

How the heck is he here?

 

“Hey, little dude! How’ve you been?” Phillip asks, saddling up beside them. He reaches out and ruffles Alex’s hair. 

 

“I’ve been good!”

 

“That’s awesome.” He looks down at her and she steels herself to turn around and face the man she did not expect to be here at all. “Hey, Frannie.”

 

“P-Phillip. I-I-I thought you left,” she barely garbles out, sweat instantly coating her skin.

 

“Nope,” he corrects her with a grin. “Decided to stay in town and work with this stick in the mud. I do own one-third of the business after all.” He smirks at Paul who rolls his eyes. “Whatcha doing here?”

 

Staying here?

 

Working at the store?

 

Things just got way more complicated. 

 

She blinks to reset her face. “Umm, just signing up for Spring ball.” He spies the paper on the counter and she quickly but as casually as she can covers up Alex’s birthday with her elbow. Now that he’s no longer high off his butt she can’t let him see it just yet. Not until she’s told him.

 

“Oh, that’s awesome. It’ll be fun. Maybe Paul will even let me coach a bit,” he supplies, reaching across the counter to smack his brother’s arm. “I did play in school.”

 

Paul scoffs. “And I told you no. We can’t have you flirting with all of the moms.”

 

“You know, that wounds me, Paul,” he counters dramatically. “How do you know I don’t just want to impart my knowledge and expertise to the youths in town?”

 

“Because you just used the word ‘youths’,” Paul deadpans with a roll of his eyes. 

 

“You played baseball, Uncle Flip?” Alex asks, looking at him with curiosity. 

 

Phillip brightens at the question. “Yup. I was the pitcher of our high school team. Your mom knows all about it too. She watched me play a lot.” He even gives her his signature goofy grin as he says it. 

 

Alex turns to her with wide eyes. “You did?”

 

Not able to trust her own voice at the moment, Fran just nods. She’s too busy trying to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest and not dissolving into a panic attack at the fact that Phillip is not in New York City like she thought, but right next to her in Elmsbrook. 

 

And he’s apparently staying.

 

She doesn’t have as much time to figure everything out as she thought she did. 

 

Crap.

 

“Don’t let him fool you, Alex,” Paul interjects. “He wasn’t that good.”

 

Phillip sputters in offense. “We won State my senior year… And that wouldn’t have happened without my superior pitching. Right, Frannie?” He turns to look at her with an expectant look on his face.

 

“Umm, yeah,” she hastily replies. “You were good.” She looks around the store, trying to avoid his eyes. “You were mentioning a box?”

 

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Thanks.” He gives her a smile and turns to Paul. “Yeah, the mouthguards.”

 

Paul sighs. “They’re where they always are. Horry just can’t seem to remember it every time. Storage room. Top of the third shelf on the right.”

 

“Got it,” Phillip replies with a nod before addressing Alex. “Hey, bud, you wanna come help me? That way you don’t have to sit here while your mom fills out boring paperwork.”

 

Alex’s face lights up. “Wait, really?” His eyes whip over to Fran. “Mommy, can I?”

 

She looks nervously at Alex then up at Phillip and exhales. “Y-Yeah.” Both boys break into grins. Phillip lifts Alex off of the counter and places him on the floor. “But you better keep him safe,” she says to Phillip. “I know there are dangerous things in that storage room.”

 

“Frannie, relax. We’re just restocking some shelves. I’ll even make him wait at the door if that helps.”

 

She chews on her lip and gives him a small nod in response. She doesn’t need her son wandering around a dark storage room and accidentally getting hurt. Though she supposes she’s going to have to trust him with Phillip sooner or later. 

 

If the universe was nice, it would be later. 

 

But unfortunately, the universe is not nice. 

 

She watches as the two boys walk away, both of them talking quite animatedly to each other, and she can’t help but notice all of their similarities. She knew Alex was basically Phillip’s mini-me but seeing them together is bewildering. 

 

There’s the matching thick, dark mop of hair on their heads. Alex definitely got Phillip’s height as he’s always been quite tall for his age. They even have the same, very slight pigeon-toed walk. 

 

She sees the similarities and as she turns back to the counter to finish signing Alex up she sees the moment Paul recognizes all of them as well. 

 

She watches as his eyes widen and flit between her and the retreating duo. She sees the moment everything clicks in his head, and she swears her heart almost stops beating. 

 

Paul’s eyes continue to dart between the three of them in shock. “Holy shit,” he exclaims. “Is Phillip—?”

 

Fran nearly leaps across the counter and grabs his arm. “Paul, please don’t say anything,” she softly begs, her own eyes wide and pleading. 

 

It’s confirmation enough for him. “Oh my God, he is.” He stares at Fran for a few moments. It’s like he’s seeing her in an entirely different light. “Phillip is Alex’s—” He shakes his head in disbelief, taking a step back so she’s no longer clutching his forearm. “And he has no clue?”

 

She shakes her head in shame.

 

“What happened to it being just some one-night stand?” She blushes and gives him a pained look. “Oh my God… He’s the guy you never saw again 'cause he left.” She squeezes her eyes shut to avoid his judgment. “I knew my brother was stupid but not that stupid.” He runs a frustrated hand down his face. “He doesn’t know and now you want me to lie to him?” he quietly clarifies, almost offended she would ask such a thing from him.

 

“Mort did,” she shakily offers. 

 

His eyes go wide yet again. “Dad knew?” he breathes. 

 

She nods her head. “He never said anything… but I could tell. I think it’s why he treated Alex differently than other kids who came through the store.”

 

“Does my mother know?” he demands. 

 

Fran gives a small shrug. “I-I don’t know for certain. Maybe. If she does, she figured it out herself. I never told anyone... Especially not Phillip.”

 

He leans in close, his hands bracing against the countertop. A large sigh releases from his lips. “You know you have to tell him, Fran,” he quietly urges. “He works here now… At least, until he ultimately screws up and I fire his ass. But the longer he stays, the harder it’ll be to hide the truth. If he has a… kid… he deserves to know.”

 

“I know,” she whispers, trying to keep her emotions under control, but she’s failing greatly at it. She looks at the counter and fiddles with the pen. “And I’m going to tell him. I just—I-I need to figure out how to.”

 

“My only advice is to do it sooner rather than later,” he concedes.

 

Her eyes shoot up to his. “So you won’t say anything?” she asks again, needing to hear the words from his mouth. 

 

Paul sighs and nods. He gives her a stern look she’s only ever seen pointed at Phillip before. “But I won’t lie to him forever. My silence has a time limit.” 

 

Fran swallows thickly at the thinly veiled threat and quickly nods her head. “Thank you,” she breathes in relief. Well, semi-relief.

 

“What are you two talking about?”

 

Fran jumps at the sudden intrusion of Phillip’s voice. She whips around to face him. “Ummm… I-I was just telling Paul that… I—I’ve decided to take him up on his offer,” she cries in panic. 

 

“What offer?” Phillip asks, looking between the two of them suspiciously. 

 

Fran’s panicked eyes meet Paul’s and he answers for her. “Fran’s work is closing so I offered her a job here to run our books since they’re in complete disarray from Dad,” he answers.

 

Phillip’s face scrunches up. “You wanna come work for this asshole?” he asks before dramatically shaking his head. “Oh Frannie, you can do better than that.”

 

“Phillip. Language,” Paul reprimands, pointing down to Alex at his side.

 

“Oh, shit,” he replies on instinct before realizing his mistake again. “Oh! God—Damn—Fuck—No! Oops…” He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck while Alex softly giggles at all the curse words coming from his mouth. “Sorry, little dude.”

 

Fran looks to the ceiling, quickly praying. How does one tell a perpetual child that he himself has a child? 

 

“So what are you guys up to for the rest of the day?” he asks them. 

 

“Mom’s taking me to the park!” Alex excitedly replies. 

 

Phillip oversells it like it’s the coolest thing he’s ever heard. “No way! I love the park.”

 

Alex looks up at him with his wide brown eyes. “Do you want to come with us?”

 

“Aw little man, I’d love to,” he says with a soft smile before looking over at Fran, “but that’s kinda up to your mom.”

 

She stands there frozen as she stares at the two of them, both wearing the same eager expression on their face. God, how he hasn’t figured out the resemblance by now she’ll never know. “Umm yeah, I-I mean y-you can come with us, i-if you want to.”

 

She doesn’t necessarily want him to tag along, but she can’t make herself say no to those faces. She still doesn’t know how to tell him and she knows the park definitely isn’t the place for that. 

 

On the other hand, they might as well have some time to bond while things are still happy. Phillip can get to know Alex in a casual environment before she pulls the rug right out from underneath his feet. 

 

Or is it a mistake to let them bond? 

 

What if Alex gets even more attached and then Phillip wants nothing to do with them—him? Wants nothing to do with him. 

 

Paul’s voice breaks her from her mini panic attack. “Phillip, part of owning the store means actually being here,” he drones with a frown. 

 

Phillip looks around, scanning the store for other bodies, and raises an eyebrow at Paul. “For what customers?” he deadpans back. “Come on, Paul. I won’t be long. Only a few hours, tops. Besides, Horry’s here… Somewhere.”

 

Paul looks between his brother, Fran, and Alex and lets out a large, exasperated sigh. “Fine. But your ass better be back here by four.”

 

“Paul… come on, man,” Phillip gasps. He places his hands on each side of Alex’s head. “Innocent ears are present.” He receives a glare to which he smirks.

 

“Oh, just get lost already,” Paul snaps without any heat. 

 

Alex pushes Phillip’s hands away from his face and cheers. “Now you get to come to the park with us!” Phillip simply laughs at the enthusiastic response.

 

They both turn to look at Fran, waiting for the go-ahead, and she swallows thickly. She turns around, giving Paul wide, nervous eyes. Her gaze falls back to the counter where the signup form is still half blank. “Umm, Alex, how about you and Phillip head to the car while I finish up with this?” she suggests. “I won’t be long.”

 

“Okay, Mommy!” He grabs Phillip’s hand and starts to pull him towards the door. “Come on, Uncle Flip. Bye, Coach Paul!”

 

“See ya, Alex,” Paul replies. “And Phillip, remember, four o’clock!”

 

The other man waves him off as he and her son leave the store. She looks at Paul who shakes his head in exasperation. Grabbing the pen again, she quickly fills out the rest of the form. Once she’s done she hands it over to him and he places it on top of a pile underneath the counter.

 

“So… you actually gonna accept my offer or was it just to get my brother off your back?” he asks. 

 

Fran looks at him and lets out a defeated sigh. “I’ll take it,” she finally concedes. “At least until I find something else.”

 

“Awesome. I’ll draft up some paperwork and you can come in later this week and sign it all,” he replies. “It’s not gonna be weird working with Phillip, right? If he even lasts that long.”

 

She gives a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t finish for another week. Gives me time to figure everything out.” She looks over her shoulder at the door. “I should probably catch up with them. Phillip being left unsupervised is never a good thing.”

 

Paul gives a nod and a chuckle. He reaches across the counter and cups his hand on her shoulder. “Good luck.”

 

A large exhale releases from her lips and she nods nervously. “Thanks,” she replies. “I’ll see you in a few days. Say hello to Horry for me.” He nods to her in farewell and she leaves the store. 

 

She walks through the town square back to where she parked to find Phillip and Alex leaning against the hood of her car, happily licking ice cream cones. She can’t help the exasperated sigh that slips from her. 

 

“Phillip, you can’t just get Alex sweets without asking me,” she chastises as she reaches them. She fishes in her purse and finds her keys. 

 

“It’s a small cone, Fran,” he argues. “We’re going to the park and he’ll run off the sugar high. Besides, I think you’re just jealous because you didn't get any, but fear not,” he turns around, grabs a paper cup from the hood, and holds it out to her, “I got you your favorite. A cup of lime sherbet.” 

 

The sweet, simple gesture and large grin on his face melt her anger a little bit. Of course, he magically remembers her favorite flavor at Arthur’s Ice Cream Stand. With a sigh, she unlocks the car, saying, “Come on. Both of you, in the car.” Alex and Phillip give each other matching looks of excitement before jumping in the car. Fran makes sure Alex gets all buckled before getting into the car herself. 

 

She looks over to see a happy Phillip, ice cream cone in one hand and cup of sherbet in the other. “Please don’t drip that all over my car,” she pleads tiredly. “Same goes for you, Alex. No spills, please.”

 

“Ok, Mommy!”

 

She stares Phillip down, waiting for his confirmation. 

 

He gives her a large smirk. “I swear on Paul’s life I won’t spill any ice cream in your car,” he vows. 

 

Fran rolls her eyes and pulls out from her parking spot. The short drive to the park is fairly silent, both boys gleefully lapping away at their cones. 

 

They reach the park and Alex shoves the rest of his cone into his mouth. She pulls into a spot and opens the center console, taking out a pack of baby wipes. Handing one back to Alex she says, “Wipe your face, monkey.” He takes it from her, wipes his cheeks and hands, and places the dirty wipe back into her hand. 

 

Thanks, kid…

 

She catches Phillip’s amused look. “What?” she asks, sounding mildly offended. “Do you need one too?”

 

“Nope. I’m old enough to keep ice cream off my face,” he teases. Then he gets out of the car, opens the back door, and helps Alex out. 

 

Fran sighs, throwing Alex’s wipe in the small trash pail she keeps in her car. She straps her purse across her body and gets out, meeting Phillip and Alex on the sidewalk. Phillip hands her her sherbet with a wink and she gives him a small smile in thanks. 

 

“Can I go? Please?” Alex begs, bouncing on his toes. 

 

“Sure. Just be careful, alright,” she replies. He gives a nod and races off to the jungle gym. Phillip looks mildly confused so she tilts her head to the side, gesturing for him to follow her. 

 

The two of them walk a little way and sit down on a bench not too far from the gaggle of kids running around. From her place, she can still keep an eye on Alex the whole time. 

 

Now that they’re settled she finally takes a bite of her sherbet and she’s instantly thrown back into the past to when she and Phillip would go to Arthur’s on the weekends and spend their allowances on ice cream. Her eyes briefly close, savoring the taste and the memories that surface from it. It was such a simpler time. No life-changing secrets to be revealed. Just her and Phillip enjoying their childhood. 

 

“So what do you do?” he asks, breaking her from her thoughts. “Just sit here?”

 

Her gaze meets his while she slowly eats her half-melted treat. “Basically. Sometimes I’ll bring a book or do some sudoku while he plays.” Her eyes drop to the ground as memories of when Alex was younger flash through her head. “It was more hands-on when he was little. Pushing him on the swings, helping him walk across the jungle gym and go down the slide… But now he’s older and doesn’t really need my help.” She lifts her eyes back up to find him staring at her. 

 

“Well that’s kinda rude of him,” he jokes after noticing the almost sad look in her eyes. “Growing up and becoming independent. It’s bullshit.”

 

Fran coughs out a small laugh, not expecting that answer from him. “It is what it is. I’d stop time if I could but I can’t. He’s going to get older whether I want him to or not.”

 

Phillip’s gaze softens as he stares at her eating her sherbet—the sherbet that he prayed was still her favorite flavor. It would’ve killed him if he had forgotten that. Fuck, he’s missed the comfort of her company. She’d always been a steady source of calmness that he hadn’t realized he’d missed in the last few years. 

 

His heart nearly stopped seeing her in the shop today. 

 

He moved back to help Paul with the store but he can’t say that getting to live close to her again isn’t a humongous perk. 

 

“You know, I was gonna tell you that I’m staying,” he starts, feeling slightly guilty for the sudden lack of contact. “I was gonna make it a big surprise but then life got hectic for a bit. Judd stole the Porsche and drove to Maine so I had to take the bus back to the city and move out of Tr—my apartment. Then the minute I got back Paul jumped on my ass, teaching me all about the store. I barely had time to think, let alone text anyone.” He angles his body more toward her, really staring her in the eyes so she knows he’s being truthful. “I just don’t want you to think I left without saying goodbye… ‘Cause I wouldn’t do that.”

 

Fran softly smiles and places a hand on his knee for a quick moment before removing it. “I get it,” she replies. Chewing nervously on her lip, she adds, “Wendy told me about Tracy… I'm sorry… I hope it wasn’t because of the other day and the clothes…”

 

“It’s not your fault, so please don’t think that it was,” he waves off. “It’s probably for the best anyway. We didn’t exactly get along all that well.” He leans in closer to her and gives her a slightly secretive look. “Don’t tell my siblings this, but maybe they were right… Maybe you shouldn’t date your therapist.” Fran can’t help but laugh. His brow furrows in confusion and amusement. “She called me a narcissist with Oedipal tendencies. Can you believe that?”

 

Fran tries to school her expression and narrows her eyes. “You mean to say that the man who slept in his mother’s bed till he was twelve—” 

 

“Hey, I told you that in confidence,” he cuts her off, acting offended. 

 

“—and the thirty-year-old who still calls his mother ‘mommy’—”

 

“Paul calls her that too!”

 

“—and the man who was dating his therapist who is seventeen years older than him, might have Oedipal tendencies? That’s shocking,” she finishes, her face as serious as she can make it.

 

“O-kay,” he rolls his eyes, smiling slightly.

 

“Unfathomable really.”

 

He smirks at her, trying not to laugh. “So Frannie has jokes now. Enjoying yourself? Making fun of me.” She gives him a tiny, proud smile. “You’ve gotten bold over the years, Larsen.”

 

She gives him a small shrug, looking back over to the playground to check in on Alex. “You kinda have to be when you’re a mom. No one else will fight for your kid, so you have to… Especially when they’re a little different like Alex.”

 

“Different?” he asks, his brow furrowing at her words. 

 

Her gaze returns to Phillip, this time a little more unsure and shy. “Not many people know… but Alex has ADHD,” she softly replies. 

 

If he’s surprised he doesn’t show it. He just takes the information in stride. “That’s the hyper one, right?”

 

“Kind of…?” she answers. “It’s Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. He’s a completely normal kid, his brain just works a little differently and he has a harder time concentrating on menial tasks than his peers. So school hasn’t exactly been the easiest thing for him. He’s really smart, he just needs a little more help than others.”

 

“Wendy said I had that once. I don’t believe her though,” he adds with a laugh. 

 

It also tends to run in families, but Fran keeps her mouth shut on that.

 

She shakes her head to clear it. “But, yeah… Umm. He was diagnosed a year or so ago, thus the sports. The therapist thought it might help.”

 

“Well, is he any good?” he asks, grabbing her abandoned spoon and taking a small bite of sherbet. If it were anyone else she’d be completely grossed out but for some reason, Phillip has always been the exception. 

 

“I don’t know?” she replies, her nose scrunching in uncertainty. “It’s only been teeball.”

 

“Cause I gotta say, Frannie, if he inherited your athleticism, the kid’s doomed,” he teases with a straight face. 

 

She blushes but unfortunately, he’s not wrong. “His dad played ball in school…” she adds awkwardly. 

 

It irks him to hear of that deadbeat and he tries to keep his expression calm. “Ah… So maybe some natural talent coming into play. Got it.” He quickly changes the conversation to a less irritating topic. “I’ll have to come to some games. Make up for all those times you had to sit through my practices back in school,” he says, bumping her shoulder with his. 

 

“I didn’t mind,” she quickly counters. “I liked watching...”

 

Watching you.

 

“Bullshit,” he argues, a grin bursting onto his face. “You only tolerated it for the ride home.”

 

What he doesn’t know is she specifically chose her tutoring schedule based on his practices because it meant she would get out of school twenty minutes before he would, so she would simply wait around in the stands until he was done. Then he’d drive them both home. She used to intentionally switch her assigned morning sessions for Sissy Morgenson’s, so she could tutor in the afternoons after school.

 

“You don’t have to come to the games,” she tries to wave off. 

 

“I want to,” he urges. He leans closer again, his hand itching to rub her leg or her arm or something but he refrains. “You’re my best friend, Fran. I wanna be in your life. And I guess that now also means Alex’s life.” He stares her down, making sure he understands the sincerity in his words. “Being back has made me realize how much I’ve missed ‘cause I was stupid and selfish. Well, I’m done missing things.”

 

She swallows thickly, her nerves escalating. “Okay…” she softly relents, not knowing what else there is to say. Her heart is thumping so loudly that she’s surprised he hasn’t mentioned it. 

 

He wants to be in Alex’s life? 

 

Even without the knowledge of her secret? 

 

Maybe her worries about him not accepting Alex and ditching them the moment he learns about her secret are unfounded. Why would he want to be a part of Alex’s life even without knowing their connection? Is it really purely because he’s her son? 

 

Maybe she hasn’t been giving Phillip enough credit. 

 

She takes a deep breath. “Phillip—”

 

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks, randomly cutting her off. “Like for dinner tomorrow? I wasn’t kidding when I said I was gonna make me staying a surprise. I had planned to take you to dinner and then tell you Paul gave me a job. But now I guess we can celebrate you working at the store as well. Unless you were just saying that to get him off your ass.”

 

Her brain short-circuits.

 

Do you want to go out with me?

 

It’s only the one sentence her younger self always longed to hear fall from his lips but never did. She’s sure he doesn’t mean it in that way though. He just broke up with his fiancé for Pete’s sake. Surely this is just two friends toasting to their new jobs and catching up. 

 

She snaps out of her racing thoughts. “Umm no. I-I took it. It’s not like any other places were offering me anything.” He’s still looking at her, eagerly waiting for an answer to his first question. “Oh. Dinner. Umm s-sure…” she nervously answers. “I guess I can see if Penny is free for Alex.”

 

“It’s fine if you can’t. I don’t mind him joining us.”

 

Got it. 

 

Definitely not a date. 

 

“Alex isn’t the biggest fan of restaurants,” she admits. “Big room full of people, having to sit still for an indefinite amount of time. Places with jungle gyms are more his speed.”

 

Phillip laughs. “I get that. Don’t feel rushed though. I’m free any night that works for you. You just figure out the day and let me know,” he says with a grin. 

 

“Okay…” she whispers.

 

With a nod, he slaps his thighs and stands up. “I don't know about you, but this sitting on the sidelines business is a little boring. I think Imma go chase that kid around and help him burn off that ice cream,” he declares. “You wanna come?”

 

She looks across the park at Alex before bringing her eyes up to Phillip. He looks genuinely excited to go play with Alex and it warms her terrified heart. “I think I’m good here,” she tells him. Honestly, considering the circumstances, she’s a little interested in watching the two of them together without her intervention. “You go have fun though. Make sure you tire him out.”

 

“Oh, I’ll have him sleeping like the dead tonight,” he jokes, smirk firmly plastered on his face. He gives her a long look before taking off towards the playground. 

 

She watches as he reaches Alex, picks her son up, and lightly roughhouses with him. She can even hear the faint laughter from the both of them carrying all the way over to her. 

 

How is it that her little boy just took to him so easily? Her son isn’t known for warming up to strangers quickly. It usually takes time for him to trust new people, but with Phillip, it’s like they’ve always known each other. 

 

Could it be that there’s just something inside themselves that the other inherently recognizes? Something their soul connects with?

 

Fran pulls her attention from them and grabs her phone. She clicks on her text thread with Penny and shoots her a quick message.

 

Hey. Are you free tomorrow night?

 

It's maybe a minute or two before her phone buzzes. 

 

Why? You wanna do something?

 

Would you be able to watch Alex? Phillip has apparently moved back and invited me to dinner.

 

Almost instantly Penny’s answer pops up.

 

Yes! Of course I can watch him ;)

 

Fran rolls her eyes, typing back her response. 

 

It’s not like that. We’re just celebrating working at the store.

 

Sure you are ;)

 

Wait. You said yes to Paul?

 

Yeah. Figured it’ll give me a job in the meantime until I find something different. 

 

You and Phillip working together… That’ll be interesting ;)

 

She sighs loudly.

 

Can you stop with the winks?

 

Nope ;)

 

Get more info about tomorrow and let me know! 

 

Fran puts her phone away, looking back out at the playground. Phillip and Alex appear to be having some sort of hanging contest on the monkey bar and she can’t help but smile. Not only from the grins on both of their faces but also from the fact that Phillip could very much stand up straight and be head height with the bar, so in order to hang, his knees are nearly scraping the ground. 

 

He looks quite silly next to the boy but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s completely immersed in whatever her son is asking him to do. 

 

She has to tell him. 

 

Maybe dinner just by themselves is what she needs. She’ll tell him, face whatever wrath comes her way, then they can figure out the path forward. At least that’s how she hopes it’ll go. 

 

I guess we’ll see tomorrow…

Notes:

We're getting close...

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Chapter 11: The Not-Date Date

Summary:

Fran and Phillip go on a non-date to celebrate their new jobs.

Notes:

Yes, she's wearing the dress from the dinner party she attends with Robert

Fran stands in front of her closest, her wet hair dripping down onto the fluffy robe she has tied around her waist. She’s been going back and forth on what to wear since Phillip decided on this little impromptu dinner yesterday afternoon. It’s not like she has the fanciest clothes, but she’s not quite sure what’s exactly appropriate for their outing. 

 

He never did say where they were going. Only that he was going to pick her up at seven. 

 

What does one wear to a not-date?

 

There’s a knock on the door before she can even answer the question. 

 

“Alex, can you answer that please?” she calls out into the hallway. “It’s just Penny!”

 

“Okay!” he yells back. She hears vague sounds of feet pattering on the floor before Alex loudly says, “Penny!”

 

“Hey, bug! How are you?” Penny replies enthusiastically. 

 

“I’m good!”

 

“Where’s your mom?” she asks. 

 

Fran hears him say that she’s in her room getting ready before the sound of feet gets louder, the two of them making their way toward her. She turns to find them both waiting in the doorway. Alex runs over and jumps on the bed while Penny stands there trying to contain a smirk. 

 

“Finding something to wear?” 

 

Fran sighs and flits through her clothes. “I’m not sure what’s proper. Phillip didn’t tell me anything. I have no idea if we’re going to some fancy place or Chuck E. Cheese.”

 

“Okay, well it won’t be Chuck E. Cheese.” Penny walks over and joins her in ruffling through the clothes. “I was wondering when he was going to reach out to you,” she supplies. 

 

“Wait, you knew he was in town?” Fran asks, freezing in place. 

 

Penny just shrugs. “Judd told me.”

 

She shakes her head, continuing to leaf through the few dresses she has. “Of course he did.”

 

Penny leads her over to the bed and sits her down next to Alex. “As an apology for not warning you, how about you let me pick your outfit for tonight?” she offers.

 

“Nothing too flashy. Not that I have anything like that anyway,” she says with a small eye roll. 

 

“Don’t worry. You’ll look perfect for your date,” Penny waves off. 

 

“It’s not a date,” Fran states, glaring at her friend. 

 

Penny scoffs and returns to the various hanging clothes. “Sure, Fran.”

 

Fran shakes her head and stands up. “I’m going to go dry my hair.” After receiving a distracted nod, she kisses the top of Alex’s head and walks into the bathroom. 

 

Ten minutes later she comes out to find Alex missing—most likely he got bored and went back to play—and Penny patiently waiting on her bed. 

 

Penny jumps up and grabs a dress that’s hooked onto the door. “I called Judd who texted Phillip to ask where you’re going to get some idea for the dress code and this is what I came up with.” She holds it out for Fran to see. “It should go nicely with some hose and those cute kitten heels you have.”

 

It’s a fairly simple, light purple dress with a tiny floral design that she hasn’t worn in a while. Honestly, she forgot she even had it in her closet. It’s not a bad choice, though it does give her a clue about the scale of the restaurant. Definitely not Chuck E. Cheese-like. 

 

Fran grabs the dress from her with a small smile. “Thank you.” She walks over to her dresser, picks out a pair of sheer pantyhose, and heads back into the bathroom to change. 

 

A few minutes later she pops back out and stands in front of the mirror. Her hands pat down her torso, making sure everything sits correctly. Her hair is nicely dried with just the tiniest curl to add a little wave. She also has minimal makeup on, just some mascara and lipstick. Getting made up is not something she normally does but Phillip Altman has never asked her out before either, so it’s a day of new things. 

 

“You look beautiful,” Penny says, handing her a pair of small heels. “Phillip is gonna think his date is a total smoke show.”

 

She blushes at the comment. “It’s not a date,” she reiterates. “We’re just toasting to working at the store.” She puts on the heels and fixes her hair. “It’s just old friends having dinner together.” 

 

Her eyes catch the clock. 6:57. Phillip should be here any minute now, so she gestures to Penny and the two leave her bedroom. They walk into the living room where Alex is building something or another with his Legos. 

 

He turns to look at them and he smiles at her. “You look pretty, Mommy,” he supplies.

 

“Thank you, monkey.” She ruffles his hair—still haven’t booked that hair appointment—when there’s a knock at the door. Her heart skips a beat but she quickly brushes it away. She ignores the knowing look on Penny’s face as she goes to answer the door. 

 

Phillip’s waiting patiently when she opens it. They both stand there a moment, silently taking the other in. She can’t help but think he looks quite nice in his black slacks and gray button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Then she briefly worries if she looks awful as his eyes scan the length of her, making her subconsciously fold into herself. 

 

He continues to stare back and her eyes flit down to his hand where he’s clutching a bouquet of flowers. Well, that’s certainly something she wouldn’t have expected. 

 

“Umm, c-come in,” she offers once she finally finds her voice again. 

 

He walks in with a smile. He gives a nod to Penny and greets her. “Penny.”

 

“Phillip,” she coyly answers back. 

 

He turns back to Fran. “Uhh, these are for you,” he says, holding the flowers out. “I got them at that old floral shop you used to work at. I remember you really like the marigolds there… At least you used to...”

 

Penny’s eyes widen. She subtly moves behind him and she mouths "It’s a date". Fran sends her a quick glare before smiling at Phillip. 

 

“Thank you,” she softly replies, taking them from him. “And I still like marigolds for the record.”

 

“Phew,” he dramatically exhales. “Good to know.”

 

“Uncle Flip!” Alex heels, running up to them. 

 

“Hey, little dude!” he greets just as enthusiastically. He bends forward, putting his hands on his thighs so that he’s more the same height as the kid. 

 

“Did you drive the Porsche here?” Then without waiting for an answer, Alex blurts, “Do you wanna come see my Porsche Carrera? It’s not black like yours, but it’s red so it’s better.”

 

Phillip’s brow furrows but the smile remains on his face. “Red’s better than black?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Alex answers with a big nod, looking a thousand percent serious. 

 

“Got it,” he concedes with no argument. “Let’s go see it then.” He stands back up and looks at Fran. “Is that okay with you?”

 

She blinks at him, his words taking a moment to process in her mind. “Oh! Yes! You guys go do that and I’ll just put these in some water and then we can go. Alex, only a few minutes, okay?” she adds, looking at her son. 

 

“Yes, Mommy,” he answers, grabbing onto Phillip’s hand and tugging him down the hallway. “Come on!” Phillip grins at Fran and follows Alex to his room. 

 

Once he’s out of sight, Fran brings the bouquet up to her nose, closes her eyes, and softly sniffs. Mmmmm. How on earth did he remember that she likes marigolds? 

 

A snort brings her back to her senses, reminding her that Penny is still very much in the room. Her eyes open to find her friend staring at her with a large smirk. Penny goes to speak but Fran cuts her off, “It’s not a date.” Then without another word, she turns and heads to the kitchen. 

 

“How is it not a date?” Penny asks, following behind her. “He’s taking you to a nice restaurant, he dressed up, he bought you flowers…”

 

Grabbing a vase from the cabinet, she goes to the sink to fill it up with water. “He just broke up with his fiancé. It’s not a date.” Her eyes focus on her task, putting the flowers in the filled vase. “Besides, Phillip doesn’t see me in that way.”

 

“Then please explain the child in the other room,” Penny counters.

 

Fran quickly but quietly shushes her, her eyes darting down the hall. After seeing the coast is still clear, she turns back to Penny. “You know it wasn’t like that,” she states. “It didn’t mean anything. I was tipsy, he was drunk. He would’ve slept with any girl that night.”

 

“You keep telling yourself that, Fran.” 

 

She sighs softly and shakes her head. Avoiding Penny's eyes, she slips past her and walks down the hall to Alex’s bedroom to find Alex animatedly telling Phillip all about his toy cars. She stands there for a moment, just outside the door, listening as Phillip takes it all in stride. He lets Alex tell him every little minute detail about his toys—what type of car it is, when he got it, who gave it to him. He even throws in a few oohs and ahhs when appropriate. 

 

Tears burn the backs of her eyes as she fights to shove down the emotions bubbling up. Now’s definitely not the time to let the guilt eat her alive, but gosh is her little boy’s excited voice enough to stab her straight in the heart.

 

Patting her cheeks to get herself together, she breeches the doorframe and gives a small cough. Both boys stop and look over at her. “Time to wrap up, monkey. Phillip and I need to get going.”

 

Her son’s face drops into an instant pout. He turns to the man beside him and asks, “Uncle Flip? Will you come back tonight and tell me a story before bed? Mommy always reads me a bedtime story.”

 

Phillip looks shocked for the briefest of moments. His eyes flit over to Fran before returning to Alex. “Aww bud, I wish I could, but I think you’ll probably already be asleep by then. But how about I come by later this week and you can show me the rest of your cars?” he offers as a compromise. “Sound fair?”

 

Fran’s heart breaks a little more as her son stays deflated. He mumbles a small “okay” and she feels like the world’s worst mother. “Maybe we can have Phillip over for dinner one night and he can stay for bedtime and read to you then?” she guiltily suggests. 

 

Phillip—also having seen the dramatic change in Alex’s energy—quickly follows her lead. “I’d love that,” he says. He points to Alex’s chest. “Maybe we can even make it two books.” 

 

Alex perks up slightly at the suggestion. “Really?” 

 

“Yup. I’ll read whatever you want,” Phillip answers with a reassuring smile. He gets up from his place on the bed and ruffles Alex’s hair. 

 

Fran walks over and places a kiss on the top of her son’s now even more unruly hair. “But tonight you get Penny, okay.” He nods, his mood a bit happier than before. “You’re going to be good and listen to her, right?”

 

Penny pops up at the door. “He’s always good. Aren’t ya, bug?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” he says, a small smile reappearing on his face. 

 

She comes over and sits on the bed next to him. “Now why don’t we let your mom and Uncle Flip leave for their boring dinner? Bet they won’t have nearly as much fun as we will,” she says, giving him a bit of a tickle. 

 

Phillip narrows his eyes as Alex giggles. “Are you saying I’m not fun, Moore?” he questions. 

 

“Uncle Flip is really fun, Auntie Penny!” Alex pipes up. 

 

“See?” he says, half glaring at her. “Alex vouches for me. I’m plenty fun.”

 

“Oh, I know you are,” Penny replies sweetly. 

 

“Okay, we should get going,” Fran quickly interrupts, her eyes darting between the two of them. She cups Alex’s chins and gives him kisses on both cheeks. “You be good. I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Mommy.”

 

Phillip tears his gaze from Penny’s strangely piercing stare and looks down at Alex. “Bye, little dude. I’ll see ya in a few days, okay?” 

 

“Okay,” Alex replies. “Bye, Uncle Flip.”

 

Fran shoots a smirking Penny one last look of warning before beckoning Phillip to follow her. She grabs her purse as they head out the door to his car. 

 

“Hey, listen…” she awkwardly starts on their way down her front path. “You don’t actually have to come to dinner if you don’t want to. I can explain it to him later. I only suggested it so that his night wouldn’t be ruined. He doesn’t sleep that well when his emotions are running rampant and with school tomorrow and all—”

 

He stops and grabs her arm to turn her towards him. Her eyes instantly widen at the contact. 

 

“Fran, I meant what I said yesterday. I’m done missing things. And if that means reading a few children’s books then so be it.” He smiles softly to reassure her. “You have a son. I’ve accepted that and still want to be in your life. You don’t have to keep offering me an out, Larsen.”

 

His words force her to swallow the lump building in her throat. Her eyes come down to stare at the hand wrapped around her bicep and oddly the sensation makes it hard to breathe. “Okay,” she whispers. 

 

With a nod and his hand remaining on her, he leads her to the car, stopping to open the passenger door for her. She gives him a small smile and sits down. Her hands run along the leather as he goes around and gets into the driver seat. She’s never been inside a Porsche before. It’s quite fancy. Maybe Alex’s love of them is justified. She still doesn’t understand it but she’s starting to see the appeal. 

 

She looks over to find him staring at her. He quickly fixes his eyes on the wheel, turning on the car and pulling away from her house. 

 

“So you got the Porsche back,” she says but then wants to kick herself for stating the obvious. 

 

“Uhh, yeah. Judd brought it back the other day. Asshole took it all the way to Maine.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave the keys in the car then,” she teasingly suggests. “Then maybe people wouldn’t steal it.”

 

Phillip chuckles. “You might have a point there. You always were the smart one out of the two of us,” he answers fondly. 

 

Heat rushes to her cheeks. She looks to her right, settling into the ride. It’s a nice night so the top is down but she doesn’t mind feeling the wind blowing her hair. In fact, based on the speed he’s driving, it’s almost as if he’s making a conscious decision to drive just slow enough so the wind doesn’t mess up her hair. 

 

They leisurely pull up to the restaurant a few minutes later and Fran can’t help the small gasp. She turns to Phillip in shock. “Really? Annette’s? Phillip, this is much too fancy for a simple dinner,” she chastises. 

 

“Nonsense,” he says, parking the car. “You deserve to have something more than chicken nuggets and apple slices every once in a while.” He pops out of the car, comes around to her side, and opens her door. With a hand held out, he helps her stand, shutting the door behind her. 

 

“It’s not always chicken nuggets,” she defends as they walk to the restaurant. “Lately it’s been PB&J sandwiches…”

 

He opens the door and holds it for her to walk in first. “I love a good PB&J as much as the next guy but you’re a thirty-year-old woman. And tonight we’re gonna enjoy some adult food.” He leads her up to the hostess stand. “Altman for 7:30.”

 

The hostess looks at her clipboard and then up at him. “Table for two?” At his nod, she grabs two menus. “Follow me.”

 

Phillip gestures for Fran to follow and walks behind her to the table. They both sit down and the hostess hands them the menus. 

 

“Your server will be right with you,” she says before walking away.

 

Fran looks around the place. She’s heard of Annette’s but she’s never been. It’s definitely not a place Alex would enjoy. It’s relatively new compared to other restaurants in town—opened up around their junior year in college—and definitely more upscale than any place they’ve been to before. At least, she hasn’t. Phillip’s probably been to places even fancier than this in the city. 

 

“Still a wine snob?” 

 

Her eyes whip to his. “I’m sorry. What?”

 

He holds back a smile, flipping through his menu. “You. Still only enjoy the occasional glass of wine?”

 

“Oh,” she chokes, flushing as red as the drink he’s referring to. “Yeah. Very occasionally. Almost rare at this point. I don’t tend to buy wine now that I have Alex. It’s really only if I go out with Penny.”

 

“Well then you’re getting some tonight,” he replies, leaving no room for argument.

 

The server comes over and introduces himself and Phillip orders a bottle of the house cab for the two of them to split. 

 

She immediately protests once the server is out of earshot. “A whole bottle? Phillip, we really don’t need that much.”

 

“Frannie, it’s fine,” he waves off. “It’s cheaper to buy the whole bottle and not finish it than having to keep paying for more glasses.”

 

As much as she wants to argue, she doesn’t. She simply leafs through the menu. He’s not wrong. It is cheaper that way. Not that she would’ve ordered another glass anyway. They really don’t need to get into another tipsy situation. 

 

Oh God. 

 

She just had to go and think of that night. 

 

She buries her face into her menu more, willing the flush in her cheeks to cool down. 

 

“And seriously,” he continues, “Get whatever you want. Don’t just get the cheapest thing on the menu.” She opens her mouth in defense but he cuts her off. “No. I know you, Larsen. You’d only get tap water if you could.”

 

He’s not wrong about that either. 

 

“Besides… This is technically a work dinner so the bill is on Paul tonight,” he adds with a smirk and a wink.

 

“Phillip…” she quietly gasps. “I don’t even work there yet.”

 

“So?”

 

Fran shakes her head. “What if Paul gets mad?” she frets.

 

“Again… So? I own a third of the business now and if I want to take our future accountant out to a business dinner then I will.”

 

“Paul’s not going to like this…” she says again. 

 

Phillip laughs. “Oh he’ll probably be ripshit, but unless he buys my third there’s nothing he can do.” 

 

Their server comes back, pours their wine, and takes their orders. Knowing the bill is on Paul, Phillip, naturally, orders the steak whereas Fran orders the salmon with a side salad. Phillip only half rolls his eyes knowing she still went on the cheaper side. 

 

Once the server leaves, he lifts his glass up towards Fran. “To new jobs,” he toasts. 

 

She clinks her glass lightly against his. “To new jobs.”

 

“And to the rekindling of our friendship,” he adds before taking a sip. 

 

The room suddenly feels warmer than before with his eyes on her. She nods and slowly drinks from her glass. 

 

“Speaking of the store… How did you come across the offer anyway?” he asks. “Paul said something about your work closing.”

 

She places her glass down and clears her throat. “Umm yeah. The company I work, I guess worked for, was bought out. The plan is for everyone to relocate to the main office in Rochester but moving just isn’t in the cards for us.” She shakes her head and looks at her hands in her lap. “I’ve lived here since I was six. Alex has his friends here and that in itself was already a feat of its own. Elmsbrook is home… So your dad and Paul heard what was happening and gave me an offer.”

 

She looks up to find Phillip listening attentively as she talks. 

 

“Then Mort died and Paul got a little more insistent so I eventually said yes.” She shakes her head, very much wanting to talk about something other than herself. “What about you?” she asks, “How did you end up working there? I remember you not wanting anything to do with the store.”

 

“Honestly?” he says, adjusting his jaw awkwardly. “It was Tracy who suggested it.”

 

Oh.

 

“I hadn’t ever legitimately considered it before. It was always Dad’s plan to have us all work there but after Wendy and Judd left it felt like leaving was an okay choice to make. That no one would disown me for not following that expectation.” He takes another gulp of wine. “But then he died, and I was feeling stuck in my life, and it all just kinda lined up. Tracy pushed me to make Paul a proposal to become an equal partner.” Looking down at the table, his brow furrows. “She was always pushing me to be better…”

 

Fran’s not quite sure what to say to that. Truth be told, she clammed up the second he brought up Tracy’s name. “I’m sorry she broke it off then. Sounds like she was good for you…”

 

His gaze returns to her and he shakes his head with a slight smile. “Don’t be sorry. There’s really no need. We were very bad at being a couple… but she was pretty good at her original job as my therapist. Probably should’ve kept it that way,” he adds in a self-deprecating way. “I never thought I’d come back here, I never wanted to, but I don’t know… It feels weirdly right.”

 

Feels right to be back next to you, he thinks but doesn’t voice. 

 

Before they can continue with their conversation, their food comes and they silently begin to eat. 

 

After a few minutes of nothing but forks and knives clinking against plates, Fran finally summons up the courage to talk. “I'm curious,” she shyly begins. “What exactly have you been doing in New York all these years? Because I know it’s not hedge funds and stocks.”

 

His lip quirks to the side and he puts his silverware down. Picking up his wine, he swishes it around in the glass. “Okay, technically I do own some stocks… It’s just that they might’ve been bought by whatever girlfriend I had at the time… But they’re under my name!” he adds as if it makes it better. 

 

Fran subconsciously shakes her head, his defense simultaneously amusing and wounding her. “The last time we had talked before everything kind of fizzled, you were thinking of quitting the radio internship. What did you do after that?”

 

Have you really spent the last seven years moving from girlfriend to girlfriend?

 

“Well, clearly radio wasn’t for me,” he awkwardly jests. He knows she’s curious, that she’s just asking a simple question as any friend would, but a part of him is suddenly ashamed and doesn’t want to tell her his exploits. He swallows thickly, gulps his wine, and stalls by refilling both of their glasses. “You weren’t too far off the mark that first day.”

 

Her brow furrows at his answer. 

 

“You might’ve been right about my… what did you call it? My ‘exciting life with my rich, older women’,” he says, his face pained at the truth in her prior words. 

 

“I—I don’t know why I said that,” she quickly offers as an apology. “It was wrong of me to assume anything.”

 

“It wasn’t really wrong… Unfortunately.” He internally curses himself for everything. If Fran knew every detail, there’s no way she’d still want to talk to him. And that’s why she was always so much better than him. He never stood a chance next to her. 

 

Perfect Fran and Phillip the screwup. 

 

“I guess I took your words the day I left a little too much to heart. I got swept up in the nightlife and partying of it all.” 

 

At least that’s the nice way to say he was fresh meat in town and a large part of him enjoyed the attention from the women who were willing to essentially buy his affections. What twenty-two-year-old wouldn’t? At the time it was quite the nice little con. He’d get a—usually upscale—place to live, wouldn’t have to pay bills, and would get a beautiful woman at his side. All he had to do was be a boy toy for them to use, which he never used to have a problem with. 

 

That is until he learned Fran knew about his lifestyle. Then it didn’t quite feel the same. It all felt really wrong, dirty even, and he could just feel the disappointment dripping off of her. And that killed him. 

 

His family thinking he’s a shameful excuse of a human is one thing, but for Fran to think it? He doesn’t think he’d survive that. 

 

“On a slightly happier topic… I think we all overheard Paul and Annie conceiving the other week,” he says, pulling a one-eighty on the conversation. 

 

“Wait. What?” she sputters, nearly spitting her wine across the table. 

 

“So if Annie shows up pregnant one of these days…”

 

She puts her glass down and shakes her head. “Phillip. Rewind,” she commands. “What do you mean you overheard them… doing that?”

 

His body loosens up and he leans forward, clearly more comfortable with this conversation than the last. “We were still sitting Shiva, right, and everyone was at the house. We’re all pretty traumatized.”

 

“How—How did that even happen?” she asks. 

 

“Well, Wendy forgot to turn off the baby monitor in the bedroom, so we all got a bit of a show. You could hear everything. Fran, he told her to shut up at one point,” he says, chuckling at the memory. 

 

She involuntarily puffs out a laugh and then feels bad for it. “He did not…”

 

“He did!” he exclaims, showing her a full toothy smile. “She kept talking so he told her to shut up. I figured the man was a stick in the mud in bed but holy Jesus.”

 

She bites her lip, trying to hold back the giggle that’s threatening to break through. She really shouldn’t be gossiping about this, especially not with Paul becoming her boss. “Was this before or after the domestic dispute for the whole neighborhood to see?”

 

“Of course, Wendy told you about that,” he rolls his eyes. “But if you must know, it was before.”

 

“Almost makes me regret selling Gran’s house,” she muses. “I’m no longer around for the Altman shenanigans.”

 

“Why did you?” he can’t help but ask. Part of him misses her being so close by. Would’ve been nice to have that whole week they sat Shiva.

 

“A myriad of reasons,” she sighs. “The biggest being to help pay off Gran’s medical bills. The next being it was just Alex and me. We didn’t need that much space, and the money that didn’t go to medical bills or our new house went to taking care of Alex. It was a big help being a single mother and all.” There’s another reason but she hesitates. She’s never voiced it aloud before and she doesn’t really want to ruin the nice moment they're having.

 

“What is it?” he asks, his face becoming concerned. “You can’t hide from me, Frannie. I might be rusty, but I still know when you’re holding something back.”

 

She gulps and shifts her focus to pushing around the remains of her food on her plate. “I might’ve also decided to move because I couldn’t do it anymore…” she quietly admits. “It got too hard to stay on that street with all its memories, and to not have you down the road…”

 

Her gaze doesn’t return to his and he doesn’t make her. It’s the first time she’s really admitted how his moving away affected her and fuck, if it doesn’t stab him in the heart. He knew leaving her cut him to the bone and not having her around pained him every day until he became numb to it, and now he feels guilty for not realizing she probably went through the same thing. Him moving away didn’t just change his life, it changed hers as well. 

 

No more words are said as they wrap up their meal. The server comes back over and Phillip politely declines dessert after seeing the barely perceptible head shake from Fran, and just asks for the bill. He pays and the two of them head back to his car. 

 

The ride back to Fran’s is just as awkwardly silent. Phillip keeps his eyes on the road as Fran stares up at the stars rolling across the sky. Her heart hasn’t stopped pounding since her confession, and if that created this sudden chasm between the two of them, she can’t imagine what her next confession is going to do. 

 

But she knows she has to do it. The only issue is she can’t seem to make her mouth move. 

 

They pull into her driveway and the silence hangs there between them like a guillotine. 

 

She goes to open her mouth when he says, “Let me walk you to your door.” At her nod, he gets out of the car, coming around to her side to open her door. 

 

“Thanks,” she all but whispers. 

 

Together they walk up her front path and Fran knows every step closer to her door is one less second she has to tell him. Once they reach her door, she’ll have missed her chance. 

 

Her heart is pounding and she can feel her pulse in her head. Summoning up every ounce of courage she has in her body, she closes her eyes and says, “Look, Phillip—”

 

“I wanna apologize,” he cuts her off. 

 

Her eyes snap open as she freezes on the walkway just before her porch step. 

 

He’s staring down at her, looking like he’s being eaten alive by guilt. “Like actually apologize.” He continues on, “Not responding to your calls and e-mails was a really shitty thing to do. I was a dumb twenty-four year old and I let myself get caught up in everything. But it’s no excuse for being a shitty friend.”

 

She stands there stunned. No words come as she listens to him spout a flood of apologies. 

 

Phillip takes a half step closer. “I’m sorry I left you and then let it all fizzle to nothing. After sixteen years of friendship, you deserved more than that.” He reaches out and gently brushes her hair behind her ear. “You mean more to me than you’ll ever know and I was a complete asshole for letting our friendship slip away.”

 

It’s like her mouth has lost all contact with her brain. As much as she tries she can’t form a single word nonetheless a sentence. 

 

All she knows is her window of confessing has passed. His apology smacked it away like the simple act of batting a fly and it has left her speechless. She can’t possibly ruin the moment by tearing his life apart. Not after that. 

 

In other words, she’s chickening out. 

 

Again. 

 

“Thank you… For dinner,” she finally mumbles. Her fingers fiddle with her purse to give her trembling hands something to do. “And the flowers.”

 

A small smile breaks onto his face. “It was no problem, Larsen. I enjoyed it.”

 

She nods in agreement. Looking over her shoulder to the front door, she can see Penny through the window trying to appear like she’s not completely snooping on their conversation. “I should probably get inside and let Penny go home…” she says, turning back to him. “Phillip, I…” she gulps, unsure what to say before eventually settling on, “I’m glad you’re staying.”

 

His smile grows. “Me too,” he replies. He leans down and slowly but softly presses his lips against her cheek, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Goodnight, Frannie…”

 

She holds her breath as he pulls away. With an attempt at a smile, she nods and repeats, “Goodnight, Phillip.”

 

He begins to walk backward down the path back to his car. “Text me about dinner and story time. My schedule’s pretty open.”

 

“I-I will,” she chokes back. “D-Drive safe.”

 

“Always,” he says with a smirk, hopping into his car. He gives one last smile as he pulls out of the driveway and speeds off. 

 

She watches until his car is out of sight and then finally releases the breath she’s been holding. Her hands come up to cover her face as she trembles. She’d claw out her own eyes if she could, just to distract herself from her inner turmoil. But deep down she knows she deserves the pain. She deserves every second of this torture for keeping this secret from him. 

 

Now that tonight was a complete bust, she’s going to have to plan another way to tell him. Why does it have to be so hard? Why does she have to be such a chicken? 

 

She sighs loudly. There’s no use fretting about it tonight. All she wants to do is go inside, kiss her little boy goodnight, and slip into her bed where she can forget about her problems for a while. 

 

Tomorrow is going to come whether she wants it to or not, so she might as well try to get some rest.

Notes:

Sorry! I was going to have the reveal but then evil people whispered in my ear to prolong the pain (you know who you are)

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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Chapter 12: The Reveal

Summary:

In the case of Alexander Phillip Larsen, Phillip Altman, you ARE the father! Phillip gets some news that flips his whole world on its head.

Notes:

IT'S HAPPENING!

Phillip mindlessly goes through the office, trying to tidy up the left side of the room that will eventually be where Fran works. There’s already a free desk that she’ll be able to use but currently, it’s covered with boxes, files, and honestly just junk. And as punishment for using the company card on their dinner, Paul has delegated the job of cleaning it to him. 

 

Worth it. 

 

Seeing her standing there in her dress with her hair nicely done and a little bit of makeup on threw him for a bit of a loop. She looked pretty, beautiful even, and he’s kicking himself for not telling her that at the time. To be completely honest, at that moment, he was busy fighting the random urge to taste her lips again after all these years. The feeling came up, slapped him across the face, and fled all in mere seconds, making him question if he actually felt the urge at all. 

 

He shouldn’t.  

 

They just became tentative friends again and thoughts like that would surely ruin any progress they’ve made.

 

He shouldn’t be feeling things like that at all. 

 

Not again. 

 

He can’t let his mind go there again. That was a long time ago. They’ve moved on from any potential there was. They’re completely new people now.

 

She’s a mom for fuck’s sake. And he’s just… still the screwup. 

 

So he buries himself in the work. It’s something to keep his mind busy and off of Fran. Well, off of Fran and their totally not a date date. At least that’s what he’s telling himself it was. That it was simply a celebratory dinner between old friends. He can’t afford to even have a little hope that she might’ve mistook it as something else. 

 

Ugh.

 

Again with the thoughts.

 

Plus she’s going to be working with them now. Three feet from him. Every day.  

 

And on top of everything, he feels bad that he lied straight to her face the other day. He might have fudged the truth a bit about why Tracy really left, but it was for good reason. He was just doing it to protect her. Fran doesn’t need to know they broke up in part because he couldn’t stop talking about her and Tracy got insanely jealous. 

 

Not that she needed to be. 

 

Fran is just his friend.

 

That is all. 

 

That’s all she ever will be…

 

He sighs and bangs his head against the desk a few times. Maybe some blunt-force trauma will help bring him back to his senses. How has his life flipped so upside down in just a few weeks? He needs to get it together before he ruins everything all over again. 

 

“Hey, dumbass,” Paul calls over to him from the other desk. “If you’re gonna procrastinate from actually cleaning, can you at least go get me the forms for the seven-year-olds so I can get all this stuff entered for next week?”

 

Phillip groans, gets up from his chair, and flips Paul off as he leaves the back office. He slips behind the front counter, bending down and snatching the pile from the shelf. As he walks back to the office, he mindlessly flips through the stack until one name in particular catches his eye.

 

Well, that’s not right.

 

“Hey, douchebag. You must be getting old,” he quips, pulling the one form to the top of the pile. 

 

“What?” Paul asks, barely looking away from his stack of work. In all honesty, most of what Phillip says goes in one of his ears and out the other. Not usually much substance there. 

 

“Your papers are all out of order,” he teases. “Might want to look into an Alzheimer’s diagnosis, old man.”

 

Paul blinks in confusion and finally looks up at him. “What are you talking about?” he sighs, already getting a headache from Phillip’s nonsense. 

 

“You had Fran fill out the wrong form,” he states like it’s completely obvious. He hands the stack of papers over to his brother as proof. “Alex should’ve had the age six teeball, not age seven baseball.” He only receives a bewildered look in return. 

 

“Ummm, no. That’s the correct form. Age seven baseball,” Paul replies in an over-exaggerated, slow manner as if he’s speaking to a complete idiot. Which, in his opinion, isn’t far from the truth.

 

“Ummm, no,” Phillip argues back just as sarcastically. “Frannie told me he was six.”

 

“Well, you must’ve heard wrong,” Paul scoffs, “cause he’s definitely seven. I would know. I’ve already coached him for two years of teeball.” Paul points to Alex’s birth date on the paper. “See? February 5th, 2007.”

 

Phillip snatches the paper back from him and narrows in on Alex’s birth date. “Wait, 2007?” he repeats, his brows furrowed tightly in confusion. “That can’t be right. We only graduated in 2006.” He lets out a small, uneasy laugh. “Hell, I’d only been in the city for like six months at that point. If that was the case, Frannie would’ve had to have been pregnant when I left… She would’ve told me that…” 

 

His voice trails off as his confusion increases tenfold. He subconsciously starts to pace, pinching the bridge of his nose as his mind attempts to follow the math. Something is wildly not adding up and it’s grating at the back of his mind. 

 

“No no no, this doesn’t make any sense,” he attempts to reason. It’s feeling like he’s starting to go insane. “Cause I definitely know she wasn’t with anyone. I mean, I was her f—” 

 

The word ‘first’ doesn’t make it past his throat. Not with the sudden ringing in his ears and his heart attempting to beat out of his chest. The word gets stuck before it reaches his tongue and the pressure it causes instantly turns to nausea.

 

Everything around him begins to move in slow motion as his mind quickly puts all the pieces together, his fingers counting off the months. That night of their grad party being in May. June, July, August, September, October, November, December, January, February.

 

Alexander Phillip Larsen. 

 

The paper feels like it weighs fifty pounds and falls from his hands to the floor, landing with what only sounds to him like a deafening crash.

 

Holy fuck.

 

“Holy fuck.”

 

He looks around the room as if a caged, wild animal. Everything is spinning and he feels like he’s suffocating. He barely notices Paul standing up from his chair until he’s grabbing onto his arms to steady him. 

 

“Phillip, breathe,” he calmly encourages. “Everything is going to be fine. You’re going to talk to Fran and everything is going to work out.”

 

Philip’s eyes widen in betrayal, his hands coming up to forcefully shove Paul away from him. “You fucking knew,” he harshly accuses. “My own brother… I could kill you. You complete piece of shit. You fucking knew that Alex was m—”

 

He can’t even say the word. Not with his heart about to burst from his fucking chest in panic. 

 

Oh, he feels like he’s going to hurl. 

 

Or pass out. 

 

Maybe both. 

 

Paul stays as calm as he can, keeping his hands up and off of Phillip to help placate him slightly. “I didn’t know,” he answers truthfully. “I only figured it out the other day when they came to the store. I promise, I didn’t know he was yours. She never told me. She never told anyone.”

 

His defense doesn’t help in the slightest. 

 

The room is still spinning and all Phillip knows is that he needs to get out of here. And fast. 

 

He quickly shoves past Paul, half bolting to the front door. The sound of Paul chasing after him should deter him but it doesn’t. He just makes a beeline out of the store and hops into his car. 

 

“Phillip, stop!” Paul yells out, running up and grabbing onto the car door. “Just take a minute and think about things. You need to proceed rationally.”

 

“Paul, get your hands off my fucking car or I swear to God, I will run over your fucking foot,” he growls, his hand twisting the keys in the ignition as a threat.

 

“Phillip—”

 

He simply revs the engine, looking into his eyes with the most dead serious expression Paul has ever seen on his brother’s face. 

 

With a defeated sigh, Paul lifts his hands and backs up. “Don’t do something stupid,” he warns, hopefully to keep some part of Phillip level-headed. 

 

Not a moment later, Phillip speeds off, hellbent with only one destination in mind. 

 

He makes it across town to Fran’s house in record time, leaping from the car and stomping up to her front door. He raises his fist and gives it a few good pounds. There are a few agonizing seconds as he watches the blur of her approach through the window before the door opens. 

 

She looks at him with an almost pleased confusion at his appearance and suddenly the storm inside him goes calm. 

 

Okay, not calm.

 

Cold. 

 

“Phillip?” she asks, sounding like it’s not the first time she’s called his name. “Did you need something?”

 

He blinks and remembers the reason for his visit. Answers. “February 5th, 2007,” he suddenly announces. “It’s a strange date, dontcha think?”

 

Her eyes widen just a perceptible amount but she tries to appear nonchalant about it. “What are you talking about?” she lightly replies. 

 

“Alex’s date of birth,” he clarifies for her fake benefit. “February 5th… 2007. Wouldn’t quite make him six, now would it?”

 

“Can we just—? Let’s…” she says, closing the door behind her and ushering him further from the house so Alex doesn’t overhear.

 

He follows her until they get to the driveway and then forces her to stop. “Why’d you tell me he was six, Fran?” he stiltedly demands. “I know I didn’t mishear it. You looked at my face and said your son was six.”

 

“Did I?” she awkwardly laughs off, but her hands come down in front of her and she begins to fiddle with her fingers. It’s always been a tell for her and he catches it the instant it happens. “Slip of the tongue, I guess. It normally takes me a bit to get used to his new age after his birthday.”

 

“It’s April,” he bluntly responds. “Two months seems like a long time to get your only son’s age wrong.” He looks away and shakes his head, feigning a carefree attitude. “But let’s say you’re right. You misspoke… I’m just having a hard time wrapping my mind around that date. In fact, it’s extraordinary… Not only was he born two and a half months after my 23rd birthday, but we had only graduated nine months before it. So I just have one question for you…”

 

Oh no. 

 

The jig is up.

 

This is where everything falls apart. She holds her breath, her heart about to burst from her chest and fall onto the pavement between them, ready for him to stomp until it’s nothing but a pile of blood.

 

“Why did you lie to me that night at the party?”

 

She quickly blinks in confusion, looking up at him. “What? What do you mean?” she asks, needing some clarification for his question. It’s not what she expected to come from his mouth.

 

He gives her a nonchalant shrug, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Obviously you had to have lied to me about being a virgin,” he accuses. “I remember it, you know? Us… Grad… And while it’s not the clearest night in my memory, I do know I wrapped it up. So you must have already been knocked up by some other guy when you begged me fuck you.” She flinches, wounded by his words, and whereas normally the reaction would hurt him, right now he’s too angry to care about his projecting. A part of him wants her to be hurt by them. To be as hurt as he is. “It’s the only possible explanation for the math to add up for a February 5th birthday, dontcha think?”

 

Fran’s jaw wobbles, her nose scrunching at his intentional verbal daggers. “I didn’t beg you,” she whispers in a pathetic defense. Tears begin to fill the corners of her eyes. “And I didn’t lie to you.” 

 

“Not that night at least… But you did lie a few months later, didn’t you, Fran?” he contests, pressuring her to finally admit the truth. 

 

“Phillip—” 

 

“No,” he abruptly cuts her off. “You know what I wanna hear… Say it, Fran. Look me in the eyes and tell me Alex is someone else’s. That you fucked some other guy.”

 

She just shakes her head, tears freely pouring from both eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she chokes. “I promise, I was going to tell y—”

 

“What, when he fucking graduated?!” he yells, making her jump. His hands come up and tug at the ends of his hair. “Fuck, Fran! How could you not tell me something like that? That’s a big fucking secret to keep from someone.”

 

“If you can just let me explain…” She tries to take a step towards him but he just steps back as if her hands are poisonous, so she keeps them down at her side, trying not to let the hurt of his reaction get to her. “Phillip, you had so many dreams and you hated this town,” she rationalizes. “If I had told you, you would’ve stayed—”

 

“Of course, I would’ve fucking stayed! That’s what you do when you knock someone up!” he crassly snaps. He’s so angry he begins to pace just to get a minuscule amount of his frustration out. “God… You sat there and let me believe some asshole abandoned you. Abandoned Alex." He throws his arms out to his sides as if taunting God to strike him down. "Turns out I’m the fucking asshole!”

 

Fran wraps her arms around herself, wanting so much to console him and make things right, but all she can do is try and explain herself. “Phillip, you would’ve stayed and you would’ve hated it,” she quietly tells him. “And I couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason why you were stuck here… I couldn’t bear chaining you down like that.”

 

He pauses and stares at her, his face still brimming with barely concealed rage. “Well, can you bear it now, Frannie?” he sneers and she winces at the spitting of her nickname, a new wave of tears streaming down her cheeks. “Can you bear that you stole seven years of Alex’s life from me?” He shakes his head, his lips curving into an almost vicious snarl, and releases a loud growl. “Seven years! Do you even understand that? They’re just gone. I won’t ever get those years back. I missed out on everything!”

 

He bends over, hands on his thighs, and gasps for air. His mind is still racing and it’s like he can barely breathe. Like there’s not enough oxygen in the world. He just stands there, hunched over and looking at the ground because he’s too angry to look at her face, and shakes his head. 

 

She’s silent for a moment before she finally gets the courage to take a small step toward him again, and surprisingly enough, this time he lets her. “Phillip, you were twenty-two and couldn't get out of this town fast enough. You wanted nothing more than to leave and enjoy your life and I understood that,” she softly reminds him. “If you had stayed, you would’ve come to resent me… possibly resent both of us. And I couldn’t let that happen to Alex.”

 

He looks up at her and blinks in complete disbelief, his face shifting from anger to something more akin to hurt. “Resent you?” he repeats low and slow, grief marring his words. “You really think that low of me…? That I would eventually hate staying with my kid?” He stares in utter shock and stumbles away from her. “Maybe we don’t know each other as well as we thought we did…”

 

His sudden change in tone throws her. She walks forward but he just keeps backing up down the driveway. “Phillip, wait,” she begs, panicking at his effort to retreat. She starts to chase after him. “That’s not what I—Please, Phillip, just let me exp—”

 

“No, Fran,” he loudly cuts her off. “I can’t do this now. If I don’t go, I’m gonna say something I’ll really regret.” 

 

“Phillip…” she sobs.

 

But without another word, he slinks back into his car and quickly drives off, leaving Fran a weeping mess in front of her house. 

 

He drives and he drives, determined to put as much distance between him, Elmsbrook, and Fran as possible. He barely even pays attention to the road, his body acting almost on autopilot at this point. His mind is too busy racing with the newfound truth to fully process anything he’s physically doing.

 

Honestly, he’s lucky he hasn’t gotten into an accident. Or pulled over by the cops.

 

But on he drives. 

 

He drives across county lines, he drives until it’s well past dark. Hours and hours on the road. Eventually, he finds himself in a familiar neighborhood, parked against the curb as he debates whether to go up to the door or not. 

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he gathers the courage and gets out of his car. He stumbles up to the front door, hesitates, and finally knocks. For the second time today, he’s left waiting in agony for the owner to come and answer it. 

 

Just before it opens, he quickly turns and violently empties the entire contents of his stomach into the bushes.

 

There’s a gasp and a voice rings out, “Phillip? What are you doing here?”

 

The emotions of the day finally all hit him at once and his body trembles with exhaustion. He shakily looks up at the woman staring at him in shock. “I know it’s late, and I’m sorry for barging in like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

Notes:

I know, I'm evil. I'm sorry!

Phillip was not so nice. But don't worry, it's going to work out! Eventually...

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

kylosroboarm on Tumblr
@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 13: Pal and a Confidant

Summary:

Both Phillip and Fran find someone to confide in.

The pitiful, lost puppy look on his face must do the trick because he’s quickly ushered in the house with a, “My God. Are you alright? Come in, come in.” Her hand slips around his arm as she shuts and locks the door behind them. “Cole and Serena are sleeping, so we’ll just go to the kitchen to talk. Besides, you look like you need a drink.”

 

Wendy all but drags him into the kitchen and he simply lets her, following behind in a daze. She pops into the mini fridge to get a beer and a bottle of wine. 

 

“Where’s Barry?” he croaks, finally finding his voice yet again as she opens the beer and hands it to him. He doesn’t waste time before chugging back half the bottle, partly to get the taste of puke from his mouth and partly to numb the thousands of emotions he’s currently feeling. 

 

She watches him carefully with scrutinizing eyes, pouring herself a glass of wine that’s probably too full for a weeknight. “Business trip. Yet again,” she stiltedly answers, taking a big sip of her own drink. “What are you doing here, Phillip? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but… you drove all the way from Elmsbrook? It’s midnight.”

 

He slumps onto a stool around her island, his focus narrowing on the paper label he’s subconsciously started to scratch off. “I had to talk to someone… And the only other person I’d want to talk to has apparently been lying to me for the past eight years.”

 

Wendy’s face drops. “Oh, boy. She told you,” she infers. “Well, that explains the puking…”

 

His eyes whip up to her, catching the secret meaning underneath her words. 

 

But before he can throw another accusation at yet another sibling, she holds the hand that isn’t wrapped around her glass out. “Phillip, I promise you, she never told me anything,” she tries to assure him. “But as Alex got older I made an educated guess. Plus, it was pretty obvious the two of you banged at some point.”

 

He sits there stuttering, his brain struggling to process the new information when he hasn’t even processed the old information yet. 

 

“So you knew?” he demands. “You knew that I was a—? And you just lied to me for years?"

 

“You mean a dad?” He flinches and takes another huge slug of beer, not ready to admit the newfound title to himself yet. “Yeah, I knew. And I’m sorry for keeping that from you, but it really wasn’t my secret to tell.”

 

“So instead, you just supported her choice to lie to me and became an accomplice?” he accuses, his anger starting to get the better of him again. She gives him a look of warning. “How long have you known?” She doesn’t answer right away, only takes another sip of wine. “Wendy, how long have you known?”

 

“Since Alex was three,” she admits. 

 

Phillip jumps out of his seat, glaring at her in betrayal. “You kept this from me for four fucking years?” he wails. “You’re my sister. You’re supposed to tell me shit that I should be aware of!”

 

“Hey!” she snaps. “Quiet down. If you wake my kids, you’re putting them back to bed.”

 

His anger suddenly dissipates at the threat. Chugging the rest of his beer, he heads over to the mini fridge and snatches another one. He pops the cap off and downs a third of the bottle before bracing his hands against the counter and letting his head hang.  

 

Wendy watches his demeanor go from raging to defeated and her heart hurts for him. “How did she tell you?” she softly asks.

 

He lifts his head and glares at a spot on the counter, his anger no longer pointed at her. “She fucking didn’t,” he grounds out through clenched teeth. He wants to scream, to yell at the top of his lungs but he also doesn’t want to piss off Wendy by waking the kids. 

 

“What do you mean she didn’t?” Wendy asks.

 

“She didn’t tell me,” he slowly repeats, emphasizing each word.

 

Her brow furrows and she takes another sip of wine. “Then how did you find out?”

 

“I saw Alex’s birth date on his baseball sign-up form and realized Fran lied to me about his age. Wasn’t all that hard to work out from there,” he scoffs. He may not be the smartest person in the world but he isn’t a complete idiot, no matter what Paul says. 

 

“Then what did you do?”

 

“What do you think I did?” he replies sarcastically. “I drove over to her house.”

 

Wendy puts her wine down and stares him in the eyes. “Yes, but what did you do?”

 

She’s using her no-nonsense tone and it makes him start to feel a little guilty about how he handled things. “Well, obviously I confronted her,” he shrugs off.

 

“Phillip, what did you say?” she demands, done with this nonchalant stalling.

 

He looks up at the ceiling, focusing on the spider web hanging from the kitchen light in order to avoid her eyes. “I might’ve yelled at her… and suggested that she slept around before we…”

 

“Oh, Phillip,” she softly chastises, rubbing her temples. 

 

“I didn’t mean it! I only did it to provoke her into telling me!” he tries to defend. “She just kept standing there all nonchalant and it was infuriating. It was the only thing I could think of to get her to confess.”

 

Wendy sighs and shakes her head. “You’re a dumbass,” she tells him bluntly.

 

He knows he is. He basically called the sweetest, purest girl he’s ever known a whore. But he was just so angry and she kept stalling and that was pissing him off even more that he didn’t know what to do. 

 

He slumps back down onto the stool and drops his forehead onto the counter. There’s an incessant throbbing behind his eyes and the cool granite feels nice. “How could she do this to me, Wendy?” he mournfully bemoans. “We used to tell each other everything. She was my best friend. Why didn’t she tell me that we—? That she—?”

 

“Why didn’t she tell you that you accidentally knocked her up?” 

 

He used the same words earlier but hearing them said aloud by someone else makes him wince. It sounds so dirty… so degrading in relation to Fran. 

 

“I don’t know why. That’s something you’re going to have to ask her yourself,” she unhelpfully answers. 

 

He groans in frustration. “I don’t even want to look at her at the moment. That’s the reason I drove all the way here in the first place. To get as far away from her as possible.”

 

“And Alex? You trying to run from him too?” He looks nervously up at her prompting, suddenly feeling a great wave of shame. “Phillip, I’m not saying this to sound harsh, but you need to remember that there is a very real boy in the middle of all of this. No matter your feelings towards Fran at the moment, or ever… what’s best for Alex must remain the top priority.”

 

He gives her a pitiful look, shakes his head, and chugs more beer. “Everything is just so overwhelming. One moment I’m living life in New York with Tracy, then Dad dies, and now I find out I have a seven-year-old kid I wasn’t aware of. This is so.fucked.up…” He leans his head into his hands, pressing his palms firmly into his eye sockets to help relieve the massive headache that’s formed behind them. “It was only one time,” he pathetically argues, possibly mostly to himself at this point. “One single time with a condom. Who the fuck gets pregnant that way?”

 

Wendy resists the urge to smile at the pathetic look on his face. She reaches across the counter and cups his chin. “Unfortunately many people, sweetie,” she says with an apologetic look. “Condoms aren’t hundred percent effective.”

 

He groans and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to do this, Wendy,” he mumbles. “This wasn’t supposed to be my life. I was all fine coming back and being Uncle Flip, but this…?” It’s too much. “This is so much more than that.”

 

She leans forward and places a comforting hand on his arm. “Phillip, if you care for that little boy at all, and I know you do… then you better think long and hard about what it is you want. You’re going to have to make a choice and decide whether you want nothing to do with him or if you’re willing to be all in. Because you can’t go at this halfway. Fran won’t let you and frankly, I won’t let you. Kids need a dad who wants to be there full time…” 

 

Phillip looks at her and sees the internal pain to her statement. He knows she’s speaking from experience. Knows the effect that Barry’s absence has on her and how hard she tries for it to not affect Cole and Serena.

 

She shakes her head to clear it, coming back to Phillip’s problems. “It’s time to finally put your big boy pants on, Phillip. Time to take accountability for things.”

 

It’s not that he’s not ready for that—at least he doesn’t think he’s not ready. He’s willing to take accountability. Hell, he would’ve eight years ago had he been told. It’s just that everything’s changed in an instant. One day he was carefree with no attachments and now he has a kid. Fran at least got a whole nine months to prepare to become a mom. He’s just being thrown straight into the trenches. 

 

“So what now?” he asks, desperately needing guidance. “I’m just supposed to suck it up and go be a father to a kid I had no clue even existed until three weeks ago?”

 

“If that’s what you decide. Then yeah... For Alex’s sake, you accept it and move on.”

 

“She lied to me, Wendy,” he emphatically reminds her. “I can’t just get over that like it didn’t happen. She should’ve fucking told me eight years ago.”

 

“Phillip, I love you dearly, I do,” she replies, patting his arm. “But twenty-two-year-old you was not father material.”

 

“Yeah, but I would’ve tried,” he insists. “I wouldn’t have left her alone and pregnant. I would’ve tried to make it all work. But she took that chance away from me and now I have a complete stranger for a s—” His chin begins to wobble slightly, a well of emotion bubbling up inside no matter how hard he tries to shove it back down. “I missed everything… He’s a fucking great kid and I missed it all.” He sniffs, clenching his teeth. “I missed him being born, his first words, his first day of school… She stole those moments from me, Wendy. Moments I can never get back.”

 

“I know she did,” she softly sympathizes. “But I can tell you that even the dads that are there sometimes miss those moments as well.” They share a look of understanding—Barry. “But there’s still many moments to come that you can be a part of. Alex is going to have so many firsts in his life. And it’s your job to decide whether your anger over missing a few of them is worth missing all of them.”

 

He’s silent for a few seconds, really taking her words to heart. She’s right. Then again, she’s usually right. It kills him, but he knows that if he wants to be a part of Alex’s life, he’s going to have to one day forgive Fran. But that doesn’t mean that day has to be today. So for tonight, he’s going to sulk. And drink. And wallow in self-pity.

 

“Is everyone’s family this fucked up… or is it just ours?” he dryly quips.

 

Wendy breaks into a small smile. “I think we’re just particularly unlucky in the fucked up department.” She lifts her glass and they tap their drinks in a sarcastic toast. After downing the rest of her wine, she places her glass in the sink and then cups her hands over his cheeks. “You gonna be alright if I go to bed? Some of us have to be up at the ass crack of dawn with two children.”

 

He gives her an exhausted nod. 

 

“Good,” she says, patting his cheek. “Don’t drink too much and there are extra blankets in the closet if you get cold.” She lets go and makes her way out of the kitchen. 

 

“Wendy,” he calls after her, making her stop and turn around. “Thank you…” For the beer. For letting me stay. For talking to me. For all the above. 

 

“You’re an idiot,” she replies bluntly before a soft smile graces her face. “But you’re one of my idiots… Try and get some sleep. Problems are always less scary in the morning.” And with that, she walks out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with his conflicting thoughts. 

 

Phillip sighs, grabs his beer, nicks another one from the fridge, and heads to the living room where he crashes onto the couch. It’s too silent with only him and his thoughts so he turns the TV on and puts the volume on low—not loud enough to wake the kids but just to have something in the background to distract from his world crashing down around him.

 

How the hell could everyone just keep this secret from him? 

 

First Fran, then Wendy, then Paul.

 

Did more people know? 

 

His mood darkens once again. Previous conversations roll through his mind. Conversations of Alex and Fran telling him how close his parents were to Alex. 

 

She has to fucking know. 

 

He slips his hand into his pocket and retrieves his phone. The instant he flips it open the screen glows in the dim light. 

 

7 New Voicemails

 

He quickly clicks the notification away. He knows who they’re from and he really doesn’t want to listen to what she has to say right now. 

 

Instead, he pulls up his contact list and scrolls to his mother. His fingers hesitate but eventually, his anger at his family wins out. 

 

I know you know about Alex. 

 

It’s short and simple but if he didn’t keep it that way all his frustrations would be unleashed in a text expanding paragraph after paragraph. Something that his mother would no doubt try to psychoanalyze to death.

 

He puts his phone on the coffee table. There’s a long while with no response and after a few minutes he starts to think his mother might be asleep but then his phone gives a short buzz. He picks it up and clicks on the new message.

 

We will talk in the morning. 

 

Damn right, they will. 

 

He throws his phone back on the table, done with any conversation for the night. All he wants to do is sink into this couch, drown himself in the rest of his two beers, and then hopefully drift off into a dreamless sleep where he doesn’t have to think about Fran or his problems. 

 

At least that’s the goal.

 

---

 

Fran walks into Altman’s Sporting Goods feeling more than a little awkward. It’s been a few days since Phillip and her had their confrontation and he ran away. She’s not sure where he went—he’s been ignoring all her calls and messages—she just knows he’s no longer in town. But unfortunately, life doesn’t stop even when everything you know is crashing down around you, and Paul called her into the store today to go through paperwork. 

 

“Hey, Fran.”

 

She looks over to see Horry behind the counter sharpening some skate blades. “Hello, Horry,” she says with a small smile. “How have you been?”

 

“Can’t complain… At least I think there’s nothing to complain about...” He shakes his head out and gets back on topic. “If you’re here for Phillip, he’s not in. He hasn’t been in for the last few days actually.”

 

Her eyes involuntarily widen. “Oh! Umm n-no,” she quickly deflects. “I’m actually here for Paul. A-About the accounting position.”

 

“Oh, that’s right! You’re joining the crew. Just gotta get Judd and Wendy back here and it’ll be like old times,” he jokes but Fran can hear a distant longing behind his words. “You’re gonna like working here though. The vibe is very relaxed.”

 

“I’m sure I will,” she says with a semi-forced smile before looking past the counter towards the office. Still no Paul yet. “So I heard about Hilary and your mom. That must’ve been quite the shock.”

 

He gives a shrug. “Oh no, I knew about it for months. The most surprising thing was that the Altman kids didn’t, especially since Paul lives in town.”

 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Paul snarks, finally joining them. “Forgive me for not thinking about my mother's love life as my father was dying from cancer. Hey, Fran.” She gives him a nod and a smile. 

 

“I’m just saying. It was pret-ty obvious,” Horry nonchalantly retorts.

 

“How bout you just get back to sharpening blades?” Paul rolls his eyes, looks at her, and crooks his head to the side. “You can follow me.”

 

He leads her to the back office where he gestures for her to sit before sitting down in his own chair. Fran timidly takes a seat, placing her purse on the desk. While she gets comfortable, he pulls out a stack of papers and slides them across the desk to her. 

 

“Before we begin, I just wanna say it wasn’t me,” he says, making her freeze and her heart go up to her throat. “That is, I didn’t tell him. He saw Alex’s sign-up form, and if I knew what you had told him about Alex’s age, I never would've let him see it.”

 

Fran thickly swallows, trying to contain the emotions bubbling up inside. Her eyes sting from the tears welling behind them. She gives a hoarse cough. “It’s alright… Can we just…?” she says, pointing to the papers. 

 

Paul gets the hint but he needed to get it off his shoulders. He promised her he wouldn’t tell Phillip and he needed her to know he didn’t. “Sure.” He starts to flip through the papers, showing her different aspects of the contract. “Dad had apparently drawn it all up before he died. It seemed like he wanted to make sure you and Alex were well looked after. I think he knew you’d eventually take the offer.”

 

A small smile breaks onto her face at the thought of Mort being quite meticulous in planning everything out. She sits up straighter in her chair, leaning close to follow along with Paul. 

 

“Unfortunately I can’t say there’s a pay raise, but Dad worked hard to at least match your old salary so at least there’s that.” He continues to go through the stack. “Standard sick and vacation days. Insurance isn’t the best in the world, but it should suffice fine enough for you and Alex. That was another thing Dad fought for. Good enough insurance for the two of you… Now, you will have to share the office with us, but you will get your own desk” he motions over to the empty desk Phillip had been working on cleaning the other day “so we’re not all sharing the same one.”

 

“That’s fine,” she murmurs. The thought of sharing an office with Phillip right now is a lot, but she also knows there’s not exactly more space so she’ll just suck it up and deal with it. That is, if Phillip doesn’t quit from the mere idea of working in close proximity to her. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. 

 

“And like we talked about before, your schedule can be flexible if need be, whether Alex is sick or there’s some school thing you need to go to. Just let me know ahead of time and we’ll work it out.”

 

She nods along with him but honestly, her mind has started to wander a bit. Phillip’s presence—despite being absent—is overwhelming her and she desperately wants to just sign everything and leave. She picks up the pen from the desk and gestures to the paper. “Where do I…?”

 

“Oh. Here, here, and here,” he answers, pointing to multiple sections. 

 

She signs her name, and where she thought her mind would fill with relief knowing she won’t be unemployed, her mind instead fills with dread. Why did she have to go and tangle herself into the Altmans’ lives more than she already has? They were too good to offer her the job after she’s hurt their family the way she has. The way she lied to all of them. She doesn’t deserve their continued kindness. 

 

Her lip begins to wobble so she quickly bites it in between her teeth in order to keep it still. She was proud of herself for coming in here with a brave face but now that facade is crumbling to the ground and she can’t seem to hold back the wave of emotions anymore. 

 

The pen falls from her fingers as she suddenly breaks. “Paul, I really messed up,” she cries, losing the fight to keep her tears at bay. “How could I have kept that from him?”

 

Paul sighs and leans forward, placing a hand over hers. “He’ll forgive you in time,” he tries to console.

 

She just stares at her lap and shakes her head. A large part of her wants to curl up into a ball and cease to exist right in this chair. “I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I’m a monster,” she whispers. 

 

“You’re not a monster, Fran,” Paul reassures her quietly. “You had your reasons. Besides, my brother was in no way fit to be a parent seven years ago. Hell, he’s still not fit to be one… But I don’t doubt he’ll try to make it work. He’s just stubborn as an ox. He’ll eventually come back and you guys will talk it out.”

 

She knows he means well and he’s just trying to help but it really doesn’t make her feel any better. Nothing will ever ease her guilt from keeping Alex a secret for all these years. All she can keep picturing is Phillip’s hurt and angry face, and it kills her to know she’s the cause of his pain. 

 

“He’d probably hate me for telling you this, but personally I think he’s being a big mope about it all…” She looks up at him, sniffling back her tears the best that she can. Paul sighs again, continuing, “He’s at Wendy’s. Been crashing on her couch for the past few days.”

 

She knows she has no right but a wave of relief strikes through her at the information. After he ran off and ignored all of her calls her mind regrettably went to the worst; that he ran back into Tracy’s arms, or even another woman’s. But again, she has absolutely no right to judge him if he did. He’s not hers and it’s not her business who he chooses to keep company with. 

 

That being said, she’s really relieved he only ran to Wendy. 

 

Fran gives a timid nod and clears her throat, trying to shove down the rest of her emotions. “Are—Are we all good here? I gotta go pick up Alex…”

 

Paul gives her what feels like a pitying grimace. “Yeah, we’re done. I’ll call you in a few days and we’ll set up a start date.”

 

She nods again, standing up and collecting her purse. She heads towards the door when he calls her name, making her look back at him. 

 

“I just wanted to say that no matter what Phillip decides to do… you and Alex will always have the rest of us,” he offers. “After talking to my mother, I can tell you she’s dying to finally be able to acknowledge him as her grandson. So it’s just… You’re not as alone as you think.”

 

Fran stands there a moment, completely speechless. The words hit deep, especially coming from someone usually so reserved as Paul is. “Thank you,” she chokes, giving him a rigid nod, her mind becoming overwhelmed with emotion again. He gives her a half smile and she leaves. 

 

On her way out she briefly tells Horry goodbye and heads back to her car. She’s just about to unlock the door when she strangely overhears someone say her name and it piques her curiosity. Walking a bit away from her car, she stands next to the wall and recognizes the voice. 

 

Mrs. Moskovitz.

 

“Well, Doreen told me that they were out on her lawn having a screaming match.”

 

Oh no. 

 

“That just doesn’t sound realistic, Mitzi. Fran Larsen? Yelling? When have you ever known that girl to raise her voice to anyone?”

 

“Why would Doreen lie, Eleanor? She said Phillip and Fran were outside and yelling about something. She watched it all from her front window. Clear as day.”

 

Fran gasps and immediately slaps her hand over her mouth. She quickly books it back to her car and all but slams the door behind her. Barely taking the time to buckle herself in, she takes off, determined to get as far away from the town square as possible.

 

The Aunts know she and Phillip were fighting?

 

This isn’t good. 

 

How could she be so stupid to not think about Doreen Matthews across the street? How could she be so stupid as to fight with Phillip in her driveway? What if someone had come out? What if the entire neighborhood had seen? 

 

What if they know Alex is Phillip’s? 

 

If the Aunts know something, it’s not long until the whole town is bound to find out. And she really doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with gossiping old ladies in addition to everything else. 

 

Could this get any worse?

Notes:

I'm going to try to not have our babies separated for too long

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 14: Reunited and Everyone Feels Nauseous

Summary:

Phillip is back in town and is still ignoring Fran when he gets a call for help.

Notes:

Another big chapter from Phillip's perspective!

Warning; there is talk of throwing up so if that grosses you out, skim the end

Wendy walks down the stairs, searching for her kids who have mysteriously disappeared from their beds this morning. She enters the living room to find Phillip lounging on the couch in sweatpants and nothing else. Serena is propped up on his lap, Cole down at his feet handing him different toys. While the image is very sweet—her children clearly love their uncle and he loves them—his constant presence and the fact that he’s avoiding his problems have begun to grate on her nerves. 

 

“Phillip, it’s time,” she announces, standing before him and lifting Serena into her arms. He protests and pouts. “As much as I love the free live-in babysitter, you can’t keep wallowing here.” Shaking her head, she dons her mom-voice. “Get off my couch. Go home. Talk to Fran. Figure out what you want to do.”

 

He sighs and continues to sit there like a blob. “I just thought I could be useful,” he bluffs. “You know, with Barry being gone…”

 

“You know what else would be useful? Going home and getting to know your kid,” she replies bluntly, making him wince and look at his lap in shame. 

 

“I don’t know how to do this, Wendy,” he sighs. “I’m used to being the uncle, I’m good at it. Right, Cole?” The little boy just looks up and hands Phillip another toy car. “See?” he emphasizes to his sister and fiddles with the toy in his hands. “I don’t know how to be the dad.”

 

Wendy takes pity on him and passes Serena back, where he cuddles the little girl tightly in his arms and lets her rub her grubby hands on his face. 

 

Then she sits down next to him and places a hand on his arm. “I’m gonna tell you a secret… Half of being a parent… is just showing up when they need you.” She gives him a small, hopefully encouraging smile. “But you can’t do that from here.”

 

“How am I supposed to face her?” he laments. “She kept Alex a secret from me for eight years. She clearly didn’t think I was capable… What if she still doesn’t?”

 

“That’s something you’re going to have to ask her, sweetie. Maybe if you picked up one of the sixty times she’s called you or answered a single text, you could’ve already known.”

 

He rolls his eyes. His mind churns just as it’s been churning for the last week. He hasn’t gained the courage to reach out. No matter how many voicemails or messages she leaves, he can’t will himself to pick up the phone. Honestly, he’s surprised his inbox isn’t full yet. 

 

Instead, he’s been quite happy hiding from reality and hanging out with his niece and nephew. Okay, maybe not happy. More like in constant turmoil. But the kids are a nice distraction. 

 

Phillip absentmindedly rubs Serena’s back, the little girl babbling away to her mother in his arms. Wendy’s words soak into his brain. She’s right, of course, she’s right. He just hates that she’s right. After a few moments of silence, he sighs loudly. “I have to go back, don’t I?” he grumbles. 

 

“Yeah… You do,” she confirms. “But I will let you stay until after lunch.” She pays his leg, gets up from the couch, and picks up Serena again. “Mostly because I have a hair appointment and leaving the kids with you is more preferable to taking them.” 

 

He rolls his eyes again as she laughs. 

 

“Now come on,” Wendy beckons. “I’ll make you some breakfast.” 

 

Nodding, he stands up. “Let’s go, Cole,” he says, scooping up the little boy and plopping him on his shoulders. “Mommy’s making us pancakes.”

 

“I never said pancakes!” Wendy snorts from the kitchen.

 

“Pancakes!” Cole yells.

 

Phillip smirks. “You heard the boy. We demand pancakes,” he laughs, feeling a little bit better than he has all week. 

 

---

 

He’s a coward. A total coward. 

 

He’s been back in Elmsbrook for three days now and still hasn’t reached out to Fran. Honestly, he hasn’t talked to anyone. Even Paul hasn’t bugged him, knowing how difficult the situation is and how horribly he’s handling it all. 

 

Instead, he went from wallowing in Wendy’s house to wallowing in his tiny apartment, his body slowly becoming one with the couch. The few times he’s eaten have been takeout, not having enough courage to venture to the grocery store in case he runs into her. She’s everywhere in this town, her presence overwhelming, so he stays in his apartment and hides. 

 

Like a fucking pussy. 

 

He can just imagine his father yelling at him to man up and get off the couch. His father also would’ve kicked his ass for the way he treated Fran. And for avoiding her. 

 

But his father’s not here to do those things… because he’s dead. 

 

God, can things get even more fucked? he thinks as he falls face down onto the cushion and groans, attempting to block out the world.

 

Minutes or hours go by—he honestly couldn’t say—when his phone rings and buzzes across the coffee table. He barely lifts his head and reaches out to grab it. Flipping it open, he freezes at the name on the screen. 

 

Frannie Larsen

 

Still too angry, too cowardly, he tosses the phone back on the table and lets it ring until there’s silence. Just another one of her calls he’ll let go to voicemail. It’s bound to be her begging for his forgiveness and he really doesn’t want to hear it at the moment. 

 

A few seconds go by before it starts ringing again. Fran’s name flashes on the screen and Phillip rolls his eyes. 

 

Really? 

 

He sits up, glaring as the phone continues to ring. Eventually, it stops and he can go back to sulking as he pleases. She has to get the hint that he doesn’t want to talk at the moment. Honestly, if she hasn’t gotten it after the last week of ignored calls then maybe she’s not quite the Einstein he once thought she was. 

 

Less than a minute goes by and his phone starts ringing again. His eyes go wide and an exasperated groan rips from his throat. This is the third call in less than two minutes. She’s incessant today. But he can’t say he’s not the slightest bit curious as to why she’s called him so many times in a row. Something about it all just isn’t sitting right with him, like some sort of ancient Fran radar is sounding off in the back of his mind.

 

It’s like everything slips into slow motion, the rings echoing in his head, each buzz of his phone vibrating against the table, shaking him to his core. Everything affects his senses in a way they never have before. Her name continues to flash on the screen, pulsing like that fucking heart underneath the floorboards in that one story Fran used to talk about for hours on end.

 

And eventually, like the man in the story, he cracks. He picks up the phone with a huff and answers it. “What do you want, Fran?” he snaps. There’s a brief moment of silence, almost like she’s shocked he picked up the phone, and honestly, it just pisses him off. “Got another secret you’ve been keeping from me?”

 

Holy fuck, dude. Shut. Up. 

 

You’re just making things worse. 

 

How big of an asshole can you be?

 

Her shaky breath comes over the phone before he hears her sweet voice, which he—though he’d never admit it—sort of, kind of missed. “L-Look I know you’re m-mad at me, and I t-totally understand if you hang up the phone… but I heard you were back in town and everyone else is busy and I… I need help,” she says quietly. 

 

He doesn’t say anything, but not hanging up seems to suffice as a good enough answer for her to continue. 

 

“Alex caught a bug at school and has been super sick for like the last twelve hours and I was handling it just fine. I called his doctor this morning and she sent in a prescription… but then I started getting sick and now I can’t go to the store to pick up his medicine and I don’t know what to do.”

 

He stays silent though her pleas are hitting him. He can hear the cracking in her voice and each one sends daggers into his resolve. 

 

“P-Please, Phillip…? I won’t ever ask you for anything else ever again,” she softly begs. “I’m just worried and exhausted. He can’t even keep crackers down.”

 

Phillip sighs and closes his eyes, pained by his own caving, but he’s never been able to bear Fran Larsen crying. Everything in him yells at him to make it all better, no matter how pissed he is. He runs a frustrated hand down his face. “Which pharmacy?” he grumbles through clenched teeth. 

 

There’s a small gasp as if she’s shocked he’s actually helping. “T-The one on Maple St. And, Phillip, really, thank you so—oh God—” 

 

The next thing he hears is clattering then awful gagging and dry heaving. “Fran?” he asks, starting to get worried. “Fran?” When there’s no answer, just more sounds of heaving, he jumps up and grabs his wallet and keys. “Fran, I’ll be there soon, okay? Just… sit still.” Before he hangs up there’s a faint “Uh-huh” making him run out of the door even faster.

 

It doesn’t take him long to rush to the pharmacy and grab Alex’s prescription as well as eight bottles of Pedialyte and at least ten cans of soup. He even buys some jello and popsicles. Then he quickly makes the drive over to Fran’s, all but jumps out of the car, and heads to the door with his arms full of bags.

 

Shuffling the bags, he gives the doorknob a little jiggle. Locked. “Fran!” he calls out, bumping his shoe against the door. “Fran, open up!” He stands there for a minute or two and thumps the door again. “Come on, Frannie…” he mutters under his breath. He can’t help it. His nerves spike at the lack of response. 

 

He’s about two seconds from kicking the door down when a little brown-haired head pops up in the window, making him inhale quickly. It throws him for a moment, the truth that Fran kept hidden for so long flooding back to him as he stares at the boy through the door. His heart nearly stops as the little boy peeps back out at him. But then he remembers everything in his arms and forces himself to shake off the feeling. “Alex! It’s Unc—It’s P-Phillip. Open the door, bud,” he half stutters out, feeling more unsure of himself than he ever has in his life. 

 

The little head disappears and he’s almost worried that Alex walked away. Fran probably taught him to never open the door like a good mom. Then suddenly there’s the click of the lock and the door swings open to a tired, pale boy in race car pajamas. 

 

“Mommy’s sick,” Alex softly confides.

 

And with those words, two things happen simultaneously. One, his heart breaks at the kid’s tiny, concerned voice. And two, his overwhelming unease over everything flies out the window and his resolve hardens. 

 

“Yeah, I know,” he gently replies. “You’re not looking too good either. And if what your mom told me was true, then I think you need some of this medicine I picked up for you. So can I come in?”

 

He holds his breath for a few seconds, his heart beating out of his chest, before Alex gives a small nod and opens the door wider. He exhales in relief and follows the boy through their house. Alex leads him to the kitchen, climbing into a chair at the table, while he starts putting everything away. He’s not quite sure where Fran likes everything so he makes his best guesses. 

 

Phillip looks over at Alex—gets a really good look at him—and a bit of panic sets back in. Has he really looked like that the whole time? He swears that he could take a picture of him from when he was seven and hold it up to Alex and you’d think it was the same kid. 

 

How the fuck did he not notice the similarities? The eyes, the nose, the moles, the ears peeking out from an unruly mop of hair.

 

Is there any Fran in that kid?

 

Alex looks up, meeting his gaze, and he quickly snaps out of his thoughts and distracts himself by putting the popsicles in the freezer. Admittedly the cold feels good on his already clammy face and it helps him take a deep breath. He needs to get a grip. It’s just hard when the son he never knew about is sitting five feet away. Shaking his head, he shuts the freezer and scours through the cabinets for a cup. 

 

“The one above the teapot,” Alex softly pipes up. 

 

His head whips back at the boy before moving to the correct cabinet and finding some mugs, and next to the mugs are cups and straws. “I should’ve figured,” Phillip sighs with a small eye roll. “Your mom was always super meticulous about certain things.”

 

Alex’s brows furrow. “What does me-tick-ulous mean?”

 

Phillip grabs a cup with a lid and a straw, placing them down on the counter. “Meticulous means that your mom likes things in a very particular spot. That every item has a special home,” he attempts to answer as he fills up the cup with Pedialyte. “Like you know how your most special cars go in the top drawer and only in the top drawer?” Alex nods. “That’s being meticulous. You get that from your mom.” He brings the drink and Alex’s medicine over to the table and carefully pours out the prescribed dose. “Here, bud.”

 

Alex’s face scrunches up in disgust and Phillip has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t laugh. “No thank you,” Alex mumbles, pushing the medicine cup away. 

 

So polite for someone being stubborn. Maybe the kid is a good mix between Fran and him. 

 

“Come on… Don’t you wanna feel better?” he encourages. He pushes the cup back. “Who knows? Maybe it doesn’t taste as awful as it looks.”

 

His attempt must not have helped because Alex’s scowl grows. “It smells funny.”

 

“It doesn’t smell funny,” he counters, lifting the cup up to his nose and taking a small whiff. He immediately flinches slightly, his own face scrunching in disgust. “Okay, it smells funny. But you really gotta take it anyway. It’s gonna help make you better.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Alex pouts. 

 

Phillip sighs and looks around, thinking of a way to get him to take the medicine. Suddenly a memory pops into his head so he gets up and opens the fridge. Scouring through it, he pulls out a bottle of horseradish. 

 

“How bout this…” he starts, grabbing a spoon and coming back to sit next to Alex. “This is something my dad used to do when we were kids and didn’t want to take medicine.” He squeezes a large dollop on the spoon, his stomach already clenching at the idea. When he looks up, Alex is watching him cautiously. “We’ll do it together. You drink that and I—I swallow this… spoonful of horseradish. So then we both have to taste something we don’t want to.”

 

Alex narrows his eyes on him almost as if sussing him out. Then his gaze moves down to the cup of medicine and then to the spoon he’s holding. After a minute of what he’s sure is a great internal debate, Alex nods and Phillip breathes a sigh of relief. 

 

Then he remembers he has to swallow a tablespoon of just horseradish.

 

He places the medicine back in front of Alex and watches as the boy hesitantly picks it up. He also nudges the cup of Pedialyte over so there’s something to wash the taste down with. 

 

“You ready?” he asks. Alex grimaces and nods. “On three. One… two… three!” Both boys shoot back their respective poison as fast as they can. “Ugh!” they both exclaim in unison, Alex immediately grabbing his drink and chugging down a third of it. Phillip’s eyes water and he jumps up from the table, racing over to the cupboard, grabbing a cup, filling it with water, and downing the entire thing. Multiple times. 

 

The burn slowly goes away and he looks over at Alex who suddenly has a faraway look in his eyes. He drops the cup and heads over, gently touching the boy’s forehead and cheeks. “Hey, you okay?” he asks. “You need to puke?”

 

Alex shakes his head and looks up at him. “That was disgusting,” he replies, face twisted with regret. 

 

Phillip can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, it was disgusting, wasn’t it?” He places a hand on the top of Alex’s head and gives it a little ruffle. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you back into bed.”

 

He walks back to the cabinets and finds a plate and a large bowl. He puts a few saltines on the plate before grabbing the cup of Pedialyte and following Alex back to his room. Alex crawls into bed and he places the juice and crackers on his bedside table, putting the bowl next to him on the floor. Pulling the covers up, he tucks them up to Alex’s chin and then sits down on the edge of the bed. 

 

“Comfortable?” he asks, placing the bowl beside Alex for easy reach. 

 

Alex nods and stares at him. “Where did you go?” he asks timidly, his hands clutching a stuffed T-Rex. “You never came to read me a story. You promised…”

 

Well stab him in the fucking heart and throw his body in the river. 

 

If he didn’t hate himself enough already.

 

“I know,” he sighs, feeling incredibly guilty. He really is just the worst person. “I’m sorry… I… I had to go visit Wendy in Boston for a little bit.” He tries to brighten his tone up, wanting anything for Alex to stop looking at him like that, and smacks his knee. “But I’m back and I can read you something now if you want.”

 

“You said two books,” Alex confidently reminds him. 

 

Phillip chuckles. “You’re right. I did, didn’t I?” He pats Alex’s foot and heads over to the small bookshelf across the room. He looks back and points to the plate on the side table. “Try and eat a cracker,” he prods before scanning the different titles. Quiet crunching fills the silence and the corner of his lip ticks upward. 

 

His finger runs along the spines until two books in particular catch his eyes. His heart clenches at the sight. 

 

Of course, she’d read them to her son. 

 

Their son. 

 

He grabs the books and heads back to Alex. “You know, this book used to be my absolute favorite when I was little. Your mom used to tell me I was as chaotic as the monkey was,” he says, holding up the copy of Curious George. He then flips to the copy of The Giving Tree and adds, “And this was your mom’s... She’s probably read it at least a thousand times.” His eyes go wide, remembering the sick woman somewhere in this house. “Oh, shit. Fran,” he blurts under his breath. 

 

“You said a bad word,” Alex happily notifies him in a way only a child can. 

 

He grimaces. Not a great way to start off being a parent. “Yeah, I did. Sorry. Don’t repeat that,” he replies. “How about I make you a deal? I’m gonna go check on your mom real quick but when I get back we can read these books. Sound fair?”

 

Alex nods, clearly worried about Fran. 

 

“Okay, good.” Phillip places the books on the bedside table and heads to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay? Sip some juice and nibble on another cracker while I’m gone. I’ll be just right down the hall so yell if you need me.” Alex gives another tiny nod and reaches out for his cup. 

 

Then Phillip leaves and makes his way to Fran’s room. He opens the door but weirdly doesn’t see her so he walks into her attached bathroom to find her lying on the floor with her head on a towel.

 

“Oh, Frannie,” he sighs. He crouches down and puts the back of his hand against her forehead. Warm but not in an overly worrying way. 

 

The touch causes her to stir. “Phil?” she mumbles.

 

He freezes for a moment, remembering the reason he’s ignored her for the past week and a half. But seeing the misery on her face and how she’s sleeping on the bathroom floor tears his resolve down yet again. “Yeah, Frannie. It’s me,” he quietly answers. 

 

“Alex?” she asks in panic, barely having the energy to pick her head up.

 

“He’s fine,” he reassures her. “He’s had his medicine and is all set up in bed with a bowl and some juice and crackers. But now it’s your turn. So come on. Let’s get you to bed, Larsen.” He wraps her arm around his neck and scoops underneath her knees, lifting her up off the floor. 

 

She can’t help but burrow her face into the crook of his neck, sinking into the warmth of his skin. “I feel like death,” she murmurs. “I haven’t thrown up this much since I was pregnant.”

 

The statement causes him to stiffen as it just hangs there in the air between them. The mood of the room darkens with tension. Phillip sets her down on the bed and leaves the room without a word. If she were a little more coherent, Fran would be worried that she drove him away with her comment, but unfortunately, she can only lay there curled up in a ball and focus on her breathing so she doesn’t hurl all over the floor. 

 

A minute or two later he returns with a large bowl, a plate of crackers, and a glass of juice. He gently sits on the bed beside her, careful to not jostle her around too much. Bringing the glass near her head, he holds out the straw. “Drink,” he commands. Slowly, she takes a few tiny sips. Satisfied with that, he puts the glass on the nightstand and procures a wet cloth from the bowl, laying it across her burning forehead. 

 

She stares up at him, looking all frail, and it stirs something inside him. Why does she always have to look at him like that? He’s always gonna fucking cave when she does. 

 

Fran’s eyes fill with tears and her bottom lip starts to wobble. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers brokenly.

 

“No,” Phillip curtly cuts off the conversation before it starts. “We’re not doing this while you’re half lucid and blowing chunks.” He adjusts his jaw back and forth, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Trust me, Larsen, we’re going to talk… but it can wait till the two of you are better.”

 

She subtly nods but wants to say more. She can’t stop the next question from slipping from her lips. “Do you hate me…?”

 

A large puff of air leaves his nose and he closes his eyes in a strained way. When he reopens them, he simply flips over the cloth on her forehead to the cool side and pulls the covers up and over her. “Get some sleep, Fran,” is his only reply. “I’m gonna go check on Alex.”

 

Then he leaves her lying there, his heart pounding underneath his rib cage. He leans back against the wall just outside her door and takes a minute to gather his wits. Her question—even just seeing her—brought back up every emotion he’s felt in the last week and a half. He knew he had to get out of there because one more second of her looking at him with those broken eyes probably would’ve made him crack, all the anger he’s been harboring just fading to nothing. 

 

She’s always been his weakness… but he’s not ready to forgive her yet.

 

Shaking his head, he clears his thoughts and gets himself back together. He walks back down the hall when he hears a faint “Uncle Flip!” before the sound of gagging fills his ears. He races into Alex’s room to see the kid’s face down into the bowl. Rushing over, he holds one hand to Alex’s forehead, the other hand rubbing circles on his back. “Woah now. It’s okay, bud. Let it out,” he tries to comfort while simultaneously trying to not lose his own lunch. 

 

The heaving slowly comes to an end, Alex looking pale and exhausted. Okay, so Frannie really wasn’t kidding when it came to the kid barely keeping crackers down. Phillip can only hope enough medicine soaked into his system before he threw the rest of it up. 

 

He brushes the hair off of Alex’s clammy forehead. “Well, at least you made it into the bowl,” he lightly jokes, making Alex’s lips crook up just slightly enough to count it as a win. He places the bowl on the floor and grabs the cup of juice. “Here,” he holds it out, “to get the taste out of your mouth. Small sips.” 

 

Alex wraps his lips around the straw and drinks a little before slumping back against his pillow. He grabs his stuffed T-Rex and curls around it. “Uncle Flip, I don’t feel good.”

 

Phillip tries his hardest not to grimace at the name, silently cursing his past self for even suggesting it. He puts the cup back down and brings the covers higher over Alex. “I know, little dude…” he says, brushing Alex’s bangs away. “But the medicine should help. It just takes a bit of time.” He sees the bowl in his peripheral and internally gags before standing up and grabbing it. “I’ll tell you what. Imma go clean this out, you try and take a few more sips of juice, and then when I get back, I can read you your books. Deal?”

 

Alex tiredly gives him a nod so he bends down and quickly pecks the top of the boy’s head. He instantly freezes, realizing what he just did. 

 

Why the fuck did he do that? 

 

Was that a super weird thing to do? 

 

Maybe Alex is so out of it that he didn’t notice. 

 

…

 

Why did it feel so natural and right? 

 

“I’ll be right back,” he promises before all but booking it out of the room as fast as he can. He doesn’t stop till he reaches the kitchen and places the bowl in the sink. Bracing his hands against the edge of the counter, he closes his eyes and slows his breathing. 

 

He stays like that until his heart rate comes back down to a normal level. So many thoughts are running through his head. But most of all he’s wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to do this. Like who’s he kidding? He doesn’t know how to be a dad. 

 

Yet he doesn’t think he can give up on that boy in the other room. 

 

Eventually, he opens his eyes and grimaces at the bowl of vomit in the sink. He lets out a large groan, running a hand down his face in exhaustion. 

 

His impromptu first day of parenting is certainly one to remember.

Notes:

Have yall noticed that what he calls her changes depending on his emotions at the time? ;)

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

kylosroboarm on Tumblr
@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 15: The Big Talk

Summary:

Fran and Phillip finally sit down and talk about their circumstance.

It takes a minute for everything to come back to her when she finally opens her eyes. Vague, fevered flashes of Phillip’s voice, chest, and hands roll through her mind, reminding her of her call for help. Looking to her left she sees a mostly empty glass of juice and an empty place sans a few crumbs. The evidence is there, though honestly, she doesn’t remember ingesting either. She also doesn’t remember ever retching up said crackers and juice so it must be a good sign. 

 

What she does remember is that Phillip didn’t explicitly say that he’d stay, so she forces herself out of bed, needing to check on Alex. She goes to the bathroom and quickly washes her face, wanting to get the dried sweat from her fever off. Even just the coolness of the water makes her feel ten percent better. 

 

But as she looks at herself in the mirror, guilt starts to eat at her again. Not only for becoming so desperate that she had to call him when he’s very clearly still mad at her, but for having to call anyone at all. 

 

She feels like she failed as a mother today. Alex needed her and she couldn’t even get off the bathroom floor to help him. And that just leads to even more guilt about not telling Phillip back then because… because then Alex might’ve always had two people to care for him… And she wouldn’t have to feel like she failed because she got sick. 

 

She could’ve had a partner in this the whole time and she chose not to. 

 

Shaking her head, she splashes the emotions away with another handful of water and then dries her face. She grabs her robe and wraps it around her before leaving her bedroom. 

 

As she nears Alex’s room, she notices Phillip leaning against the doorframe, just staring at an asleep Alex. A part of her can’t help but be a little shocked that he’s still here. She thought he might still be mad enough that he would’ve left, especially after his reaction to her half-lucid apology. 

 

But the other part of her melts as she watches him watching Alex. It reminds her of the times when she would sit in the rocking chair and just listen to him breathing after putting him down for the night. She briefly wonders if Phillip’s feeling the same way she felt on all those nights. Though she supposes if he didn’t, he wouldn’t still be standing there. 

 

She silently steps up behind him and smiles softly at her little boy. “He’s beautiful when he’s sleeping, isn’t he?” she muses in a whisper. Phillip jumps slightly at her voice. “I used to be able to watch him for hours.”

 

He turns around to her. “You should be in bed resting,” he mutters, his face not giving away any particular emotion. He’s keeping it almost professional—keeping his distance—and as much as it hurts, she understands why. 

 

“I think I’m on the mend,” she gently replies, trying to keep the mood light. “I’ve kept my juice and crackers down. At least, I think.” She leans in a little closer, wanting very much to reach out, to hug him, to comfort him in some way, but refrains. “Thank you… for helping us—him. Him… I owe you so much. I’m forever grateful.”

 

Phillip just keeps staring at her, not saying anything else. He simply gives her a tiny nod of acknowledgment.

 

Fran gestures for him to follow her to the living room so they can talk without the risk of waking Alex. For a second she’s worried he won’t follow, that he’ll just ignore her request, but luckily he does. “How is he?” she wonders. 

 

Internally she wants to ask him a thousand questions; How is he? Has he eaten? Has he had enough to drink so he doesn’t get dehydrated? How’s his fever? How long has it been since he last got sick? Did all of this dealing with a sick kid completely scare him away? But externally she keeps it simple. She has a feeling that if she goes all mama bear he’ll just get offended and defensive and probably storm off. 

 

“He’s fine,” he answers curtly before expanding, “Hasn’t thrown up in a few hours so that’s positive. Medicine seems to be helping. He’s actually managed to eat a few crackers.”

 

“That’s good,” she says, internally letting out a large sigh of relief. “And he’s just been sleeping?” Phillip nods. “Good.” They reach the kitchen and both of them stand there, not sure what to do. “Do you want something to drink…?”

 

Phillip sighs and puts his hands in his pockets. “I’m guessing beer still isn’t your thing.” She gives him a little grimace. He shakes his head, knowing a drink would make whatever confrontation this is bound to turn into a lot easier but also knowing it’s probably best if he’s fully sober. He already says stupid shit without any alcohol in his system, maybe it’s better if he doesn’t risk it. “Water’s fine. I have a feeling I’m gonna be catching this bug anyway. Safer to be hydrated.”

 

Fran gives him a quick, apologetic look before shuffling through the kitchen and grabbing cups from the cabinet. “Have you been standing there the whole time?” A glance from him confirms it. “You really didn’t have to do that. You could’ve come out here and watched some TV while he slept.”

 

“It’s fine,” he brushes off with a shrug. “He might’ve needed me.”

 

She tries to let his newly parental urge for vigilance roll off her shoulders and not affect her heart but it does. “H-Have you at least had anything to eat? I don’t mind if you raided the kitchen.”

 

“Besides the two spoonfuls of horseradish?” he casually muses. 

 

She gives him a confused look which he waves off and shakes his head to answer her question. Well, now she feels even more awful. Looking over at the microwave, she checks the time. After seven. She doesn’t remember much of the last handful of hours but she knows she called him around eleven. 

 

He’s been here almost all day, hasn’t eaten anything, and has just been standing outside her— their —son’s door? 

 

“A-Are you h-hungry?” she stutters, nearly stumbling to the fridge. “I could make you something real quick.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“I really don’t mind. You’re probably starving,” she continues, filing through the little food she has. 

 

“Fran, it’s fine,” he says a little too abruptly. He closes his eyes, immediately regretting his tone. “I just mean—The water’s fine. Besides, you're sick. You don’t need to cook anything.”

 

“O-Okay,” she replies, her fingers fidgeting on the door handle to the fridge. With an awkward nod, she returns to filling up the two glasses with water before leading him to the living room. She places one of the glasses down on the coffee table in front of the couch before moving over to sit in the chair to give him space. He glances around the room, sighs, and finally sits down. 

 

The two of them sit there for what feels like an excruciating length of time, the air just filled with sounds of sipping. Phillip all but downs his glass while Fran takes her time, wanting to delay the confrontation that awaits as much as possible. 

 

A few minutes later she places her drink down and finally breaks the silence. “Look, Phillip—”

 

“You knew… Didn't you? The day I left…” he firmly asks, cutting her off.

 

She has the wherewithal to look ashamed, simply nodding. “I took a test that morning…”

 

“That morning?!” he repeats incredulously. He runs a frustrated hand down his face, bending over and bracing his elbows on his thighs. Internally he’s fighting to keep a hold of his emotions. As much as he’s angry with Fran, he’s also angry with himself. “How did I not sense something? I used to be able to read you with my eyes closed. I should’ve known something was off with you.”

 

Fran softly bites on her lip, the guilt starting to build back up. “Phillip… it had nothing to do with how well you knew me,” she supplies. “You didn’t know because I didn’t want you to.”

 

He shakes his head. “Why though?” he breathes. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that we—” made a baby “—That you were pregnant?” He clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth together. Emotions are bubbling to the surface and he’s fighting with everything he has to hold them down. “I just don’t understand, Fran. Please, help me understand.” 

 

He looks so incredibly lost and hurt that it breaks her heart to know she’s the source of that pain. Tears start to form in the corners of her eyes. “I know it sounds like a pathetic excuse… but I really did do it for you,” she chokes out. “I didn’t tell you so that you could go live your life away from here. The life you dreamt of since we were sixteen. I couldn’t be the one to clip your wings by saddling you with a baby at twenty-two.”

 

“I could’ve taken you with me,” he insists. “We could’ve made it work.”

 

She looks at him and sadly shakes her head. “You know I couldn’t leave… Not with Gran’s health the way it was.”

 

His eyes turn down to the coffee table, the truth in her words cutting him to the core. He’s not stupid. He knows she never could’ve left her grandmother. But surely they could’ve figured something out. “Seven years, Fran… I missed seven years,” he breathes, shaking his head. His chin even begins to wobble in that way he always hates. “My own son doesn’t even know who I am. Hell, he’s called me ‘Uncle’ for the past few weeks.”

 

“I know…” she whispers, chewing on her lip, her fingers fiddling in her lap. 

 

He subconsciously shakes his head, continuing, “And I’m so fucking pissed at you for that… I don’t know how to not be pissed about that.”

 

“I know,” she repeats, the daggers of his words cutting deep. 

 

He looks up and stares at her in the eyes. “Were you ever going to tell me?” he nearly begs, both needing to and not wanting to know.

 

“Honestly?” He gives her a firm nod. “I don’t know…” she answers truthfully. Pain flashes through his eyes at her response. “I know that’s probably the wrong answer to say and you’re free to hate me for it… but it’s all I have.”

 

He sighs and lets his head hang down. “I don't hate you, Fran…” he replies in an almost defeated way. “I should. I have every right to… But I don’t hate you.” He lets out an almost amused scoff. “I don’t think I ever could, no matter how fucking pissed I am at you.”

 

She can’t help the shaky inhale of relief. A single tear finally decides to fall onto her cheek but she quickly wipes it away, not wanting him to see. His words mean so much more than he’ll ever know. 

 

It’s not magically better—she’s not even forgiven—but it’s the most hope she’s felt in the past few weeks. If she squints, she can even kind of maybe see the light at the end of the tunnel. And that means everything. 

 

They sit there in silence again for a few moments before Fran looks at him, hesitating. Finally gaining the courage, she nervously asks, “Do you want to see some pictures...?”

 

He looks up and stares at her hard, like he’s really thinking it over for a few moments, and gives her a subtle nod. She nods back and gets off her chair, walking down the hall and opening the closet. After shuffling through some things, she pulls out a photo album and heads back to the living room where she bravely takes a seat next to him. 

 

Alex’s First Photo Album it reads on the front cover in large, handwritten cursive. 

 

“Gran started it,” she sheepishly says, her cheeks warming after seeing the look on his face. She flips the album open to the first page, but upon seeing which picture it is, she quickly tries to flip to another one. Phillip’s hand simply stops her and she wants to crawl in a hole and die. 

 

She stares nervously at the photo of herself with her pregnancy bump that her Gran snuck when she was cooking dinner one night. She doesn’t dare look to the side, afraid of his reaction. With how silent it is, she’s surprised he hasn’t commented on how loud her heart is pounding. 

 

She just watches as his fingers softly ghost over the words above the image. 

 

Fran, 25 weeks

 

Phillip swallows thickly. At least he tries to. Knowing Fran was pregnant and seeing Fran being pregnant are two very different things. He looks at the image and all the moisture leaves his throat, leaving him feeling parched despite the glass of water he downed not ten minutes earlier. 

 

His eyes scan the picture, from her bump all the way to her slightly annoyed face. She never did like getting her picture taken. “You look so young…” he chokes out without thinking.

 

She inhales shakily next to him. “I—I was,” she timidly replies before hastily flipping past a few pages until she lands on one seemingly dedicated to Alex’s birth. 

 

A strange, angry guilt builds up inside of him as he stares at an image of Fran lying in a hospital bed, her arms full of a white bundle. She looks scared and exhausted, and her hair is pasted to her forehead with sweat, but the love in her eyes is like nothing he’s ever seen before.

 

I should’ve been there, he curses to himself. I shouldn’t have been in New York. I should’ve been there, equally as terrified to hold that same little bundle. 

 

Alex. 

 

His son.

 

“Tell me about it.” The words fall from his mouth before he can even think to stop them. 

 

Her brows furrow in confusion. “Tell you what?” she quietly asks.

 

“Everything,” he bluntly answers, finally looking up at her. Her eyes widen as their gazes meet like she didn’t expect him to remove his eyes from the photos. “Everything I missed.”

 

Fran gently chews on her lip, her fingers fiddling with the corner of the photo album. “If you want everything everything… it’ll take more than tonight,” she says in a way that sounds like she’s trying to dissuade him.

 

He looks her dead in the eyes and tilts his head towards hers so their faces are closer together. “I have time, Larsen,” he counters, his tone as serious as she’s ever heard him. “You owe me eight years of details.”

 

He’s right. 

 

She sighs in defeat and leans back against the cushion. Might as well get comfortable, they’re probably going to be here a while. “Okay then…” Looking back down at the album, she begins. “Well, you remember that night. Obviously, something failed.” She blushes and clears her throat, quickly moving on from that bit of the story. “Anyway, I started having symptoms while you were away that summer. I took the test, you left, and I didn’t tell anyone the truth.”

 

“What did you tell them?”

 

“What I told you,” she says with a small shrug. “That it was just a one-night stand with some guy who didn’t stick around. Wasn’t completely far from the truth.”

 

Phillip bites his tongue and rolls his eyes. Part of him wants to contest the ‘didn't stick around’ bit considering he wasn’t told a thing but he lets it go. “How’d your Gran take it?” he asks instead. 

 

She quirks her pursed lips to the side. “You knew Gran… How do you think she took hearing that I was pregnant at twenty-two and there was no father?” she replies with a small, reminiscent shake of the head. “She was disappointed for a while but eventually came around. Especially after I was really sick.”

 

“Sick?” he repeats, his face scrunching in worry and confusion. “You mentioned that earlier.”

 

She gives him a slightly amused grimace. “I love Alex more than life itself… but my body sure didn’t,” she attempts to joke. “I was so sick at the beginning that I ended up getting dehydrated and had to recover in the hospital for a few days.”

 

“Fuck, Frannie,” he breathes in concern.

 

She simply waves him off. “They gave me some nausea meds and it got better… Mostly… Besides the vomiting, the rest of my pregnancy was fairly normal. Though, Alex almost consistently measured large, but I blame you for that.” He surprisingly lets out a chuckle and her heart can’t help but soar. She lifts the album and bravely flips to a page she previously skipped. “I was pretty big by the end.”

 

Fran, 38 Weeks 

 

He looks at the picture of a very round Fran and winces. “Oh Fran, I’m so sorry,” he half-teases, half-apologizes. 

 

She turns back to the page with her holding Alex in the hospital and gently caresses the photo. An echo of a smile graces her face. “And then in true Altman fashion, Alex’s entrance into this world was a little chaotic.”

 

Phillip’s eyes lift from the page to meet hers at the words. 

 

True Altman fashion.  

 

Now, that’s a sentence, he thinks. 

 

“What do you mean?” he asks, curious and a little worried about her meaning of the word ‘chaotic’. 

 

She sits there for a moment, Phillip staring her down, and she tries to get her mouth to cooperate. She already knows he’s going to hate what she has to say. It wasn’t exactly her smartest moment. “Well, it turns out that l-laboring in your bathtub is only recommended… i-if you have someone there to help you out,” she stutters, looking down at her lap to avoid his gaze. 

 

“What do you mean?” he repeats, this time slowly enunciating his words. His pulse spikes from anxiety at the look on her face. Looking at her with widened eyes, he nervously asks, “Fran, did you give birth in your bathtub?”

 

“No,” she instantly answers but then hesitates a moment longer, placing the album on the coffee table to stall. “Just… almost.”

 

He swings himself to face her completely, his leg curling up on her couch. “Almost?!” he exclaims. “Fran Margaret Larsen, what does ‘almost’ mean?!”

 

She shushes him, reminding him that Alex is still down the hall sleeping. He calms down but she can still see his nostrils flaring as he breathes. Taking a big gulp of courage, she continues, “I had read that laboring in the tub is supposed to be calming and my contractions were still too far apart to go to the hospital so I drew myself a bath and got in.” She briefly looks up to his judging eyes and plays with her fingers in her lap. “Well, it worked. I was relaxing, the water felt nice… but I didn’t exactly have a clock with me and hadn’t realized how much time had passed or how far apart they were.” Phillip continues to stare at her, soaking in every worrying word. “It turns out my counting wasn’t super precise and I later realized I had progressed more than I had expected. Eventually, I was in so much pain I didn’t know what to do.”

 

Phillip’s eyes are nearly bugging out of his head but he’s fighting to remain calm. “Where was your Gran in all of this?” he slowly asks. 

 

She looks away from him, nervous of his reaction. “In the hospital…”

 

“What?!” he cries. “What does that mean?”

 

“She had fallen about a week before and fractured her hip,” Fran explains. “She ended up needing surgery so she was still in the hospital recovering when I went into labor.”

 

“Shit, Fran…” he breathes. He clenches his jaw and relaxes it. “So then what?”

 

She hesitates to continue. He’s just going to get even more up in arms about it all. “So without my Gran at home… I couldn’t get out of the tub…Though to be fair, even if she was home, I don’t think she would’ve been much help anyway,” she quickly tacks on as if it makes the situation any better. 

 

He’s looking at her in horror. “Please tell me you called someone,” he nearly begs though he’s not sure if he really wants the answer. The more she speaks, the worse it gets. 

 

She gives him an ashamed look.

 

“Fran Margaret!” he admonishes. 

 

“I—I might’ve left my phone on the counter and couldn’t reach it,” she sheepishly adds. 

 

His anxiety eventually wins out and he gets up to pace, running an exasperated hand down his face. “So you’re telling me you were in labor, stuck in a tub, and couldn’t reach your phone. Oh, Frannie, I could just—I should’ve—Ugh.” His fingers rake through his hair, tugging on the ends until they’re sticking up all over the place. “Continue. Obviously, you got out,” he says, pointing to the album.

 

Her fingers run along the tie of her robe to give them something to do. She closes her eyes for a brief moment and summons the courage to finish the story. “I tried and I tried for what felt like over an hour as my contractions got even closer together, and I don't know… I don’t know if it was just luck or a sheer surge of adrenaline from my panicking, but I eventually was able to claw myself from the tub. But by that time they were so close together I knew I wasn’t going to be able to drive and I didn’t want to call 911. I didn’t even have money for the birth, nonetheless an ambulance ride on top of that.”

 

“Then how’d you get to the hospital?” he presses. 

 

She nervously looks up at him and a wave of guilt crashes over her. “I—I called your mom…” she whispers. “She picked me up and we made it in time.”

 

Everything grinds to a sudden halt. It even feels like time stops. Phillip just stares at Fran, her last statement rolling round and round in his mind. “My—My mom was there?” he chokes out. 

 

Fran timidly nods. “She’s the one who took the picture,” she supplies softly. 

 

He subconsciously shakes his head back and forth in disbelief. “She neglected that bit of information.” He plops down beside her and lets out a low groan, his fingers raking through his hair as he rests his head in his hands. “My mother got to see Alex being born and I didn’t…” His chin starts to wobble but he forces it to stop. “Well, what’s one more secret for the pile?” he weakly jokes but there’s real pain in his voice. 

 

She looks at the floor, feeling ashamed of herself. 

 

“Did she know? Then?” he stiltedly asks. 

 

Her eyes draw back to him at his question. “If she did, it wasn’t because I told her,” she answers truthfully. “I assume, like Wendy and your dad, she eventually figured it out on her own. So if she knew when he was born, I wasn’t aware.”

 

Phillip sighs, leans forward, and turns to the next page in the album. Immediately he sees a picture of a newborn Alex all wrapped up, laying in the hospital bassinet, and time seems to stop again. Fran watches as he stares at it and gently strokes it with a finger. 

 

“I have another copy of that one if you want it,” she softly supplies. “I’ll just…” She gets up and goes back to the hall closet, searching through the different photo envelopes until she finds the ones from Alex’s birth. Bringing it back to Phillip, she timidly hands him it. “H-Here… There's also others if you want them.”

 

He looks up at her and swallows thickly. With slightly unsteady hands, he takes the photo from her. “Thank you…” he whispers. Then he just continues to stare at the image for a few moments. His eyes glance over every detail as if he’s committing them to memory. Every fold of skin, every barely there freckle, even the tuft of brown hair peeking out from underneath that stupid beanie they put on newborns that he remembers from Wendy’s pictures when Cole and Serena were born. 

 

But no amount of pictures of his niece and nephew could ever beat the one that’s currently in his hands. 

 

A picture he should’ve been there to take instead of his mother. 

 

Fran sits back down and watches as he stares at the picture. She can practically see every thought running through his mind, the emotions shining through his eyes. And it all makes her feel truly awful. 

 

She gives him a few more moments and then opens her mouth, her apology no longer capable of being kept in. “I really am sorry, Phillip…” she starts, her eyes already brimming with tears. “I never should’ve kept all of this from you. And I’ve done nothing but hate myself every day since your father’s wake.”

 

He loudly sighs and turns to face her. “I’m not gonna lie, Fran. It's a really shitty situation we’re in… But if I don’t hate you, then you don’t get to hate you.”

 

Her brows furrow together in surprise and then gives him the tiniest watery smile. 

 

“So what do we do now?” he asks with an unsure tilt of his head. 

 

Her nerves immediately spike through the roof. “What—What do you want to do?” she timidly counters, her heart already prepared to drop at whatever he’s about to say. 

 

Phillip clenches his jaw and briefly looks back down at the photo that’s still in his hands. He’s been wrestling with what he wants to do all week long, but now that she’s actually posed the question out loud, there’s no debate. He knows what he wants. “I—I wanna get to know my kid,” he pronounces. “I want to prove to you that I never would’ve hated having either of you in my life.”

 

She winces at the statement despite her heart soaring at his promises. “I’m sorry I said that,” she mumbles, internally cringing with shame. “I should never have suggested that you would’ve—”

 

“It’s okay,” he cuts her off with a shake of his head. “I said some pretty shitty things too.” He rolls his eyes and scoffs to himself. “Hell, a lot more shitty things. So I’m sorry.”

 

Nodding, she gives him a tentative smile. He hasn’t gotten up and stormed out of her house, so for that, she can breathe easy. 

 

“You’re not done telling me everything, you know,” he tells her, his tone lighter than it’s been in a while.

 

Her smile grows the faintest amount. “I know.”

 

“Uncle Flip!” Alex calls from down the hall, apparently awake. 

 

Both their heads whip over in the direction of the voice. Then they turn back and stare at each other unsure how to handle this. Making the decision for them, Fran starts to get up but Phillip presses a hand against her shoulder and gets up instead. 

 

“Maybe make that a raincheck,” he murmurs, sliding the photo into his pocket. “Relax. I got him.” He points a finger at her and stares deep into her eyes. “But remember, you’re not getting out of this, Larsen. You still have seven years to tell me.” She gives him a sheepish nod. 

 

“Uncle Flip!”

 

He frowns at the name and looks down at her. “We’re gonna have to do something about that,” he adds with a groan, his thumb jutting towards the hall. He sees a flash of fear and apprehension go through her eyes. “I’m not saying now… But I’m not completely keen on having my kid call me ‘uncle’ forever.”

 

“I know,” she replies, now with the newfound fear of how to break the news to Alex. A thousand thoughts instantly run through her mind, but the biggest one is What if Phillip one day changes his mind? Both she and Alex couldn’t take it if that happened. “W-We’ll figure something out. I-I promise.”

 

“That’s all I ask.”

 

“Uncl—”

 

“I’m coming, bud!” Phillip calls back, cutting him off but then mutters to himself, “Jesus Christ, the kid is loud.” 

 

The corner of Fran’s lip involuntarily crooks upward, pulling her from her spiraling. “I know he is,” she says, pointedly looking up at his face. 

 

The look is confusing but then it dawns on Phillip. 

 

He’s where Alex gets his wild side from. 

 

“Oh shit. Goddammit.”

Notes:

Do not judge if any of my pregnancy stuff is slightly off. I did as much research as I could :(

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 16: First Day

Summary:

Fran has her first day at Altmans' Sporting Goods.

Notes:

It's been a bit back we're back!

It’s been a few days since Phillip had come to their aid. She and Alex are rid of all sickness and back to their normal selves. What surprised her the most was how much time he spent at Alex’s bedside. He ended up sleeping over, intending for her to get some rest so she could recover faster, but she doubts either of them got very much sleep. She certainly heard him moving about her living room and kitchen even when he wasn’t taking care of Alex. 

 

She also has a feeling he flipped through the photo album that she left on the coffee table for him more than once. Sometime after three o’clock she got up to get more juice and found him dozing with the album open on his lap. She briefly glanced over to find he had been looking at all the pictures she had taken of Alex’s third birthday and it was like a stab to the heart all over again. Then like the coward she is, she slunk back to her room without refilling her cup. 

 

The next morning had been more than a little awkward but since she was feeling much better she kindly thanked him and he left. And she hasn’t seen him since. 

 

Until today.

 

Her first day at Altmans’ Sporting Goods. 

 

She doesn’t think she’s ever been so nervous to start a new job before. Then again she’s never had to work four feet away from the father of her child whom she lied to for eight years. 

 

Even though they’re running late—an occurrence the school knows well by now—she secretly wishes this car ride would last forever so she doesn’t have to go. Or maybe Alex’s stomach bug will return and she’ll have to take a sick day to take care of him. But looking in the rearview mirror, her son appears perfectly healthy and excited to return to school. 

 

Rats.

 

A healthy son means she’ll have to face Phillip like an adult even though they have nothing figured out. There’s no plan. There’s not even a plan to make a plan. They’re just in this weird limbo state since he found out about Alex. 

 

But he told her he wanted to give this all a go, so it's up to her to help with the other side of that. 

 

“Hey, monkey. Can I ask you something?” she says, looking wearily over her shoulder to her child in the backseat. He distractedly nods, rolling the toy car along the seat. “What do you think of Phillip?”

 

Alex’s face brightens slightly at hearing the name and it pulls his attention over to her. “He’s really nice and his car is really cool and he listens as I talk about all my cars and he took good care of us the other day. He read me lots of books and brought me juice and cleaned when I threw up.”

 

Her nose scrunches at that last bit. Kind of a weird thing to like but okay. “Yeah, he was good about that, wasn’t he?” Alex nods from the back and she hesitates, not quite sure the best way to ask her next question. “H-How would you feel about him maybe hanging out with us a little more?”

 

“Really?” he asks, already getting excited at the prospect.

 

“Mhm hm.”

 

He practically starts bouncing in his seat, making her feel somehow better and worse at the same time. She’s happy that he seems to enjoy Phillip’s company and knows it’s a positive sign but she’s terrified it’ll crush her little boy to find out that he could’ve had him from the beginning and she prevented that. That she kept his dad from him for all these years. 

 

“I’d like that a lot,” he replies. “Maybe he’ll even let me sit in his car again. Maybe we’ll go for another drive!”

 

Despite her fears, Fran has to laugh. Of course that’s immediately where her—their—son’s mind goes. “Maybe,” she muses.

 

“Hey, Mom?” Alex pipes up again.

 

“Yeah, kiddo?”

 

“Do you think we could invite Uncle Flip over for dinner this week?” he asks. “I wanna thank him for making me feel better and taking care of you.”

 

She can’t help but flinch at the name yet again as her heart absolutely melts. Her wonderfully thoughtful child. She can’t say it hasn’t crossed her mind once or twice in the last few days. She definitely owes him for… everything. And he’d get more time with Alex. “Of course, we can,” she agrees with a small smile before awkwardly biting her lip. She did promise that they’d do something about the whole ‘Uncle Flip’ thing. “But how about we just call him Flip from now on, okay?”

 

Alex’s brows scrunch together in confusion and for a second she imagines a seven-year-old Phillip sitting in the back seat of her car. 

 

“Why? He told me to call him Uncle Flip,” he bluntly replies as if she wasn’t already aware. 

 

“I know he did. But…” she trails off, quickly trying to come up with a plausible excuse, “uncles are when one of your parents has a brother, and I don’t, and people might get confused if you call him that. So let’s stick to just Flip. Sound good?”

 

“What if he’s sad?” he quietly counters, looking worried.

 

Her heart breaks at the concerned expression on his face. “Ohh, monkey. I think he’ll like it just the same. Maybe even more,” she assures him. 

 

They finally pull up to the school and Alex—knowing the drill—quickly unbuckles, grabs his backpack, and throws open the door. Fran throws an arm back with a “Hey! Where’s my kiss?” She tugs him closer to her, smashing a kiss on his cheek. “Now go. Tell Annie I’m so sorry! Again!”

 

“I will!” he yells back, jumping out of the car and racing to the front doors. 

 

And he left the door open…

 

She sighs, unbuckling her seatbelt, and gets out of the car to close the back door before getting back in. She rebuckles and takes off. Unfortunately, Alex being late means she’s also late to her first day, though she hopes Paul won’t mind too much considering what’s going on. Maybe he’ll give her a little grace.

 

It doesn’t take long to reach the store but her whole body freezes as soon as she puts the car in park. It’s ridiculous too. They’re both adults. They’re both capable of not making the day completely awkward for everyone because of their personal problems.

 

Right?

 

Every second she sits out here is another second that she’s late to her first day and she has a feeling Paul will only give her so much leeway. Especially since she’s only ten feet from the door. 

 

With a large, weary sigh, she turns the car off, pulls the keys out of the ignition, and grabs her bag. She takes a quick glance in the mirror, making sure she looks semi-presentable—that her mascara and pink-toned nude lipstick look fine and her hair isn’t mussed out of place. 

 

It’s strange. She hasn’t cared about her looks this much in a long time. Not that it was ever a huge part of her life, but suddenly she’s been more self-conscious of it. She doesn’t even know how old the lipstick she’s currently wearing is. It might’ve even belonged to Gran. 

 

But now there’s this weird urge to put a little more effort into the clothes she wears or the makeup she puts on or how her hair is styled. 

 

She hasn’t felt like this since that night when she felt inadequate next to all the other girls in just her sweater and jeans. 

 

She’s treading into dangerous territory. Feeling the urge to look nicer because of him. That’s definitely not what just friends do. 

 

But they’re not just friends, are they? The car seat behind her reminds her that she crossed that line eight years ago. She yielded to the opportunity his drunk mind was offering because she was in love with a boy who didn’t love her back. And unfortunately, she’s not sure if she can ever go back to the other side of the line again.

 

Shaking her head to banish the thoughts, she gets out of her car, bravely walks up to the door, and enters the store. Luckily the only person out front at the moment is Horry and his head twists to look at her as she comes to the counter. 

 

“Hey, Fran!” he enthusiastically greets. 

 

She gives him as natural of a smile as she can muster at the moment. “Hi, Horry.” He’s always been one person, aside from the Altman gang, that she never tires of seeing. Always his sweet self. He’s been that way for as long as she can remember.

 

“What can I do for you today?” he asks.

 

Her smile falters slightly. As sweet as he is, she’s never been the most casual person when it comes to his memory issues. She’s too shy. Too awkward. “It’s my first day as the new accountant. Paul hired me to help with the books,” she kindly reminds him.

 

“Ohh awesome! You’ll have a great time with us. It’s pretty chill here. Though now that Phillip works here, Paul has been less chill,” he informs her. He then leans closer and half-cups his mouth. “He irritates Paul a lot.”

 

“I don’t irritate Paul. He irritates me,” Phillip corrects, coming out of the office and making Fran freeze at the sight of him. “Hey, Fran.” He walks over and stands not necessarily far, but not close to her either. Just a respectable distance away. 

 

“H-H-Hi,” she stutters. Her eyes briefly close as she curses herself for being so fricking awkward. 

 

“I see you’re feeling better,” he adds, a little nervous himself. 

 

“Oh! Umm, much better. T-Thank you.”

 

“And Alex?” 

 

His tone is so much softer asking this one, and Fran can see the shift in his eyes. They definitely look more concerned than when he was just asking about her. It’s a slight stab to the heart but she gets it. “He’s doing a lot better. Back to the happy, little boy he normally is.”

 

“Good… Good,” he replies, physically relaxing at the reassurance. He won’t admit it to anyone but after he left her house his thumb barely left his phone—always threatening to press ‘call’ so he could check up on Alex. But he also knew Fran and he needed a few days to process everything before they could sit down and talk out details. It was only three days but it nearly killed him. 

 

Damn kid’s wormed into his heart faster than he ever could’ve imagined.

 

Horry furrows his brows and darts his eyes between the both of them as they stand there awkwardly. “Is this weirdness between the two of you because of the whole ‘Phillip is Alex’s dad’ thing?”

 

Their eyes snap up to him faster than the speed of sound.

 

“How the fuck do you know that?” Phillip quietly demands while Fran stands there frozen with wide, panicked eyes. 

 

“Hilary and my mom talk about a lot of things,” he explains, giving them a shrug. “And also I was in the storage room when you and Paul were yelling about it. You guys were pretty loud. You’re lucky it was just me here or everyone in town would know.”

 

Phillip glances over to see an almost hyperventilating Fran, and as much as part of him just wants to get it over and for them to tell people the truth, they haven’t discussed the logistics yet. So he’ll wait. “Horry, you can’t tell anyone,” he warns. “No one knows. Not even Alex. So you gotta keep it to yourself, okay?”

 

“Horry has to keep what to himself?” Paul asks, finally joining the rest of them. 

 

“That Phillip is Alex’s dad,” Horry clarifies. 

 

“Horry!” Fran yelps, her eyes pleading with him to shut his mouth while she quickly glances toward the door to make sure no one has slipped in.

 

Horry raises his arms in surrender. “What? Paul already knows. I know not to tell anyone else.”

 

“Just stop talking about it,” Phillip demands. 

 

Paul steps in, taking some pity on them. “Horry, it’s a private family matter so we’re trying to keep it on the down low for now, alright? That information doesn’t leave the four of us. That clear?”

 

Horry sober slightly and nods in agreement. “That’s probably for the best. Because if the Aunts catch wind of it, oh man you guys are so screwed. All of Elmsbrook would know within the hour,” he bluntly adds. 

 

Fran goes pale and her stomach churns, already dreading the ultimate fallout she’s going to have to deal with when the news eventually gets out. Phillip on the other hand glares at him. “Thanks, Horry. That’s really helpful,” he deadpans. 

 

“Oh, no problem. Happy to help!”

 

Seeing that his brother’s left eye is twitching and Fran looks like she’s going to puke all over the floor, Paul comes to the rescue again. “Well, we’ll let you get back to work. Gotta go show Fran the ropes.” Horry waves them off and Paul gestures for Fran to follow. Phillip trails behind them, his hands casually shoved in his pockets. “So the layout of the store is pretty simple, but I don’t really need to go through all that with you. I don’t think Dad’s changed it since he opened the damn place.” He gives her a small shrug. “You know what they say. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it. Not that Phillip agrees,” he throws over to his brother with an eye roll.

 

Phillip rolls his eyes right back. “I just think this place could use a little updating,” he argues. “The store is ours now… so let’s make it ours.”

 

Paul sighs loudly and Fran gets the idea that they’ve had this conversation a lot more than once. “Do you know how much money we would lose having to close the store for a few weeks to change the entire layout and decor? The overhead it would take to have people come in and do it all?”

 

“No, I don’t. But just think about the money we could make with a grand reopening,” he supplies. “Besides, we don’t need to hire anyone to do anything. There’s you, me, and Horry. The store’s not that big. Surely the three of us can reorganize everything ourselves. Hell, we’ll get Judd down here to help.”

 

Fran glances between the two brothers, reminding Paul that she’s still here. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep exhale. “We’ll talk about this later,” he dismisses. He returns his focus to Fran and leads her into the office, his hands gesturing out to the desk on the other side of the room. “As promised, you’ll have your own space, and Phillip and I will just share. We’re both filtering between here and the counter all day anyway.”

 

She nods, following along with his rambling, and puts her bag down on the desk. She briefly glances over at Phillip, seeing if his face gives away any of his opinions about having her work so close but it’s completely neutral as Paul continues to drone on about little aspects of the job. She supposes neutral is better than showing blatant disdain. She watches him as he leans back against his and Paul’s desk and wishes that she was still able to read him at the drop of a hat. But eight years of lies and no contact kind of ruined that. 

 

Paul drops a large binder onto the desk, startling her from her thoughts. “I figured for the next few days it’s probably wise to just go through and see if you can begin to make sense of what Dad did,” he suggests. “There’s a whole cabinet full of ‘em.” He points over to a file cabinet in the corner of the tiny office. “I’ve gone through some of them but there’s inconsistencies everywhere.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she interjects softly, opening the binder and grazing over the random handwritten numbers filling the pages. “It’ll probably take a bit to go through and try to organize everything.”

 

“Take all the time you need,” Paul replies. “I’ve been trying to keep better records since Dad died so hopefully that’ll be easier to tack on at the end.” She distractedly nods, still flipping through the binder, her brows drawn together. “And then like I said before, if you ever need to change your schedule because of Alex, just let me know.”

 

Her eyes flit awkwardly up to Phillip’s for the smallest of moments and Paul catches it. He looks over to see Phillip staring back at her. He supposes the situation is a little different now that Alex will have two parents who can coordinate pickups and drop-offs and illnesses and school projects. 

 

“Unless you know… the two of you come up with a plan or something,” he uncomfortably adds as the tension in the room grows. 

 

Fran forces herself to shake it off and slowly nods. 

 

“We’ll figure it out,” Phillip responds for her. He gives her a look that lets her know that their big talk is happening in the very near future. 

 

“Good,” Paul replies, taking one last look between the two of them. “I gotta get back to it but if you have any questions or issues just let me know. Or let Phillip know and he’ll ask me.”

 

“You saying I can’t answer any questions about the store?” Phillip demands defensively.

 

Paul almost smirks. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’ve worked here since high school. You’ve worked here for three weeks. Clearly one of us is the expert, and newsflash, little brother, it’s not you.” Then chuckling to himself, he strolls out of the door, leaving Phillip cursing behind his back. 

 

And also leaving them both alone in the office together. 

 

Fran sits down at the desk to help fill the awkward lull. She can feel his eyes on her, like he wants to say something but can’t find the words, so she finds some safe ones for him. “I hope we didn’t get you sick,” she offers, using the binder in front of her as a way to avoid his gaze. 

 

He gives a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, it was awful. There was just puke everywhere. All over my apartment. The cleanup was hell.”

 

It makes her look up at him. “Wait, really?” she frets, instantly feeling awful. 

 

He can see the panic and guilt in her eyes and drops the dramatics before she works herself into a frenzy. “No, Frannie, I’m just joking,” he amends softly. She still doesn’t look like she fully believes him, so he doubles down. “Really. I was completely fine. Not even a rumble. I truly lucked out.” God must’ve taken pity on him after the month he’s had. She nods and he hesitates before continuing. “So he’s really all good?”

 

She softens at his concern for Alex’s well-being. It’s a positive she supposes; the attentiveness with which he already treats Alex, even from the very beginning when he didn’t know their connection. “In perfect health,” she replies. “No more fever, no more vomiting. Back to stuffing his face with PB&Js.”

 

Phillip nods along with her, relaxing more with each word. “That’s good… I had no idea kids were capable of puking so much. The sheer volume that came out of that kid,” he muses, scrunching his brows together. 

 

It makes her laugh quietly and his lip quirks up slightly at the sound. “That’s what happens when kids get norovirus. A heck of a lot of puke.”

 

“I’m glad he’s feeling better,” he supplies.

 

She looks up and gives him a soft smile. “Me too.”

 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better as well,” he awkwardly tacks on as an attempt at an olive branch. Internally, all he can think about is how much she scared him. How close he was to breaking her door down when she didn’t answer. How pale she was lying on the ground like that. How limp she felt in his arms. Externally, she’ll never know.

 

They get stuck there for a moment, neither of them able to look away. Their gazes are locked on each other like they’re tied by some invisible string. It’s a piercing gaze that makes Fran feel incredibly vulnerable. Like he’s able to read her every thought just like when they were kids. Her heart involuntarily beats harder and she swears he can hear it. Swears he can feel the slight tremble of her hands, hear the hitch in her breath, see her eyes widening in the beginnings of a panic. 

 

It’s too much and she needs to change the subject. Immediately.

 

Right as she opens her mouth, Horry pops up in the doorway. “Hey, man. Paul needs you,” he says. 

 

Phillip reluctantly breaks their stare down to look at the other man. “Yeah, okay.” He turns back to Fran, the intense intimacy of before gone from his eyes. “You good here?” he asks. 

 

She startles slightly at the question. Admittedly she’s a little shocked. “Y-Yeah. I’m fine.” She holds up the binder. “Just going to start on all this.”

 

“Sounds good,” he replies with a nod. “Just yell if you need anything. I’ll just be out there.”

 

“I-I will.”

 

With one more look at her, he reluctantly leaves.

 

Now that she’s alone, she gets up and peers around the small office that very much feels like a closet Mort cleared out and shoved two desks and a few filing cabinets into. She’s only been in here one other time and that was last week to sign all her paperwork, so she takes a moment to check everything out. 

 

She spies a corkboard along the wall next to Paul’s desk and walks over, gazing at all the pictures. Many of them feature the Altman family in some form or the other. There are high school graduation photos from each kid and she can’t help but smile at Phillip’s, his ears sticking out from under the cap. That day is still vivid in her mind. He absolutely hated that cap and complained about it all day because he was embarrassed by how it forced his ears to stick out more than they already do—his hair not being long enough to cover them at that point. 

 

The same ears her little boy has. 

 

Looking over more, she finds a picture she hasn’t seen in at least a decade and she’s honestly surprised Mort even has it up on the wall. She doesn’t deserve to have a place amongst the rest of them yet there she is, seven years old and sitting beside Phillip in the Altman’s backyard on a warm summer day. He’s practically caked in mud from running through the sprinklers all day while she’s in her still pristine yellow dress that her Gran put her in. Despite the drastic difference in cleanliness, they’re both grinning as wide as their faces allow. 

 

Her smile turns sad as she ghosts her fingers over the picture. Everything used to be so easy between them… Then she went and messed it up. 

 

Why did she have to be selfless? 

 

Or was it actually just scared? 

 

As she turns to go back to her work, something on Paul’s desk catches her eye, nearly stopping her breath.

 

Right beside the computer, the photo she gave to Phillip of Alex from the hospital is braced up against a picture of Mort. 

 

He actually displayed the picture on his desk.

 

Emotion swells up inside her before she can even think to stop it. He’s known Alex is his for all of two weeks and he’s already putting up the one and only picture he has. She figured he might keep it in his wallet or something, not showcase it on the desk. 

 

Upon seeing it, an idea forms in her head. One that she’s determined to carry out. 

 

He deserves more than just one photo. He deserves a whole collection. 

 

There’s a rustle outside of the door and faint voices and she startles slightly as if she’s going to get caught despite not doing anything wrong. She quickly makes it back to her desk and sits down. She can think of the pictures later. Right now she should probably think of work. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t burn the store down!”

 

Paul’s voice draws her out of her work and she looks up to see Phillip’s body half in the doorframe. 

 

“How could I possibly do that?” Phillip yells back to his brother as he finally pops his head back into the office. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes, and steps into the room. “No fuckin’ faith in me.” He looks and addresses Fran. “Sorry ‘bout that. We got caught up in the storage room. Inventory issues. I didn’t mean to just abandon you like that.”

 

She blinks in surprise at the apology. “Oh! I-It’s no problem… Where’s Paul going?” she asks.

 

The look on his face quickly changes from apologetic to amused. “He’s taking a break to go over to Annie’s school for some afternoon delight.” He smirks and waggles his eyebrows at her, making her blush at the idea. “Told me they take her ‘lunch break’ in the teachers’ lounge bathroom.”

 

“He did not say that,” she gasps, scandalized he would even hint at such a thing. 

 

Phillips plops down in his chair. “He did! He said Annie doesn’t like wasting any of her ‘fertile window’. That it’s a ritual every month while school’s in session.” He chuckles at the look on Fran’s face and settles back in his seat, crossing his arms. His brows furrow together like he’s thinking. “Must be so weird. Scheduling sex like that. Takes the fun out of it.”

 

A small, uncomfortable cough leaves her and she returns to perusing through the binder. “Well… It is quite scientific… with ovulation timing and everything.”

 

“Not for us,” he softly but bluntly reminds her, and she feels his gaze piercing through her soul once again.

 

She blushes even harder at that. “No… I-I suppose it wasn’t,” she croaks out. She doesn’t dare raise her gaze from her work, desperately wanting to change the subject.

 

Luckily he does it for her. 

 

“What’re you doing for lunch?” he asks. 

 

Feeling that it’s safe again, and that they’re no longer talking about sex, she brings her eyes back up to his. “Umm, I just brought a salad,” she half mumbles. “I didn't know if you guys had a fridge or microwave or something.”

 

“You could’ve asked me,” he counters but she gives him an awkward look, reminding him that they haven’t exactly been on speaking terms the last few weeks. “Okay, well, you also could’ve asked Paul.”

 

Fran swallows thickly and plays with the pen on her desk. “I didn’t want to inconvenience your family more than I already have…”

 

Oh. 

 

It makes him pause, not really sure what to say to that. If there’s anything to say. Even if the majority of his family already knew, his finding out about Alex definitely threw a wrench into their already insane lives. 

 

Well, another wrench. 

 

Seeing the guilty look on her face makes his heart twist in his chest and he can’t stand it anymore. Popping up from his chair, he slides his hands in his pockets. “Fuck the salad. Come to lunch with me,” he offers. 

 

Her eyes whip up to his in confusion. “What?”

 

“It’s your first day,” he reasons. “You deserve more than a salad that’s been wilting in your bag all morning. We’ll go out for lunch. My treat.”

 

She subconsciously shakes her head. “Phillip, really, it’s fine. You don’t have to do that,” she waves off. 

 

Not letting her weasel her way out, he grabs her bag and holds it just out of reach. “I want you to come to lunch,” he insists before adding, “Besides… you still owe me seven years of information.” His face is serious but his eyes are light and teasing. “Might as well get a little chunk out of the way now.” 

 

He starts backing up towards the door, dangling her bag in front of her as if she’s a fish he’s trying to lure in. She rolls her eyes and gets up, following him out of the office. “Should we even be leaving with Paul gone?” she inquires. It doesn’t feel right, especially on her first day. 

 

“Oh, it’ll be fine. Horry’s got it locked down, dontcha, Horry?” He gazes over at the man fiddling with a baseball behind the counter.

 

Horry looks up at them. The baseball in his hands is completely forgotten about and drops to the floor with not even a blink. “Oh, yeah, I got this,” he assures.

 

It’s a confirmation but it doesn’t make Fran feel much better. She reaches forward and grabs her bag and Phillip lets her take it. Putting it over her shoulder, she lets out a defeated sigh. “Alright… We can go to lunch.”

 

Phillip peps up a little more at her acceptance. Lunch on a Monday morning probably isn’t the best location to have their big talk but maybe they can at least form a plan as to when they’re going to have that talk. 

 

Plus, as angry and hurt as he is, part of him still really wants to spend time with her. To try and make up for the last six years of no contact. They both have things to make up for, even if the degree of those transgressions varies greatly. 

 

“Good. I know just the place,” he says, his hand coming out to gesture her towards the door. She shakes her head and walks past him. “Horry, make sure no one steals anything.” He lightly slaps the counter and follows Fran before quickly turning back, remembering one more thing. “Oh, and if Paul gets back before us, tell him that if he can ditch work for a bit to fuck his wife, then I can take our accountant and the mother of my child to lunch.”

 

Fran turns around, wide-eyed and gasping at his crass candor, whereas Horry just holds a hand up and salutes Phillip. “You got it, Boss.”

 

He gives Horry a wink, and then walks to the door with a thoroughly amused grin and opens it. “After you,” he offers, holding the door open for her. When she doesn’t move right away—still too shocked at his bluntness—he adds on, “Clock’s ticking, Larsen.”

 

She shakes out of it, her cheeks absolutely burning at the idea of being called ‘the mother of his child’. She supposes he’s not wrong. She technically is. She’s just never thought about herself that way before. 

 

As much as he is Alex’s father, she’s always had to kind of separate him from them in her mind, and soon she got comfortable just believing it was solely Alex and her. Almost like Phillip didn’t contribute anything at all. 

 

But he did, and she’s painfully aware of it after those words leave his mouth. 

 

For seven years she had to separate them in her mind. It was the only way for her to come to terms with her actions. 

 

The only way to protect her secret. 

 

And her heart. 

Notes:

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Chapter 17: Lunch Date Part II

Summary:

Phillip takes Fran out to lunch on her first day of work.

“Ernie’s? Really?” she asks as they take the table placard and their drinks and walk to the very back corner of the restaurant to find a table. They both seem to nonverbally agree that being as far away from the crowd as possible is the best option.

 

“Of course Ernie’s,” he emphasizes. He plops the placard on the table and they scoot into the curved booth. “You deserve a nice lunch on your first day, and unlike in high school, I can actually afford more than hot dogs. Plus they still have the best Reuben in the whole state, and I know you love the turkey club.”

 

Well, he’s not wrong.

 

Fran shakes her head in faint amusement, putting her drink on the table and her bag on the bench. Her hands then move to her lap where she twiddles her fingers nervously. She’s about to open her mouth when one of the servers comes over and places their plates on the table. They both mutter “Thank you” and he leaves.

 

She pulls the plate closer to her and notices the pickle on the side. Damn. She forgot to mention no pickle when ordering. Rolling her eyes at her own absentmindedness, she picks it up and moves it onto Phillip’s plate without even thinking. 

 

As soon as she lets go, the realization of what she just did crashes into her, her hand freezing in the air above his plate. Their eyes meet and she rips her hand back. “S-Sorry…” she stutters, her cheeks warming. “I—Old habits…”

 

Phillip just scrunches his brows, the corner of his lip lifting upwards. “It’s fine. I probably would’ve taken it anyway. I know you hate pickles with a passion,” he replies, trying to placate her embarrassment. To really drive the point home, he picks up the pickle and takes a large bite out of it.

 

“You remember that?” she softly asks.

 

“I remember everything about you, Fran…” he admits, like dropping a bomb on their conversation. “Eight years doesn’t change the sixteen we had before that.”

 

She sits there shocked even though she supposes she shouldn’t be. He’s proved time and time again that he remembers little things about her. She’s experienced it almost every time they’ve seen each other since he returned to Elmsbrook. 

 

She clears her throat, choking back all emotion. “Umm… I know we need to talk… but did—do you want to come over for dinner this week?” she nervously asks, remembering she promised Alex she would. “A-As a thank you for the other day… I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

 

He’s taken aback for a second but quickly recovers. “Uhh sure. That sounds good,” he answers, forcing himself not to sound too eager. “Do you have a day in mind?”

 

“Maybe tomorrow?” she suggests with some hesitation. “If that doesn’t work, I’m pretty free all week. Really whenever’s best for you.”

 

“Tomorrow’s fine,” he chimes in before she can begin to go on fretfully rambling. “I’d like that. Dinner, that is.”

 

A large wave of relief washes over her and she practically deflates in her seat as the tension leaves her body. “Good… Alex will be excited.” He perks up at the comment so she throws another olive branch. “I’m sure he’d also enjoy if you maybe stayed for bedtime… You could always read him his book and then maybe we could talk after?”

 

He looks at her like she just offered him a life-saving kidney or something. There’s something very deep in his eyes that’s alluring yet also frightening. She never could’ve imagined he’d fall in love with her little boy so quickly but she understands it. The innate paternal feelings must’ve ignited the moment he found out. Maybe even before. Even since their first meeting—before he even knew—he and Alex just seemed to click instantly as if their minds run on the same wavelength. 

 

“I’d really like that,” he replies softly. He opens his mouth to say something else but he’s cut off by a woman’s voice yelling across the room. 

 

“Phillip! Fran!” 

 

Fran’s eyes go wide and she looks at Phillip in a slight panic before trying to duck her head out of the line of sight. She even puts a hand up to hide her face. “How is she everywhere?” she quietly croaks maybe two seconds before the woman reaches their table. 

 

“Well, hello my dears. It feels like it’s been forever.”

 

Sighing with defeat, they both look up at her. “Hello, Mrs. Moskovitz,” they both drone in unison, Fran forcing herself to sound happy and give a smile whereas Phillip doesn’t even try.

 

The woman stands jovially right next to their table, almost a little too close for comfort. “I heard that Alex was sick. I do hope he’s feeling much better now,” she says with a flair of dramatics, putting her hand across her heart in concern.

 

Geez, news really does move fast around here.  

 

“Just a little stomach bug. He’s all good now, thank you.” Her hand comes up and gestures towards Phillip. “Phillip actually came over and helped a bunch since I wasn’t feeling well either,” she admits, her words once again thanking him for what he did. 

 

Mrs. Moskovitz brightens at the news. “Oh, that’s just wonderful! It’s good to see you two have made up! Doreen mentioned a squabble between the two of you and I just couldn’t believe Phillip Altman and Fran Larsen would ever get in a fight,” she says too loudly and Fran swears the entire cafe can hear.

 

Squabble is certainly a nice word for what they did in her driveway.

 

“I fear I’m actually to blame for that,” Phillip interjects, making Fran’s eyes whip over to him in surprise. “I haven’t been dealing with things very well. You know, with Tracy leaving and Dad dying.” He intentionally looks up at Mrs. Moskovitz with a sad face for the story’s benefit and Fran has to bite her cheek to stop from smiling. “You see, Fran was having a stressful day and I was throwing a pity party for myself and I just piled all my problems on her plate. I didn’t react well when she rightfully put me in my place.”

 

“Oh you poor dear,” Mrs. Moskovitz coos. “Of course, it makes sense for your emotions to be all over the place. Anyone’s would be after the month you’ve had.”

 

You can say that again.

 

“Just trying to get through,” he adds theatrically. “You know, one day at a time. But you can tell Mrs. Matthews that Fran and I are all good and she needn’t worry. It was a stupid little argument but we’re fine now.”

 

“I’ll be sure to let her know.” Mrs. Moskovitz puts a hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “And it’s a good thing too, with both of you working at the store together. Nobody wants that awkward tension in the workplace.”

 

They grimace politely at her to show their agreement while fully knowing the awkward tension is for a completely different reason than a little argument. Not that Mrs. Moskovitz needs to know any of that. 

 

She lets go of Phillip’s shoulder and claps her hands together. “Well, I’ll let you both get back to your lunch. I just wanted to come over and say hello and check in on little Alex.”

 

Fran forces a bigger smile. “Your concern is appreciated,” she murmurs in response. 

 

Mrs. Moskovitz stands up straighter, the praise more than likely going right to her head. She then addresses Phillip, “Say hello to your mother for me, won’t you, dear?”

 

“I will,” he curtly replies, very much wanting the other woman to leave so he can get back to talking with Fran. 

 

“I’ll see the both of you around. Enjoy the rest of your day,” she adds before finally leaving with a flourishing wave.

 

Fran lets out a relieved breath the moment they’re alone again. She looks over at Phillip with a slight hesitancy. “Thank you for that,” she starts. “I swear, when it comes to sniffing out gossip, she has the nose of a bloodhound.”

 

“And the jowls,” he quips, staring at the retreating woman before turning to face Fran.

 

“Phillip!” she bursts in shock, a bubble of laughter nearly escaping. Her head whips back to where Mrs. Moskovitz left, making sure she hasn’t made her way back over and overheard his comment.

 

“What?” he defends with a chuckle, his lips spreading into that wild smile that she still loves after all the years. “I’m not wrong.”

 

She shakes her head at him, trying to appear stern but failing. Not wanting to encourage him any further, she reiterates, “But really, you didn’t have to do that.”

 

He narrows his eyes and gives her an odd look. “Of course I did,” he waves her off. “I was the one yelling.” He shakes his head and takes another bite of pickle. “Besides, we wouldn’t have been fighting in your driveway if I had just reacted with a bit more rationality.”

 

Fran doesn’t quite know how to feel about the almost apology. “I—I think your reaction was probably quite justified considering the circumstances…”

 

He stares at her again, a hundred thoughts running through his head. What he regrets saying that day… What he wishes he would’ve said instead… How he hates that he yelled at her. “Doesn’t matter now,” he replies dismissively. “It’s in the past.” Desperately wanting to move on from his not-so-stellar display in Fran’s front yard, Phillip changes the subject back to Mrs. Moskovitz. “Has she always been that bad? I don’t remember her being so invested in your life when we were kids.”

 

“She didn’t used to be, though I remember her being good friends with Gran,” she replies before grimacing. “The gossip got worse when I couldn’t keep my pregnancy a secret anymore. There was so much speculation about who the father could be…” Her nose involuntarily scrunches from the awkwardness. “Everyone was dying to know how goodie goodie Fran Larsen ended up being a single mother at twenty-two. It was the talk of the town for a long time.”

 

Phillip’s eyebrows raise almost in amusement. “Well, they’re certainly in for a shock with the truth,” he says sardonically. Fran squirms in her seat and looks uncomfortable so he moves on. “So that whole first year I was away, through every email and phone call, you were just pregnant and never thought to mention it?”

 

She looks guilty and takes a bite of her sandwich to distract from the tension as she nods.

 

“Even the few Skype calls…?” he asks. “I remember seeing you and you certainly didn’t look pregnant.”

 

“Blankets,” she answers with a small shrug. 

 

“Well, that certainly explains why you never visited when I asked.” He casually picks at his own food but is honestly too focused on the conversation to really think about eating. “So that first Christmas… when you said you were out of town…”

 

She shakes her head in shame. “I was seven months pregnant… There’s not many places I could go or even wanted to go.” Biting her lip, she adds, “How nobody in town told you, I’ll never know. I was so terrified you would find out from someone. I had to ask your parents not to tell you..."

 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It takes everything in him to not run a hand down his face in frustration, knowing his parents have just lied to his face for the past eight years. "I was only in town for maybe two days. Got in Christmas Eve… Left early on the twenty-sixth. So I guess you lucked out. I didn’t see many people.” 

 

Mostly ‘cause I thought you weren’t in town and you were the only one I wanted to see.

 

“So if I would’ve just knocked on your door that Christmas, we could’ve saved ourselves a lot of trouble,” he muses with a hint of bitterness. Not at Fran… but at himself. 

 

Fran doesn’t know what to say so she stays silent as he processes everything. 

 

Phillip runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Okay then… Alex was born… Then what?”

 

Her brows scrunch together in confusion. “What do you mean?” she asks. 

 

“You stopped with Alex’s birth the other night,” he plainly states. “What happened next? I told you you owe me eight years, Larsen. And I'm determined to get them.” She’s still staring at him looking lost. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to know everything.”

 

“Recapping Alex’s entire existence is going to take a while,” she explains. “Certainly not a single lunch period.”

 

“I don’t care if it takes a whole year,” he counters softly. “I just want to know.”

 

There’s something about his tender adamancy that hits Fran straight in the heart. She takes a sip of her water and clears her throat. “Okay then.” Shaking her head to clear it, she begins, “Ummm. Well, you know how Gran was in the hospital at the same time as I was?” He nods with a not-so-subtle frown, more than likely remembering her chaotic story. “Well, I didn’t have anyone to take me home so your mother drove Alex and me back to Gran’s… I was so terrified to leave the hospital,” she admits with a breathy laugh. “I was exhausted and really sore from giving birth, my grandmother was still recovering from a hip replacement, and I had no clue how to take care of a baby.”

 

“It must’ve been hard…” he supplies, trying hard to keep his thoughts to himself—that it didn’t have to be so hard if she had just told him. He would’ve happily eased the load if she had just let him. They could’ve weathered it all together. 

 

She gives him a tentative smile. “It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure… Your parents and Linda were actually a big help those first few weeks,” she tells him with a bit of hesitation. “They brought me a bunch of meals because I barely had the time or energy to cook. They made sure I was at least getting some sleep and a shower every now and then. They even came over and helped once Gran was back home. It was a pretty exhausting time but we survived it.”

 

“And Alex?” he inquires.

 

Fran picks at her lunch some more, though they’re both a little too preoccupied with the conversation to eat their meals. “He was a pretty normal baby for the most part,” she replies. “Though he did have a bad bout of colic for a bit there.”

 

“Colic?” he repeats, finally taking an actual bite of his sandwich.

 

“It’s where they just kind of cry for prolonged periods of time without an obvious reason. Neither of us got much sleep during that. There were more than a few breakdowns on my part. But at least Gran was all healed by then and would take him off my hands when I couldn’t take the screaming anymore.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Frannie,” he breathes.

 

He can’t help but see her in a new light every time she gives him a new detail of her and Alex’s lives. At first, he thought she was just selfish by not telling him, but now he’s realizing that her choosing to go through all of that on her own is anything but. She willingly gave up her entire twenties so he could enjoy his… 

 

“How old was Alex during that?”

 

“About four months,” she answers. As if she can see the thoughts rolling behind his eyes, she adds, “Please don’t feel bad.” He stares her down, looking put off by how easily she read him. “Really… It didn't even last that long… If it makes you feel any better, the rest of his first year went smoothly.” She gives a small, awkward laugh. “Well, as smoothly as it can with an infant.”

 

It doesn’t do much to quell his guilt but he keeps that to himself. “What was he like?” he can’t help but ask. All he can picture is the newborn in the photo Fran gave him—the one he weirdly felt proud to display at his desk. And despite flipping through Alex’s photo album almost all night, he can’t imagine a bubbly, little infant crawling around Fran’s Gran’s house. But fuck, does he wish he had been there to see it. 

 

Maybe Fran has some home videos he could watch…

 

Fran looks down at her plate, her lips curving into a small smile as she thinks of her baby boy. “He was perfect.” Phillip lets out a quiet snort, drawing her eyes back up to him. “I know every parent says that,” she quickly dismisses.

 

He shakes his head, signaling he’s not laughing at her. “I cleaned up that boy’s puke all night and I have yet to see any flaws.”

 

Her smile grows at his comment. It warms her heart that he thinks Alex is special despite only knowing him for a handful of weeks. It’s encouraging in a nerve-wracking kind of way. “He was a fairly happy baby, besides the small burst of colic. He slept shockingly well once he actually fell asleep.”

 

“Bit of a night owl?” Phillip jokes.

 

She lifts her shoulder in a small half-shrug. “Kind of a side effect of the ADHD. It’s still a bit of an issue when he’s not throwing up his guts,” she lightheartedly replies. 

 

“So a good but late sleeper…” Phillip summarizes, “Anything else?”

 

Her nose scrunches as she tries to remember little moments from that first year. “Let’s see… He absolutely hated tummy time and would throw a fit every time I tried. I would have to distract him with this little, old bell Gran had just to get him to tolerate having to do it… It took him a little more time to hit certain milestones like rolling over, sitting up, crawling but he got there eventually… There was this one teddy bear that was actually a hand-me-down from Horry that he would play with all the time. They were almost inseparable... Umm, he loved puréed squash and carrots but absolutely couldn't stand peas. He would spit them out every single time I tried to give them to him.” She raises her shoulders, feeling like she’s talking too much. “He was just a mostly happy baby.” Biting her lip, she quietly reveals, “He actually reminded me a lot of you…”

 

Phillip sits there frozen, not really sure how to reply to that.

 

“He still does,” she nearly whispers. 

 

A sudden discomfort washes over him—that this little boy who he’s only known for a few weeks, despite sharing half his genetic code, is being compared to him. Part of him wants to be happy about it, knowing that there are little similarities even though he wasn’t there, but then it just brings up the pain of not being there while all of the similarities started appearing. He missed being able to see the little pieces of him manifesting in Alex’s personality.

 

“We should probably head back,” he grunts, trying hard to hold back the well of emotions.

 

Fran blinks, thrown by the change in subject, but she quickly regains her composure. “Umm yeah, s-sure… We probably should. I—I’ll just go get a box for this. D-Do want one?” she offers, gesturing to his barely eaten sandwich.

 

He glances down and shakes his head. His plate is still eighty percent full but his appetite has pretty much diminished to nothing. “No. I’m good.”

 

“Okay…” She awkwardly stands up. “I’ll be right back and then we can go.” 

 

And with that, she heads to the counter, leaving him alone in his thoughts. 

 

They certainly still have so much to talk about. And hopefully, dinner at her house will help with that. 

 

Maybe Wendy is right. Maybe he has to accept that there are years of memories that he won’t ever get back… and that that’s okay. As long as he’s there for the rest of them. 

 

But that’s easier said than done.

Notes:

God, I love Mrs. Moskovitz, if you can't tell haha

At least we get a nice big talk from the two next :)

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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@hissterically on Twitter

Chapter 18: Dinner and Stories

Summary:

Phillip comes over for dinner as a thank you for helping Fran out while they were sick. Alex gets a bedtime story of the past.

Notes:

We're back! It's been a while since I was focusing on RFFA but now that that's concluded I quickly whipped this chapter out before having to disappear again for the reylo reverse bang

Phillip zooms around his apartment, feeling weirdly anxious as he gets ready for his dinner at Fran’s house. Stopping in front of the tiny reach-in closet in a t-shirt and boxers, he debates about what to wear when a knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts. He sighs in frustration, really not needing a distraction right now, but ultimately leaves his bedroom and walks to the door.

 

When he opens it, his mother is standing on the other side, and he just frowns at her. “What do you want?” he halfheartedly snaps. “I’m kinda busy.”

 

She simply pierces him with a warning look. “Phillip Henry Altman, you can’t just ignore me, I’m your mother.”

 

He rolls his eyes and walks away from the door. She steps into his apartment, closes the door, and follows after him. “No. You’re the woman who lied to me for eight years,” he corrects, giving her an accusatory look. “You knew Alex was mine.”

 

“Of course I did,” she replies, pausing at his bedroom door while he goes back over to the closet in search of clothes. “You two were practically identical right out of the womb.”

 

“Please don’t talk about your womb,” he bites out with a shiver of disgust.

 

She simply rolls her eyes at his dramatics. “Oh, what was I supposed to do?” she exclaims. “Break Fran’s trust?”

 

He blinks at her for a few seconds, trying to really process her reply, before bursting out, “Yeah! You were!” With a huff, he turns back to the closet and shuffles through his shirts. 

 

Hilary calmly stands there, not playing into her son’s theatrics. He’s mad at her and she understands that but she’s not going to give him the fight he wants. It’s not going to help anyone—It won’t give him those eight years back. “I figured she must’ve had a good reason why she didn’t explicitly tell me and I had to respect that,” she explains. 

 

“Yeah, the reason was to keep it from me!” he emphatically counters. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration and defeat, then he turns back to her. “I’m your son… You should’ve told me Fran was pregnant. Especially if you thought the baby was mine.”

 

There’s a brokenness in his eyes and her heart aches for her little boy. “Your father and I had assumed it wouldn’t be a secret for very long,” she reveals. “You two were so close, we thought you’d eventually just go over there and find out for yourself. We never could’ve guessed that the two of you would grow so distant and that you’d never visit home… After a while, it just seemed better to not uproot your whole new life. It also became more and more apparent why Fran never told you in the first place.”

 

He plops back onto the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands, tugging on the ends of his hair. “I fucked up,” he quietly admits, sneering at his own stupidity. “I let the one person I care about the most slip out of my life, and for what? Partying and sex? How could I do that?”

 

Hilary comes and sits beside him. “I don’t know. I guess it would depend on how good the sex is,” she quips, bumping her shoulder into his. He just groans in disgust, making her laugh. “Phillip, you are my son and I love you very much… but you needed New York in order to grow up now. You were a wild child. You had oats to sow. You needed, as the kids say, to get your dick wet.”

 

“How many times have I asked you to stop talking about my dick?” he grounds out, his eyes pleading with her to stop. 

 

She just smiles, her eyes full of mirth. 

 

He shakes his head and sighs loudly. “How the hell did I let so much time go by?” he laments into his hands. “I should’ve been there for Fran. For Alex.” His shoulders deflate even more and he grinds his jaw back and forth. “Sometimes I wonder if going to New York was even worth it.”

 

She wraps an arm around him, pulling him in close. “I think you had to lose something to realize just how much it meant to you,” she wisely explains. 

 

“But I knew what she meant to me,” he argues vehemently. He pulls away, stands up, and starts to pace. “I lo—She was my best friend… I was just a fucking idiot and let her fade from my life.”

 

Hilary catches the slight slip but says nothing. “You were young and stupid and made a mistake. Our mistakes make us who we are.” She stands up and walks toward him. “They force us to grow and become better people.” He stops pacing and she places a hand on his cheek. “You needed to make that mistake in order to become the man you’re meant to be. A dedicated father to Alex.” She gives his face a loving pat. “Just don’t let thirty-year-old Phillip make the same mistake.” 

 

And with that, she lets go, heading toward the door. When she’s there, she turns back to him and glances at the closet. “And I don’t know why you’re fretting about what to wear. We both know it’s just going to be a black shirt and jeans. Don’t over-complicate things because you’re nervous. Say hello to Fran and Alex for me.” She starts to walk into the hallway but stops. “And Phillip, you must invite them over for dinner one night. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my grandson,” she adds with a grin before taking her leave. 

 

He sighs, walking back over to the closet. Maybe his mother is right—as awful as that is to admit. He hates when she’s right. She loves to gloat about it, to hold it over everyone’s heads. But maybe she has a point about him needing to move on. 

 

Losing Fran for six years was dumb and it’s his biggest regret, but fate has brought them back together and he’s sure as hell not making the same mistake. Especially not when there’s even more to lose this time. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

His hands are abnormally wet as he holds the bouquet of flowers and stands at Fran’s front door. It’s ridiculous. It’s not even a date and he’s sweating like a fourteen-year-old about to go out with a girl for the first time. It’s not a big deal. It’s just dinner with Fran.

 

And their son. 

 

The fact that that night resulted in a child still confounds him. His sperm somehow escaped the condom and found her egg and made a whole ass child. 

 

It’s fucking insane. 

 

He accidentally impregnated his best friend. 

 

…

 

He fucked his friend.

 

Because he wanted to.

 

Because he wanted her.

 

Phillip shakes the way too messy thoughts off—it’s not the time for them—takes a deep breath, and bravely knocks on her door. There are jumbled voices on the other side before it swings wide open, Alex standing there looking quite excited to see him.

 

His heart pounds even faster. 

 

Will he ever get over seeing the boy in the flesh?

 

“You’re here!” Alex exclaims, immediately grabbing onto his hand and all but yanking him into Fran’s house. “Mommy made dinner really really special for you and it smells really good. Did you drive the Porsche here? Maybe we can sit it in later 'cause I’d really like that.”

 

“Yeah, maybe kiddo,” he chuckles, instantly amused at the boy’s enthusiasm. It luckily helps break the tension slightly. 

 

Alex pulls him through the house into the kitchen, barely giving him time to take his shoes off at the door. “Mommy, Flip’s here!” he happily informs her, letting go of his hand and climbing up onto the bar stool to be closer to Phillip’s height. 

 

She turns around from her place at the stove. “I see that, monkey,” she calmly replies before looking up at Phillip. “Hi…”

 

“Hi…” he repeats just as awkwardly. 

 

She looks quite pretty tonight. 

 

He blinks at the thought, shocked it even popped into his head.  

 

She looks pretty every night.

 

Her eyes flit down to the flowers in his hand. “Marigolds? Again?” she prompts, tilting her head toward them. 

 

Coughing as if he just remembered they’re in his hand, he holds them up and gives them a tiny shake. “I just thought you’d like them. It’s the least I could do since you’re cooking.”

 

She pats her hands on the apron around her waist before reaching out to grab them. “I do like them. Thank you,” she replies softly, giving them a small sniff. “If we keep having dinner, you might single-handedly keep the flower shop in business.” 

 

He can’t stop the corner of his lip from arching up at her response. 

 

Walking over to the cabinet, she grabs a vase and starts filling it up at the sink. “Alex, why don’t you go wash up for dinner please?”

 

“Okay, Mommy,” he obeys, jumping down from the stool. “Don’t move, Flip. I’ll be right back.”

 

“Okay, bud,” Phillip replies with a laugh, and then Alex takes down the hall. He walks further into the kitchen, surveying the pots on the stove. “Whatcha making? Smells good.”

 

She places the flowers in the vase and puts them on the kitchen table. “Spaghetti.”

 

He looks over at her, his mouth falling open slightly. “With your gran’s sauce…?” he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

 

“Mhm hm,” she answers, coming back over and lifting the pot lid. 

 

He gets a whiff of it and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. “Fuck, I haven’t had that in years,” he all but moans, making her laugh a little. Drool almost falls from his lips at the mere idea.

 

“I just figured it’d be easy. I know you like it and then I don’t have to make a completely different meal for Alex because he can just have buttered noodles.”

 

“He doesn’t like Gran’s famous spaghetti?” he gasps, a dramatic hand over his heart. “Blasphemy.”

 

She lets out a tiny laugh. “He’s just a kid. I didn’t have a really big palate at his age either but his taste buds will get there eventually. Won’t they, monkey?” she offers to the little boy bounding back down the hallway. He just climbs onto the bar stool again, scrunches his nose, and shakes his head in disagreement. She rolls her eyes. Her little boy tends to be just as dramatic as the man standing next to her. Instead of arguing, she pulls the colander from the cupboard and places it in the sink in order to drain the pasta.

 

Alex brings his focus from his mom to Phillip. “Did you notice that I didn’t call you Uncle Flip?” he asks him without preamble. “It’s ‘cause Mommy told me to call you just Flip 'cause you’re not really my uncle and people might get confused but I was worried you’d be sad about being called just Flip so are you sad?”

 

The sudden ramble shocks him a bit but Phillip’s gaze meets Fran’s for a moment, his heart swelling slightly from the small gesture. She lifts her shoulder in a tiny shrug and tries to smile at him. He blinks back the emotions building up and gives her a small nod in appreciation before turning back to Alex. “I’m not sad at all,” he answers, leaning on the counter beside the boy. “In fact, being just Flip makes me very happy. Your mom is a smart lady to suggest it.”

 

“That’s good,” Alex replies, a smile growing on his face. “I didn’t want you to be sad.”

 

“Well then you’re a very thoughtful kid,” he offers. “But I think you get that from your mom.” He briefly glances back at Fran who quickly looks away. 

 

“Like her being me-tick-luss?”

 

Phillip breaks out into laughter, Fran looking over in confusion. “Yeah, kid. Just like her being meticulous,” he confirms as he reaches out and ruffles Alex’s hair a bit.

 

Still thoroughly confused at the exchange, Fran gestures over to the fridge with her elbow. “Phillip, could you please get Alex some juice while I get all of this on the table?” she asks with only a little hesitancy. “Umm, I also got a few beers if you wanted one.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he replies, feeling slightly guilty she spent money on something she’s never going to drink. 

 

“It’s no trouble. Really,” she says, taking plates and silverware to the table.

 

He walks over to the cupboard and grabs a cup before it hits him how naturally he knows her kitchen after that day. He was thrown into the domesticity of it all before he even really agreed to it. But part of him likes how effortlessly he moves about her house now. 

 

Maybe almost too much.

 

Opening the fridge, he finds the juice and pulls it out. “Really, Fran?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. “White grape? Not even like Kool-aid or something?”

 

She comes back into the kitchen. “Do you know how much sugar and food coloring is in Kool-aid?” she kindly counters.

 

“Yeah. That’s why it tastes fuc—friggin delicious,” he retorts, making Alex giggle at his slip of the tongue. 

 

Fran just rolls her eyes. She knows he just found out he’s a father and has no clue how to do most things but he certainly has a lot to learn. “And I have a child with ADHD,” she lightly argues. “We try to limit sugar where we can.” 

 

“There’s still sugar in grape juice,” he points out, pouring a glass anyway. 

 

“Yeah, but this is made from 100% fruit and has other vitamins and micronutrients,” she says, coming over, grabbing the bottle, and pointing toward the nutrition label. “And no red dye.”

 

He just stares down at her, his brow raised in amused skepticism. “If you say so,” he drawls, taking it back and putting it in the fridge before grabbing one of the beers she appears to have put in there to get cold. “Dinner ready?”

 

She nervously nods, feeling a little embarrassed by her parenting decisions even though she shouldn’t be. He has no right to judge them… Okay, maybe he has some right. Alex is half his. But that still doesn’t mean he can just come in here and suddenly start questioning everything. He doesn’t know any of the current research. He doesn’t know how to raise a child. 

 

Though that’s kind of her fault. 

 

“Flip, you can sit by me!” Alex half yells, yanking her from her thoughts and yanking on Phillip’s arm.

 

The two of them head to the table, Phillip carrying both drinks, while she pours herself a much-needed glass of wine. It might be the only way she’s going to get through the next few hours. With a deep breath, she follows them over to the small dining room where she finds Phillip standing there with a chair pulled out. Her previous defensiveness melts at the gesture. 

 

“Thank you,” she whispers, sitting down in the chair. He pushes her in before taking his seat next to Alex as promised. 

 

“It looks delicious, Frannie,” Phillip offers from his spot across from her.

 

She lets down the rest of her guard and gives him a small smile. “Eat up,” she prompts. 

 

It’s all Phillip needs to dive in, slurping back a big bite. “Ugh, it’s just as good as it used to be,” he moans. Alex laughs while digging into his own noodles. “Maybe even better.”

 

“I’m glad you like it,” she shyly mumbles, eating her food with a little more grace than the boys. “Alex, don’t forget some green beans.”

 

The little boy scrunches his face mid-bite. “Do I have to?” he groans. Fran just gives him a look. 

 

Phillip glances back and forth between the two before scooping up a forkful of his own helping. “I love green beans,” he says pointedly at Alex before devouring them. Alex doesn’t quite look like he trusts him, but there’s an intrigue in the kid’s eyes that he latches onto. “Honestly one of my favorite vegetables. Way better than broccoli by far.”

 

Alex continues to stare at him as he eats the beans. The boy’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and then he tentatively stabs a green bean and eats it, only half grimacing at the taste. 

 

Phillip turns back to his spaghetti with a satisfied smile and finds Fran staring at him with a soft but confused expression. When their eyes meet, she gives him a tiny smile and mouths “Thank you”. He grins back at her and gives her a wink. 

 

The wink sends Fran’s focus back to her own plate, suddenly feeling quite warm despite the thin blouse she’s wearing. Watching Phillip handle Alex will never not send her into a tizzy of feelings. She knows her little boy has taken to him and has put him on a bit of a pedestal, but it seems Phillip has picked up on it as well, apparently using it to his advantage. 

 

Of course, her son would want to be like Mr. Cool Drives Around in a Porsche. And if that also means eating green beans, then it seems he’s willing to accept that.

 

She supposes if Phillip only uses the power for good no harm will come of it. But it’s something she’ll be mindful of from now on. She doesn’t really want her—their son to emulate his rather not-so-great qualities. 

 

The rest of dinner passes without complaint, mostly Alex buzzing for it to be over so that he and Phillip can go play until bedtime. It’s a very bittersweet feeling for her and she finds it plagues her with many complicated emotions. 

 

At first, she’s happy that her son is so excited to be able to play with Phillip—especially since Phillip also seems eager to play as well. But then she feels sad because her son doesn’t normally have many other people to play with. She’s tried to get into the whole Lego and cars thing, and while she does still humor him, she really doesn’t get the allure. And that just makes her feel even worse as the guilt wracks through her at the fact that she robbed the two of them of playing the entire time. She wouldn’t have had to half-ass her way through a Lego build if Phillip had just been in Alex’s life. 

 

Despite her hurricane of emotions, she gets through dinner with a smile, not wanting her breakdown to ruin the night. 

 

“Come on, Flip. I got a new car I can show you!” Alex excitedly exclaims as they get up from the table. 

 

“Plate first please,” Fran reminds him, crooking her head towards the kitchen. She picks up her own dishes as Alex rushes his dishes to the kitchen counter. 

 

He races back to them. “Now can we go play?” he pleads. 

 

“Maybe we should help your mom clean up first?” Phillip prompts, grabbing his plate from the table. 

 

“No, really, it’s fine. You two go play.” She gently takes it from him and stacks it under her own. Then she leans in close so Alex can’t hear. “He’s not going to want to go to sleep knowing you’re staying here after bedtime so it’s probably best if you tire him out.”

 

Phillip stares down at her for a moment, feeling guilty she has to clean all by herself. But then he realizes she’s right, and that it’s helping her out in a different kind of way. “You got a point.” He walks over and heaves Alex up sideways as easily as a duffle bag, sending the boy into a fit of giggles. “Now how ‘bout you show me this new, fancy car of yours.”

 

The two boys head to Alex’s room, leaving Fran all alone. She takes their dishes and places them in the sink, taking a brief moment to herself to breathe now that dinner is over. She can get through a few more hours. 

 

And their big talk. 

 

She slowly gathers the rest of the stuff from the table, even going as far as putting some leftovers in a container for Phillip to take home. Then she sinks into the calm of washing everything. It’s mundane and tedious but it’s a nice way to clear her mind. Especially right now since her little boy and the father he’s not aware of are playing in the other room. 

 

In fact, she can hear the muffled talking and laughter. 

 

Breaths come faster and faster despite her consent. Her hands begin to shake so much that she nearly drops a plate, leading her to place everything in the sink and take a step back. She squeezes her eyes tight and braces her hands on the edge of the counter, trying in vain to calm her breathing.

 

For Christ’s sake, Fran, pull it together. 

 

Every giggle she hears from her son is like an extra stab to the heart. Slowly she sinks to the ground until she’s sitting with her back against the cabinets, her head in her damp hands. 

 

She doesn’t know how long she stays there, her mind too focused on the sounds coming from the other room. It’s long enough that when her eyes eventually venture from the scuff on the tile, she finds the clock on the stove reading 8:12. 

 

Crap.

 

She forces herself up onto unsteady feet. A loud sigh slips through her lips when she remembers the sink that’s still full of dishes, except now the water has gone completely cold. Not the best time to break down. Preferably it would’ve waited until after Phillip left and she was in the comfort of her own bed. 

 

She guesses the dishes will have to wait. 

 

After quickly checking over her appearance in the reflection of the microwave, she takes a deep breath and walks down the hallway to Alex’s room. She stops at the door, watching them for a moment. The scene is pretty adorable, both boys surrounded by a plethora of Legos, Phillip’s long legs bent awkwardly as he sits on the floor. What they’re building she’ll never know, but the engagement on her son’s face will stick with her forever. So much so that she hates to have to interrupt it. 

 

She lightly knocks on the doorframe, catching both boys’ attention. “I hate to break up this little party but it’s after eight, kiddo. Time to get ready for bed,” she prompts.

 

“Do we have to?” Alex protests, his face immediately dropping at the idea.

 

“It’s a school night, so yes,” she deadpans. 

 

“Awww.”

 

Phillip glances between the two before piping up, “Hey, how ‘bout we make a deal? If you listen to your mom and get ready for bed, I’ll tell you a story. Sound fair?”

 

Alex looks like he’s thinking it over for a minute before eventually nodding. With a small sigh, he gets up and grabs some pajamas from his dresser. 

 

“Go get in the shower. I’ll be there in a sec,” Fran tells him with a hand to his unruly mop as he passes her. She turns back to Phillip and notices he’s shoveling spare Legos back into the tub. “You really don’t have to do that. He’s just gonna pull them back out in the morning.”

 

Phillip awkwardly nods and gets up, trying not to step on the Legos decorating the floor. “Kid sure knows how to talk,” he muses. 

 

Fran bites her lip, holding back a smile. “Well, he didn’t get it from me…” she softly says, walking into the hall. 

 

It’s almost a joke—one that narrows in on their entire fucked up situation—but weirdly it doesn’t hurt. He’s actually able to see the humor, and truth, that’s in it. “No, I suppose not,” he retorts, following her. 

 

She knocks on the bathroom door. “You good, monkey?” she calls.

 

“Yeah!”

 

She quickly pops in for a second. “Okay, the timers are going,” she says, stepping back into the hallway. A moment later the shower turns on, making Phillip give her a strange look. “Apparently age seven is the beginning of his ‘I want independence’ phase.” She tilts her head for him to follow her into the living room. “Showers were one of the concessions I was willing to make. Unfortunately with his ADHD he’ll zone out and stay in there until the water goes cold.”

 

“So… timers?” Phillip fills in. 

 

She nods in confirmation. “He gets five minutes to just zone out and enjoy the warm water, then when the first timer goes off he has to wash his hair and everything. Then when the second timer goes off, it signals that it’s time to get out,” she explains. “It works for him… Mostly.”

 

He coughs out a laugh before looking around the room. His eyes land on the sink, noticing all the dishes. The sight makes him frown. Glancing at Fran, he catches her standing there nervously like she got caught doing something she shouldn’t have. 

 

Just as he’s about to question her about it, she interrupts him, “I got sidetracked. That’s all.”

 

He knows there’s more to it, he can see it in her eyes, but he doesn’t force it. They can’t really afford for her to clam up tonight, not when they have to discuss everything. So he reluctantly leaves it be. “I’ll help you… after he goes to bed,” he offers instead. “It’ll go fast with the two of us.”

 

“It’s fine,” she softly argues. “I’ll just do them while you read to him.”

 

He lightly touches her elbow and she flinches a bit at the contact between their skin.

 

“You were nice enough to invite me over and cook dinner,” he murmurs in an almost soothing way. “Let me help with the dishes.”

 

She’s nodding before she even realizes it. His damn magical ways of getting her to say yes to anything. “Okay…” she quietly replies. 

 

They hear the shower stop and a few minutes later Alex comes bounding out of the bathroom in race car pajamas. 

 

“Did you brush your teeth?” Fran double-checks, walking over and getting him a glass of water for the night. 

 

Alex vehemently nods, too excited to talk about teeth brushing. “Now a story?” he presses.

 

“Yes yes, story time,” she reassures, the three of them heading back to his room. 

 

Alex plops into bed and she places the water on his bedside table before bringing the covers up onto him and backing away. She gives a small nod to Phillip who swoops in and kneels next to Alex’s bed. She, on the other hand, forces herself to give them a little space by leaning against the doorframe. 

 

“So I know you normally go for books… but how ‘bout I tell you a story about your mom and me from when we were kids instead?” Phillip suggests, watching as the little boy becomes intrigued by the idea. 

 

“What kind of story?” Alex wonders. He clutches onto his stuffed T-Rex and gets comfortable. 

 

He briefly glances back at Fran before a smirk grows on his face. He leans in close to Alex as if he’s about to reveal a huge secret. “Has your mom ever told you about the time she got detention?”

 

“Mommy, you got in trouble?” Alex asks in disbelief, his eyes as wide as saucers.  

 

She lightly glares at Phillip then looks at Alex. “It was only the one time. I never got detention again after that,” she quickly clarifies. “And we were only twelve. It barely counts.”

 

“It’s still on your permanent record, Frannie,” Phillip counters with a smile, knowing the reminder will bother her. She always used to be such a stickler about their permanent records and how his was all marred up by his grades and getting into trouble. Whereas she had a perfectly pristine one—except for the one mark she always conveniently left out.

 

“Why’d you get detention? Did you do something bad?” Alex wonders. 

 

He shakes his head at her. “Frannie never did anything bad,” he teases. Though the statement hits both of them hard, her crime of keeping Alex a secret underlying his joke. That, by all senses of the word, was a bad thing.

 

“Then how’d she get detention?”

 

Turning back to Alex, he continues with the story, “Well you see, there was this one day at recess where these kids weren’t being very nice to me.”

 

“Why weren’t they being nice?” Alex innocently pipes up.

 

“It’s hard to believe but I wasn’t always this cool,” Phillip explains, making Fran roll her eyes to the high heavens and Alex giggle. “I had short hair, was super gangly with limbs flailing everywhere… and I had these big ears.” He gently brushes away his hair to show Alex his ears. “I looked a little funny for a few years there, and kids thought it was amusing to call me Dumbo.” 

 

---

 

“Hey, Altman!”

 

Phillip sighs from his place on the jungle gym. He’s been seeing how long he can hang upside down until he gets light-headed—determined to beat his record of seven minutes—when he hears the irritating voice of Ethan Schwartz. He glances over at Frannie who’s picked her nose up out of her book.

 

“If you ignore him, he’ll get bored and leave,” she wisely suggests. 

 

Easier said than done.

 

He tries to remain calm, simply hanging there when Ethan’s voice rings out again, “Hey, Dumbo! Look at me when I’m talking to ya!”

 

Closing his eyes, he tries to block it all out, though his patience is growing thinner by the second. Ethan’s the biggest jerk in the eighth grade and for some reason gets off on bullying younger kids. And unfortunately, that includes him. 

 

“Hey, Altman, why don’t you climb to the top and jump off?” Ethan rudely prods.

 

“Yeah, then we can see if Dumbo really flies,” one of Ethan’s cronies adds on, the group of them breaking into laughter. 

 

He’s been called many things by them; giraffe because he shot up five inches over the summer, beaver because his front teeth are bigger than everyone else’s, and Gumby because his limbs don’t exactly look proportional after his growth spurt. But the name Ethan and his cronies seem to really find hilarious is Dumbo. 

 

“Just buzz off, Ethan,” he mumbles, really trying to keep his temper under control. 

 

There’s a scattered gasp amongst the boys, all sarcastically “oohing” at the response. 

 

“Did you guys hear that?” Ethan mocks. “Dumbo can actually talk. And here I thought he could only blow out his trunk.” He makes a trumpeting noise, his arm moving about to mimic a trunk. The other boys start laughing and join in, making it all but impossible for Phillip to ignore. 

 

He flips down to his feet and climbs out of the jungle gym, ready to tell Ethan where he can shove it when Fran closes her book. “Oh, just leave him alone already… He didn’t do anything to you,” she quietly defends.

 

Ethan’s cronies go silent while Ethan starts to smirk, his gaze flickering between him and Fran. “What is it, Altman? Not man enough yourself?” he taunts, slowly stepping closer to Fran. “Gotta have your little girlfriend fight your battles for ya?” 

 

He’s not offended by Fran sticking up for him—Wendy’s a girl and she’s like the strongest person he knows—but no one… no one… gets to make fun of Fran and get away with it. 

 

Ethan’s eyes scan her up and down in a very off-putting way as she sits on the ground. “And if I don’t leave him alone? Whatcha gonna do about it? Frannie the Freak.”

 

Phillip sees red.

 

Without any thoughts whatsoever about the consequences, he bulldozes into Ethan’s torso, knocking him to the ground. “Don’t you ever call her that!” he roars into the other boy’s face. He’s gotten many hours of practice wrestling around with his older brothers, so he does what he was taught to do… He reels back and lands a fist across Ethan’s face. 

 

And with that punch, all hell breaks loose.

 

“Phillip!” Fran cries, dropping her book and rushing over to the two fighting boys. “Phillip, stop!” Ethan’s cronies also run over and try to pry Phillip off of their friend but he holds fast, planting as many hits as he can. “Hey, get off him!” She lightly pushes one of the boys trying to shove Phillip away but only gets rewarded with being knocked back with a wild elbow to the face. “Ow!” Her hands fly to her nose as she falls to the ground, already feeling the blood drip down her hands as the taste of iron fills her mouth.

 

Phillip hears her cry out, immediately turning to see what has happened. “Frannie!” When he sees her clutching her nose, he tries to grab the boy who did it. “Don’t you fucking touch her!” Instead, Ethan takes the opportunity to flip them, ending up with the advantage of being on top which he welcomes with open arms. All Phillip can do is hold his arms in front of his face in an effort to block the assault of fists. 

 

“Hey! Break it up!” an older voice hastily hollers.

 

“Teacher, teacher,” one of the boys mutters. The rest quickly scatter, leaving her, Phillip, and Ethan.

 

Ethan is still pummeling the crap out of Phillip when the teacher reaches them. “Knock it off, you two!” Mr. Weiss demands before yanking Ethan off of Phillip. 

 

Now that he’s free, Phillip crawls over to Fran. He knows his own face is a sight, feeling the double black eyes already forming, but he only cares about hers. “You okay, Frannie?” he softly asks, gently reaching out and pulling her blood-covered hands from her face. Her nose is still trickling so he rips off a bit of his shirt. “Here.” She takes it and holds it to her nose, her bottom lip trembling. The tears brimming her eyes absolutely kill him and he wants nothing more than to stomp the kid who hurt her into the ground. Biting back his anger, he carefully helps her off the ground. 

 

“What the hell are you all thinking? Fighting? Really?” Mr. Weiss rants, still holding back Ethan who’s suddenly calmed down but continues to glare at Phillip through his own black eye. “The three of you, principal’s office.”

 

“But that’s not fair! She didn’t even do anything!” he cries, feeling awful he dragged Frannie into all of this. She doesn’t deserve to get punished as well. 

 

“Don’t make me press for suspension for fighting on school grounds, Mr. Altman,” the teacher threatens, effectively silencing him. “I suggest you hold your tongue.” Mr. Weiss looks over at Fran and sighs. “Take Miss Larsen to the nurse and get her fixed up. Then I want to see you two in Principal Goldberg’s office… Come now, Mr. Schwartz.” 

 

Ethan glares at them as Mr. Weiss leads him away. 

 

Phillip just turns to Fran and brushes a tear away that’s rolling down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Frannie. It’s all my fault,” he frets. He then walks over and picks up her discarded book, brushing the dirt off of it before handing it to her. She almost takes it before they both remember the blood on her hands so he just crooks it under his arm. “Can you ever forgive me?”

 

“Forgive you?” she asks, her voice nasally through the strip of his shirt. “You’re not the one who elbowed me.”

 

They enter the building and start walking to the nurse’s office. “No… but it wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t tackle Ethan,” he replies, his face wrought with guilt. “And now you’re in trouble because I let that jerk get to me.”

 

“Ethan’s the one who started it,” she reminds him. “I’m the reason you got in the fight anyway. I know you only attacked him because he called me a freak.”

 

“Well yeah,” he scoffs as if it’s obvious. “I’ll always defend you, Frannie. Anyone who dares to make fun of you has to answer to me.” She stops walking, making him come to stop as well. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

 

Out of nowhere—and with no thought to her bloody nose—she springs up and pecks his bruised cheek, shocking both of them. She quickly retreats and his gaze locks onto the ground. If he were able to look up from his shoes, he’d definitely notice the bright red flush on her face. 

 

An awkward cough forces itself from his throat. “Wha—What was that for?” he asks, his voice cracking in the middle. His eyes flicker up to hers then back to his feet. 

 

She doesn’t dare make eye contact with him either, instead, she focuses on the bloody fabric in her hands. “Umm… Just a t-thank y-you,” she stutters. “For being sweet, I guess… And for defending me…”

 

Phillip shuffles his feet, not really sure what to feel at the moment. To be honest, he’s uncertain as to why they both got so awkward. He and Frannie have never been awkward before. 

 

He doesn’t like being awkward with her.

 

Clearing his throat again, he grunts, “Okay… Like I said… Anytime… ‘Cause you’re my best friend. I gotchyour back, Frannie.” He finally looks back up at her and watches as a drop of blood falls to the ground. “Crap,” he says, snapping out of the weird tension. He reaches out, grabs the scrap of his shirt from her hand, and holds it to her nose again, making her look up into his eyes. “Here. We should get you to the nurse.” She just looks away and gives a timid nod.

 

---

 

“And so we got to the nurse, found out your mom’s nose thankfully wasn’t broken, and then headed to the office,” Phillip explains to the enraptured little boy. “Got a pretty good lecture from ol’ Principal Goldberg about how fighting is bad and we should settle disputes with our words… Your mom got off easy with only one after-school detention. Ethan and I weren’t so lucky… The two of us got three Saturday detentions each.”

 

“But that’s not fair,” Alex pipes up. “He should’ve gotten more since he’s the bully and he started the whole thing.” 

 

He smiles at the kid’s sense of injustice. “He may have started it but I wasn’t exactly innocent. I threw the first punch… Detention sucked, but I did get pretty good at scraping gum off of the desks.” 

 

Alex’s nose scrunches in disgust. “Ew.”

 

“Ew is right, kid,” he laughs before glancing back at Fran. She stands by the door, looking deep in thought, but blinks out of it when she senses his gaze. Giving him an attempt at a smile, her eyes shift to Alex, so Phillip returns to the boy as well.

 

He wonders if she caught it—that he left out the bit about her surprise kiss, that he skipped right over it to the nurse’s office. Maybe she doesn’t even remember it. Maybe she thinks he doesn’t remember it. But of course, he does. Of course, he remembers it. It was the first time a girl he wasn't related to ever kissed him, albeit on the cheek. It threw him off. There was a surge of strange feelings that came from it, feelings he later shoved down, feelings he knew he shouldn’t associate with his best friend. 

 

As an adult, he knows enough now to say that the kiss sparked a small crush in his twelve-year-old mind. A confusing, one-sided crush that ended up fading to nothing once he realized Fran would despise him if he ever told her. He was her only friend and he didn’t want to lose her over something like that.

 

“Faded.” 

 

Yeah right. 

 

The child staring back at him proves that maybe his crush was a little more on and off again throughout the years than a one-time thing—a fact he’ll happily stay in denial of just a bit longer. He doesn’t know how deeply he can go back into those memories before old feelings resurface, and he really can’t afford to fuck all of this up with ill-timed feelings.  

 

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he pats Alex on the leg. “Come on. I think your mom would agree it’s bedtime now,” he prompts. 

 

“Okay…” Alex pouts. 

 

Phillip’s just about to stand when Alex throws his arms around his neck, keeping him on the ground. He freezes for a moment at the contact. 

 

“Thank you for the story, Flip. And thank you for playing with me.”

 

It’s all it takes for him to melt. He wraps his arms around the boy, his one hand cupping the back of Alex’s head. Emotions dare to well up but he forces them back down. Sure he’s picked the kid up before and rough-housed a little, but this is the first time his son has genuinely hugged him. 

 

His son. 

 

“Anytime, kid. I had fun,” he grunts before ruffling the boy’s hair and standing up. A few more seconds and he would’ve been pressing his lips against the boy’s hair and sniffing it in order to ingrain Alex’s scent into his memory, and that would probably make things quite awkward. Better to cut himself off before that happens. Instead, he simply heads over to the door by Fran. “Sleep tight, bud.”

 

“Night night, Flip. I’m glad you came for dinner,” Alex says before yawning loudly.

 

“Me too.” He gives Alex a smile and a wink then tilts his head towards Fran, signaling he’ll be in the hall. Then he slinks out of the room, his breath strangled in his chest, and he struggles to breathe all the way to the kitchen. When he gets there, he leans against the counter, feeling every thud of his heart, his mind nearly dissociating from his body. 

 

“Hey. You okay?” Fran’s soft voice calls. 

 

He blinks out of it and takes a deep breath. “Yeah… Just… a lot. Still processing it all,” he murmurs. 

 

Her expression remains gentle as she walks over and empties the cold water from the sink, refilling it with hot water. “I get it,” she nearly whispers. “We both have a lot to get used to.” He merely nods back.

 

She begins to wash the dishes, Phillip coming over and grabbing a towel. He stands by her, drying each one as she hands them to him. 

 

It’s strangely domestic but neither wants to think too much into it.

 

They form a nice system, just silently working together until eventually the silence becomes crushing under the weight of the elephant in the room.

 

“So…” she starts, chewing on her bottom lip and handing him the pot she just rinsed. 

 

His eyes meet hers as he reaches for it. “So…?” he repeats, not knowing how to start either.

Notes:

Their big talk in imminent

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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Chapter 19: The Big Talk Part II

Summary:

Fran and Phillip make a tentative game plan.

Fran and Phillip just stand there in her kitchen staring at each other with uncertainty. He thoughtlessly dries the pot lid just to give his hands something to do so they don’t run through his hair fifteen times. 

 

How does one begin this kind of conversation with the mother of the child they just found out even existed only a mere two weeks ago?

 

“D-Do you want another beer?” she blurts, breaking the awkward silence.

 

His body relaxes just the tiniest bit. “Sure,” he replies, placing the pot lid down. “Alcohol might be good. Christ knows I’ll need it.” He gestures to the bottle on the counter as she slides past him to the fridge to grab him one. “More wine?” Looking back, she gives him a jerky nod, clearly agreeing with his sentiment, so he grabs her previous glass and refills it. 

 

He hears the clink of the bottle cap and turns back to face her. They wordlessly hand each other their respective drink, their fingers brushing the other’s during the transfer. Fran yanks her hand back, nearly spilling her newly poured glass, but quickly plays it off by silently gesturing to the living room. 

 

Phillip follows behind, feeling admittedly more nervous than he probably needs to be. It’s not like she’s going to deny him from ever seeing Alex again. They both know that will just break the little boy’s heart and he knows Fran would never do that to her son. 

 

Their son.

 

That’s still a lot to get used to.

 

He sits down on her couch and takes a long slug of his beer, chugging about a third of it. Fran’s just about to sit as well before suddenly stopping as if she remembered something. “Oh, I actually have something for you,” she announces, putting her glass down on the coffee table and leaving the room with no further explanation. Not even a minute later she comes back holding a black book. “Here.”

 

Only when he takes it from her does he realize what it is. His confusion about the offering turns into this overwhelming wave of shock and gratitude. He puts his beer on the table before lightly ghosting his fingers across the cover and swallowing back the uptick of emotions bubbling up in his throat.

 

“I saw that you put the picture I gave you on your desk and I just t-thought that maybe you might want m-more…” she softly explains, standing awkwardly in front of him.

 

He gingerly opens the album almost as if he’s scared to rip anything and glances through the pages. Photos of Alex from all ages are glued to the pages with little handwritten blurbs beside them detailing dates and such.

 

One thing he does notice is that Fran is absent from every picture—that they solely have Alex in them. It’s like she thought he’d absolutely abhor having her in the photos when on the contrary, he wouldn’t have minded. He liked seeing Fran with their son from the pictures in the other photo album he looked at. The smile on her face was as wonderful as it was heartbreaking. 

 

“I worked on it all night,” she murmurs in addition.

 

His brows furrow and he finally tears his gaze from the album back to her. “You worked on this all night?” he repeats in disbelief. She just gives a small, shy shrug in response. Not able to form a reply to that, he returns his eyes to the pages, completely in awe that she would even make an album for him at all, nonetheless stay up the entire night doing it. She really didn’t need to. He wouldn’t have cared if it took her weeks of sporadically making it. The fact that she did it all in one night hits him hard.

 

Honestly, it eats away at the simmering anger he’s had at her since he found out. 

 

He looks up at her and the timid expression on her face and he instantly knows his anger isn’t going to last long. He’s never been able to stay mad at his Frannie. Ever.  

 

“Thank you,” he grunts through a throat thick with emotion while closing the album and holding it up a little. “Really… This means a lot.”

 

She smiles nervously before taking a seat on the other end of the couch. He’d actually call it progress from the last time he was over and they talked and she sat in the chair on the other side of the room just to give him space. At least they’re able to sit on the same piece of furniture without spontaneously combusting from the sheer tension between them.

 

God how he wishes things were as easy as they used to be. How comfortable they were with each other. Now it feels like they’re practically strangers half the time. 

 

Though he supposes being a bit too comfortable with each other that night eight years ago is exactly the reason they’re in this mess in the first place. 

 

He probably never should’ve crossed that line. Should’ve known there would be no taking it back once he did. But he couldn’t help himself after so many years of secretly wondering. 

 

“C-Can I just start off by asking if maybe we don’t t-tell anyone yet?” she nervously begins, tearing him from his thoughts. “The gossip in this town can be awful, especially around Alex and I, and I’d just like it if maybe it stayed between us while we try and figure everything out. I don’t want him getting wrapped up in all of that if I can help it.”

 

“That’s fine. I get it,” he says. “And Alex…? What do we do about him?” She goes quiet and avoids his gaze, so he softly adds, “Fran, I want you to know that I’ll follow your lead on this.” He reaches over and places a hand on the cushion separating them—a physical olive branch. “Yeah, I wanna work all this shit out and get to know Alex but I’m not gonna rush you into anything you aren’t comfortable with. We can take this at your speed.” 

 

It’s a painful concession on his part… but a necessary one. 

 

She licks her lips and ignores his eyes, hesitant in replying but ultimately responds with, “I’d prefer if maybe we waited on that…” Her fingers fidget in her lap so she quickly takes a sip of her wine to give them something to do. “I just… want to make sure that all of this… works… before you know…”

 

It hurts. It hurts that he can’t immediately acknowledge his son as his. That they’re gonna just hide it for who knows how long. That he’ll have to hang out with Alex and pretend he’s just Fran’s close friend and not the kid’s father. But he kind of understands. Or at least he’s trying to. 

 

They have a lot of trust to rebuild first. They have to relearn each other after six years of no contact and eight years of secrets. They have to be able to meld their lives together. They’ll never be able to co-parent or whatever it is they’ll be doing if none of those foundations get built. Fran is fiercely protective of Alex and Phillip completely understands her reluctance of exposing him to a trial by fire. 

 

He shoves down his initial feeling of pain and forces out a nod. “I get it.” 

 

She nods back and finally looks back up at him while chewing on her lip. “When you say you want to get to know him, what exactly does that mean?” she nervously asks. 

 

AKA; Do you want to be a dad or not?

 

His brows furrow slightly at the question he’s thought long and hard over for the past few weeks. He briefly glances over his shoulder at the hallway where Alex is sound asleep. Where his son is asleep. He turns back to face her, mentally preparing to bear his heart on his fucking sleeve. “I want this, Frannie…” he whispers as sincerely as he can. “And I know I don’t know two shits about being a dad, but fuck if I don’t want to try for him.” 

 

Fran’s breath is caught in her throat while he answers. 

 

His eyes bear into hers, every emotion he’s feeling shining through them. “I don’t wanna miss any more moments in my son’s life,” he chokes, his jaw grinding side to side to clench back the tears that are threatening to form. “I've already missed enough.”

 

That comment hits her straight in the heart, bringing another wave of guilt. She slowly nods, reflecting on his answer. “What exactly does that entail?”

 

He scoffs in an almost amused way and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Frannie. You tell me.” Shaking his head, he places the album on the coffee table and takes another chug of his beer. “You’re kinda the ringleader here and I’m just along for the ride… I’m willing to do anything I need to to become a part of your and Alex’s lives but you’re the one who needs to set up the boundaries.”

 

Fran bites her lips, his words really settling in. To be honest, she thought Phillip would kind of lead the conversation. Okay, well, hoped. He’s the other parent, the one that was lied to, the one who has the right to demand how much time he wants/doesn’t want. 

 

“Could—Could we maybe take it slow?” she mumbles, strangely terrified of his response.

 

“If that’s what you need… Yeah,” he replies. He turns to face her more, his calf coming up onto the cushion, his fingers subconsciously picking at the label on his beer. “But what does that look like? Just seeing him once a week? Once every two weeks?”

 

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” she quickly but softly argues. “I wouldn’t limit you to only every once in a while.”

 

His body relaxes slightly as if he was unknowingly nervous she would. “I know you wouldn't,” he murmurs back. “Preferably I’d be able to see him whenever I wanted but again it’s ultimately up to you. I wouldn't just come barging over anytime I wanted to despite your feelings and schedule, and I don’t want to do that… I don’t want this to get messy.” He rolls his eyes. “Well, messier… I wanna stay respectful of your time but like I told you, I just really wanna get to know my kid.”

 

The way he says ‘my kid’ always stirs something inside of her. A weird warmth—a wave of elation that he’s claiming the child he barely even knows. She was so terrified he’d just reject Alex and want nothing to do with him when in reality, it’s been nothing but the opposite. 

 

She chews on her lip and takes another sip of wine as a way of stalling. “Maybe we can start off with just dinners a few times a week? Staying for bedtime, if you want.” She shakes her head and adds, “I wouldn’t force you to do anything.”

 

“Fran, you’re never gonna have to force me to spend time with him,” Phillip kindly interjects. “I want to.”

 

She nods gently, looking down at her glass. Her fingers fidget around the stem. “Then maybe we could do that for a bit… and then take it from there… I think a lot of this will just be playing it by ear. Constantly readjusting depending on how it all feels.”

 

“That’s fine by me… Just… hopefully within a reasonable time frame,” he adds. “I don’t want just dinners and bedtime three times a week for the next four years.”

 

Fran hastily shakes her head. “No, I—I understand,” she chokes out. “I p-promise it won’t be that.”

 

“Good.” He scans her up and down, taking note of all the tension in her body. It hurts him to see her so withdrawn. “I do have one question though.” She glances up for a second and nods for him to continue. “Will you cook dinner for me every time?” he asks with the beginnings of a smirk. Anything to get her to loosen up, even just the littlest bit. “Maybe more of Gran’s famous recipes?”

 

Her eyes come up to meet his, the corner of her lip arching upward. A small signal that his intention worked. “Only if you’re okay with PB&Js and dino nuggets every once in a while,” she timidly quips. 

 

His smile grows. “You’re in luck,” he replies coyly. “Those happen to be two of my favorite foods.”

 

She can’t help but laugh a little, and it helps to break up the constant, underlying tension. She places her glass on the table, brings her legs up, and crosses them under her, getting more comfortable—both physically and in his presence. Fran stares at him for a moment, just allowing herself to enjoy the newfound, relative peace between them. 

 

He looks different than he did the other day when he was here—strangely calmer despite the circumstances. Her mind flips back to the two of them somehow moving in tandem through the kitchen getting everything ready for dinner and then washing the dishes after. She’d be lying if she said she weirdly didn’t like the subtle domesticity of it all. It was almost as if they were an actual family and not just two separate parents to the same child. 

 

She’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t a little worried about them all spending more time together. If she’s not careful, she could very easily get sucked into the euphoria of playing house, and she can’t allow herself to go there again. 

 

There’s too much on the line this time. 

 

She has to protect Alex… and herself. 

 

Shaking her head, she clears all her thoughts away. “You know… this is kind of off topic… but I think your idea of reorganizing the store is a good one,” she gently states. 

 

He straightens at the comment, pulling his focus from his half-scratched-off label. “Really?” he asks, shocked she’d even think that. “You don’t think it would be a ‘big waste of money’ like Paul thinks?”

 

She scrunches her nose and purses her lips. “Maybe at first,” she replies before cocking her head to the side and leaning back against the arm of the couch. “But I also think your dad would encourage Paul and you to make it your own. To make it into something you’re both proud of, regardless of the money.”

 

Phillip stares at her, his eyes sussing out if she’s being completely genuine, and he’s not coming up with anything to make him doubt her words. “If only I could get him to see it your way,” he laments, swigging back his beer. “He kinda hates all my ideas.”

 

“I could maybe talk to him… if you wanted,” she offers. “Maybe he just needs to hear it from someone else…”

 

His brows furrow and he places his beer on the table. “You would do that?”

 

“Yeah… I would,” she replies with a timid nod. “I suppose I’m kind of part of the team now anyway.”

 

“Kind of?” He raises an eyebrow and scoffs at her response. “Of course you’re part of the team. Dad would’ve been thrilled you decided to take the job.”

 

A passive look crosses over his face. Fran clocks it and reaches forward to touch his hand before she even realizes that she’s doing it. “I’m sorry… for making everything so much more difficult,” she says quietly. “You should’ve been able to mourn your father without me throwing the biggest wrench into your life.”

 

He looks down at the tiny hand that’s covering his. She hasn’t touched him this freely in a very long time and he’s worried he’ll scare her off if he moves too fast. He firmly but slowly turns his hand over and cups hers, his thumb softly caressing her skin. “I think dad would’ve rathered I finally become a part of Alex’s life than sit and mourn him for weeks on end,” he admits, looking back up at her. “As shitty as the situation is, it’s been a pretty sufficient distraction from my dead father.”

 

Fran bites her lip while understanding his thought process. She’s sure Mort would’ve loved to finally acknowledge Alex as his grandson. She’s sad he’ll never get to. 

 

“I gotta say my mother will probably be disappointed,” he says. Her panic must show on her face because he quickly adds, “Not at you. Never at you… Hell, she’s not even angry you never told her… It's just that until Alex knows everything, she won’t be able to parade him around bragging that he’s her grandson.”

 

“Paul told me she was quite eager…” she mumbles. 

 

“She is.” He can’t help but roll his eyes slightly at his dramatic mother. “I’m sure they all are in their own ways. Okay well, maybe not Judd seeing as they’ve never met.”

 

“Does Judd know…?” she cuts in softly. 

 

AKA; Is someone else in your family mad at me?

 

His eyebrows scrunch together. “To be honest… I don’t even know,” he slowly replies, ending with a small, sheepish chuckle. “I certainly didn’t tell him, but I wouldn't be shocked if my mother or Wendy did.” He gives her hand a small squeeze, pulling it just a little closer. “But I know for a fact Wendy is extremely impatient for everything to be out in the open. She said she wants to finally be able to spoil the shit out of him.”

 

“I know. She told me the same.” Fran smiles a little and huffs out a quiet laugh before getting serious again. “I don’t want to keep him from you all… I want him to be with you all,” she shyly states. His family. “And he’s already comfortable with you guys… Your mother, Wendy, Paul, even Annie because of school.”

 

“I’m sure Judd will love him as well,” he offers. 

 

She subconsciously shakes her head and waves him off. “I’m not worried about that… I just—I want you to know that if they ever want to see him, we can work something out. Even without him knowing.” She gives a small shrug. “He’ll already have baseball with Paul but if you want some other activities that’s fine too. He’ll probably think we’re just spending the day with the Altmans and be excited he has more people to talk to.”

 

“I’m sure they’d like that,” he replies, staring quite intently at her, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I know my mother would. In fact, she even told me I need to invite you two for dinner one night.”

 

The prospect raises her nerves a little but she swallows them back. “That’d be fine. Just depends on when.”

 

“I’ll let her know,” he says with a nod.

 

A small silence falls over the two and it’s only then that Fran notices the soft movement against her wrist, reminding her that they’re still holding hands. His thumb continues to rub her skin, almost as if it’s become an involuntary thing and not a conscious choice. 

 

Her face flushes bright red and she takes her hand back, the skin nearly burning like his fingers left an imprint upon her wrist. 

 

His eyes meet hers at the sudden loss of contact. Honestly, he hadn’t even realized he was still touching her. It just felt normal. But now his hand feels strangely cold and he’s not sure he likes that. 

 

There’s a trepidation in her eyes that makes his heart pound. When did they lean closer? They started out on opposite sides of the couch and are now nearly in the middle, his knee touching her shin. His gaze can’t help but fall to her lips and how they part ever so slightly as she quickly sucks in a breath. 

 

Memories from that night suddenly flood his brain. How soft her lips felt against his, the whimpers and moans he coaxed from those same lips. The teeth that left an indentation on his shoulder for days from biting down, so that every time he looked at it, he would remember how it felt when she came around his co—

 

Shaking his head, he quickly vanishes the dangerous thoughts. “I should probably get going…” he grunts, patting his leg lightly.  

 

Fran startles out of her embarrassment. “Oh, umm sure. If you need to,” she stutters. They both get up from the couch and she grabs the wine glass and beer bottle. “Don’t forget your album and then I have something else for you.” 

 

“Stay up all night making another craft project?” he awkwardly teases.

 

Her cheeks tinge pink again as she hastily shakes her head. “No... I—I’ll be right back.”

 

He heads to the door, album in hand, and slips on his shoes as she scurries off into the kitchen. A minute later, she comes back and hands him a container full of spaghetti.

 

“I just know you love it so…” she trails off.

 

It pulls a smile to his face. “Thank you,” he replies, grabbing it from her. “I’m sure it’ll be completely gone by tomorrow.”

 

The corner of her lip raises. “I don’t doubt it… You also don’t have to bring the container back. I have hundreds of them.” Fran bites her tongue, forcing herself to stop talking. No one wants a conversation about Tupperware. “I’m glad… that you came for dinner,” she softly supplies instead. “I know Alex really enjoyed it.”

 

“I did too,” he says, his gaze softening as he stares at her. “I meant it… when I said you did a good job.” Her eyes look up at him in curiosity. “He’s a really great kid, Frannie.”

 

She doesn’t know what to say so she just nods. 

 

Phillip scans her face, seeing multiple emotions flash through her eyes. After so many years apart, he’s unfortunately not able to name them anymore but he’s damn determined to learn her again. Hopefully enough to be able to read her with barely a glance like he used to. 

 

“Thank you… for dinner. And the album. It really does mean more than you know,” he murmurs. Then he opens the door but doesn’t walk out. Instead, he leans down and presses a kiss against her cheek, making her lips part in surprise. The little gasp that leaves her instantly goes to his head. Her skin gradually gets warmer as he lingers longer than he probably should—his lips also closer to hers than a normal peck on the cheek should be.

 

He has to force himself to pull away, especially knowing Doreen Matthews could potentially be spying from her window across the street, and Christ knows what gossip she’ll send up the Aunt pipeline. “Night, Frannie,” he whispers even as she avoids his eyes. 

 

“Goodnight,” Fran rasps, still feeling the burn of his lips on her cheek. 

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he adds but she only nods. 

 

And with that, he steps out the door, ignoring the feeling of wrongness as she shuts it behind him, putting a physical barrier between Alex and Fran and him. He gets into his car and sits there for a moment, somehow unable to put his key in the ignition. 

 

Why is he tempted to march back up to her door and tell her he’s never leaving? He shouldn’t even be having those thoughts. He shouldn’t be having any of the thoughts that he’s had this evening. He promised her they’d take it slow and just up and suggesting that they live together and be Alex’s parents together isn’t necessarily going slow. But fuck does it feel awful leaving not only Alex but also Fran. 

 

He finally turns his car on, not wanting Fran to wonder why he’s just sitting out here for ten minutes. The drive back to his apartment is completely silent—not even the radio to drown out his thoughts. Once parked, all he can do is drop his forehead to his steering wheel and sit there. 

 

How is he supposed to do this? Have dinner with them every week, spending hours having fun with Alex, getting close to Fran again, and then have to just drive home afterward like he’s not leaving a piece of himself behind each time. 

 

He told her they’d take it slow.

 

But how long can he do it before he breaks? 

Notes:

Things are beginning to simmer for Phillip and Fran...

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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Chapter 20: Home Run

Summary:

Phillip and Fran attend Alex's first baseball game.

Notes:

It's been so long, but we're back!

“We really gotta work on tying shoes, kiddo,” Fran murmurs as she kneels in the middle of the parking lot, lacing up Alex’s cleats. 

 

Her clean-freak tendencies might have declined over the years of being a mom, but she puts her foot down at dirty sports gear in the car. Alex’s cleats get put on and come off outside the car and practically live in a plastic bag when not in use. 

 

She really can’t stand the dirt getting everywhere. It sinks deep into the carpeted floorboards and is near impossible to get out even with a vacuum.

 

“I try,” he softly defends.

 

His tone makes her mild annoyance melt away. “I know you do,” she acknowledges. “We just gotta practice more, that’s all.” 

 

She finishes tying his shoes and he hops out of the car while she grabs the rest of his gear from her trunk. Glove, helmet, then the team provides bats and balls. They’ve had a few practices over the last two weeks, but today is a fun scrimmage game to welcome the kids into the season. 

 

“Flip! You came!” Alex suddenly yells, running away from her. 

 

She turns around to find Phillip heading across the parking lot towards them. He sweeps Alex up into his arms like he’s done it a hundred times before, and dang it, if her heart doesn’t pound faster at the sight. Her lanky seven-year-old looks so small compared to the bigger man, and she can’t help but mourn the sight of a younger Alex being completely dwarfed by Phillip’s wide chest. 

 

But enough with those thoughts. She shouldn’t even be thinking about his chest to begin with. The one that somehow got even wider in the last eight years. 

 

“Of course I came. I wasn’t gonna miss your first ever baseball game,” Phillip enthuses, walking up to her with Alex on his hip. “This is a momentous occasion. You only get one first game.” He looks down at her and smiles, adding, “Hey, Francake.”

 

“H-H-Hi?” she stutters back, thrown by his upbeat tone, the use of the nickname he hasn’t used since before she dropped a bomb on his life, and at the fact that he’s here at all. 

 

Her eyes scan him up and down, from the amused grin he has as Alex tells him all about school yesterday, to the open, plaid shirt over a white tee with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, to the sunglasses hanging on his collar, to the Rangers cap that makes the tips of his ears stick out. 

 

She can already picture the other moms fawning over Phillip Altman holding her (their) child. 

 

It’s just like school all over again. And it leaves her feeling rather frumpy in her thigh-length overalls, white T-shirt, and Keds, with her hair in two very tiny French braids to stop it from blowing in the wind. She didn’t even put on makeup like the other moms usually do. The only thing on her face is sunscreen, so she doesn’t burn sitting in the sun for hours.

 

If she had known Phillip was going to show up, she might’ve at least put some mascara on. 

 

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she notices Paul next to the benches trying to round up all the kids, meanwhile her own child is still thoroughly chatting Phillip’s ears off, the latter taking it all in stride. “Hey, monkey, I think it’s time to get going,” she interrupts. 

 

Phillip looks over, notices the group of kids, and takes her cue to wrap up their little conversation. “Yeah, we don’t want Paul to get all cranky. He’s a big grump when he’s cranky,” he adds, making Alex giggle. “We’ll talk after the game, kay, bud?” 

 

“Okay,” Alex says, sounding slightly bummed at the prospect. 

 

Seeing the drop in his expression, Phillip leans close to his ear and whispers, “Don’t tell your mom, but go kick ass,” and gives him a wink. The secret swear brings the smile back to his son’s face, and Alex attempts to wink back, but it comes out as a blink. He chuckles and puts him down, the kid leaving them behind without a second glance. 

 

“Hey! Glove and helmet,” Fran calls, pointedly waving the pieces of gear that are still in her hands. He comes back, quickly grabs them from her, and speeds off, leaving her shaking her head at her son’s forgetfulness. She turns to find Phillip standing there, looking amused. “What are you doing here?” she asks as nonchalantly as she can while distracting herself by grabbing her mini cooler and closing her trunk. 

 

“What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’?” he retorts, half offended she’d even ask the question. He told her he wanted to be a part of Alex’s life now, and that’s what he’s doing. 

 

“You didn’t need to,” she awkwardly waves off. “It’s just a scrimmage game… They’ve only had like three practices, so it’s not like much will be happening. It’s mostly for them to get used to hitting and throwing the ball. The kids don’t even pitch yet.”

 

“I told Alex I was gonna be here, so I am,” he replies, effectively putting an end to their little nonsense debate. He grabs the cooler from her despite her protestations, throwing it over his shoulder as they walk to the small set of bleachers. “And besides… You did tell me his dad played ball in school.”

 

It makes her freeze in her spot. “I—I did…” she mumbles, not sure why he’s mentioning her omission of the truth. She quickly looks around to see if anyone is watching. 

 

“I was curious to see if he inherited any natural talent from that deadbeat,” he coyly jokes.

 

Her jaw drops to the ground and her cheeks burn. Fully thrown off by his teasing, she just nods. A handful of weeks ago he was screaming in her driveway, and now he’s being all tongue and cheek about his absence in Alex’s life? What the hell has happened?

 

Has a handful of dinners really started to heal the wound she caused that much?

 

It’s been a few weeks since their big talk, and so far, taking it slow has been going pretty smoothly, all things considered. Phillip comes around for dinner and bedtime two to three times a week, something that Alex has thoroughly enjoyed. 

 

But she didn’t think they’d be quite at joking level yet. A few dinners can’t possibly have erased all that pain.

 

“Umm, we should sit,” she awkwardly blurts. Then, without a second glance at him, she climbs the bleacher stairs and finds a good spot. She hears him follow, and her peripheral catches as he plops down next to her, but she keeps her eyes focused on the field. 

 

Paul is moving around, placing kids into different positions around the field—not that they’ll really stay there for long. Alex is sitting happily on the bench with a string of their kids. He turns around and spies the two of them on the bleachers and gives a big wave. Fran smiles and waves back, and she assumes Phillip does as well since her little boy’s grin grows even bigger before he turns back around. 

 

“This is weird,” he suddenly says from beside her.

 

Her nose scrunches at the random comment. “What is?” she asks, still watching as the first little kid gets up to bat. 

 

“Being here.”

 

She finally turns to look at him, finding him leaning back, looking quite relaxed. “What do you mean?”

 

“I used to play here,” he explains, sitting up straighter, his shoulder bumping into hers. “I pitched from that same mound for years, and now…” he shakes his head “well, now we’re here watching him.”

 

Their son. 

 

“It’s a full circle kinda moment... Never thought I’d be on this side of the fence, ya know?” he finishes quietly. Pushing down the strange wave of emotion, he leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “If Paul ever yells at him, I’m gonna knock his lights out.”

 

She rolls her eyes, looking back at the field where Paul is gently underhand tossing a baseball. “He's not going to yell... They’re seven,” she reminds him. 

 

“Still,” he mumbles, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. 

 

And so they settle into watching the ‘game’, which consists of most kids swinging and hitting thin air, but still, they clap politely at everyone’s attempt. The team trades off lines a few times, switching between batting and playing outfield—aka half the kids all running to the ball at the same time. The duo might’ve gotten a few glares after Phillip snorted when two boys collided into each other, the ball rolling straight past them. She had to pinch his side for that one.

 

As they patiently wait for Alex’s turn at bat, the sun just gets higher and higher in the sky, beating down on the uncovered bleachers. As an attempt to ease the glare, Fran holds a hand over her eyes. It’s only semi-helpful, but it’s better than nothing. 

 

That is, until she feels a hat get placed on her head. 

 

Her gaze quickly whips to the side to find Phillip sitting there, now sans Rangers cap—the one that’s now on her. “Oh. No. Really. That’s not necessary,” she argues, reaching up to take it off. “I’m not gonna take your hat just because I underpacked.”

 

“I’m fine, Fran,” he waves her off. “I can last a few hours.” He grabs the hat from her and puts it back on her head. “Besides, I have sunglasses and you don’t.”

 

She awkwardly runs her fingers along the bill, adjusting how it sits, and also just processing the gesture. “I’m not normally like this,” she swears. “It’s just we were running late and I was trying to remember all of Alex’s things that I forgot to grab my—”

 

“Your dad’s Red Sox cap,” he finishes for her, making her blink at him in shock. “I get it. And it’s still fine. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

 

“Wait. You remember that?” she practically whispers. That old baseball cap is one of the few things she still has from her dad. One of her most cherished items. It’s slightly tattered along the brim, but she doesn’t care.

 

The corner of his lips quirks up along with his left eyebrow. “Frannie, it’s like the only hat you ever wore. Of course I remember it,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing on earth. 

 

She stares at him a moment longer. 

 

Will he never cease to shock her every time they meet? She’s constantly surprised by the littlest things he remembers from their childhood. Maybe she hasn’t been giving him enough credit…

 

“Hey, Fran,” a woman below them interrupts, getting their attention. “It’s Alex’s turn.”

 

“Oh! Thank you, Jess,” she quickly replies before grabbing her camera from the cooler pocket and jumping up in her seat. Phillip stands up beside her, appearing to be just as—maybe even a bit more—excited as she is.

 

She lifts the small digital camera and snaps a few shots of Alex at the plate.

 

Phillip leans in close to her ear. “I want one of those,” he whispers, not taking his eyes off their little boy. 

 

She looks up at him and stiffly nods. She’ll have to print him off copies so he can add them to the album she gave him. Maybe they’ll even put one up on the corkboard in the office. Maybe right next to Phillip’s own baseball photo.

 

She then turns back, cups her hands around her mouth, and calls out, “Let’s go, Alex!”

 

“Come on, little dude!” Phillip cheers beside her, clapping his hands. 

 

They watch diligently as Paul tosses the ball toward Alex, the boy swinging and effectively missing. Fran immediately starts to shift her weight back and forth and chews on her lip, feeling rather anxious for him. She doesn’t know what they’ll do if his confidence tanks in the first game. 

 

Paul once again tosses the ball. 

 

Another swing and a miss. 

 

Before his brother can pitch again, Phillip quickly steps down the bleachers, not even bothering with the stairs. He takes his sunglasses off, hooking them on his shirt collar, and shakes his head at Paul. Wait. His brother catches his eye and nods back at him as he grasps onto the backstop. “Come on, Alex. You can do it, bud,” he encourages through the fence. “Just slow it down. Square up your shoulders, elbow high, and keep your eye on the ball. You got this.”

 

He watches as Alex slowly shifts his body to somewhat resemble his instructions. He gives a small nod to Paul, who bends down and gently tosses the ball one last time. Alex rears back and swings with all his might. There’s a small thunk as the ball meets the bat before soaring straight past Paul and rolling into left field. 

 

Alex turns around to face him in shock and excitement. “Flip, I did it!” he yells. “I hit the ball!”

 

“I saw, bud!” he calls back with a slight laugh, pride racing through his entire body. So much that he thinks he might explode from it. “Now drop the bat and run.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Alex calmly remembers. The bat falls from his hand, and he takes off running toward first base. Meanwhile, the other kids are once again all racing for the ball at the same time. 

 

“Phillip!”

 

Back on the bleachers, Fran comes flying down the stairs towards Phillip. He turns around just in time for her to reach him. 

 

“Phil, he hit the ball! He hit the ball!” she joyfully cries before colliding into his chest. Not thinking straight in her excitement, she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him into an embrace—the biggest one they’ve had in eight years. “He actually hit the ball!”

 

His adrenaline is running just as wild, so he shifts his feet to take her weight and wraps his arms around her in return. “He fucking hit the ball!” he enthuses with her, lifting and spinning her in a circle. She barks out a laugh, throwing her head back, and quickly wraps her legs around his waist for support. The other parents glare at him for swearing around children, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the woman laughing in his arms and the little boy who’s miraculously standing on second base. 

 

That is, until Fran comes back to reality.

 

He sees it in her eyes as it happens. Sees the moment she remembers that they’re in front of a crowd of people and everyone is watching them. It’s a single blink, and all their celebrating is suddenly done. The awkward rift between them is back. And as much as his eyes scream for her to focus just on him, her self-consciousness settles deep in her bones, and there’s no turning back. 

 

He ignores the pang in his heart as her cheeks flush and she clumsily climbs down from his arms, forcing him to let go. 

 

He ignores how weirdly right it felt to have her in his arms as they cheered on their son. The son she hid from him for seven years. It only makes him mourn the relationship they could’ve had if she had only told him from the start. They could’ve celebrated all of Alex’s wins without any regard for what everyone else thought of them. Everyone would just know that they were excited parents, happy their kid hit the damn ball.

 

But no. For the time being, he has to be Alex’s mother’s excited friend.

 

Fran nervously looks around before settling her gaze on his chest. “He did well,” she murmurs breathlessly before turning to face the field. She gives a proud thumbs up to Alex as he spies her through the fence.

 

Phillip’s eyes don’t leave her, though. “Yeah. He did,” he agrees, eventually pulling his gaze from her to focus on the game. “He did really good.” 

 

Those deadbeat genes just might’ve passed on after all. 

 

The next kid comes up to the plate, another pair of parents cheering them on from behind them, but their focus stays on Alex. He’s standing on the plate, shifting back and forth, buzzing energy just radiating throughout the field. 

 

There’s the pitch before a swing and a miss. Then a round of polite claps. 

 

Paul tosses the ball again, and the kid manages to get under it just enough to pop it up in the air toward the right field. All the other kids stare in amazement as another kid gets a hit. Therefore, they completely ignore the ball, and the boy runs to first base. 

 

Alex stands there a moment, almost like he’s unsure of what to do. Or maybe just distracted by the chaos. They watch as his head shifts to the multiple other children on the field.

 

“Run, Alex/monkey!” Phillip and Fran call in unison. It shakes the boy from his thoughts, and he takes off to third base. Meanwhile, Phillip leaves Fran’s side and heads past the backstop to the fence gate. He sees the other kids struggling to collect the ball and enters the field, coming to stand next to the ‘umpire’, aka Zach, the catcher from the high school team that Paul pays. “Alex, run home!”

 

The little boy notices him and rounds third. 

 

“That’s it. Come on, bud!” 

 

As Alex keeps running, the other kids finally get a hold of the ball and attempt to throw it to Paul. As both the catcher and the umpire, the play only stops when Zach gets the ball. Alex continues on home as Paul catches the ball and tosses it over to Zach. 

 

Both Phillip and Fran watch with bated breath as Alex’s shoe touches down on the base mere seconds before the ball meets Zach’s glove. 

 

“Safe,” the teenager calls out, sounding rather nonchalant. 

 

But their reaction is anything but. 

 

“Flip, I got a run!”

 

“Hell yeah, you got a freaking run!” Phillip cheers, double high-fiving and swinging the little boy in the air.

 

Fran races to the gate and flings it open. She makes it over as the two boys start celebrating by themselves. Alex looks over at her and slinks down from Phillip’s arms, calling, “Mom, did you see? Did you see?!” 

 

Seconds later, he collides with her stomach, the biggest smile she’s ever seen on his face. “Of course I saw, monkey,” she answers, grabbing his face and plastering it with kisses. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.” Then she wraps her arms around him and squeezes tightly, overly aware of the tall man standing next to them. 

 

Alex extracts himself from her arms and looks up at said man. “Flip helped me,” he quite happily states. 

 

“Ach, I did nothing,” Phillip waves off, gently ruffling Alex’s hair. “It was all you, kid.”

 

There’s a large cough to the right of them. “Can the three of you maybe wrap it up? We’re still in the middle of a game here,” Paul drones, though his own pride is secretly bursting for his nephew. 

 

Fran turns bright red and grabs Alex’s hand. “Sorry, Paul,” she squeaks, leading Alex over to the bench. She and Phillip head back to the bleachers, but not before pressing a few more kisses to the little boy’s face. Or a huge high five in Phillip’s case. 

 

They walk up the stairs, with her quietly apologizing to the other parents for holding up the game. 

 

“Fran, you don’t have to apologize to everyone for being excited for your kid,” Phillip states as they take their seats. 

 

With her cheeks still flushed, she shakes her head. “We held up the game,” she explains. “He’s not the only kid on the team, and it was rude.”

 

He leans in close to her ear. “Are you actually sorry, or are you just embarrassed for being perceived?”

 

It’s only a whisper, but it cuts deep.

 

Her head whips to the side to look at him, almost as if his words slapped her across the face. Instead of the confrontational expression she expected to find, he’s looking back at her with knowing eyes. Which, honestly, is worse. She’d much rather he be annoyed than have him see straight through to her soul. It’s too much—too intimate for their tentative reconciliation—so she turns away, and only then does she realize she neither confirmed nor denied his assumption.

 

The two of them watch the rest of the game in near silence, except for clapping as every other child on the team attempts to bat. Phillip even puts his sunglasses back on, almost as if the mere sight of her is too much to handle. How they went from having a perfectly good time to practically ignoring each other hurts so much more than she’s willing to admit to herself. 

 

Paul finally calls the game, and all of the kids huddle around him in the middle of the field. They do a little cheer, which she barely pays attention to as she takes a few more pictures with her camera. Then Paul releases everyone back to their parents. 

 

She stands up, grabbing her cooler before removing the Rangers cap and returning it to him. He looks at it like she carved out his heart, stomped on it, and then handed it back. With a sigh, he grabs it, slides it on his head, and gets up as well. 

 

They head down the bleachers, Fran quietly saying goodbye to some of the other moms, as Alex comes running in their direction. 

 

“Mom! Mom! Coach Paul said I did a great job!” her son exclaims, barely stopping before colliding right into them. 

 

She cups his chin and gives a proud squeeze. “Well, Coach Paul is right—”

 

“Only about this,” Phillip mutters under his breath.

 

Internally rolling her eyes, she continues on like he didn’t say anything, “You did a fantastic job today, monkey.” 

 

Alex breaks into a large grin, but then looks nervously up at Phillip. “Did I do good?” he asks as if his entire self-esteem depends on the answer. Like his opinion means everything to the boy.

 

“Of course you did good. You did more than good,” Phillip assures, ruffling his hair. “In fact, you might just be the next Ted Williams.”

 

His son’s face scrunches up just like Fran’s does when she doesn’t understand something. “Who?” Alex blurts.

 

He internally dies a little, but just waves it off. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, patting the kid’s head as they start to make their way through the parking lot.

 

Not knowing who The Ted Williams is clearly doesn’t bother Alex because he just changes the subject as if Phillip never brought it up. “Are you gonna get ice cream with us?” 

 

“Ice cream?” he repeats in confusion. 

 

“It’s a tradition we started during teeball,” Fran quietly explains. She opens her trunk and grabs Alex’s helmet and glove, throwing them in along with her cooler. “Game days mean an ice cream treat afterwards.”

 

“I’d love to come,” he says, looking at Alex before turning his gaze to Fran. He treads carefully after the awkwardness they fell into after his dumbass comment earlier. He just had to open his big mouth and ruin the moment. “That is, if it’s okay with your mom…”

 

Her eyes flip between the cautious man and her eager little boy. With a small sigh, she nods, attempting to smile at Phillip for Alex’s sake.  

 

“Yay!” Alex cheers. “Can I ride in the Porsche?”

 

“No,” Fran immediately shuts down. “You know you're not allowed in the front seat and there’s no booster in the back.”

 

“We could take it from our car and put it in the back,” he argues. “Then I could ride with Flip.”

 

She purses her lips, and her hands naturally come up to her hips. “Alex, I am not debating this with you. I said no,” she firmly replies, her eyes quickly flittering around to make sure no one is watching them. She doesn’t need everyone overhearing her argue with her child.

 

Phillip looks between the two of them, not exactly sure what the best move is. But the dejected look on the boy’s face after being a ball of sunshine less than a minute ago kills him. Fuck, he needs to buy a booster seat. “How ‘bout this…” he interrupts. “How about you ride with your mom, and then we can all sit in the Porsche while we eat our ice cream?”

 

Fran instantly counters with concerns. “That’s unnecessary. You don’t need us wrecking your upholstery with melted ice cream.”

 

“Fran, it’s fine,” he hushes her, probably a little more abruptly than he should, and continues to look at Alex. “Sound fair?” 

 

The little boy’s face scrunches up in thought for a moment, really seeming to be weighing his options. But ultimately, he nods. “Fair.”

 

Biting her lip, she bends down to Alex’s level and cups his cheek. “Can you get in the car? I’ll just be a minute. Okay, monkey?” He nods, though his eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. “Don’t forget to take your shoes off.” 

 

Then she ‘nicely’ grabs onto Phillip’s arm and pulls him a fair distance away so Alex can’t hear. Or anyone else, for that matter.

 

“What?” He looks down at her, completely confused as to why she dragged him away. She stands there looking everywhere but him, and it’s frankly annoying how she keeps avoiding eye contact with him. “Fran, spit it out.”

 

“You can’t just do that,” she mumbles, not brave enough to stare at his face, so she settles on his chest.

 

“Do what? What the hell did I do?”

 

She subconsciously shakes her head, her fingers fiddling with the right pocket on her overalls. “You can’t just swoop in and be the hero all the time.”

 

He simply blinks at her, attempting to process her words. “The hero…? Fran, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m only three weeks into this. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing,” he argues. “I don’t know when I’m supposed to jump in and help or not.” Then he leans in close, their noses mere inches apart. “Cause as of right now, I’m not his parent. And I know… I agreed to go at your speed… But you gotta cut me some slack and at least let me be his friend in the meantime.”

 

She falls silent, immediately regretting confronting him in the first place. He’s right. She knows he’s right. It’s not like they have equal standing in the discipline department, and she supposes it’d be weird to Alex if a stranger suddenly took up that role, no matter how comfortable the two have gotten with each other. 

 

“This is going to be a lot harder than we thought, isn’t it…?” she mumbles, briefly looking up at him. A lot harder than just some dinners and bedtime. There’s a whole new dynamic that needs to form. A dynamic that can change with every decision they make. 

 

He lets out a frustrated yet defeated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah…”

 

She reaches out, hesitates, then gently touches his forearm. “We’ll meet you at Arthur’s,” she supplies. 

 

“Got it.”

 

The succinctness is like a small dagger to the heart, but she can’t blame him. She’s the one who pulled him away and berated him for simply trying to help. Trying to keep her head held high, she nods at him and heads back to her car, feeling a thousand times worse than when they got here.

Notes:

I apparently can't just write pure fluff. I gotta add some angst

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

kylosroboarm on Tumblr
@hissterically on Twitter and BlueSky

Chapter 21: Ice Cream Chats

Summary:

Phillip, Fran, and Alex get ice cream after his game, and Phillip and Fran come to a consensus about parenting Alex.

The drive over to the center of town is fairly quiet, or at least Fran is. Alex goes on and on about Lord knows what from the backseat while her head spins about her and Phillip’s argument. By the time they pull up outside of Arthur’s Ice Cream Stand, they see Phillip already waiting there, leaning up against his hood, effortlessly giving off an air of coolness like always. Alex goes flying out of their car to meet him, whereas she moves a little slower, trying to find the courage to face him again. 

 

She simply goes through the motions of ordering ice cream almost in a haze, not snapping out of it until Phillip hands her the little cup of lime sherbet. 

 

“Thank you…” she mumbles. 

 

He nods once and leads them back to his car, nicely opening the door for them to climb in before going around and getting in the driver’s seat. 

 

“Alex, be careful not to spill, okay?” she frets, looking at the boy happily perched in the backseat, licking away at his chocolate cone.

 

“Fran, it’s fine,” Phillip attempts to reassure her. “It’s black leather. If he spills, we'll just wipe it up. No harm done.”

 

She opens her mouth to argue but thinks better of it and takes a bite of sherbet instead. The man beside her goes back to silently eating as well. It’s almost painful, sitting there with the only sound being Alex slurping away at his cone. Not exactly the happy ice cream dates she normally has with her son.

 

“Are you guys fighting?” Alex suddenly asks, looking between the two of them, his tiny brow furrowed low across his eyes.

 

Her head whips back to face him. “What? No,” she immediately denies in her panic. Of course, her usually oblivious son just has to pick right now to be perceptive. “What would give you that idea, monkey?”

 

“You’re both really quiet and frowning a lot,” he quietly observes, his cone all but forgotten about. “But you weren’t frowning when I hit the ball. You both looked really happy and kept hugging. So I thought that you might’ve gotten in a fight or something bad happened to make you both sad.”

 

She looks at Phillip, her cheeks red with shame, and he looks back at her, the same thought running through both of their heads. 

 

Truce. 

 

Phillip gives her a small nod in agreement.

 

Turning back to Alex, she gently rubs his hand. “Grown-ups are just silly sometimes,” she explains, giving him a reassuring smile. “But we’re alright. I promise.”

 

He looks over at Phillip, almost like he’s needing confirmation from both of them to believe it fully.

 

Phillip quirks his lip, takes his Rangers cap off, and plops it onto Alex’s head. “We’re just fine, kid… It’s not the first time your mother’s been annoyed at me, and it definitely won’t be the last,” he says, shoving down his feelings and making light of the situation for Alex’s sake. 

 

“You’re quite good at being annoying,” Fran mutters under her breath. 

 

But it’s not quiet enough.

 

His smile grows a bit at the jibe, the tension beginning to dissipate between them. “Can’t go breaking a twenty-four-year streak now, can I?” he quips, making her lips twitch—a success in his books. He turns back to Alex. “Besides… If I’m gonna annoy anyone, at least I know your mom will be nice about it. Paul just yells at me.”

 

Alex laughs and his eyes go wide. “Coach Paul yells?” he asks in disbelief, going back to licking his melting ice cream. “That’s impossible.”

 

“Impossible?!” Phillip repeats dramatically. “More like an everyday occurrence.” He gives an exaggerated shrug. “Must only be the people he works with.”

 

“I work with him and he doesn’t yell at me,” Fran comments, covering up the smallest smirk with a spoonful of sherbet. 

 

Phillip playfully narrows his eyes at her. “That’s because you’re little Frannie Larsen from up the street,” he retorts, taking a bite out of his cone. “You could run over Paul’s foot with your car and he still wouldn’t yell at you… He doesn’t have nearly the same soft spot for me as he does for you.”

 

She smiles wistfully, a vivid picture of a fourteen-year-old Paul in her head. He looked so old to her six-year-old mind. So serious for someone still so young.

 

He was over Phillip’s shenanigans even then. 

 

“It didn’t help that you constantly tried to push his buttons,” she reminds him. “I just sat there quietly and minded my own business.”

 

“It’s not my fault it’s so funny when he snaps,” he replies with a small chuckle. “His face gets all red like a tomato.”

 

“Don’t listen to him,” she advises a giggling Alex, rolling her eyes at Phillip, but she sighs when she sees her son’s face. “Oh, monkey...” Grabbing a napkin from her lap, she wipes all the melted chocolate from around his mouth. “Wipe your hands, please.” He takes another napkin and runs it over his sticky hands before giving it back to her. She internally cringes at the dirty napkin in her hand and simply drops it in her empty cup. At least her son won’t leave sticky handprints all over Phillip’s car.

 

“Here,” Phillip pipes up, holding his hand out. Before she can say anything, he takes their trash and hops out of his car. 

 

While he’s throwing their stuff away, Alex leans close over her shoulder. “Mommm… I gotta goooo,” he grumbles into her ear.

 

Another sigh. 

 

Oh, the joys of motherhood.

 

“Can you wait till we get home?” He simply shakes his head, his face scrunching more and more by the second. She rubs her temples, looking around to figure out where there’s an available restroom.

 

“The store’s just up the street,” Phillip suggests, popping up next to her door. 

 

“It’s not a public bathroom,” she replies.

 

A single eyebrow raises. “So?” he answers bluntly, confused by her sudden obtuseness. “I own the place, and I’m saying he can use it.” He opens the door and waits for the two of them to shuffle out of the car. “Consider it ‘employee privileges’.”

 

They follow him down the street until they reach Altman’s Sporting Goods. It’s open today, but Saturday afternoons tend to be fairly slow, especially with the whole town knowing Paul is usually busy with practice and games. Even before Phillip started working there, the load was generally light enough to leave Horry to man the counter alone. 

 

He leads them towards the back, near the office. “It’s just down the hall to the left,” he directs. The little boy hands him back his Ranger’s cap and continues walking, leaving him and Fran alone in the hallway.

 

They stand there awkwardly for a moment—him rocking back on his heels, slipping his cap back on to give his hands something to do, and her fiddling with her purse strap. The tension from earlier has lessened from their light teasing in the car, but it hasn’t completely disappeared. 

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but she beats him to it. 

 

“We need to set some ground rules, don’t we…?” she blurts quietly, her eyes flitting down the hall to watch for Alex. 

 

Sighing, he leans against the wall and looks at her. “Yeah, I think we do,” he agrees. 

 

She nods, finally meeting and keeping his gaze. Her bottom lip folds in, being chewed by her teeth, and he wants nothing but to pull it away with his thumb so she doesn’t mangle it. Her lips are too nice to let that happen.

 

“We can’t be fighting around him,” she starts, not wasting any time to get to nitty gritty stuff. “No matter what arguments happen between us, we have to keep it away from him. We can’t let this get any messier than I’ve already made it.”

 

“Fair,” he replies. “No mess.”

 

His immediate agreement makes her perk up slightly. “A-And I need you to back me up sometimes,” she hesitantly adds, twisting her fingers together. “Because if you just always come in and offer some fun compromise just because he’s slightly unhappy about something, he’s not going to listen to me anymore. He’ll learn to just go to you because he knows you’ll fix it for him.”

 

“I get that.” And he does. He doesn’t want to come in and disrupt the relationship between Fran and Alex. “As long as you give me a little slack if I get it wrong from time to time. Or we gotta figure out a signal or something,” he all but begs. “Cause I’m trying here, Frannie, I really am… But it’s not easy to parent when you don’t actually get to be one.”

 

“I know.” She looks guiltily down at her shoes before looking back up at him. “I am sorry I got mad… It wasn’t fair to you.”

 

Her apology only fills him with shame. For someone who absolutely hates when Fran Larsen is sad, he’s done a pretty good job at being a dick to her since he came back to Elmsbrook. “Don’t be. You were just being a mom.” His jaw grinds back and forth. “I'm sorry for what I said earlier… at the game… I was out of line.”

 

It surprises her. “It’s okay,” she quietly dismisses before hesitating. “You weren’t completely off the mark. And I—I guess I didn’t like being called out on it.”

 

“Still… I shouldn’t have said it.”

 

Her eyes soften as she nods, the tiniest smile forming at the corner of her lips. It brings out his own smile until it’s just the two of them staring at each other, the rest of the tension fading to nothing. 

 

“Whatcha guys doing?” a voice suddenly pipes up from behind them, making them jump around to face the intruder.

 

“Jesus Christ! What the hell, Horry!” Phillip shouts, holding a hand to his chest. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

 

“I was at the counter when y’all walked in…” he replies, staring at them in confusion.

 

Phillip runs a hand through his hair, his heart attempting to calm down. “Yeah, well… You should’ve said something.”

 

Fran can’t help but roll her eyes at Phillip’s dramatics. “How are you today, Horry?” she kindly asks.

 

“Can’t complain. The three of you on a little family outing?”

 

Both of their eyes widen, and their heads whip back down the hall to see if Alex has emerged yet. Fran’s never been so thankful for her son’s ADHD in his entire life. However, she’s giving him two more minutes before she knocks on the bathroom door because it has been quite a while. Knowing her little boy, he's zoned out, counting the tiles or something equally as distracting.

 

“Alex had a game, then we stopped at Arthur’s,” she explains. “But, Horry, you can’t talk about that out loud. Remember? You promised.”

 

“Promised what?”

 

She sighs and looks up at Phillip in half panic. Horry’s a loose cannon they can’t afford to have. 

 

He steps in and grips the older man on the shoulder. “Promised that you wouldn't talk about the fact that Alex is mine. We haven’t told anyone yet. So you gotta stop saying shit like that, okay? It’s like really important you don’t talk about it.”

 

“Ah. Right-o,” Horry replies, leaning in conspiratorially. “My lips are sealed.”

 

It doesn’t do much to make them feel any better. At all. Not even a little bit.

 

He then turns to Fran as if it’s still a completely normal conversation. “Hey, Fran, you coming to brunch next weekend?” he asks her.

 

Her nose scrunches and she shakes her head like she’s been whiplashed by the sudden topic change. “Brunch?” she repeats. 

 

Phillip could almost smack his forehead. “Oh fuck, that’s right. I was supposed to ask you,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “My mother is holding a little family get-together next Saturday and wanted to know if you and Alex would come.”

 

“A family get-together…?” she anxiously mumbles, her fingers twisting together.

 

“It’s a casual thing,” he assures her. “And I promise, no one will mention anything to Alex.” He gives Horry a slight glare during the last bit, already foreseeing a future where he has to tape his sister’s ex’s mouth shut.

 

“I—” She gnaws on her bottom lip, her gaze flipping between both men. Her mind wanders to Hilary, who hasn’t seen Alex since before Mort’s funeral, and how everyone keeps saying she’s so excited to see him now that Phillip knows. “S-Sure,” she answers, quietly sighing in defeat.

 

Phillip’s lip quirks up. “Cool. I’ll let her know. She’s been dying to see Alex again.”

 

“Who’s been dying to see me?”

 

They all turn to find Alex standing there looking up at them in curiosity.

 

Phillip’s the first to react, the other two still frozen with nothing to say. “My mother,” he responds, bending over to Alex’s height with his hands on his thighs. “She’s inviting you and your mom over next weekend for some food. Sound like something you’d like to do?”

 

Alex’s face scrunches as he thinks it over for a few seconds. “Will there be dessert?” he innocently asks.

 

He chuckles at the kid’s reaction. “I can request it,” he offers with a smile. “I’m sure she’d be willing to make you something.”

 

“Okay then!”

 

It makes him laugh more. He stands up and ruffles Alex’s hair, his son’s ability to be won over just at the mere promise of sweets thoroughly amusing him. He looks up to find Fran staring at both of them with a look in her eyes that he can’t quite define. 

 

It bugs him that he can’t figure it out.

 

It bugs him a lot.

 

She turns her gaze down to Alex. “Come on, monkey. I think it’s time we head home,” she says, reaching out and gently booping his nose. “Get you out of these dusty clothes.”

 

He looks up at Phillip. “Are you coming for dinner tonight?”

 

The hope on the boy’s face breaks his heart a bit. “Not tonight, bud. I gotta work. But I’ll be there tomorrow night. Kay?”

 

A small pout forms, but Alex nods. 

 

The look officially kills him, and a thought quickly pops into his head. “Wait right here,” he commands before jumping into the office. After a moment, he comes back and opens his hand, revealing a single, red gumball. “You said the strawberry ones were your favorite.”

 

Alex’s eyes go wide as if Phillip just gave him the best gift in the world. He takes it and holds it gently in his hands like it’ll somehow break if he holds it the wrong way.

 

“What do you say?” Fran prompts, softly nudging his shoulder. 

 

“Thank you,” he says with a small smile. 

 

Phillip holds back a grin. “No problem, kid. Come on, I’ll walk you guys out.” He lifts his hand to the side, gesturing at Fran to start walking. 

 

“Bye, Mr. Horry!” Alex quickly says with a wave.

 

“Bye, little man,” Horry replies with an equally enthusiastic wave. 

 

Shaking his head at the—for lack of a better word—interesting man, Phillip leads them back towards the door just as Paul walks in, looking fairly tired after being in the sun for the past handful of hours. 

 

“There you guys are,” he comments. “You disappeared so quickly after the game, I didn’t have time to give you this. Thought I was gonna have to have Phillip give it to you.” He meets them by the counter, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a baseball, holding it out for Alex. “First ball you ever hit in the big leagues.”

 

Alex stares at him, wonder etched across his face, yet weirdly not as amazed as Phillip offering him a simple gumball. He slowly reaches out and takes it. “I get to keep this?”

 

“Of course you get to keep it,” Paul happily scoffs. “You earned it.”

 

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you,” Fran says with a small smile. She taps Alex’s shoulder and jerks her head up to Paul. 

 

“Oh! Thank you, Coach Paul,” he parrots.

 

Paul waves him off. “It’s tradition for every kid. And a nice keepsake.”

 

“Well, we should get going,” she chimes, feeling awful for breaking the nice moment. “Say goodbye, monkey.”

 

“Bye, Coach Paul. Bye, Flip,” Alex exclaims, one hand full with a gumball that’s beginning to stain his palm and the other with his baseball.

 

Phillip crouches a bit and ruffles his hair again. “Bye, bud. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Alex nods and quickly wraps his arms around his neck, giving him a small hug that goes straight to his heart and stabs it. He fights all instincts to keep the little boy in his embrace forever and never let go, and ultimately cups his tiny head once before standing back up. Then he turns to Fran, who’s been watching his every movement with Alex. “Bye, Frannie…”

 

He leans in, his lips lined up to kiss her cheek as has been their customary goodbye for the last few weeks, but she tenses up at the last second and shifts her feet from him, resulting in an awkward shuffle of their bodies. They eventually settle for a rather stiff hug and a nod.

 

Another stab to the heart.

 

“Bye, Phillip,” she murmurs, grabbing onto Alex’s hand. “Paul.” Then she turns and they walk out of the store, leaving him alone with Paul. 

 

Once she’s officially through the door, he turns around, grabs onto the counter, and drops his head to his chest, letting out a long groan. He feels his brother’s eyes boring into his skull but he ignores him, too focused on his own fucked up life. And the fact that every time he watches the two of them walk away without him, it kills him a little inside.

 

“So… you gonna tell me what you guys talked about very intensely in the middle of the parking lot?” Paul asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter beside him.

 

“No,” he snaps, not even opening his eyes. He really doesn’t want to deal with Paul’s ‘older brother’ spiel right now. 

 

“What? Having your best friend as your baby mama not as easy as you’d think it’d be?” his brother annoyingly continues on.

 

“Fuck off, Paul.”

 

“I’m just saying… if I noticed it, then other people definitely did,” Paul states. “And Laura Daniels is just as bad as her mother.”

 

It gets him to bring his head up, and he looks at the man beside him. “Laura Daniels?” he asks in confusion until the gears start turning in his brain. Laura, Laura, Laura… Why is that familiar? His eyes widen as the answer comes to him. No… “Wait… You don’t mean Laura Mosk—?”

 

“Yup,” Paul confirms, popping the ‘p’ at the end. 

 

“Fuuuuccckkkk.”

Notes:

They're doomed to be awkward babies for a long time.

Also, I know, that was like the longest bathroom break ever but we're blaming it on the ADHD for plot purposes 😂

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

kylosroboarm on Tumblr
@hissterically on Twitter and BlueSky

Chapter 22: Altman Brunch Part I

Summary:

Fran and Alex attend brunch with the Altman gang.

Notes:

The next two chapters are probably the most Altman chaoticness I could come up with. With a bit of angst because it's me :)

Phillip pulls up outside his mother’s house, and once again barely protects his car by leaving the top down, but this time he actually takes his keys with him. Fran’s advice is slowly seeping into his brain. Also, discovering that he’s a father has made him slightly more inclined to be responsible. And that means not getting your car stolen. 

 

In addition to Paul’s car, there's a black SUV in the driveway that he doesn’t recognize, but he doesn’t put much stock into it as he walks in. Immediately, he’s bombarded with his mother’s hands grabbing his face. 

 

“Oh, Phillip. Hello, darling,” she greets, patting his cheeks and pulling him into a hug, her still disturbingly enhanced chest in her way too revealing robe squished against his. 

 

But he forces himself not to think about that. 

 

“Hi, Mommy,” he replies, extracting himself from her arms. 

 

“Where are Fran and Alex?”

 

“You said brunch was at eleven.” He sees Paul walking through the living room behind his mother. “I thought I’d get here early just in case Paul wasn’t any help.”

 

“Har har,” his brother grumbles. 

 

Hilary lightly slaps his arm. “Paul has been more than helpful, as always. And be nice. I don’t need the two of you starting any fights today.” She gives a small glare at the both of them. “This is to remain a calm, happy brunch for everyone. Agreed?”

 

“Agreed,” they mumble in unison.

 

“Good,” she says with a nod. “Now, how about you go help out in the kitchen while I finish getting ready? Paul can walk over and fetch Linda and Horry.”

 

Another unison response of, “Yes, Mommy.”

 

With another pat to his cheek, she walks off, leaving the two of them alone. 

 

As Phillip heads past him, Paul reaches out and grabs his bicep. “So why are you really here early? It’s not like you to show up even on time.”

 

He glares before sighing. “I was gonna threaten Horry. I can't afford to have him running his mouth in front of Alex. Figured if I could catch him beforehand, I could nip anything in the bud.”

 

“Good point,” Paul replies. “Maybe we can just glue his lips shut.”

 

“I’ll get the duct tape,” he deadpans. 

 

The corner of Paul’s mouth quirks upwards. “Don’t worry, little brother. I’ll handle it,” he reassures and pats him on the back before heading towards the front door. 

 

Feeling strangely grateful for Paul, Phillip continues into the kitchen and nearly trips in surprise to see her standing there.

 

“Wendy?” 

 

She’s over by the counter getting the food ready while Serena’s locked into her high chair and Cole is sitting at the table coloring. Wendy stops what she’s doing and looks up before meeting him in the middle for a hug. 

 

“Phillip,” she greets.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, his arms squeezing her tight. 

 

“Uncle Phil-lip!

 

He turns to the little boy who’s twisting around in the chair to get his attention. “Hey, bubba,” he enthuses, lifting his nephew onto his hip. “Whatcha doing?”

 

“Colo-wing,” Cole succinctly replies, a crayon clutched in each hand.

 

He widens his eyes in an overly exaggerated way. “Coloring?! No way. That sounds like so much fun,” he growls, swinging the little boy in his arms until there’s a burst of giggles.

 

“Okay, okay,” she laughs. “Please don’t throw my child around.”

 

Phillip grins at her, but his brows furrow slightly. “No, but seriously, why are you here?” he repeats.

 

She forces a smile. “Just thought I’d come visit for a while. Missed you all since the funeral.” He frowns at her, his face blatantly saying that he doesn’t believe her for a single second. Why did she think she could pull the wool over his eyes and hide the truth? He’s always been good at calling her out. Shaking her head, she sighs in defeat, her eyes flitting from Cole’s face back to his, and hesitantly admits, “Barry and I are taking a break for a while.”

 

Oh, shit.

 

He scans her face to search for whatever she’s feeling in order to plan his response. Not that surprising, but it’s mostly exhaustion. Exhaustion from dealing with Barry’s absence. The prick. With that in mind, there are two ways he can approach it: the sympathetic approach—but he has a feeling his mother’s done that enough—or to do what he does best. 

 

“Are you sure it’s not just so you can be closer to Horry?” he instead teases to lighten the mood. “Thinking about a little round two?” He wiggles his eyebrows at her before turning to the high chair, gently cupping Serena’s head, and kissing the top of it. “Hey, Sissy.” His niece reaches up and paws at his face, to which he just pretends to nibble on her hand. 

 

“Not in front of my kids, you perv.” She smacks his shoulder, causing him to bark out a laugh, but she’s quite grateful for his knack of flipping the conversation to something happier. “Speaking of… Mom said Fran and Alex are coming as well. That’s good. I miss my nephew.”

 

He sobers up slightly, putting Cole back in his chair. In an effort to stall, he heads to the counter and starts continuing what Wendy was working on. “You can’t say anything,” he tells her, his tone giving way to his slight annoyance on the matter. 

 

“What do you mean?” she asks, reaching in and helping him cut up various vegetables for the veggie tray. 

 

He pauses and looks up at her. “We haven’t told him.”

 

“You haven’t told him?” she bursts in disbelief, just missing her finger with the knife. “So what? We’re all just supposed to sit there and act like your son isn’t also at the table with us?”

 

“Trust me,” he replies, his jaw tense, “I’m not the biggest fan of it either… But it’s what Fran wants.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

Both of their heads whip over to see Annie standing in the doorway, staring at Phillip with thinly veiled resentment. Even Cole and Serena turn their heads in the direction of the yelling. 

 

“Annie,” Wendy gasps softly, putting the knife down and taking a step closer to the other woman. 

 

She continues to glare, but they can see the anguish gathering in the corners of her eyes. “So just everyone gets a baby before me?!” she lashes out. 

 

Not waiting for their response, she storms out of the room, just in time for Paul, Linda, and Horry to enter the kitchen. Seeing his wife so distressed and running away, he immediately goes into protective mode, barreling towards Phillip.

 

“What the fuck did you say to her?” he demands, grabbing onto the front of Phillip’s shirt.

 

Still dazed from the whole exchange, Phillip just shakes his head as Paul shoves him around. Meanwhile, Linda races from the room to get Hilary as Cole slinks under the table and Serena breaks out into tears at all the noise. 

 

“Paul, stop it!” Wendy yells, trying to stop Paul from murdering their younger brother. “Horry, little help here.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Horry jumps into action, wrapping his arms around Paul’s shoulders and pulling him off of Phillip. He struggles, but Horry keeps his hold, creating a distance between the two men.

 

Wendy steps between them, thoroughly annoyed that she always has to be the peacekeeper in this testosterone-filled house. “Paul, Phillip didn’t say anything,” she swears, having a hard time concentrating with Serena’s screams still filling the air. “Annie overheard us talking about Alex.”

 

Realization crosses over his face, and the fight leaves him, his shoulders slumping. “Shit,” he mumbles, closing his eyes in regret. Behind him, Horry tentatively releases his hold on him, sensing he won’t go attacking anyone else.

 

Hilary comes barging into the kitchen, her hair half done, with Linda walking over and grabbing the children and taking them into the other room. “What the hell is going on here?” she asks, using her ‘mom voice’. “You two promised not to cause a scene today, and it hasn't even been fifteen minutes!”

 

Guilt floods both boys, the pair looking at the floor in shame. “Sorry, Mommy,” they mumble in unison.

 

“Now can someone please tell me why my grown ass sons are fighting?”

 

“Phillip and I were talking about Alex,” Wendy explains for everyone. “Annie overheard, got upset, and ran off.”

 

Hilary turns her attention to her oldest child. “Why would Annie get upset about Alex?” Paul continues to avoid her eyes, and the reason clicks in her mind. “You haven’t told her…” she breathes. He simply shakes his head. Briefly looking over at Phillip, she notices shock crosses her youngest son’s face. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

 

He finally brings his gaze back up, his eyes flitting over to Phillip, then back to his mother. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to,” he quietly answers. “Wasn’t my secret to tell.”

 

“What secret?” Horry blurts.

 

Wendy sighs and grabs a hold of his arm. “Not now, Horry.”

 

Phillip stares his brother down. “You did that for me?” he grunts, stunned that Paul hadn’t even told his own wife. 

 

The other man subconsciously shakes his head. “I didn’t say anything to you when Fran asked me not to. So I figured the two of you wouldn't want me blabbing to anyone else. Even Annie.” Paul sighs and gives a small nod to him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go check on my wife.” Then he leaves the kitchen, heading down the hallway. 

 

The doorbell rings suddenly, surprising the rest of them. 

 

“That’s probably Fran,” Hilary says, turning to Phillip. “How about you go get the door and we’ll finish up in here, yeah?”

 

He nods, still feeling quite out of it, but forces his feet to move. 

 

“I’m gonna go save Linda from my crying kids,” Wendy adds, walking in the opposite direction as he heads to the front door. 

 

Shaking everything off, he opens the door, his lips spreading into a grin as soon as he sees the two people standing outside. He can’t even help it. It’s automatic at this point. 

 

“Flip!”

 

Alex all but launches into his arms, forcing him to lift him up onto his hip. He knows the kid is probably getting too big to be held like this, but he likes the way they can talk eye to eye without him having to bend in half. He also likes the feeling of his son in his arms. 

 

“Hey, little dude!” he replies just as enthusiastically, as if he didn’t get into a fight not even two minutes ago. “How are you today?”

 

“I’m good.”

 

“You excited for brunch?”

 

“Is there dessert?” Alex asks, getting straight to the point.

 

Phillip chuckles. “I believe I spied some cookies in the kitchen.” He then turns to Fran and hesitates for a moment before leaning down and kissing her cheek. “Hey, Frannie… Come in,” he ushers, stepping to the side so she can walk in, and shuts the door behind her. 

 

“Hello, Phillip,” she says with the smallest smile and holds up the dish in her hands, “I brought kugel.”

 

He gives it a weary glance. “Please tell me it’s not Mrs. Moskovitz’ recipe…” he all but demands, suppressing a shudder. He can still taste the one she made for his father’s funeral.

 

“No,” she replies with a laugh she feels a little guilty for, then hesitates. “It’s actually your grandmother’s…”

 

“My grandma?”

 

She chews her lip, suddenly feeling awkward about answering. “Wendy hates kugel, so your mom decided to pass it down to me.”

 

He stares at her for a moment, not really sure how to respond to that fact. Sure, she’s always been the second daughter his mother never had, but to the extent of inheriting recipes and shit, all the while he wasn’t here being an active participant in his own family, is turning out to be a lot to handle. 

 

It just reminds him of everything he missed. 

 

Shoving that thought away as quickly as he can, he turns his attention back to the boy in his arms. “I think Cole has a bunch of crayons and paper on the kitchen table if you wanna go color for a bit before we eat.”

 

“Okay,” Alex replies happily. 

 

Phillip lets him down and, as if he already knows the layout of the house, Alex starts to walk away from them. 

 

“Hey. Backpack,” she reminds him.

 

Alex huffs a little, and Fran has to refrain from rolling her eyes at her seven-year-old’s attitude. He comes back over, takes his backpack off, and puts it down by her feet before resuming his trek to the kitchen. 

 

“Why does he always have the backpack anyway?” Phillip asks, taking the casserole dish from her hands despite her protesting expression. 

 

She looks up at him, hanging up her purse on the coat rack. “His attention span doesn't always last super long, depending on what we’re doing,” she explains, “so it helps to have a few different activities packed away in case he gets bored.”

 

“Makes sense.”

 

“You said Cole?” she clarifies. “Wendy’s here?” 

 

His brow furrows as he takes her in. She’s dressed fairly modestly, as usual, but with the weather getting hotter, her blue and white floral dress is made of a thinner material with short sleeves. There’s a slight curl to her hair that he remembers from their totally not a date-date, with the faintest flick of mascara. 

 

He can’t help but think she looks pretty. 

 

But instead of saying that, he just replies, “She didn’t mention anything to you?”

 

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “I haven’t talked to her… well… since your little trip to Boston.”

 

When he essentially ran away.

 

“She’ll probably tell you, but I think she and Barry are finally done-zo.” He rolls his eyes, thinking of his asshole of a brother-in-law. Despite his hands being full, he gestures for them to follow after Alex. “Good fucking riddance too. She says they’re just separated temporarily, but, ya know…”

 

The two of them reach the kitchen, finding Wendy’s kids have returned to the table with Linda, Cole coloring alongside Alex. Horry stands there, leaning up against the counter. 

 

“I’m just surprised she didn’t reach out to you,” Phillip adds. 

 

Wendy comes over out of nowhere and flicks her brother on the forehead. “Sorry, I didn’t want to broadcast the end of my marriage to everyone,” she quips, glaring at Phillip before turning to Fran and giving her a quick hug. “Besides, you've had enough on your own plate. I wasn’t gonna bog you down with my shit as well.”

 

All three pairs of eyes briefly flicker over to the seven-year-old sitting at the table. 

 

“Still,” Fran quietly says, “You can always reach out. You know that.”

 

Wendy gives her a smile and rubs her arm. “I know.” Then she sighs and looks down the hall. “Could that woman be any slower? Excuse me for a moment. Hilary is taking her sweet ass time.” She heads off through the hallway to the stairs. 

 

Meanwhile, Phillip puts the kugel down next to all the food on the counter, and Fran walks over to Alex, gently running her fingers through his freshly cut hair. “You said hello to Linda, Horry, and Wendy, right?”

 

He nods, too concentrated on the car he’s drawing to look up from his paper. 

 

She sighs, simply pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Taking her attention from her hyper-focused child, she turns to Linda and gives a small smile. “Hello, Linda. How are you?”

 

“I’m just fine, my dear. You surely missed yet another Altman debacle by mere minutes.”

 

Her eyes flit over to Phillip, who ignores her gaze by crouching down next to Cole and engaging with the little boy. She’s about to ask more, curious what the other woman means by ‘debacle,’ when Paul and Annie walk in. Immediately, she can feel the strange tension in the air and has a feeling it has to do with what Linda’s talking about. 

 

“Coach Paul!”

 

“Hey, slugger,” Paul greets, moving closer and giving Alex a high five, Annie staying put in her place in the archway. “You ready for some food?”

 

“I’m ready for some cookies,” Alex bluntly replies.

 

“Alex!” Fran admonishes, but Paul simply chuckles. Even Phillip’s lip crooks to the side at their son’s honesty. 

 

“I think you’re gonna have to eat some actual food first,” Paul supplies with a poorly contained smile. 

 

Alex pouts for the briefest second before turning his attention to Annie. “Hi, Mrs. Annie!”

 

Annie flinches, and it looks like she has to force a smile onto her face. She stares at him for a moment, her eyes scanning the entirety of him before kindly returning, “Hello, Alex.” Then, without another word, she starts to take dishes into the dining room. 

 

With a small sigh, Paul grabs a few bowls of food and helps her. 

 

Finally, Wendy returns with Hilary in tow, who goes straight over to Alex and cups his cheeks with a grin on her face. “Hello, my dear. It’s so very good to see you.”

 

“Hello, Mrs. Hilary,” he replies through squished cheeks. 

 

She gives another squeeze and lets go to briefly hug Fran. “And you, how have you been?”

 

“I’ve been okay,” Fran answers, still confused by the weird coldness from before. 

 

“Those boys aren’t running you up a wall at that store, right?”

 

Phillip glares at his mother, but Fran simply laughs. “No. They haven’t been all that bad, really.”

 

“Good. Because they sure act like hoodlums around here.” Hilary claps her hands. “Well, if everyone is all good, let’s eat, shall we?” 

 

As she and Linda grab the rest of the food and take it into the dining room, Wendy goes to the table and picks up Serena. “Horry, can you grab Cole and her high chair, please?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” He easily lifts Cole with one arm and the chair with the other. “Come on, you little rugrat.”

 

“Wug-wat,” Cole repeats with a giggle as his mother and Horry carry the both of them out of the kitchen.

 

Meanwhile, Phillip heads over to the fridge. “Fran and Alex, anything to drink?” he prompts. 

 

“What do you have?” Alex asks. 

 

“For children?” He quickly peruses through the contents of his mother’s refrigerator. “We have water, milk, or OJ.”

 

“Orange juice.”

 

Fran gives him a small nudge.

 

“Please,” Alex quickly adds. 

 

“Got it,” he says, grabbing the orange juice from the bottom shelf. “And Frannie?”

 

“Oh, I’ll just have water,” she waves off, gesturing for Alex to get up from the table before walking over and helping by grabbing cups from the cupboard. She takes out an extra one for him as well. 

 

Phillip fills two of them with the orange juice and fills the third one with a little bit of ice and water because he knows that’s how Fran likes it. No ice is too warm, but too much ice is way too cold. 

 

At least, that’s how he thinks she still likes it. 

 

And if the small smile she gives as he hands it to her is indicative of anything, he thinks he got it right. 

 

“Thank you,” she mumbles. 

 

“Welcome,” he replies, staring at her face way longer than necessary. The way the corners of her lips lift upward, creating the smallest dimples on her cheeks. 

 

Shaking out of it, he leads the two of them into the dining room, where everyone else is already sitting. Alex immediately takes a seat, leaving the last two empty chairs next to each other. Preferably, they would’ve had Alex in between them, but apparently their child decided otherwise. 

 

They look at each other for a moment, almost as if mentally deciding who sits next to Alex. In the end, Phillip decides for them by putting his glass down next to Wendy before placing Alex’s down in front of his plate. With his hands free, he pulls out the middle chair, subtly nodding his head towards it. 

 

“Oh,” Fran quietly exclaims and sits down, somewhat thrown by the gesture even though she shouldn’t be. It’s not the first time he’s ever pulled out her chair for her… It’s just the first time he’s done it in mixed company. “T-Thank you.” She sits down and scoots her chair in, feeling Phillip doing the same next to her. Her focus switches to grabbing her napkin and putting it on her lap to avoid the sense of everyone staring at the two of them. 

 

Luckily, everyone’s attention changes as Hilary lifts her glass. “Before we begin, I just wanted to say how happy I am that all of you are here today. Phillip being back in town, hopefully for good,” she pierces him with a stare “Wendy joining us as well. And then Fran and Alex.” There’s a pause as she blinks back the emotion welling up in her eyes. “It hasn’t been the easiest couple of months… but as long as we all stick together, I know we can make it through. Cheers.”

 

A unison “cheers” rings out, everyone lifting their own cups. 

 

“Cheers,” Phillip says, clinking his glass against Fran’s.

 

“Cheers,” she whispers back before breaking his gaze.

 

It’s been ages since Fran has been to an Altman meal—she’s gotten quite used to just the three of them for dinner—but it’s just as crazy as she remembers. Everyone grabbing and passing around dishes before digging straight in. Even Alex barely waits until the food is on his plate before munching away at his sandwich. 

 

Her son, truly an Altman down to his core.

 

“Anyone talk to Judd lately?” Phillip asks, barely done swallowing the mouthful of food he had. “Is Quinn still a whore—” Fran’s head whips over to him with a glare “—ibble person?”

 

“Not in a few weeks,” Wendy answers, pausing her own meal to squish some blueberries for Serena. “We didn’t talk much about Quinn or the b—” she briefly looks at Annie and stops “but from what I gathered, he and Penny are still… talking.” 

 

That’s right. 

 

In all the craziness of her own drama, she forgot all about Judd becoming a dad. 

 

It’s strange, really. That she and Phillip—well, mostly she—became parents before all these other people that she looked up to for almost her whole life. They sort of became her family after she lost her own, all of them coming to care for her as if she were a part of them. 

 

And she supposes her little boy has that as well. 

 

A whole actual family. 

 

People to love him. 

 

Fran looks around the table, practically seeing everyone in a new light. Alex has always known the Altmans, ever since he was born, but it’s different now. Her son has a grandmother, aunts and uncles, cousins. It’s all she’s ever wanted for her little boy, especially after her gran died. 

 

As she scans the different faces, she catches Annie looking back at her. The other woman’s eyes flit from hers to Phillip, then to Alex, then down to her plate, and she’s not sure what to make of it. She turns back to her own food, almost nervously taking a sip of her water. From her peripheral, she can see Annie glancing at her again. 

 

Putting her glass down, she turns her head and leans her shoulder towards Phillip’s. He starts a bit at the sudden contact, his head whipping to face her, but seeing her expression, he leans in as well. 

 

“Why does Annie keep staring at me?” she whispers, very much not wanting anyone to overhear her.

 

His gaze flicks over to his sister in law for the briefest moment and he sighs. “It’s not so much your fault as it is mine.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

He leans even closer to her. “ She found out about Alex and me.”

 

Her nose scrunches in confusion. “She didn’t know?” she asks. “I was sure Paul would’ve told her.”

 

“Yeah, I thought so too. Apparently not.”

 

It stuns her for a moment, and she sits there in silence, taking in the new information. Paul never told Annie? It seems like almost an impossible secret to keep from your spouse—that your brother has a secret child. 

 

“I always thought she didn’t like me that much because I got pregnant after one night,” she quietly admits. 

 

Phillip’s shoulders deflate as he stares at her. “She likes you,” he replies, “she’s just…”

 

“Tired,” she finishes for him. He simply nods. 

 

They both know how frustrated Annie is—how she and Paul both are—that they haven’t gotten pregnant yet. They’ve been talking about having kids since her and Phillip were in college. She was at their wedding for Pete’s sake. She knows how much Annie wants to be a mom. And then there she goes and gets pregnant from a one-night stand? It definitely can’t be easy to be around. 

 

And now Annie finds out Alex is her nephew? It’s probably just salt on the wound. Finding out that even someone like Phillip has a child, especially so soon after learning about Quinn’s pregnancy. She can’t even imagine the hurt.

 

Fran’s stuck deep in her thoughts, but gives Phillip a small smile when he stares at her with a concerned expression. She just waves him off and returns to her meal, feeling Phillip reluctantly doing the same. 

 

The rest of brunch flashes by, with her mostly sticking to herself while everyone has mini conversations around the table. Alex, on the other hand, seemed very content stuffing his face and talking around her to Phillip, forcing her to interject a comment here and there. But more or less, they get through the meal without anyone causing a scene or blurting out that Phillip is Alex’s father. 

 

A fact she will forever be grateful for. 

 

But she can also see her son starting to get antsy. They have been sitting at the table for quite some time, and she knows they’re reaching the limit. She’s honestly pleasantly surprised he lasted even this long. 

 

Almost as if Hilary can read her mind, the older woman glances at everyone and speaks up, “Well, that was delicious, and I very much would hate to see this end so soon. It’s so nice out today, it’d be a waste not to sit in the backyard for a bit. Get some fresh air, don’t you think?”

 

“Well, I’m in. We could even play a bit of catch,” Phillip says, reaching behind Fran’s back to nudge Alex. “Your mitt’s in your mom’s car, and I imagine my old one is around here somewhere.”

 

It perks the little boy up and his wide gaze whips over to Paul. “Coach Paul, would you play catch too?”

 

“Course I will.”

 

“Awesome,” he replies, starting to jump out of his seat. 

 

Hilary has to laugh at his enthusiasm. “That settles it, I guess.” 

 

And it sets off everyone else getting up from the table. Wendy picks up Serena from her high chair and props her onto a hip, gesturing to Cole with her other hand. Meanwhile, Annie starts piling plates onto each other and collecting the silverware. 

 

“Oh, Annie, there’s no need, darling,” Hilary waves off. “We’ll just do them later.”

 

“No, it’s no problem,” Annie quickly responds, slinking into the kitchen before anyone can stop her. 

 

Paul watches her go, sighing deeply, looking unsure whether he should go after her or not. Fran stares as the internal debate manifests across his face. She bites her lip, her focus stuck on the married couple before a hand tugs on hers. 

 

“Mommm, I gotta go grab my glove,” Alex fusses. 

 

“My keys are in my bag,” she says, causing the little boy to race off to the front door. Shaking her head, she starts gathering a few dishes as well. 

 

“What are you doing?” Phillip asks, standing at her shoulder. Everyone else has started to disperse, taking their drinks and heading for the backyard. 

 

“I’m gonna help Annie for a bit…” 

 

His brow furrows as he glances towards the kitchen, then back to her. “You sure about that?”

 

She gives him an attempt at a calm smile. “Mhm hm.” She nods in the direction Alex just tore off to. “Will you make sure he puts those back? I can’t afford to lose my car keys.”

 

He doesn’t laugh like she expected, but the corner of his lips does quirk up slightly. “I will,” he says, putting a gentle hand on her upper arm. His thumb strokes the bare skin right beneath the end of her sleeve, his fingers lingering just a little longer than is necessary. “We’ll be outside.” 

 

Her smile comes a little more naturally this time and she nods. Phillip leans down and kisses her cheek before chasing off after Alex so they don’t have a child just walking into the street by himself. 

 

She grabs a few more dishes and carries them into the kitchen, nervously placing them down onto the counter. Her fingers twiddle together as she takes a deep breath. “Hey, Annie…” she starts. “C-Could we maybe t-talk… for a moment?”

Notes:

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Chapter 23: Altman Brunch Part II

Summary:

Fran and Annie have a nice talk. Then, in standard Altman fashion, brunch gets derailed by dangerous thoughts and a baseball.

Notes:

*TW: minor mentions of blood

“Annie, I’m sorry,” Fran blurts.

 

The other woman stops washing the plate in her hand and turns to her, confused. “Sorry?”

 

She chews on her lip, trying to figure out what to say. “I heard… that you found out about Phillip and Alex. I'm sorry you had to find out that way,” she says. “I really thought Paul would’ve told you. If I had known he hadn’t, I would’ve said something.” Then she murmurs under her breath, “At least, I think I would’ve.”

 

Annie sighs, putting the plate down and drying her hands off. “Fran, I—I’m not mad,” she softly confesses, surprising Fran. “And I know Phillip probably told you I didn’t take it well, but I want you to know that I don’t hold it against you… I know you think I do, but I don’t.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes lightly. “Paul brought me up to speed. I know it’s not your fault the condom broke—”

 

Or being inconveniently fertile at the time.

 

“—and that you just happened to get pregnant… It’s just… I’m jealous,” she breathes. Tears start to well in her eyes and she angrily wipes them away. “I’ve watched you and Alex for so many years. And Wendy and her kids. Then Quinn cheats on Judd and is magically pregnant with his baby anyway. And now Phillip, who fucked his way through life, gets to suddenly be a father?” She throws out her hands in a placating manner. “And please don’t get me wrong, I love Alex. I teach him every day, and Phillip is lucky to be his dad… It’s just, why are all the people who aren’t even trying getting pregnant anyway? When I’m trying so goddamn hard?” Tears roll down her cheeks without permission, but she’s too worked up to brush them away. “When is it finally my turn?”

 

Fran stands there in silence for a moment, not exactly sure what to say. She’s never been good at the whole ‘shoulder to cry on’ thing. Honestly, she’s never been great at the whole friend thing. Outside Penny and Wendy, she’s only ever really had Phillip. 

 

But watching Annie suffer is breaking her heart. 

 

She moves closer, bravely reaches out, and rubs the other woman’s arms, hopefully in a soothing way. “It’s gonna happen. I know it will. Somehow,” she tries to assure her. “Maybe it won’t be a defective condom in the middle of a house party in someone else’s bed” Annie laughs a little at her self-deprecating joke “but it’ll happen. Because you and Paul are meant to be parents. And I know that you won’t stop until you two are. No matter what that looks like.”

 

Annie sniffs back the rest of her tears and wipes her cheeks. “It’s just exhausting,” she admits.

 

“I know.”

 

“And being around kids all day doesn’t help.”

 

Fran just nods. “I get that…” She shakes her head, trying to lighten up the conversation a bit. “I swear, you must be superhuman dealing with twenty-two of them every day. I just have the one, and he drives me up the walls sometimes.”

 

“He is part Phillip,” Annie retorts.

 

She can’t help but laugh. “That he is.”

 

The other woman reaches out and hugs her, catching her off guard a bit, but she quickly responds, wrapping her arms around her in turn. This is probably the first full-on, not for only a second, hug she’s ever had with Annie. It’s nice. It’s something they’ve both been needing for a while now. 

 

The two of them pull away with small smiles. Fran looks around the kitchen, then out the window facing the backyard. “Come on,” she awkwardly prompts. “Dishes can wait. How about we go out and enjoy a day with the Altmans when everything is actually calm and no one is dying?”

 

Annie laughs and wipes her face one more time. “They are a very dramatic family,” she muses. 

 

“So dramatic!”

 

Both women fall into jibes and giggles at the expense of the Altman family as they head out into the backyard. The boys, minus Horry and Cole, are tossing a baseball around, while the rest of them sit around the table with drinks, just chatting away. 

 

“To be honest, I should’ve known it was Phillip,” Annie mentions quietly as they make their way over, and Fran can’t help but blush at the statement. “The two of them are very similar. And now I can’t unsee it. And don’t worry. I won’t say anything. Paul mentioned you guys haven’t told anyone.”

 

“Thank you,” she replies, feeling quite grateful. “We’re just… feeling things out right now. It’s all very new… For everyone.”

 

Annie touches her hand softly in return. “I get that. You don’t wanna rush things just in case.”

 

It’s weirdly gratifying. Hearing another person understand why she’s decided to take things so slow. Phillip accepts it, but she’s not sure he fully understands why. But she’s also way too chicken to explain it to him. 

 

“Well, it’s good to see the two of you out here,” Hilary says as they reach the table. “Thought you might never join us.”

 

Annie goes and sits down next to Linda while Fran grabs a seat by Wendy. “She makes me miss the baby stage,” she says, smiling at Serena in Wendy’s arms. She reaches out and gently touches the little girl’s bare foot.  

 

“Thinking about another one?” Wendy coyly asks. 

 

“Oh! No!” she quickly replies. “That’s definitely not in the cards.” Chewing on her lip, she flippantly quirks her head to the side. “Plus, one kind of needs a man for that, and I don’t have one.”

 

Wendy simply raises an eyebrow, her gaze very briefly flitting over to the man currently throwing the ball to Alex.

 

“It’s not easy… him getting more independent,” she laments, looking at her little boy. 

 

“It’s never easy,” Hilary chimes in. “Unfortunately, you’ll always be longing for the days when they needed you to hold their hand. Isn’t that right, Linda?”

 

“Savor it while you can,” the other woman adds. “They grow up way quicker than you expect.”

 

Fran’s heart hurts at the advice. She’s definitely not ready for that yet. She’d keep him at seven forever if she could. Turning away from her happy boy, her gaze falls on Serena and then Cole, who is playing with some trucks in the grass, and a small wave of mourning crashes into her. Not only for the days when Alex was that young and the cuddles were infinite, but strangely, because her little boy will never have that sibling bond that everyone in the Altman family seems to have. 

 

She grew up as an only child and knows how isolating that can be. Sure, she had the Altman kids right down the road, and Wendy was as close to a big sister as she could get, but from watching the deep love between them—despite all the arguments—she feels awful for depriving her son of that type of relationship. 

 

Wendy pops beside her, pulling her from her thoughts. “Hey, will you hold her while I go get another drink?” she asks, holding Serena out. 

 

Fran shakes her head, coming back to reality, and reaches to grab the little girl. “Sure.” She pulls her in close, nuzzling her little, chubby cheeks.

 

Gosh, does she miss chubby cheeks. 

 

She might also take a little inconspicuous sniff, missing that familiar baby smell. 

 

“Anyone else want a refill?” Wendy offers to the rest of the table. Hilary and Linda both lift their glasses. “Horry, how about you come help me?” she suggests, grabbing them from the two women. He nods, gets up, and follows her back into the house.

 

Fran, on the other hand, dives headfirst into snuggles with Serena, holding her close. Something which she can just feel Hilary’s eyes narrowing in on. But she tries to ignore it, keeping her head high and her focus on the little girl. 

 

What she doesn’t realize is that she’s caught someone else’s eye as well.

 

Phillip doesn’t understand why, but his gaze keeps returning to his niece and, moreso, the woman holding her. He absentmindedly plays catch while watching as Fran rocks back and forth on her feet, rubbing the little girl’s back as her tiny head rests on her shoulder. There’s the softest smile on her face, and he innately knows she’s soaking up every Serena minute she can. Not that he blames her.

 

Unexpectedly, images start to flash through his mind that throw him for a loop. Some he’s seen in pictures, and, much to his alarm and shame, others made up purely by his imagination.

 

Fran holding their little boy. Fran holding a different, new infant. Fran with her hand resting on a round belly. Fran with her belly once again round with his child. A child whose life he wouldn’t have to miss a single second of.

 

A sibling for their son.

 

He knows he should stop… He wants to stop, lest he runs the risk of his jeans getting tighter in front of his entire family, but the thoughts won’t cease. And it’s terrifying. He shouldn't even be picturing any of it. It’s bad enough he accidentally got her pregnant the first time, but to actively imagine knocking her up again? On purpose? She’s his best friend for fuck’s sake. 

 

He can’t cross that line again.

 

Not when they both have Alex to think of. He can’t afford to fuck everything up because of a few dangerous thoughts.

 

He hears a vague “Hey, heads up” and goes to turn back, but he doesn’t get all the way before there’s a huge thwack as the ball smashes straight into his nose. “Fuck!” he roars, his hand coming straight up as he stumbles back a little. Except his feet trip over Cole’s plastic fire truck, and he goes crashing to the ground, the impact of his head against the grass causing him to see stars.

 

“Shit!” Paul curses and runs over to his brother, Alex, right behind him. 

 

On the other side of the lawn, the ladies all look up at the commotion. Seeing Phillip lying on the ground, Fran quickly hands Serena to Annie and darts over as well.

 

“Phillip!” she cries, falling to her knees beside him. “Phillip? Phil, are you okay?” Her hands hover over his profusely bleeding nose. 

 

“Frannie…?” he slurs. His eyes can’t seem to focus on her face, and he just keeps slowly blinking. 

 

“Yeah, Phil, it’s me,” she sweetly murmurs, subconsciously brushing his hair back from his forehead.

 

His head turns towards her, even if she is only a blur hovering over him. “If I die—”

 

She rolls her eyes despite her concern. “You’re not gonna die,” she reassures him. Maybe also to cut him off from announcing anything they don’t want announced at the moment. “It was a baseball, not a bullet.” She looks up at Paul and gestures for him to help her. “Let’s get him inside.” 

 

Together, the two of them grip underneath his armpits and haul him to his feet, Phillip letting out a deep groan as the blood rushes to his head—and out his nose. They slowly start to lead him towards the house. 

 

“Mom, is Flip okay?” Alex nervously asks, trailing behind them like a little duckling. He’s never seen the seemingly invincible man so out of it before. 

 

“He’s gonna be fine, monkey,” she hastily answers as they pass Hilary and everyone else. “Just a little bop on the nose, that’s all. We’ll get him cleaned right up.” She knows she’s playing it down a little when in reality, she’s concerned as well. A bloody nose is fixable, but he smacked his head pretty hard. Not that she wants Alex to know that. 

 

They open the door and lead him to the kitchen with everyone else following after, only to hear a yelp and then a rushed “Oh, fuck! Horry! Shit!”

 

Freezing in shock, they find Wendy sitting on the counter, her shirt lifted up past her bra. She quickly slaps Horry’s hands away in panic at being caught by not only her brothers, but their mothers and her children. 

 

“Jesus, Wendy!” Paul exclaims, turning his head so he doesn’t have to see his sister’s bra. In fact, he’ll never get the image out of his mind for as long as he lives. “Seriously? On the counter? What are you, eighteen?”

 

Hillary, on the other hand, quickly grabs Alex and throws a hand over his eyes as she and Linda try not to laugh at the predicament their children have gotten themselves into.

 

“Well, you all were supposed to stay outside!” She jumps down from the counter and fixes her clothing and smooths her hair while Horry stands there, only looking semi-embarrassed. Then she stops and takes stock of the group of them. “What the hell happened to Dumbass over there?”

 

Phillip half stands, half hangs there between Paul and Fran, streams of blood still dripping down his chin onto his shirt. “Paul hit me in the face,” he groans. 

 

“The ball hit him. Then he tripped and hit his head,” Paul corrects with an eye roll. 

 

Stepping in before a semi-lucid fight starts, Fran looks at Wendy and asks, “Can you please get a towel and some ice?”

 

The other woman jumps into action as she and Paul lead Phillip to the living room, where they gently deposit him onto the couch. Fran grabs the box of tissues from the side table and pulls a few out. She holds them against Phillip’s nose while carefully pinching it closed, and tilts his head down. “Here… Lean forward,” she softly instructs. 

 

Her gaze falls to his white shirt that’s now utterly stained down the front, looking like he just committed a murder. 

 

Looking up at Paul, she starts to tug at the bottom hem. “Can you help me with this?” He helps slide Phillip’s plaid shirt off before lifting the t-shirt up and off without smearing blood anywhere, and without Fran losing her hold on his nose. She takes it and rolls it into a ball, though honestly, it’s probably just trash. 

 

“Ya know, Frannie… If you wanted to get me naked, you could’ve just said so,” Phillip nasally mumbles. His head is pounding, and it hurts to open his eyes. 

 

If she weren’t so focused on his well-being, she’d be staring at her lap with her cheeks burning. But part of her knows he’s just jabbering away because of the potential head injury. 

 

She does avoid Paul’s gaze, though. 

 

It’s not like she’s not slightly flustered by the comment. Everyone in this room knows she’s been quite intimate with a fully naked Phillip. The proof is in the other room.

 

Luckily, she’s saved from replying by Wendy walking toward them with Horry. 

 

“Here,” Wendy says, handing her the makeshift ice pack.

 

She takes it and holds it against the back of his head. He winces and groans, his head tender from where it collided with the ground, but wincing only makes it feel worse, causing him to groan more. Fran tries to lighten the touch while still keeping the ice against his skin to counter any swelling. 

 

Hillary and Linda enter the living room, both staring at the pair with concern. “The kids are all nice and distracted with coloring and dessert. Annie’s watching them,” Hilary says.

 

“Good,” Fran replies. Though she’s not sure a cookie will quell the fear that was on her son’s face. She knows he’s still probably quite worried for the man beside her.

 

Hilary comes and sits on the other side of Phillip, taking the ice from Fran so she doesn’t have to focus on two tasks at the same time. “So what exactly happened?”

 

“Paul threw a baseball at my face,” Phillip weakly grunts. He leans more into Fran as she continues to put pressure on his nose, hoping to stop the bleeding. He also vaguely feels her try to wipe the slowly drying blood from his chin and neck.

 

“We were playing catch,” Paul argues, glaring at him. “You were supposed to stop it with your glove, not your nose. But someone wasn’t paying attention…” His glare fades as he turns to Hilary. “Then he tripped on one of Cole’s trucks. He hit his head pretty hard.”

 

She brushes her free hand through his hair and coos, “Oh, my poor baby boy… Well, it’s a good thing we happen to have a nurse of twenty years in the house.” She gestures to the other woman, who comes and sits down on an ottoman in front of Phillip.

 

“Let’s check this out first,” Linda mumbles, pulling Fran’s hand and the clump of bloody tissues away. Luckily, it appears the bleeding has slowed, if not completely stopped. She gently prods on his nose, feeling along the entire bridge. Then she pulls on his eyelids one at a time to watch how his pupils react to the light. Phillip just winces and shuts them tight.

 

Not super promising.

 

“Hey, you, honey,” she softly snaps in front of his face to grab his attention. “Can you tell me your name?”

 

He turns to face her. “Phhhillip,” he mumbles. 

 

“Phillip what?”

 

“PhhillipHenryAltman.”

 

“And where are you?” she continues.

 

He looks around through barely open eyes. “Mommy’s house…” His face scrunches into a grimace. “Why is everything so bright?”

 

Linda looks at him for another moment and then sighs. “Well, your nose certainly isn’t broken, so that’s good news. Though you’ll probably have a nasty bruise for the next couple of weeks… It’s the reaction to light that I’m concerned about. He should probably go to urgent care to get evaluated for a concussion.”

 

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Hilary replies, placing her free hand on Linda’s knee and squeezing gently. “Thank you.” 

 

“I want Fran,” he half slurs. 

 

They all look at her. 

 

“Is that alright with you?” Hilary asks. “We can always take him, if not.”

 

“Oh! No no no. Umm. No. I—I can t-take him,” she stammers before remembering her son in the other room. “Oh, crap. Umm. Would it be possible for you to watch Alex for a few hours then?”

 

“It’s already done. We’ll keep him entertained here. You just focus on Phillip.” Hilary gets up, looks down at her son, then turns to Wendy. “Can you get a wet cloth? And Paul, can you go upstairs to my dresser and grab one of your father’s old shirts?” The two of them nod and leave to complete their tasks. 

 

Wendy comes back first and hands Hilary the cloth. She takes it and gently lifts Phillip’s chin, wiping the rest of the dried blood from his face. When Paul returns, she grabs the shirt and gestures to Fran to help. “We’ll get him dressed and then the two of you can go.” 

 

Together, they slip the shirt on, moving his limbs as if he were a marionette. He just continues to sit there with his eyes closed. 

 

Fran stands up and wraps a hand underneath his arm. “Here, Phil…” she gently prompts. Paul swoops in to help get him to his feet. Slowly, they start to walk him to the door. “Wendy, can you grab my purse. And double check for my keys to make sure Alex put them back?”

 

“Keys in purse…” Phillip mutters, still only half lucid. 

 

They lead him out the door and down to Fran’s car. She grabs her purse from Wendy and unlocks the passenger side. Paul helps get him into the seat and buckled up. “You good to do this by yourself?” he asks her. She nods and tells him she’s got it, so he closes the door and walks back over to stand next to Hilary and Wendy. 

 

“Tell Alex that I won’t be long,” she says, fiddling with her keys.

 

“Just keep us updated,” Hilary replies. 

 

With a nod, Fran walks around the car and gets in. She bites her lip and looks at the half-conscious man sitting next to her. 

 

“Where’re we going?” he asks.

 

Putting on a forced smile and trying to sound positive, she answers, “You’re gonna come with me, and we’re gonna go to the doctor for a quick moment. Sound good?”

 

“Engh.”

 

That’s all she gets, and that’s the only thing he says the whole ride to the urgent care center—a dramatic difference from his usual talkative self. His quietness only helps to grow her concern.

Notes:

I think this might be my most Altman chaos chapter yet 😂

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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@hissterically on Twitter and BlueSky

Chapter 24: Dazed and Emotionally Confused

Summary:

Phillip deals with the consequences of his concussion. Staying over at Fran's house doesn't sound that bad, though.

After what feels like an hour drive, but was probably closer to twenty-five minutes, she pulls into a parking space as close to the door as she can get. She straps her purse across her chest and goes around the car to open his door. 

 

“Hey, Frannie…” he sluggishly says, his head lolling to the side. 

 

She internally sighs. “Hi, Phillip.” Then she reaches in and pulls his legs out of the car. “We’re gonna get you up, but I’m gonna need your help, okay? You don’t even have to walk that far.”

 

With one of his arms braced over her shoulders, she guides him to his feet, giving him a moment to make sure he stays standing. Once she’s confident—as confident as she can be—she leads him inside the building and gently deposits him in one of the empty chairs. 

 

“I’ll be right back, okay?” she assures him, unable to resist stroking his cheek. He barely nods, his eyes blinking open at her in recognition.

 

Walking up to the counter, she greets the woman sitting there. “Umm, I’m here for a potential concussion,” she states, her head turning back to face Phillip. “He hit his head, and we just wanted to be sure.”

 

The lady behind the counter asks for his name and then hands her a clipboard full of paperwork. “Fill this out, and someone should be with you as soon as they can.”

 

Fran grabs it, nods, and heads back to sit down next to him. He immediately tries to curl his 6’3” body in the small waiting room chair, his head dropping down to lean against her shoulder. She has no clue how he can be comfortable, but he hasn’t made any sounds of pain, so she just leaves him there.

 

It surprises her how easily she fills out the paperwork, still weirdly knowing the littlest things about him after all these years, plus getting reacquainted these past few months. He doesn’t take any medication, he had his tonsils out at nine and his appendix out at thirteen… and now he has a family history of cancer. The reason for this appointment is a no-brainer. The only thing she didn’t know by heart was his insurance information, but that was as easy as pulling his wallet from his pocket—much to his displeasure when she jostled him a little too much. 

 

She lifts him up for a moment to return the paperwork to the front desk, but accepts his head on her shoulder again the instant she gets back. They sit just like that for what feels like forever, Fran’s fingers twiddling in her lap to work out some nerves. Her knee would be bouncing if she knew the motion wouldn’t move Phillip as well. 

 

Eventually, someone finally calls him back, both the nurse and Fran leading him into one of the rooms and getting him on the examination table. She sits down in a chair beside him as the nurse takes his vitals and leaves, letting them know the doctor should be here shortly. 

 

“Frannie, I’m tired,” Phillip complains, just sitting on the table with his eyes half shut. 

 

She reaches out and grabs his hand, subconsciously rubbing her thumb along his skin. “I know. But we’re almost done,” she says, trying to comfort him. 

 

They’re not almost done in the least.

 

Luckily, the next forty-five minutes or so pass by relatively smoothly. The doctor comes in and they talk about what happened. Then he performs a few tests, as well as confirms Phillip’s nose is indeed not broken. 

 

The final diagnosis? Minor concussion. 

 

Sadly, it’s what she thought. 

 

Phillip has slowly started to look a little more alert as the doctor talks to him, but she pays attention in case he misses anything. 

 

“He should be monitored for the next twenty-four hours or so, just in case his symptoms worsen,” the doctor explains. “We usually recommend that someone stay with the patient, just to keep an eye on them, especially while sleeping. If it’s difficult or impossible to wake him, or if his symptoms get worse, he’ll need to go to the ER. If they stay the same or seem to get better, after twenty-four to forty-eight hours, he should be in the clear. After that, it’s just getting rest and no strenuous activity for the next few weeks.”

 

“Got it,” she answers for him, soaking up every detail she can. 

 

“Will you be staying with him or…?”

 

She blinks at the doctor. “Oh! Umm, no I-I can stay with him. Well, h-he can come stay with me.”

 

He nods and continues with his spiel. “He’s free to take acetaminophen for pain, and then of course ice for any tenderness and swelling. Other than that, just call if you need anything or have questions.”

 

“Thank you so much,” she replies, shaking hands with him. 

 

“Let me walk you two out.”

 

Fortunately, Phillip doesn’t have to lean on her as much this time—slowly gaining his coordination back—as the doctor leads them back into the waiting room where he then gets checked out. Together, they walk out to the car, and she helps him into his seat before getting in herself. 

 

She looks over at him, and he turns slightly to face her. 

 

“So… Sleepover at your house?” he quietly quips.

 

It’s not quite his usual loud, sarcastic self, but it’s a step in the right direction. “Yup. Unless you want me to take you to your mother’s…?”

 

“I’d rather be with Alex,” he answers honestly, his voice weirdly timid.

 

And you…

 

But that somehow stays in his concussed mind. 

 

Thank fuck. 

 

Thrown by how much that sentence warms her heart, Fran nods and turns the car on. She takes out her phone and sends off a quick text to Hilary, catching her up on what’s happening, and also asking about Alex. Within seconds, she receives a message back. 

 

“What was that?”

 

“I let your mother know you’re coming home with me. She’s gonna drop Alex off so I don’t have to drive across town twice.” She puts her phone away and looks at him again. “You’re looking a little better,” she comments, internally feeling rather relieved. “You’re actually talking.”

 

“My head’s still killing me, though,” he grunts, feeling the sharp tenderness as he leans back against the headrest. 

 

“That’s okay,” she replies, pulling out of the parking lot. “We’ll get home and you can take some meds.”

 

Home?

 

Surely she meant to say her home…

 

Then why did it sound so right? 

 

Phillip closes his eyes and just listens to the sound of the road as they make the drive over to Fran’s house. The lull drags him into an almost slumber, the exhaustion of his injured brain starting to really take over. 

 

Before he knows it, they’re pulling into her driveway. He goes to open the door, but Fran’s already there, ready to help him. “Frannie, I got it,” he grumbles. With the semi-return of his coordination also comes his pride, and he’s quickly becoming annoyed with having to be half-carried everywhere. “I can walk.”

 

To prove himself, he swings his legs out of her car and stands, only teetering slightly when all the blood rushes to his head. 

 

“I just don’t want you to fall again…” she murmurs, looking down at the ground. 

 

The annoyance instantly dissipates from his entire body at the reprimanded look on her face. It cuts him like a knife to the gut, and shame fills him instead. He knows she’s just being cautious considering the circumstances. He’s just angry at himself for being dumb and being distracted in the first place.

 

With his horribly inappropriate thoughts. 

 

Quietly sighing, he holds out his arm. “Okay, Dr. Larsen… Lead the way,” he concedes. But the small, shy smile that crosses her face makes it worth it. 

 

She gently puts her hand underneath his elbow just in case, but thankfully lets him hold his own weight. They enter her house, and she slowly helps him sit on the couch. If the back of his head weren’t throbbing, he’d stretch out and get more comfortable. 

 

“I’m gonna get Tylenol and some ice,” she says, walking away. 

 

Not a minute later, there’s banging on the door, thoroughly amplifying the banging in his head. 

 

“That’s probably your mother,” Fran calls from the kitchen. She pops back up from around the corner, her hand full with a glass of water. Heading over, she opens the door, revealing her son and Hilary.

 

“Come in,” she ushers, heading back to Phillip and handing him the glass before depositing two pills into his hand. As he takes the medicine, she looks back at the newcomers. “Monkey, go put your backpack in your room, please.” He stares at the man propped up on her couch with concern before hesitantly walking off. Then she turns her attention to the other woman. “Thank you for watching him. I really appreciate it.”

 

“You take care of my son, I take care of yours,” Hilary replies nonchalantly, coming to stand next to Phillip. “Oh, my baby. It’s good to see you’re alright. Gave us all quite the scare.” She cups his chin, pulling a half smile, half grimace from him. “Now you get some rest. And behave for Fran. I’ll drop by tomorrow to check in on you all.” She kisses his forehead before walking over and hugging Fran. “Thank you, my dear. If he gets to be too much, just call.”

 

Phillip frowns at that, and if he weren’t so tired and in pain, he’d be more offended.

 

“I will,” Fran replies with a small smile. 

 

With another loving brush against his rather purple nose, Hilary leaves. Then Alex comes bounding down the hall, and climbs up on the couch, sitting on the armrest and staring at Phillip with narrowed eyes. “Are you okay, Flip…?” he asks in a tiny voice. 

 

Phillip tilts his head to the side and reaches out to pat the boy’s knee. “Yeah, buddy, I’m fine,” he attempts to reassure. “Just a little bump… And a nice double black eye.”

 

Fran, full well knowing her son has been fretting about the older man since they left, interjects, “Hey, could you watch Phillip for a sec while I go get some ice? For the next twenty-four hours, you and I gotta be the best doctors we can be, alright? That way, Phillip can get better.” He nods, so she kisses the top of his head and walks back to the kitchen. 

 

Alex leans closer, scanning Phillip from head to toe. “You said a bad word,” he tattles. 

 

“When—?” Then it comes back to him. The pain exploding on his face, the word automatically flying out of his mouth. “Yeah, I did… Don’t repeat that,” he sheepishly orders. The boy promptly nods in acknowledgment. 

 

Fran comes back and hands him a cloth full of ice. “Here.” He takes it with a grateful smile and oh so softly holds it against the back of his head. “Are you hungry at all?” she asks. “I can get you anything.”

 

“I’m fine for now,” he says, gesturing with his ice. “Think I’m just gonna veg out until I’m in the clear.”

 

“Do you at least wanna watch something?” She grabs the remote from the side table. “I don’t have the best cable package, but there should be something on that’s watchable.”

 

“We could watch a movie,” Alex suggests softly, as if he almost innately knows he should keep his volume low. “That always helps me when I’m not feeling good.”

 

Phillip reaches up and pats the top of the boy’s head, his thumb lingering for a second to caress the soft mop of hair. “You know what? That sounds great. How ‘bout you go pick one out?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Alex, time for bed,” Fran calls to the two boys lounging on the couch. Aside from dinner, they’ve been planted there since they got home. It’s been a movie marathon, filled with Cars, Cars 2, and they just wrapped up The Lego Movie. She’s positive Phillip’s never seen any of them, made apparent by his reactions and commentary—much to her amusement. She did hear him chuckle softly at Mater’s shenanigans. 

 

Her little boy pouts. “But—”

 

She comes over from her place at the kitchen table, where she’s quite happily worked on her sudoku for the last hour or so, to find the two of them sitting next to each other, Alex practically cuddling into Phillip’s side. “I know it’s exciting for Phillip to spend the night, and it’s a Saturday, but I’ve already let you stay up past your bedtime to finish the movie.” 

 

He opens his mouth to argue.

 

“Hey. I’ll still be here tomorrow. We can continue having fun in the morning,” Phillip supplies, trying to help the situation while not stepping on Fran’s toes.

 

“Nice, calm fun,” she mumbles under her breath, but he must catch it because he rolls his eyes at her overprotectiveness. 

 

Her son’s pout deepens, obviously bummed that Phillip isn’t taking his side. Realizing he’s outnumbered and has lost the battle, he loudly sighs. “Okay…” he grumbles. “But can Flip still read me a story?”

 

Fran narrows her eyes and relents. “If you go get your pajamas on and brush your teeth. Quickly.” Alex stands and bolts down the hall, making her roll her eyes at her crazy child. “Sorry about that,” she says to Phillip.

 

His head aches slightly as his brows furrow. “Sorry for what?”

 

“You probably didn’t want to watch kids’ movies all day long.”

 

“I didn’t mind,” he reassures her. “It was actually quite nice… spending the day with him.” His brow quirks upward in amusement. “He certainly knows all the words to that car movie.”

 

She has to laugh. “It’s one of his favorites. If you couldn’t tell,” she jokes. The corner of Phillip’s lip raises into a smirk, and she has to mentally shove the image from her mind. And her heart. 

 

Luckily, her little boy is a great distraction as he bounds back into the room, carrying a book and sitting down at Phillip’s side. 

 

“Cat in the Hat?” Phillip muses, taking it and opening to the first page. “Classic.” Alex cuddles up to him again as he starts reading the book. 

 

Fran just silently watches the two of them together, still unable to shake the residual guilt of her secret. The past handful of weeks have been good, forming their little routine of dinners and bedtime. She knows her little boy is over the moon each night Phillip joins them. He certainly talks about it enough on the days the man isn’t here. 

 

Part of her feels like they should’ve been able to have this relationship the whole time, and she knows she robbed them of that. But the other part of her—a part she’s rather ashamed about—fears her son getting too attached. 

 

Her heart was broken once when he left all those years ago. She doesn’t know how to fix two broken hearts if he leaves again. 

 

“Well, what would you do, if your mother asked you?” Phillip finishes, pulling her from her thoughts. 

 

Shaking her head to clear away her doubts, she says, “Okay, monkey. Bed.” 

 

Her son ultimately pouts again, but then his eyes go wide. “Wait right here!” He grabs the book and races back to his room before coming back holding his stuffed T-Rex. “Here you go,” he supplies, offering it out to Phillip. 

 

Phillip just looks mildly confused, and no longer from the concussion. “What’s this for?”

 

“He makes me feel better when I’m sick, so I thought he might help you.”

 

His eyes soften as he stares at his son and the wonderful sense of compassion that Fran has already instilled in him. He’ll never stop marveling at the sweet little boy she’s raised for the past seven years. “Thank you. I’m sure he will,” he replies, smiling at Alex. 

 

“Say goodnight, monkey,” Fran prompts. 

 

“Night, Flip,” Alex says, wrapping his arms around Phillip’s neck, still trying to be as gentle as possible.

 

“Night, kid,” he parrots. A flood of endorphins courses through his body, helping to slightly alleviate his lingering headache. 

 

Fran’s already up and waiting when they break the hug. “I’ll be right back,” she says to him as she and Alex head down the hall. 

 

He nods, then just sits there staring at the T-Rex in his hands. He can’t help the smile that stays on his face at the gesture. Not that he’s met many kids—really just Cole and Serena before now—but Alex truly has to be the best one. Probably on the whole goddamn planet. 

 

Or maybe that’s just his bias as his father. 

 

Either way, the kid’s pretty fucking special. 

 

“Hey,” Fran softly calls as she returns to the living room. 

 

“I don’t think I’ve slept with a stuffed animal in twenty-five years,” he muses, holding the dinosaur up a little. 

 

She chuckles a little. “You don’t actually have to sleep with it,” she waves off. “I know it’s still kind of early, but I changed the sheets on my bed, so they’ll be all nice and clean for you.”

 

He frowns, the T-Rex falling to his lap. “Fran, you’re not sleeping on the couch in your own home,” he corrects. “I’ll be fine here.”

 

“The couch is way too small for you,” she argues, “and you need a good, solid rest.” Her ‘mom voice’ starts to come out a little without meaning to. It’s a miracle she doesn’t have her hands on her hips at his ridiculousness. “You're sleeping in the bed, and that’s final.”

 

“Well then, I guess we’re sharing it ‘cause you’re not sleeping on the couch either, Francake,” he sassily counters. 

 

She stands there frozen at his reply. Her mouth silently moves, not sure how to refute his decision.

 

“Oh, relax, Larsen,” he teases. “It’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before.”

 

Yeah. When they were kids.

 

And the last time they did, they created a child.

 

Still not sure what to do, she simply nods and mumbles, “Okay…” It’s just one night. She can handle sleeping in the same bed as Phillip Altman for a single night. It’ll be just like when they were nine. Merely lying next to each other, sharing the same blanket. 

 

She definitely won’t think about the fact that the last time they slept together, they slept together. 

 

Nope. Not for one second will it cross her mind. 

 

Not at all. 

 

“I’m gonna get you some more meds before bed,” she blurts, chickening out of the whole conversation. 

 

She grabs his empty glass and rushes into the kitchen, taking her time as she filters through the cabinets. Closing her eyes, she presses her forehead against the cool wood. She needs to get a grip. It’s one night, sleeping next to a concussed man. Maybe she can tell herself it’s just so it’s easier to check on him throughout the night. 

 

Yeah. That’s what she’ll do.

 

It’s so she can keep an eye on him. 

 

Scrounging up whatever courage she can, she pours out a few pills before refilling his water. The living room is empty when she returns, leaving her confused about his sudden disappearance. It’s possible he’s gone to the bathroom or something, so she walks down the hall, but instead, he’s leaning against Alex’s door, once again watching the little boy sleep. 

 

He must’ve heard her coming because he whispers, “You were right, you know… It is easy to watch him for hours.” 

 

That one sentence makes her melt, her anxiety momentarily fading from her mind. She gives him a small smile and tilts her head to the side, gesturing for him to follow her. They walk into her bedroom, where she hands him the meds and the cup. He throws the pills back while she heads into the bathroom. Just as he’s placing the remaining water down on the bedside table, she returns with a toothbrush. 

 

“I had an extra one lying around,” she shyly explains. 

 

“Well, I would hope it’s new,” he teases. 

 

Not that we haven’t ‘swapped spit’ before. 

 

But again, that stays in his head. 

 

Her face warms slightly. “I’ll just let you get ready,” she says, handing the toothbrush over to him. 

 

With a nod, he trades her, T-Rex for toothbrush, and walks to the bathroom. After quickly brushing his teeth, he strips down to his boxers, but he keeps the t-shirt on, not wanting to make her completely uncomfortable. 

 

Unfortunately, he can’t help but picture the last time he was truly shirtless in front of her—earlier with blood dripping down his neck doesn’t count, nor when he was high off his ass in temple. He can still picture her hands grabbing at his chest, his shoulders, and his back. Subconsciously, he touches the shoulder where her teeth marked him eight years ago. The indentations are long gone, but sometimes he can imagine the feeling of her teeth sinking into his skin as she cam—

 

Okay, nope. 

 

Thoughts stop right there. 

 

He doesn’t need to be bricked up getting into bed with her. He’s only in his underwear for fuck’s sake. Not exactly the easiest thing to hide. 

 

Turning the sink on, he splashes cold water on his face and looks up into the mirror. His mottled, purple skin reflects back at him, reminding him of the consequences of his perverted thoughts. 

 

“Get it together, Altman,” he whispers to himself. “She’s your best friend. You have Alex to worry about. You can’t fuck this up.”

 

With a deep sigh, he dries his face and redons his cool, nonchalant exterior. He comes out to find her patiently waiting. She gives him a shy smile before trading places with him, ducking into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. 

 

Walking to the bed, he spies the T-Rex that she so nicely placed next to the glass of water, positioned to keep a watchful eye over him as he sleeps. He sits on the edge of the bed, letting his fingers stroke over the fabric of the stuffed animal, thinking about the little boy down the hall again. 

 

The one he accidentally made with the woman behind the bathroom door. 

 

God, is his life fucked up. 

 

It’s late, and his head hurts too much to think about all of this. He sighs again and slips under the covers, trying hard not to think about the fact that they'll be sleeping in the same bed. 

 

Why the hell did he suggest that?

 

It definitely doesn’t help that when she walks out of the bathroom, she’s only in an oversized shirt and probably the shortest shorts he’s ever seen on her. Her lean, creamy thighs are on full display, sending him straight back to the night he was in between them. He forces his eyes back up to her face, shoving the thoughts out of his mind. 

 

Thank God the blanket is covering his lower half. 

 

She comes over and places a bottle of Tylenol next to the T-Rex. “In case you need any during the middle of the night. And if you need more water, just let me know.” Unable to help herself, she pulls the covers up over him a little more, tucking him in. 

 

His eyebrow quirks at her, the action strangely calming his racing mind. “This feels familiar…” he states. “Except last time I was taking care of you.”

 

She freezes, remembering the turbulent emotions surrounding that day. Then she realizes the teasing in his tone. “Well, at least you’re not puking your guts out,” she shyly quips. 

 

He laughs a little, but the shaking of his head causes him to grunt in pain. “I thought I might for a moment there,” he replies. “Though that could’ve just been from the taste of blood.”

 

She smiles before sombering up. “What even happened earlier?” she asks, turning the main light off and nervously sitting down on the other side of the bed. She stalls getting under the covers with him by putting moisturizer on her hands. “Paul mentioned you being distracted…”

 

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, but he quickly tries to school his expression. “Umm, it was stupid. I thought I heard something and looked away at the wrong time.” Before she has a chance to decide whether she believes him or not, he changes the conversation. “So Wendy and Horry practically dry humping each other in the kitchen was fuckin’ nuts.”

 

Fran bites her cheek to keep from laughing. “I’m surprised you were even able to process that,” she says, looking at him. 

 

“His hands were on my older sister’s breasts,” he deadpans, “It was kinda hard not to process. In fact, I wish I didn’t.” She snorts and looks down at her lap, making him smile. 

 

Her bottom lip folds in between her teeth as she starts to bite it, the reality of their situation returning to the forefront of her mind. “You’re probably tired…” she mumbles before bravely slipping her legs under the covers, trying hard to keep the distance between them. 

 

As exhausted as he is, he’s enjoying talking to her. He likes these little moments they get, just the two of them. They haven’t had much time to become close again without Alex or work between them. 

 

Though friends don’t share a bed while their seven-year-old son is down the hall. 

 

“Yeah…” he reluctantly replies. “Been a long day.”

 

Fran nods and turns the lamp off, plunging them into darkness with the only light coming through the window. They both lie down and get comfortable. At least as comfortable as they can with the current circumstances. 

 

There are a few moments of a weird, tense silence, just the sound of breathing filling the air. Then Fran finally speaks up, “Goodnight, Phillip…”

 

The words send flickers through his heart. Flickers that shouldn’t be there. Yet being here, with her, as they say goodnight, brings warm feelings he hasn’t had in years. His whole body melts at her voice, prompting him to softly reply, “Night, Frannie…”

Notes:

Everyone is having not so innocent thoughts. We're slowly heating up!

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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Chapter 25: Adventures in Co-Parenting

Summary:

Alex gets in trouble at school, leading to Fran and Phillip’s first go at co-parenting.

Notes:

Alex does something not so great, but don’t worry, he’s still a sweet little boy!

Over the past month of working at Altman Sporting Goods, Fran has made a decent dent in the seemingly bottomless pile of binders. She loved the man and respected the heck out of him, but Paul was right, Mort was atrocious at keeping books. 

 

Besides the constant recalculations and cross-checking, working at the store hasn’t been as bad as she had originally thought. Paul and Horry have been more than pleasant, and as the weeks go on, the awkwardness of working three feet from Phillip has lessened. 

 

At least in a professional sense. 

 

When she’s at work, she can solely focus on what she needs to do, and doesn’t have time to think about whatever it is the relationship they have. And she’s especially too busy to think about the fact that the night he stayed over, she woke up the next morning wrapped in his arms. 

 

Fortunately, she was able to extract herself before he himself woke up.

 

Unfortunately, she hasn’t been able to forget how nice it felt. Being held. Her head lying on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear. 

 

The last time she felt like that was the night they accidentally made Alex.

 

But that’s a dangerous thought, so she forces herself to ignore it. 

 

Her eyes drift up from her work, staring at said man as he focuses on his own task at the other desk. He’s gently chewing on the end of a pen, his brows furrowed in concentration, the expression only accentuating the still visible coloring surrounding his nose. The bruise from the rogue baseball is finally starting to yellow, the dark reds and purples fading as it heals. 

 

She doesn’t understand how someone could make a double black eye attractive, but in normal Phillip Altman fashion, he finds a way. Even the moms at baseball practice have fawned over his injury. Practically melting over the fact that he got hurt playing catch with Alex. They find it sweet—and hot, according to some—that he’s so attentive with her son, despite being led to believe there’s no relation between them. 

 

She knows they all secretly wish he’d get attached to their kids instead so they could spend time with him. 

 

Boy, are they in for a big surprise when the truth comes out. 

 

She can already imagine the outrage when they find out that Elmsbrook’s hottest, most wanted bachelor impregnated her eight years ago. That Frumpy Fran Larsen gets to have Phillip Altman as a baby daddy. 

 

Subconsciously, she shakes her head, then realizes she’s still staring at him, so she whips her gaze back down to her work again before he catches her. 

 

Not two minutes later, her cell starts ringing, pulling hers—and Phillip’s—concentrations away. 

 

She grabs her phone from her purse and answers it. “Hello?… Yes, this is she… Wait, what?… That—That can’t be… No. No, I understand… Yeah, I’ll be right there. Thank you… Bye.” Hanging up, she sighs loudly and looks around her desk, suddenly feeling completely overwhelmed. She puts her head in her hands and groans. 

 

“Hey, what was that?” 

 

She looks up to see Phillip standing next to her chair, staring down at her. 

 

“That was the school,” she explains, still trying to process what she heard. “Alex apparently got in a fight—”

 

Okay, that’s the last thing he expected to hear.  

 

“A fight?” he interrupts loudly.

 

“I know… I—” she says, shaking her head. She can’t believe it either. “And I have to go pick him up ‘cause he’s been suspended for the rest of the day, and I have so much work left to do.”

 

“I’ll go pick him up,” Phillip hastily offers. “You stay here, finish your work.”

 

Fran blinks for a few moments. “…Really?”

 

“Yes, really. We’re working on this being a team effort, aren’t we?” he argues.

 

She hesitates—Is this what it’s like to have a partner?—before nodding. “Okay, s-sure.” She rifles through her purse to get her keys. “If you want, you can just bring him to my house and stay there until I get off work. Make him do his homework or something,” she says, handing him her car and house keys.

 

“Nope. Just house,” he says, giving her her car key back.

 

Her brow furrows and her nose scrunches at his reply. “What do you mean? Take my car. You need the booster. I’ll get Paul to drive me home or something.”

 

“Already got one,” he nonchalantly corrects.

 

It throws her for a moment, and she sits there blinking at him. “What—What do you—? You bought a booster seat…?” He nods. “When?” she asks.

 

“After the whole baseball game debacle,” he explains with a shrug. She just keeps staring at him in shock, so he sighs, looking slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t like the fact that I couldn’t drive my son around.”

 

Oh. 

 

“O-Okay… That’s fine,” she awkwardly adapts. “Umm, if the front office gives you any flak about picking him up, you can just have them call me.” Then she mumbles, “I should probably get you added to the pickup list…”

 

He clutches her key, putting his cellphone in his pocket. “So just pick him up and take him to your house. Got it,” he lists off as she’s stuck in her own head, bending down to kiss her cheek before heading out the door. 

 

“Phillip,” she blurts, making him freeze in the doorframe. “Let me know when you get there.”

 

“Will do, Frannie,” he replies with a nod. Then he taps the wall and walks away.

 

“And Phillip—!”

 

He pops his head back into the room. “Save the discipline for Mama Bear,” he continues for her. “Already ahead of ya!”

 

“Thank you!” she calls with a soft blush. 

 

He gives her one last nod and heads out. 

 

As he’s passing the counter, Paul clocks him. “Hey, where are you going? Work doesn’t end till five, dumbass.”

 

“The school called Frannie. Alex apparently got into a fight, and she’s slammed, so I’m gonna pick him up.”

 

“Wait,” Paul says, throwing a hand out to stop him. “Alex got into a fight? Alex Larsen?”

 

Phillip shakes his head. “I know… It doesn’t make any sense. That kid doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. God, I hope he didn't get the fighting gene from me…”

 

Paul gently claps him on the shoulder, weirdly trying to reassure him. “He didn’t. There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation,” he replies. Tilting his head to the door, he says, “Go. Do what you gotta do.”

 

He thanks his brother, hops into his car, and drives safely—speeds—over to the school. He barely puts the car in park before leaping out and racing through the front doors. It’s been decades since he’s been in this building, yet all of his memories come rushing back as he makes his way to the office. This is where he met Fran. Room 23, to be precise. And now this is where their son attends school.

 

And apparently gets into fights. 

 

He’s nearing the reception desk when he hears someone call his name. Turning around, he finds Annie standing across the hall, and changes his route over to his sister-in-law. 

 

“What are you doing here?” she asks. 

 

He bends forward and gives her a brief hug. “Fran got a call about Alex fighting.”

 

Annie’s face falls a bit and she sighs in understanding. “But why are you here? Where’s Fran?” 

 

“She couldn’t get out of work, so I told her I’d pick him up,” he explains. 

 

If it’s possible, her face falls even more, almost gazing at him with pity—much to his annoyance. “Phillip, we’re really not supposed to release them to non-parents or guardians unless there’s a note,” she states as kindly as she can. 

 

Of fucking course. 

 

He gives her a look, his eyes nearly begging. “Annie…” he murmurs rather pathetically. They both know the truth, that Alex is being released to a parent. Not that they can go spilling the beans to the whole front office.

 

She stares back for a moment before sighing. “I’ll tell them Fran called and gave permission.”

 

“Thank you,” he breathes, following her to the office. They see Alex sitting in a chair holding an ice pack against the bruise that’s already blooming on his cheek. Anger rises in him at the sight of his son being injured, his paternal instincts kicking into high gear, but he forces himself to remain calm. Instead, he points to his own lingering bruise and quips, “What? Trying to get matching shiners?” 

 

Alex’s eyes whip up to him, surprised to see him standing there, then he looks down at his lap in shame. 

 

“This way,” Annie directs, leading him through the back hallways to the principal’s office. He takes one last look at Alex and reluctantly follows her. 

 

A painfully familiar trek. 

 

There’s a small desk outside where the principal’s assistant sits. She looks up as the two of them approach. “I got it, Janice,” Annie says, ushering him through the door. They enter and she announces, “Barb, Phillip’s here to pick up Alex in place of Fran. Already received verbal permission for the change in transportation.”

 

“Thank you, Annie,” the woman replies, turning her attention towards them. “You can return to your class now. I believe we have everything handled.” Annie nods, gently touches Phillip’s arm, and leaves the two of them alone.

 

“Principal Friedman?” he says in disbelief. “Is that you?”

 

She’s still alive??

 

She was his elementary principal, and that was twenty years ago. 

 

The woman stands and greets him with a handshake. “Well, if it isn’t Phillip Altman. I heard you were back in town. I suppose it only makes sense that you and Fran would reconnect. You two always were thick as thieves,” she muses with a reminiscent smile. “Please, sit.”

 

He lowers down into the chair across from her as she returns to her seat. Now this is way too familiar for comfort. “Well, I wouldn’t call Frannie a thief,” he lightheartedly jokes. 

 

“You’re probably right. She certainly was the more behaved of the two of you.”

 

There it is again.

 

Perfect Fran and Fuck Up Phillip.

 

Shaking off his thoughts, he gets down to the root of the meeting. “So what even happened? Fran got a call about a fight…?”

 

She looks at him a moment before strategically answering, “Unfortunately, we can’t dive into too many details with non-parents or guardians—”

 

Phillip immediately clenches his teeth and bites his tongue.

 

“—but essentially Alex was involved in a fight, and from what we’ve been able to ascertain, the boys were arguing about something and it was Alex who escalated it to physical violence.”

 

“Alex? Alex threw the first punch?” he repeats in complete bewilderment. 

 

Mrs. Friedman nods along with his disbelief. “I know,” she replies, steepling her fingers in front of her. “We’re all honestly a little shocked. Never expected it from that one.”

 

“Are you sure we’re talking about the right kid?” he continues to voice his doubts. “Dark brown hair, brown eyes, about yay high?” He holds his hand out beside him. “Love cars more than air, and says please and thank you to everyone? That Alex Larsen?”

 

“The one and the same, Mr. Altman.” 

 

He just shakes his head, not fully believing it. Alex is quite literally the sweetest child he’s ever met. It doesn’t make sense that he’d go and hit a kid over a little argument.

 

“Besides, he admitted to it.”

 

Well shit. There goes his accusation that the other kid is lying. 

 

And that’s exactly his point. His son is such a good person that he admitted to the crime. Phillip never would’ve admitted to throwing the first punch when he was younger and in trouble. That’s a surefire way to get suspended.

 

He sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees, and rubs his forehead to help mitigate the headache that’s forming behind his eyebrows. “So what do we do now, Barb?” he asks.

 

Her face drops into a deep frown. “Don’t call me Barb, Mr. Altman.”

 

“I don’t know,” he cheekily replies. “I feel like we’re there with the number of times we saw each other when I was young. We’ve hit that point in our relationship, dontcha think?”

 

Her pinched expression reads a firm ‘no’.

 

Instead of indulging him with an answer, she sighs and continues with the issue at hand. “Alex has been dismissed for the rest of the day, and since Miss Larsen isn’t here, and has given us permission, we will let him leave with you, but please inform her that we’ll be giving her a call to discuss the situation as well as punishment.”

 

Resisting from rolling his eyes at his lack of involvement—yet again—he just nods. 

 

Mrs. Friedman stands up, with him following her lead, and walks him to her door. “You’ll just have to sign him out up at the front,” she says, sticking her hand out. He grabs it and gives it a firm shake. “It was good seeing you, Phillip. Maybe one day, we’ll have another you roaming these halls.” She gives him a teasing wink that has him biting his tongue again.

 

Yeah…

 

One day.

 

“Principal Friedman,” he concisely acknowledges with none of his usual charm before heading back down the hall. He finds Alex still sitting like a kicked little puppy in the chair and calls to him, “Hey, you.” Alex looks over, so he tilts his head as a nonverbal ‘get up’. The little boy stands up, ice pack still pressed against his cheek, grabs his backpack, and follows Phillip. 

 

There’s not a single peep from his son while he signs him out, when they return the ice pack to the nurse, nor as they walk to the car, though Phillip watches as the kid’s eyes widen upon seeing the coveted vehicle. “The Porsche isn’t a reward. It’s just to get you home,” he sternly informs, opening the car door. “Get in and buckle up.”

 

Alex puts his backpack in the seat beside him and plops into the brand-new booster seat—the one Phillip triple checked to make sure it was correctly installed in the back of his car. After making sure the kid’s buckled in safely, he pulls out of the parking space and bounds off towards Fran’s. 

 

It’s a tense, silent ride, but they eventually pull into her driveway. He turns the car off and hears the click of a seat belt unbuckling behind him, but then nothing else. Alex makes no other move to get out of the car. Phillip looks back to see him nervously staring at his lap. 

 

“Where’s my mom?” Alex finally speaks in the tiniest voice Phillip thinks he’s ever heard come from the kid’s mouth.

 

“She got caught up at work, so I offered to come get you,” he calmly answers. Alex merely nods. “Come on. Let’s get inside.” He steps out of the car, grabbing Alex’s backpacks as the boy trails behind him like they’re walking to the pyre. 

 

They enter Fran’s house and head straight to the kitchen. There’s something so foreign about being on the opposite side of the walk of shame, and it makes him flash back to his childhood, to when his own father would march him into the house after getting in trouble at school. 

 

He even hears his inner Mort come out when he tells Alex to sit down at the table and start on his homework. “Stay right here,” he says to the quiet boy. “I’m gonna give your mom a quick call.” And with that, he heads down the hall to Fran’s room and sits on the bed. The same bed he slept in a week and a half ago. 

 

The bed he held Fran in his arms in. 

 

And fuck if didn’t feel terrifyingly right.

 

He could lie to himself and say it was just him missing the feeling of a woman pressed into his chest. That it’s been two months since Tracy left him, and he just needs to get laid… But that’s all it would be. A lie. Because the truth is that it doesn’t matter who sleeps next to him. If they’re not Fran, he’s not sure he wants it anymore. All the women he’s ever slept with have never given him that feeling of comfort, of belonging. He’s only felt that way twice in his entire life. 

 

Graduation night and last week. 

 

Phillip leans his elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands. He groans, his fingers tugging on his hair in an attempt to regain his senses through mild pain. He should’ve never slept in her bed. He should’ve fought harder to stay on the couch, because all it’s done is bubble up those old feelings he fought really hard to shove down, and now he doesn’t know if he can keep them buried. Not when he’s gotten a taste of her in his arms again. 

 

He doubts she even knows he was awake as she slipped out from under him. He had been awake for a while, just lightly stroking a finger along her back as little puffs of air blew against his neck. The warmth of her body was enough to make him completely forget about the pain in his face and head. If he kept his eyes shut, he could pretend it was just any old day instead of him only being in her bed because of a concussion. 

 

But he can’t let himself feel that way. Can’t let that old crush creep up again. 

 

She’ll never let him see Alex if he fucks this up. All the good things in his life could be torn away in mere seconds. 

 

He’s her friend. That’s what their relationship is. And his dumb brain just needs to accept that. 

 

Or maybe his heart does. 

 

Shaking his head clear, he remembers his original task. He pulls his cellphone out and taps in Fran’s number before getting up to pace as he listens to it ringing. 

 

“Hey.”

 

Her voice sets his heart thumping in his chest, but he chooses to ignore it. “Hey. Just wanted to let you know we got back,” he tells her. 

 

“Good.” He can hear the instant relief in her voice. “So… what happened?”

 

“They wouldn’t really tell me much ‘cause I’m not Alex’s parent,” he replies with full sarcasm as he rubs his temple. “Friedman’s gonna give you a ring to go over details, but I don’t know… I might try to wrestle it out of the kid.”

 

There’s a brief silence before she asks, “How is he?”

 

“He’s fine,” he says. “Little banged up but breathing. Mostly looks like he’s gonna be led to the gallows any second now.”

 

“Poor, monkey… They really didn’t tell you anything?”

 

“Just that there was an argument and he punched a kid.”

 

“Okay…” He hears her sigh quietly and knows it’s been very prominent in the back of her mind since he left. Has probably even distracted her from working. “Thank you,” she softly adds, “for picking him up. It truly was a big help.”

 

“Like I said, we’re trying to be a team on this,” he reiterates from earlier. 

 

“I know… I probably have a few more hours here, so if you can just stay with him till I get home, I’d really appreciate it. Maybe give him a snack or something ‘cause he might be hungry, but nothing sugary. Also, make sure he finishes his homework, but no TV or games after. He can read a book or do some puzzles.”

 

“Can do, Mama Bear.”

 

“And Phillip… Thank you. Again.”

 

The corner of his lips lifts ever so slightly. “No problem, Francake. Now get back to work. As your boss, I can’t have you slacking.” 

 

She laughs lightly on the other side of the phone, making him smile more. “I’m going, I’m going. I’ll see you in a few hours… Bye.”

 

“Bye…”

 

Hanging up the phone, he shakes his head again, willing himself to get a fucking grip. Especially because he has to walk back out there to the child he drunkenly made with his best friend. 

 

Phillip gets up and heads back to the kitchen. Alex is still just quietly working on his homework, looking thoroughly reprimanded despite having had no actual talking to from either of his parents yet. 

 

“You hungry?” he offers. Just silence in reply. “Well, I am.” He walks over to the fridge, checks out its contents, and takes out some cheese and apples. He cuts them up into slices before pulling a box of crackers out of the pantry and throwing a bunch on the plate. Plopping down next to Alex, he puts the plate in between them. “I accidentally made too much, so you know, if any little boys are hungry, they’re free to take a nibble or two.” 

 

To emphasize his point, he pops a slice of apple in his mouth and looks away. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a small hand subtly reach forward and swipe a piece of cheese. He pretends not to notice, instead keeping his gaze out the small kitchen window above Fran’s sink. 

 

Once the cheese has been promptly consumed, he turns back, taking some more food for himself. “So whatcha working on?” he asks in a very purposefully casual way. 

 

More silence. 

 

He leans over and glances at the paper. “Ugh, math. Truly, my worst subject in school. I sucked at it,” he muses, but it still doesn’t get the response he’s looking for. Realizing all his efforts might be in vain, he stands up and looks around the kitchen. “Does your mom have any paper?”

 

Alex barely pulls his gaze up and points over to a drawer. 

 

Opening it, he finds a bunch of loose-leaf paper and various school supplies. Of course, they’d be perfectly organized in the same drawer. “Thanks,” he murmurs to Alex. Then he grabs a few sheets and a pencil before going and sitting down at the counter. 

 

If Alex isn’t ready to talk, then he might as well get some kind of work done. It’s certainly better than sitting here in silence for two hours. 

 

So the two of them settle in, Alex doing his homework, and Phillip writing up a proposal for Paul to restructure the store. Or at least, attempting to write a proposal. 

 

Every once in a while, he looks up and checks on Alex, the boy still sitting there silently. Occasionally, he can tell the kid is spacing out, but he lets it slide. For the most part, Alex is doing what he’s supposed to be doing. It’s not like first graders have a ton of homework to do. And as long as he’s getting everything done, Phillip doesn’t really have a problem with a few daydreams. 

 

Though based on the boy’s face, it’s probably more day-nightmares. 

 

Before he knows it, it’s 4:45, and Alex seems to be all done with his homework and is now just doodling on a spare sheet of paper. Though if the movement of his pencil is anything to go by, there’s not much thought being put into it. Instead, he can bet the kid’s in a constant state of turmoil, wondering what’s going to happen when Fran gets home. 

 

Phillip looks down at his own work for a moment before putting his pencil down and getting up. His eyes don’t leave his son’s face as he pulls up a seat, plopping down beside Alex. There’s no reaction from the boy besides a quick glance, almost like a skittish bunny. “So… You gonna tell me why you hit him?” he gently prompts, hoping to coax some information from the kid. 

 

Alex just stares at him, then looks back at the table, his fingers fiddling with his pencil.

 

A very Fran-like behavior. 

 

Okay. New approach.

 

“I got into a couple of fights at school, you know… And not all of them were defending your mom’s honor,” he quietly quips to no effect, so he just moves on. “I already told you I got bullied a bit, so I get it… Sometimes it’s hard to resist when some jerk is in your face saying crap. But I can tell ya from experience, it doesn’t stop them, and it certainly doesn’t help your case at all. If anything, it just ruins your reputation more than theirs.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fighting isn’t the solution.”

 

“I know…” Alex mumbles. 

 

“If you know, then why’d you do it?” Phillip replies, keeping his voice as calm as possible. 

 

“I just got mad…”

 

His brows furrow together as he takes in Alex’s expression. “Well, what happened to make you mad?”

 

Alex briefly looks up at him before returning his gaze to his pencil. Phillip can practically feel his hesitation in the air, stifling the two of them. 

 

“He said that Coach Paul gives me special treatment because you’re his brother,” Alex whispers. “And that you only hang out with me because you feel bad that I don’t have a dad…”

 

Phillip’s stomach sinks right into the floor. How the hell does he follow that up? Jesus. He would’ve punched the kid, too. Hell, part of him wants to. 

 

Not that he should punch kids as a grown adult.

 

But how does he answer when he is the boy’s father? He’s sitting right in front of him, and Alex has no clue. 

 

God, he’s going to Hell. 

 

He awkwardly clears his throat, trying to think of the right thing to say. “Well, for one, Paul doesn’t give anyone special treatment. He’s probably just jealous that you seem to have a natural talent.” That you got from me. Your dad. “As for the second part, I need you to listen very carefully,” he says, as serious as can be, reaching out and lifting Alex’s chin with his finger so he can look him dead in the eyes. “I hang out with you because I care about you and your mom. A lot. And that’s the only reason. It’s not because I feel bad or because I’m forced to because you’re your mother’s son and she’s my friend. It’s because I love hanging out with you. Because you’re a frickin cool kid. So don’t let some little, snot-nosed jerk make you think otherwise. Okay?”

 

Alex silently nods, really seeming to let the words soak in. He then scrunches his nose in worry. “Do you think she’ll be mad?” he frets softly. 

 

“I think she’ll be disappointed with your reaction,” Phillip says honestly. “But I think she’ll be more concerned with you being picked on. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Fran Larsen in the twenty-four years I’ve known her, it’s that she has an unwavering sense of justice.” 

 

“So I won’t get grounded?” Alex replies, looking a little more optimistic than he has in the last few hours.

 

He snorts and pats the boy on the head. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, little dude. You still decked a kid. Warranted or not.”

 

Alex deflates for a moment, then he leans across the table and wraps his arms around Phillip’s neck. “I love you, Flip,” he murmurs.

 

Phillip’s brain short-circuits, his heart nearly bursting from his chest. It’s not the first time in his life he’s ever been told those words—by family, various clingy girlfriends—but somehow, they’ve never held so much weight. They’ve never affected him like this. Cupping the back of Alex’s head, he pulls him closer. “I love you too, bud,” he chokes, just barely keeping the emotion out of his voice. 

 

A series of loud footsteps and the jingling of keys has them settling back into their own seats. Not a second later, Fran comes walking into the kitchen. She takes in the both of them before narrowing in on Alex and his bruised cheek. “Go to your room, please,” she kindly instructs, clasping her hands in front of her. “We’ll talk in a bit.”

 

“Okay…” His eyes linger on Phillip, almost as if looking for support, before he gets up from the table and walks away, leaving the two of them alone. 

 

Phillip stands as well, grabbing the nearly empty plate of food and throwing the leftovers away. “How much of that did you hear?” he knowingly asks. If he knows her at all, then she definitely hadn’t just walked into the house. She was probably standing on the other side of the wall, sussing him and his parenting skills out. 

 

Sensing she’s been caught, her face flushes. “A fair amount…” she quietly replies, walking over to him and taking the plate. Before he can protest, she starts to wash it. Her eyes flitter over to him as she adds, “You did well.”

 

He nods his head a few times, leaning back against the counter as he watches her. His hand comes up and runs through his hair. “Frannie… we have to tell him…” he sighs in defeat.

 

Her eyes go wide and she hyperfocuses on washing the plate that’s more than clean by now. “It’s not the right time, Phil,” she attempts to wave off.

 

He nearly gets whiplash from the mental double-take. “Not the right—? He’s getting bullied and punching kids at school,” he replies in a harsh whisper, leaning closer to her. His eyes dart over to the hall to make sure Alex doesn’t pop back around and hear them.

 

“And you don’t think they’ll bully him for having a dad that just found out about him?” she counters in the same hushed tone, finally putting the plate down and turning her eyes up to him. “Who hasn’t been in his life till now?”

 

He’s smacked into silence for a moment. “That wasn’t my choice,” he retorts, his tone sprinkled with old resentment. 

 

She closes her eyes and sighs, once again being eaten alive with guilt. “I know… I know it wasn’t,” she concedes, her gaze dropping to his chest. “I’m just saying… It doesn’t matter what other kids think. I need to do what’s best for us. What’s best for Alex. And I’m not going to rush this just because one little brat doesn’t understand our dynamic.”

 

Phillip goes to open his mouth, but she holds a wet hand up. 

 

“I’m just as mad as you are that some kid is picking on him, and I will deal with that with Alex and Principal Friedman. But telling him before the timing is right isn’t going to make everything better.” She reaches over and grabs a towel to dry her hands, turning most of her attention to that task to avoid the intensity in his eyes. “You promised me that we could take this at my pace…” she reminds him. “Can you still accept that?”

 

He stares at her for what feels like forever, eventually sighing, his hand running through his hair once again. “Yeah…” he mumbles. “Yeah, I can still accept that.” 

 

Not like he has a choice.

 

If he wants to continue to see Alex, he has to play by her rules—as frustrating as they’re becoming. Because the more time he spends with the kid, the more he wants to be able to claim Alex Larsen as his son and not care who knows. 

 

“What are you gonna do to him?” he asks, moving to a new topic to help ignore the pain blooming in his chest. 

 

Her face softens a little and she shakes her head. “He’s only seven, and he knows what he did was wrong, so I won’t get on him too much. More than likely, the school’s punishment will suffice. But I’ll still probably give him a few days without TV or something.”

 

He nods, and two of them fall into an awkward silence. 

 

“Umm, I know it’s not our usual night, but do you want to stay for dinner?” she hesitantly prompts. 

 

Phillip blinks back into reality. “Uhh, I should actually probably get going. I have some errands to run. Thank you, though,” he quickly amends. 

 

“Oh! That’s—That’s okay,” she blurts, feeling weirdly embarrassed. “Just thought I’d offer. You know… To thank you.”

 

“Really, it was no problem,” he says, slipping around her towards the counter. He picks up his papers, folds them up, and puts them in his back pocket. “Happy to help… Well, despite the rather unhappy circumstances.” Patting the front of his pants, he double-checks to see if he has his keys and wallet. “Umm, you’ll tell him bye for me, yeah?”

 

She gives him a small nod and follows him as he starts heading to the door. They stop in her foyer, standing there awkwardly as if they’re waiting for the other to initiate a goodbye. 

 

Fran’s fingers fiddle with the end of her shirt, summoning up the courage to talk. “So… I was thinking… It’s Father’s Day on Sunday…” she nervously starts. “I—I was wondering if you wanted to spend the day with him…?”

 

His brows immediately furrow low over his eyes. “I thought we weren’t saying anything,” he stiltedly replies.

 

“We’re not,” she rushes before continuing, “but—but that doesn’t mean you can’t hang out together. I just thought you might like it. You don’t have to, though.” 

 

“No. No, that’s fine. I’d like that,” he replies hastily. “We’ll… do something fun. Something casual.” Internally, his heart is already going a mile a minute at the idea of his first Father’s Day. It’s been two months, and it’s still unfathomable to think of. Him. A father. Fucking nuts. 

 

She nods her head with his words. “Good, good… I’m sure he’ll like that. You can just let me know what you decide to do, and I’ll make sure he’s all ready to go.”

 

“Will do,” he answers. There’s another weird silence between them before he darts forward and kisses her cheek, this time forcing himself not to linger—no matter how soft her skin is. “Bye, Frannie.”

 

“Oh, bye,” she echoes, her cheek still burning from his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And—And thank you again for picking him up and watching him. I appreciate it. Drive safe.” Closing her eyes, she clamps her mouth shut before she rambles any further. 

 

“Tomorrow,” he confirms, opening the door. With one last confusing look at her, he heads to his car. 

 

Fran watches as he pulls out of her driveway, giving him a small wave when he drives off. She shuts the door, leans her back against it, and covers her face with her hands, internally groaning. 

 

Could her life get any more stressful at the moment? Having to deal with her child’s father, and also said wild child. 

 

Gosh, she hopes not. 

Notes:

So many thoughts for Frannie and Phillip 😭

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

kylosroboarm on Tumblr
@hissterically on Twitter and BlueSky

Chapter 26: Father's Day

Summary:

It's Phillip's first ever Father's Day.

Notes:

Sorry this took so long. I'm not a parent. I have no clue how to teach a kid to ride a bike. I had to Google it.

June 15th. Father’s Day. His first one ever. 

 

Well, the first one he actually gets to celebrate. He supposes that, technically, he’s had six before now, despite being completely oblivious to them. 

 

The only problem is that he can’t acknowledge it out loud. 

 

He doesn’t get breakfast in bed, like he remembers all of them making for his father. Doesn’t get a Father’s Day card or a gift. Doesn’t get a big “Happy Father’s Day, Dad!”

 

But he does get the day with his son. And ultimately, that’s what really matters. 

 

Phillip waltzes up Fran’s walkway and knocks on the door. It’s not long before it opens, revealing Fran’s pleasant face. The face that brightens when it sees him standing there. 

 

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up,” she says, ushering him in. “He’s been bouncing off the walls all morning. Apparently, being grounded for half a week is making him stir crazy.”

 

“Sorry, I’m late… Just a weird morning…” he trails off, not expanding on it, but he doesn’t need to. He knows she somehow innately understands what he means. 

 

“I get it,” she gently replies. She feels it as well. He wasn’t her father, but it’s still strange to have a Father’s Day without Mort. It must be even harder for the Altman kids. She kindly just touches his arm and leaves it be. There’s nothing more that needs to be said. 

 

He simply gives her a small smile in return.

 

Fran calls down the hall, “Alex, Phillip is here!”

 

There’s a pattering of feet smacking against the floor as the little boy rips down the hall. “Flip!” he happily greets. He nearly launches himself into the man until Phillip swings him up and holds him on his hip. “What are we doing today? Are we gonna drive around in the Porsche?”

 

Phillip laughs at his son’s enthusiasm, his mood immediately lifted by the boy in his arms. “Well, I did bring the Porsche… But the rest is a secret,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “You all ready to go?”

 

“Almost,” Alex replies, slinking to the ground. “I need shoes.”

 

“And socks,” Fran reminds him, glancing down at his bare feet.

 

“Oh yeah. I’ll be right back!” 

 

Alex runs away back to his room, leaving them alone. Fran shakes her head at her son, then glances up at Phillip, her eyes tracing every inch of his face. “So what are you guys doing today?” she asks.

 

His eyes narrow slightly. “I’m keeping my promise,” he answers rather vaguely.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“You’ll see,” he says, a mysterious smirk gracing his face. 

 

Before she can ask any follow-up questions, Alex comes bounding back into the room, feet now covered in socks. He leaps over to the shoe rack and grabs his sneakers, plopping down onto the ground to put them on.

 

“Here, bud,” Phillip says, being the first to crouch and tie the laces after watching Alex struggle for a few moments. 

 

Maybe he should’ve scheduled shoe-tying lessons for today instead. But he knows Fran’s still working on it.

 

As soon as they’re all laced up, Alex pops back up and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Now we can go!” he cheers, clutching onto Phillip’s arm and nearly yanking him towards the door. 

 

“Wow, monkey,” Fran deadpans. “Making me feel real special.” Who knew her son just couldn’t wait to get away from her? She gets it, though. Of course, he’d want to hang out with Mr. Cool Porsche. 

 

She always liked spending time with Phillip, too. 

 

Still does. 

 

Phillip chuckles at her wry response. “Say bye to your mom, little dude,” he instructs. “Then we can get going.”

 

Alex lets go, steps back to Fran, and quickly hugs her. “Bye, Mommy,” he rushes out before turning back to Phillip expectantly. He just gets a raised eyebrow from the man—a ‘do better’. Sighing, he looks back up at Fran. 

 

“You’re gonna behave, right?” she prompts, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He just silently nods, still buzzing with excitement. “Good. Be safe.” She gazes over at Phillip. “Both of you… No driving fast.”

 

“But that’s the whole point of cars,” Alex half-whines.

 

She barely resists rolling her eyes. “The point of cars is to get from point A to point B efficiently.” Both boys just stare at her like she’s speaking a different language, making her sigh. “Just please, Phillip. No speeding. I would like my son returned in one piece, if that’s not too much to ask.”

 

“No problem, Mama,” he replies with a salute. “We shall stick to the speed limit.” Secretly, he sends a quick wink down to Alex, who smiles back at him. “I’ll bring him back after dinner, ‘kay?”

 

Fran nods in agreement.

 

He leans down and pecks her cheek. “Alright, little dude. Off we go.” 

 

With one last wave to Fran, the two of them bound out of the house and down the driveway to the parked Porsche outside. Alex happily hops in and buckles up in the back, feeling more than thrilled that Phillip put in the booster seat. Nothing will ever beat getting to ride with Flip with the top down. Well, except for if the car was red. Then it’d be super perfect. 

 

“So where are we going?” he asks as Phillip pulls away from Fran’s house. 

 

“We are actually going to my mother’s house,” Phillip answers, throwing on a pair of shades. 

 

Alex’s face scrunches in confusion. “Mrs. Hilary’s house?” Phillip nods, briefly glancing back at him. “Why?”

 

The older man smirks. “That’s the secret.”

 

The rest of the ride flies by, Alex talking his ear off about the last couple of days of being grounded. From the way the kid talks, you’d think Frannie locked him in a cage in a basement, which he knows is the furthest thing from the truth. The few days of after-school detention and TV ban are minor inconveniences for the crime. 

 

“You know, I think you got off pret-ty easy, kid,” Phillip muses, turning onto his mother’s street. “When I was your age, they used to smack us with a ruler when we got in trouble.”

 

“No, they didn’t,” Alex dismisses instantly, not believing it for a single second. 

 

“They did!” he insists despite the blatant exaggeration. Okay, maybe the teachers didn’t hit him, but Alex doesn’t need to know that. 

 

“You’re lying,” Alex counters with a giggle.

 

He holds back the grin that wants to burst free. “I’m not!” he argues. Then a second later, he adds, “Okay, maybe a little...” It sufficiently sends the boy into a fit of laughter just in time for them to pull into his mother’s driveway. He doesn’t understand it, but every chuckle from that kid makes his heart grow a little. It’s something so simple but yet has such a profound effect. 

 

Do all parents feel like this?

 

Phillip puts the car in park and turns it off before looking behind him. The boy is practically buzzing in his seat. “Have you guessed what we’re doing today yet?” Alex shakes his head. “Come on. I’ll show ya.”

 

He gets out and holds the car door open for Alex to leap out. Just as soon as they’re about to walk up the driveway, a voice calls out to them. 

 

“What are you two doing here?”

 

They look over to the front door, where Wendy is staring at them, Cole nearly clutching onto her calf. 

 

“Hi, Wendy!” Alex calls with a smile. 

 

“Hello, Alex,” she replies sweetly, her heart longing to be called ‘Aunt’ one day. Hopefully soon. She looks at Phillip and repeats, “Whatcha doing?”

 

“Mom didn’t tell you?” She shakes her head. “We’re spending the afternoon here. I have something special planned,” he explains, his lips quirked in a secretive grin. “Where’s Mom?”

 

Wendy leans down and picks up Cole before he runs out into the yard by himself—though she’s sure Phillip’s long legs would catch him first. “She’s out with Linda. A little distraction, considering what today is.”

 

He falls quiet for a moment, then lightheartedly asks, “And you didn’t want to go?”

 

She glances at the toddler in her arms, also remembering the baby monitor on the counter in the kitchen. “I have two children to take care of. On Father’s Day. Without their dad.”

 

“Noted,” he says with a nod, fully understanding the weight of her predicament. Then he turns to glance back down at Alex. “You ready for the surprise?”

 

Alex nods excitedly. 

 

Maybe it’s a puppy.

 

“Close your eyes and stay here,” he instructs.

 

While Alex squeezes his eyes tightly, Phillip walks up the driveway, opens the garage door, and dips inside. He grabs the special item and rolls it back down to stand in front of the boy. His son is nearly vibrating in excitement, and he has to hold back a laugh.

 

“Okay, open.”

 

Alex’s eyes burst open and grow even wider when he sees Phillip standing next to an old, red bike. “Are you gonna teach me how to ride a bike?” he half yells in joy.

 

Phillip gives the boy a smirk and pats the handlebars. “If you want me to.”

 

“If I want you to?” he repeats, almost sounding offended at the mere suggestion. “Of course I want you to! My mom’s not doing it, and I’m not getting any younger, Flip.” Phillip barks out a laugh at the response. “You’re really gonna teach me?”

 

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Phillip teases. 

 

There’s a snort, reminding them that Wendy is still present and watching. 

 

“You’re gonna teach Alex to ride a bike? Oh, this I have to watch,” she giggles. “Give me a minute to grab the baby monitor.”

 

She runs back into the house, leaving Phillip to roll his eyes at his sister. 

 

Meanwhile, Alex scans the seemingly old bike, all the way from the handlebars to the tires, but something strange catches his eye. “Where are the pedals?” he asks, his face scrunched. 

 

Phillip looks down at the missing component as well. “You’ve used a scooter before, right?” Alex just nods, confusion still across his face. “Well, this will basically be a scooter with a seat,” he explains to no avail, so he continues, “It’s just to get used to balancing, and then we’ll add the pedals back.”

 

He spent hours researching the right techniques on how to teach a child how to ride a bike. It’s been over twenty years since he learned how and couldn’t tell someone the process even if they paid him. So yeah, he scoured through parenting blogs and YouTube videos to find the best way. 

 

Thus, taking off the pedals. 

 

The door shutting takes his attention away from his son, finding Wendy waltzing back over, Cole perched on her hip along with a firetruck and baby monitor in her hand. 

 

“Hey, doofus. Pretty sure he needs a helmet,” she oh so kindly retorts, setting her and Cole up on the sidewalk. 

 

“Oh shit, that’s right,” he replies before quickly glancing back down at Alex when he registers the swear. “Don’t repeat that.” Alex just laughs. He really needs to get better about that. “Wait here.” Getting Alex to hold the bike, he dashes back into the garage and collects the many pads he ‘bought’. 

 

Perks of owning a sporting goods store. 

 

He’s honestly surprised Fran didn’t find the discrepancy in the inventory. 

 

Coming back, he leans the bike on the ground and takes the next few minutes to wrap pads around every body part he can find. Elbows, knees, wrists, shins… If he could do ankles and chest, he’d do that as well. But most importantly, he finishes by snapping on the brand-new helmet, making sure it fits correctly. 

 

“Perfect,” he states. “You ready?”

 

Alex nods, looking like he’s ready for battle instead of bike riding. 

 

“Good.” With a gentle pat to Alex’s helmet, Phillip picks up the bike and the two of them walk out onto the street. Luckily, it’s a rather calm road, not many cars driving by—a great location for learning. 

 

“Alex, if you get frustrated and need a new teacher, I’m right here,” Wendy teases from her spot. Cole, on the other hand, fixates on his fire truck.

 

Phillip bites his tongue, resisting from saying the thing he actually wants to say; instead, simply settling with, “He’s not going to need a different teacher. I’m perfectly capable.” 

 

The little boy merely laughs at the banter between the two siblings while his sister smirks.

 

“Okay, hop on,” he says, holding the bike steady and patting the seat. Alex suddenly looks slightly nervous as if reality has just hit him. “I gotcha, bud. I’m not gonna let you get hurt.”

 

Mostly because it would kill him. His heart would break into a million pieces if he were ever the reason his son was injured. Also, if he brought back a broken child, it might be his first and last Father’s Day. 

 

He gives Alex a reassuring nod, prompting the boy to throw a leg over the bars. After doing a quick check to make sure he got the seat height correct, he puts his hands on the handlebars. “Okay, so first things first, these are the handlebars. Obviously. Your hands stay on them at all times. This is the break, though we’ll leave that for later,” he lists off, pointing to the various mechanisms. “Put your butt on the seat, keeping your feet on the ground.”

 

Alex does as told. 

 

To be honest, he’s a little nervous as well. He’s never taught a child anything before, nonetheless how to ride a bike. What if the videos were wrong? What if he just sucks at teaching? 

 

He must disappear into his own thoughts and fears for too long because he hears Wendy call, “You actually gonna do something?”

 

Whipping his gaze over, he glares at her smug-looking face. “How ‘bout you leave us be and go suck face with Horry again?” She simply barks out a laugh, and he just turns back to Alex, who, instead of being confused about their quips, is staring up at him like he holds the answers to the universe. 

 

It makes him feel like he can do anything. 

 

“Okay, we’re gonna do this in stages, yeah?” he states, clapping his hands together. “First step is to just get you used to balancing on two wheels. So whatchyou’re gonna do is, while sitting on the bike, you’re gonna use your feet kinda like running, and once you build up some speed, you’ll pick up your feet and put them on the bar.”

 

“What if I fall?” Alex says softly.

 

“I’m not gonna let you fall. But if you do, you have everything you need to protect ya,” Phillip assures him. “How ‘bout you just walk around a little to get used to the weight of the bike while keeping your weight on the seat?”

 

They spend a few minutes walking, Alex all but toddling up and down the street like an old man with a walker. 

 

“Good,” Phillip says, stopping him. “You ready to go faster?” He receives a timid nod in return. “You’re still keeping your feet on the ground. So don’t worry about falling. We gotta build up speed before doing anything else.”

 

Alex repeats the steps from before, sitting on the bike but moving his feet along the ground, half running. Phillip walks beside him, giving him support, as well as hands in case there’s any tippage. 

 

Once Alex feels comfortable with that movement, Phillip bends down next to him. “Still feel good? You wanna stop?”

 

Alex shakes his head. “I’m good.”

 

“Alright then. We’ll continue to the next stage,” Phillip announces. “So, whatchyou’re gonna do now is the same running movement, but once you feel you’re going at a good speed, you’re gonna pull your feet up off the ground and let the wheels carry you forward. That way, you can get used to balancing.”

 

Nervous eyes stare back up at him. 

 

“I’m gonna be by your side the whole time. I won’t let you fall off the bike. I promise,” he vows. “It doesn’t matter if it’s for twenty seconds or two. The only point is to pick your feet up. You can always put them right back down, okay?”

 

“Okay…” Alex mumbles. 

 

Phillip stands and fixes Alex’s posture and grip, just making sure he’s set up for success. “So remember, this is a straight street, there are no turns or curves until the stop sign at the end. Keep your hands firm on the bars to keep going forward,” he instructs. “If you move your arms, you’ll twist the handlebars and that’ll be no bueño… We’re just focusing on balance. We'll get to turning later.”

 

Alex nods, so he pats the boy’s helmet and takes a step back. 

 

“Whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Go, Alex!” Wendy cheers from where she’s still constantly watching. 

 

It brings a small smile to Alex’s face. Hopefully, it relaxes the kid a little bit, knowing he has multiple people rooting for him. They both want him to do well. 

 

Perching himself on the seat, Alex takes a deep breath, narrows his eyes, and starts trotting along as if he were treading water, his bike propelling along the road. He’s picking up speed when he hears Phillip call out from his side, “Feet up!”

 

He holds onto the bars with white knuckles and lifts his feet from the ground. The bike rolls a few feet before it starts to teeter, sending him into a slight panic. 

 

“I gotcha! I gotcha,” Phillip soothes, running up and grabbing onto him and the bike so he doesn’t go tumbling off. “That was a good first try.” He looks up at the older man like he’s crazy. “It was! You freaked out a bit, but that’s okay.”

 

“I didn’t want to fall,” Alex mumbles. 

 

Phillip cups the boy’s shoulder. “I know. But as you saw, I came and caught ya before you could.” He nods his head in reassurance. “You did well. You just gotta stay confident. The wheels will take you forward. Just focus on keeping your body still. If you start wobbling, the bike will as well.” 

 

Alex bites his lip and scrunches his nose. 

 

“You wanna try again?” he asks. “We don’t have to. We can continue another day.”

 

Thinking it over for a moment, Alex shakes his head. “Try again,” he states. 

 

“Okay then. From the top.”

 

Once again, Alex sits back and takes off, moving his feet as fast as they can go. This time, when Phillip tells him to pick his feet up, he narrows his eyes and holds on tight, determined to keep his arms locked in place. Bravely, he puts all his trust in the bike and lifts his feet off the ground. 

 

And by a miracle, he continues rolling forward. 

 

He makes it maybe fifteen feet before Phillip yells out to put his feet back down, so he gently lowers his feet, using them as a break to slow the bike to a stop. 

 

Before he even realizes Phillip’s at his side, he swings his head around and shouts, “Flip! Wendy! Did you see?! I did it! I rode the bike and it didn’t wobble!”

 

“Of course we saw, bud,” Phillip enthuses, throwing his hand up for a high five, which Alex excitedly returns. “You were flying.” He pats the tops of his son’s helmet, that familiar surge of pride filling him just like it does at Alex’s baseball games. God, he loves watching the kid succeed at things, but moreso seeing the happiness on his face when he does. “How did that feel?”

 

“Good,” Alex says with a determined nod.

 

He smiles back at the boy. “Good. Let’s go again.”

 

Over and over, they repeat the motion. Alex rides further each time until Phillip is chasing him halfway down the street, the older man only having to stop him from tumbling over a handful of times. They practice balancing so long that Wendy had to bring out the pack n’ play when Serena woke up from her nap, and in return, put down Cole for his. 

 

Once Alex feels fully confident, they take a quick break, Wendy getting him a snack and some juice while Phillip screws the pedals back on. His eyes keep drifting over to them as they sit and talk, the image of aunt and nephew happily chatting over carrot sticks while Serena gums on some Cheerios, making him feel weirdly euphoric. To watch his sister and son bonding and having fun together. He’s certainly come a long way from Wendy babysitting him on this same street.

 

Not only that, but to see Alex riding his old bike feels like the ultimate full-circle moment. 

 

He finishes replacing the second pedal and stands the bike back up. “Okay, you ready to ride an actual bike?” he asks, watching as Alex finishes up his snack. 

 

The boy nods, hands his plate back to Wendy, who gives him an encouraging smile, and stands up. 

 

Phillip clips the helmet back on his son’s head. “So basically everything is gonna go the same way except I’m gonna be your legs and you’re gonna focus on pedaling. The good part is that even if you don’t move your feet, the bike will do just as it’s been doing. Sound good?”

 

Another nod.

 

“Awesome,” he replies. “Hop on.” Alex climbs on the bike and grabs onto the handlebars. “I’m gonna push ya to pick up speed, but to start, I want you to pedal lightly, okay? We don’t need to go hard. So just pedal and remember, steady arms. Don’t jerk the bars.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Alex says, his focus already narrowing in on the task. 

 

“You can do it, Alex!” Wendy encourages with Serena in her lap.

 

He smiles, whereas Phillip jokingly calls out, “Now you watch carefully, Serena… With that deadbeat of yours, you’re gonna need your Uncle Phillip to teach you as well.”

 

His sister couldn’t roll her eyes any harder. “Maybe I’ll ask Paul or Judd to teach my kids.”

 

Grasping his chest, he gasps loudly. “That wounds me. I’m an excellent teacher, aren’t I?” he asks Alex. The little boy just giggles and nods. “See? Alex thinks I’m fantastic.” 

 

Wendy just rolls her eyes. They both know the kid is a little—completely—biased. 

 

“You ready?” he prompts, patting Alex on the shoulder, who then nods. “So again. I’m gonna be your legs. You just focus on pedaling. Just a nice steady pace, okay?” Another nod. “Alright then, let’s go.”

 

Phillip grabs onto the back of the seat, places his other hand next to Alex’s on the handlebar, and lightly starts pushing. 

 

“And pedal,” he instructs, and Alex complies. They make their way down the street, picking up speed as they go. Once they’re going fast enough, Phillip subtly lets go of the bike with a “That's it, bud. Keep pedaling.”

 

It’s maybe twenty feet before Alex realizes no one is jogging along with him anymore. In a near panic, he pulls his feet off the pedals and drops them to the ground, slowing to a stop. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, he just stands there. 

 

“Whatcha doing, bud?” Phillip asks, coming over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You were doing it!” 

 

Alex looks up at him, his bottom lip pouting slightly. “I didn’t think you were gonna let go…” he mumbles, his voice quivering the tiniest bit. 

 

Kicking himself in the ass at the almost betrayed look on his son’s face, he sighs and bends down to Alex’s height. “Ach, I’m sorry, buddy. I should’ve been more upfront with the plan. I just didn’t want you to freeze up and have me hold one longer than I needed to.” He reaches out and caresses Alex’s cheek, not caring that it’s probably weird to an outsider. “But you were doing so good, you know that? You were riding a bike all by yourself,” he enthuses, trying to pull a smile from the kid. “Think you can forgive me?”

 

Alex bites his lip and then gives a small nod. 

 

Phillip smiles back at him. “Let’s try again, shall we? Let’s see if you can ride all the way back to Wendy,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Luckily, it makes Alex loosen up and giggle. 

 

Putting his hands back on the bike, he lets Alex get all situated with hands on the handlebars and feet on the pedals. 

 

“This time I’ll tell you when I’m letting go, okay? But you gotta remember to keep pedaling. Deal?”

 

“Okay, Flip,” Alex chirps. 

 

“Let’s do this,” he says, starting to push the bike as Alex pedals. They pick up the pace, Phillip nearing a jog beside him. “Imma let go, okay?” There’s a moment of silence, which he takes as confirmation. He imagines there would be loud protests otherwise. “In three… two… one. Keep pedaling.” 

 

He lets go of the bike, watching as Alex continues on without him, his heart pounding with pride inside his chest. The boy steadily rides past Wendy, who stands up in excitement, leaving Serena on the blanket she brought out. 

 

When Alex starts to reach the end of the street before the curve, Phillip kindly calls out, “Time to stop!” At the command, Alex’s legs pop off the pedals, and the bike drifts to a stop, his feet helping to break himself along the ground. 

 

The second the wheels stop turning, Alex all but leaps off of the bike, leaving it dropped in the middle of the road and runs towards the two adults. “Flip! Did you see that?! Did you see?! I was riding a bike!” he loudly celebrates. 

 

“Of course we friggin’ saw!” Phillip exclaims. Alex collides into him, so he lifts him onto his hip. “You were a pro! Just flying down the road all by yourself.” The boy has the biggest grin on his face, and his heart feels like it’s gonna burst. 

 

“Did you see me, Wendy?” Alex asks the woman beside him. 

 

She smiles and squeezes the boy’s cheek lightly. “You did fantastic, kiddo,” she congratulates. “The best bike rider in the whole town.”

 

“Certainly better than your mom,” Phillip lightly jokes, making Wendy snort at the memory of Fran’s lack of bike riding talent. He bounces the kid in his arms, already not ready for the day he’s gonna have to put him down and never pick him back up. He’s barely even gotten the opportunity to do it much. “How did that feel?” 

 

“Good,” Alex replies, still grinning. 

 

“Yeah? You wanna do it again?” Alex excitedly nods. “Okay. Go get the bike,” he orders with a laugh. He puts him down, and Alex goes running down the street to collect the abandoned bike. 

 

“You know Fran probably should’ve been here, right?” Wendy asks with a bump to his elbow. Ever the voice of reason inside his head. 

 

He glances down at her, a small wave of guilt rushing over him, dampening the pride he’s feeling. “I know… Am I a total asshole for wanting one moment that’s just mine?” he replies with a sheepish look. 

 

Her eyes soften and she sighs. “No. I get it. Just maybe don’t make it a habit to steal moments to make up for the ones you missed. You’re both here now. Share them.” 

 

“I know,” he concedes. 

 

She gently rubs his arm and heads back to Serena just as Alex returns.

 

Phillip puts on an excited smile and claps his hands together. “Alright then. Round two.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Eventually, the exhaustion and hunger caught up with Alex. With it nearing 6:00, Phillip made the executive decision to wrap it up for the day, promising that they could reconvene another day. 

 

Wendy offered to make everyone dinner, but their day was already planned in Phillip’s mind, and that’s how the two of them wound up at Joe’s Famous Hot Dogs, two dogs, two Cokes, and an order of fries between them. 

 

Frannie will probably reprimand him for the soda, but the smile on his son’s face when he said he could get one makes it worth it. 

 

“You like hot dogs, right?” he asks as the two of them settle into their bench. “I probably should’ve asked that before taking ya here.”

 

“I’m seven…” Alex says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe, giving him a look that screams ‘duh’. “Of course I like hot dogs.” To emphasize it, he takes a large bite, swallowing it down with a gulp of Coke. 

 

Phillip laughs, pointedly ignoring the slight sass—something the kid undoubtedly inherited from him. “Your mom didn’t at your age,” he explains. 

 

“She also likes cottage cheese,” Alex replies with a shudder before shoving a handful of fries in his mouth. “She’s not the best judge of food.”

 

He can’t help but chuckle again. “You’re right about that… But that’s okay. We like her anyway.” He joins in on eating, albeit at a slower pace. 

 

There’s a lull in conversation as both boys make their way through their dinner before Alex nervously puts down the very end of his hot dog. “Flip, can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure. Hit me,” he says, popping a fry into his mouth. 

 

“Are you dating my mom?” 

 

Well, son of a—

 

Phillip can’t help but choke on the fried piece of potato. He has to chug half his soda to clear his throat of the obstruction before he can garble out, “What makes you ask that?”

 

Alex tries to shrug nonchalantly. “Because Penny is dating Judd and she talks about how they spend time together all the time and how he kisses her a lot and you spend a lot of time with my mom and you’re always kissing her on the cheek and stuff.”

 

What an innocent answer. 

 

Clearing his throat again, he murmurs, “I think Penny and Judd are doing a different kind of kissing…” As well as other things that I’m not doing with your mother. Things I only got to do with her once. He stares at the kid’s expectant expression and sighs. “Look… Your mom has been my best friend since forever. But no… We’re not dating.”

 

“Oh… Okay…” Alex mumbles, looking down at his food. 

 

Phillip’s brow furrows, and his dad radar—something he didn’t even realize he had until this very moment—starts blaring code red. “What is it?” he prompts gently. “You don’t look very happy with that answer.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Alex quietly waves off. “It’s dumb.”

 

“Come on, bud. You can tell me.”

 

Keeping his eyes firmly on the rest of his hot dog, Alex timidly whispers, “I just—I thought that if you were dating my mom, then maybe one day you could maybe be my dad.”

 

And the glass shatters. Straight into his heart.

 

It takes everything in and around him not to yell out “I already am!”

 

Don’t tell him don’t tell him don’t tell him.

 

Frannie will kill you. 

 

You’ll break her trust, and nothing you can do will get it back. You will lose them both, and then what will you have? Absolutely fucking nothing. 

 

He stares at Alex a moment, trying to find the best words to use—the best lie. “For one… It’s not stupid,” he kindly starts, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. “It means more than you’ll ever know that you’d like that… for me to be that…” He reaches across the table and lifts the boy’s chin so he can look him in the eyes. “But dad or not, I’m always gonna be there for you.”

 

And it’s true. Even if Alex had just been Fran’s child with a random one-night stand, he’d still want to be in their lives. The kid has managed to wiggle his way so deep into his heart it would be impossible to get him out now. 

 

And Frannie is Frannie. 

 

But, Christ, is he going to Hell for lying to his son’s face. 

 

“So you better get used to it,” he quips. “Because you’re stuck with me, kid. I’m gonna be around a really long time.” Preferably until I’m old and gray. “That sound okay with you?”

 

Alex sits there thinking for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, that’s okay,” he softly replies, but then brightens up. “That means we can continue to have fun and ride in the Porsche!”

 

The smile returning to the kid’s face helps distract from the guilt currently eating him alive. “Of course we can. And maybe one day, when you’re old enough, I’ll even let you drive the thing,” he muses. 

 

There have never been as wide of eyes as what that one sentence caused. Alex stares at him like he just gave him the best present in the entire universe. 

 

“You’d really let me drive it?” he whispers in awe.

 

Phillip’s eyebrow raises. “I said when you’re older. Preferably with a license,” he reiterates. “So don’t get your hopes up anytime soon.”

 

“You’ll still be with me then?” Alex softly asks, almost like the concept is still unbelievable. 

 

The near puppy-dog eyes make his heart soften to mush. He wants to wrap his arms around his son and never let go. 

 

It hits him and it hits him hard. The only way he’s leaving this kid is for a final trip to the grave. Only death can pull him away now. 

 

“Like I said…” he firmly repeats. “A long time.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Mommy! Flip taught me to ride a two-wheeler!” Alex screams as they make their way up Fran’s front walk. Or run, in Alex’s case. 

 

Fran was barely able to open the door before her little boy started screaming loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “Did he now?” she replies excitedly for his benefit. 

 

“Uh huh! And then we got hot dogs and Coke!” he continues, giving her a big hug. 

 

“Coca-Cola,” Phillip quickly corrects. Christ knows he doesn’t need Fran thinking he gave the kid drugs. Luckily, her lips just fold in on each other like she’s trying to hold back a laugh at his unnecessary clarification. 

 

She runs her fingers through her son’s unruly hair. “So I take it you had fun?”

 

“So much fun,” Alex exclaims. 

 

“Then what do you say?” she prompts, nudging him forward. 

 

“Thank you for spending the day with me and teaching me to ride a bike,” he says in a somewhat rehearsed way as if Frannie has instilled the words in him, his head tilted all the way back to look at Phillip.

 

Phillip bends down to one knee and ruffles Alex’s hair, making it even messier than before. “It was no problem, bud. I had a fun time as well. You did good.”

 

“Can we do it again?”

 

He briefly glances up at Fran before coming back to Alex. “Of course we can. You just let your mom know when and I’ll clear my schedule,” he promises. Alex breaks into a grin and nods. 

 

Feeling guilty about breaking the nice moment, Fran gently touches Alex’s shoulder. “How bout you go inside and get cleaned up, okay?” 

 

He looks back at her, his face dropping, then faces Phillip again. Quickly, he wraps his arms around the older man’s neck. “Bye, Flip,” he murmurs. “Thank you again.”

 

Phillip’s heart fractures just a little more. He cups the back of Alex’s head and holds him tight. “You’re welcome, little dude.” Then he reluctantly lets go and stands back up. 

 

Alex is also reluctant to leave until Fran gives him an encouraging smile. With a wave, he dashes into the house, leaving the two of them alone for the second time today. 

 

“So how mad are you?” Phillip eventually asks, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

 

Fran shakes her head and sighs. “I’m not mad, Phillip. I’m happy you kept your promise and taught him. More than happy,” she replies, catching him off guard. “Besides… Wendy sent me a picture, so I guess it’s some sort of poetic justice for all the pictures you’ve had to settle for because of me. In fact, you made me realize that he’s getting older and I can’t always be there for his firsts either.”

 

His brow furrows, still thrown by the total lack of argument, and in order to ignore the uncomfortableness he’s feeling, he resorts to his usual tactic. Humor. “Yeah, that first kiss is pretty fucking awkward with your mom standing two feet away,” he quips, making her laugh. 

 

“Trust me. I think I’d rather skip that one,” she quietly jokes back. 

 

He can’t help but chuckle before the two fall into a weird silence again. He’s just about to say goodbye when she tells him to wait. 

 

“I have something for you before you go.” She scurries back into the house and down the hall, coming back a minute later with a manila envelope. “Here,” she offers softly. “Happy Father’s Day… Even if I’m the only one to acknowledge it.” She hands it over to him. 

 

He furrows his brow. “What’s this?” he asks while opening the envelope. He’s honestly shocked she got him a gift at all. 

 

Fran chews on her lip, her fingers fiddling together in front of her. “I know we haven’t really talked about it and all but I-I just th-thought, you know, maybe if you w-wanted to…”

 

He just stares at the paperwork in silence.

 

“His name would still be Larsen because that involves a whole other process with the courts and stuff… and I know we planned on waiting, but… he would at least legally be yours,” she awkwardly explains. Then she just stands there watching as he processes everything. 

 

His eyes read over the title at least twenty times, his breath caught in his chest.

 

Acknowledgment of Parentage

 

The silence kills her, so she continues to ramble, “You don’t even have to do a paternity test or anything. All we have to do is go to the registrar’s office and fill it out, and then they’ll send an updated version of Alex’s birth certificate. One where you’ll actually be list—”

 

He cuts her off by wrapping his arms tightly around her. His face presses into her hair as he desperately tries to hold back the emotions threatening to escape. Slowly, he feels her body relax as she accepts the hug, her arms coming up to embrace him as well.

 

They stand there for a few minutes, just wrapped in each other. 

 

“Thank you,” he finally chokes out. Tears brim his eyes, but he holds them back as he pulls away. He clears his throat and gestures to the papers. “This is… the best first Father’s Day gift you could’ve given me.”

 

Her cheeks flush deep red as she whispers, “You’re welcome.”

 

“No, Fran, like this—” but he trails off, still staring at the papers in his hand. He can’t even begin to express just how much it means to him. He can actually be listed as Alex’s father. His legal, full rights father. 

 

“You don’t have to fill it out right away,” she mumbles. “You can take your time and do it when you’re ready.”

 

He’s been ready.

 

Hell, he’d file it through the registrar’s office first fucking thing in the morning if she let him. 

 

He coughs to clear the emotion from his throat. “Now I feel bad. All I got you for Mother's Day was flowers,” he jokes. 

 

It breaks the tension. 

 

Fran breathes out a laugh. “That’s alright. You didn’t need to get me anything. I’m not your mother.”

 

Thank fuck for that.

 

“Still,” he replies. His eyes can’t stop staring at the papers, almost as if he’s afraid they’ll disappear if he looks away. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Frannie. It means everything.”

 

She gives him a shy smile. “I’m glad… I know it’s not telling everyone, but maybe it’s the first step.” Stepping closer, she bravely wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him tight. “Happy Father’s Day, Phil,” she whispers. 

 

The corner of his lip ticks upward, not just from the words, but from the embrace she decided to grace him with. He slips his arms around her waist and tugs her even closer, trying hard to ignore the pleasant smell woven into her hair or the softness of her body against his. 

 

He reluctantly lets go when she finally pulls away, his heart already aching for the moment when he has to get back into his car all by himself and drive home alone. 

 

“I should probably let you get on with your night,” she mumbles. 

 

He’d rather come inside and stay forever. 

 

“Thank you for today… I know it meant a lot to him… He’ll probably be nonstop talking about it for the next week or two.” She gives him a soft smile and an amused eye roll. “And if you ever want the day again, just let me know…”

 

“I will,” he replies before gesturing to the paperwork. “And thank you again for this… I know it probably wasn’t an easy decision. So I appreciate it.”

 

Fran shakes her head. “It’s really no problem,” she emphasizes. It’s quite literally the least she could do after everything. 

 

“Thanks anyway then.” He steps closer and leans his face next to hers. “Bye, Frannie…” Softly, he presses his lips against her cheek, briefly wondering what it’d be like to move two inches to the right. 

 

Does she still taste the same?

 

Ashamed by his thoughts, he quickly pulls away, returning his gaze to her ever heartbreaking doe-eyes. 

 

“Bye, Phillip,” she replies quietly. “Drive safe, okay?”

 

He nods. “I will. Tell Alex goodnight for me?”

 

“I will,” she says, smiling.

 

Then he wills his feet to turn around and walk back to his car. The car that holds the booster seat for the son he has to constantly leave. The son he never meant to make, but now can’t imagine life without.

 

The son whose face he lied to. 

 

The son who’s probably gonna hate him when the truth comes out.

Notes:

Alex asking the big questions...

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Chapter 27: That Damn Baby Monitor

Summary:

Big secrets accidentally get revealed at Hilary's birthday party.

Notes:

IT'S HAPPENING YALL 😱

There hasn’t been so many people in his mother’s home since that awful week back in April when everyone crowded around them as they sat on those damn chairs like an exhibit at the zoo. Though Phillip supposes today is for a better reason.

 

His mother’s birthday. 

 

This party would’ve been utter hell if his mother had not also invited Fran to join them—something he is quite thankful for. Not that he knows where she currently is. His sister dragged her off to do God knows what twenty minutes ago, leaving him at the mercy of the old vultures all by himself. With constant questions about his life being asked from all angles, he feels like a victim of an interrogation. 

 

Back during the week of his father’s funeral, it was easy to bend the truth, to lie to these people’s faces, knowing that in seven days he’d get the hell out of dodge again. Now that he lives in Elmsbrook, it’s a little harder to escape the consequences of his slight fairytales. 

 

His biggest lie; being just an ‘uncle’ to the child who is currently back at Fran’s home with a babysitter. 

 

His mother was more than willing to have Alex over, but he and Fran both agreed that the boy being here late at night with a house full of drinking adults would get quite boring and overwhelming for him. Better to keep him at home where he can remain entertained in the quiet. 

 

That’s not to say he doesn’t miss the kid. In fact, he’d much rather be spending the night with his son than putting up with every single person he knows asking him the same four questions. 

 

Phillip slugs back the last bit of whiskey in his glass and starts to walk to the kitchen, fully intent on getting more in order to get through this night, when he accidentally bumps into a body. 

 

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” he rushes, his free hand coming out to steady the other person. 

 

“If it isn’t young Phillip,” the woman he hasn’t seen in many years muses with a smile. “Well, I suppose not so young anymore.”

 

He blinks for a second, trying to put a name to the face, before it hits him. “Mrs. Handelman,” he says in recognition. “Umm, it’s been a long time.”

 

“Oh, please. I think you’re finally at the age to call me Eleanor,” she quips with a wave before sombering. “I’m so sorry about Mort, darling.”

 

Bringing up his dead father is definitely not a topic he wanted to talk about today, especially with his mother already being in a funk about it. There’s something so uncomfortable about his father not being here to celebrate his mother’s birthday for the first time in his entire life. Even longer in her case.

 

“Thanks… We’re all moving along as best as we can, ya know?” 

 

Eleanor touches his arm gently, offering a silent comfort. “George and I regrettably were out of town during the wake, so unfortunately we never got to give our condolences to you all.”

 

“Better late than never, I guess,” he surmises with a crooked grin. 

 

The Aunts always were suckers for his inherent charm. 

 

Her hand falls away as her eyes scan him up and down. “So I’ve heard you’ve moved back to Elmsbrook. That must be a pretty big change. How are you liking working the store with Paul? It’s about time more of you joined the family business.”

 

“It’s been fine.” His eyes wander around and catch Fran and Wendy talking by the kitchen counter. 

 

“Do you miss the city much?”

 

“No,” he replies, not being able to pull his attention away from where Fran is laughing. He’s almost shocked at how truthful the statement is. “Not at all.” 

 

“Well, I know everyone is just delighted to see you around town again, especially with Fran. It feels like forever since your little duo parted ways. And young Alex is sure lucky to obtain an uncle as good as you,” she says with a cheeky grin and a wink, bringing Phillip’s attention back to her.

 

He stiffens up and bites his lip, instead forcing a polite smile. “Yeah,” he nearly grounds out. “He’s a good kid.”

 

“It makes me happy to see he finally has a father figure in his life. I’m sure he’s been missing that these past seven years and all. A young boy needs a good role model as he gets older.”

 

Way to twist the fucking knife, Eleanor.

 

“Yeah, I know it hasn’t been easy on Fran either,” he stiltedly replies. 

 

“The poor pet,” Eleanor tuts. “Back from college at twenty-two and pregnant… I had hell enough of a time raising my two boys that young, and that was with George’s help. I can’t even imagine how she’s been doing it by herself all these years.”

 

Phillip’s foot starts tapping, his frustration—and guilt—needing to be released from his body in some form or another that isn’t screaming in the nice old lady’s face. Desperate to find an out of the conversation, he lifts his arm and gives a fake wave towards his sister, who is not paying an ounce of attention to him. “Sorry to cut this so short, but I think Wendy needs me for a second.”

 

“Oh, that’s no problem, dear. I’ll let you get back to it,” Eleanor says, patting his cheek. “It was good to see you.”

 

“You too,” he replies as genuinely as he can. “Enjoy the rest of the party.” Without another glance, he darts off into the kitchen. Stomping over to the two girls, he half-slams his glass on the counter and grabs Fran from Wendy’s side.

 

“What the hell, dude?” Wendy snaps on the younger woman’s behalf.

 

He ignores her. “Can I talk to you?” he demands more than asks as he wraps his hand gently around Fran’s bicep and pulls her away from his sister. 

 

“What are y—?” Fran starts to say before a voice from the other room echoes from the other room.

 

“If I could get everyone’s attention, please.”

 

“Oh, I think Paul’s—”

 

“I don’t care.” He leads her down the hall into the room Wendy has been staying in, shutting the door behind them.

 

Fran just stares at him, completely bewildered by the sudden change in demeanor. He’s been fairly happy all night long. “Phillip, what is it?” she prompts. “We’re missing Paul’s speech.”

 

He’s pacing back and forth, quite clearly agitated. “I had to get out of there before I exploded… I swear to God, Frannie. If one more person at this party calls me Alex’s uncle, I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.” He even swipes his fingers through his hair and tugs on the ends. A sign of stress she’s more than familiar with. 

 

“I know…” she tries to appease him. She takes a step towards him, hands subconsciously outstretched like she’s calming a wild animal. “Okay, I know.”

 

“Why can’t we just tell these people who I really am? In fact, now’s the perfect time,” he rants, throwing an arm up to point to the door. “They’re all gathered anyway.”

 

Her heart sinks into her stomach at his words. “Phillip, no,” she instantly dismisses. 

 

“Why?” he demands, his voice sounding rather exasperated. Or just lost. “What’s so bad about them knowing I’m Alex’s dad? The damn county knows, but the neighbors can’t?”

 

She should’ve known that form would come back to bite her in the ass. 

 

“Because…” she hesitates, her fingers fiddling double time in front of her. 

 

“Because why?”

 

“Just—Because…”

 

“Why, Fran?” he repeats, this time firmer.

 

“Because they won’t look at me the same after we do!” flies out of her mouth before she can stop the words. And once they’re gone, she begs to take them back.

 

He stands there frozen, just looking at her for a moment, almost as if he’s processing the rushed reply. “What does that mean?” he chokes after trying to compose himself. 

 

Her bottom lip wobbles, but she clamps her teeth down to stop it. In her shame and embarrassment, she finds it suddenly impossible to look him in the eye, her gaze falling to the carpet. “Nothing,” she attempts to wave off.

 

“No, it’s not nothing. What does that mean?” he demands again as he steps closer.

 

Her eyes whip back up to his on their own accord. “It means I’m the villain in this story,” she blurts, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m the awful bitch who never told Phillip Altman he had a son.”

 

“Frannie, you know I don’t think that about you,” he quickly interjects.

 

“I know you don’t. But they will,” she argues. “This town will forever think of me as the woman who lied and kept Alex from you.”

 

All he can do is subconsciously shake his head at her. 

 

Has this been why she's been so hesitant the last few months? Because she’s afraid people will judge her more than they already have?  

 

“Frannie,” he says, gently placing his hands on her cheeks so she’s forced to look at him. Her lips part the smallest amount in surprise, and his gaze flits down to them. Flashbacks of that night smack into him like a Mack truck. The feel of them. The taste of them. How perfectly they melded against his own…

 

Forcing the thoughts away, he blinks and returns to the problem at hand.

 

“Frannie, no one is going to hate you for that. I don’t hate you for that,” he emphasizes. “We’ve had this conversation. I don’t hold any of this against you. I fucked up. I left. And I missed the first seven years of my son’s life because of it.” His thumbs mindlessly caress her skin. “So if anyone has a problem with our shitty little situation, then they can take it up with me.”

 

A small tear falls from her eye against her wishes, and Phillip simply wipes it away before it has the chance to roll further.

 

Fran stares up at him for a few seconds before clearing her throat and pulling herself from his grasp. Rubbing her arm, her eyes glance at the door. “Umm, we should probably get back to the party…” 

 

His face and heart drop. It’s how it always goes—Fran simply avoiding the entire conversation. Feeling mildly frustrated with her sudden withdrawal, all he can do is watch as she begins to shuffle towards the door. 

 

Her hand lands on the doorknob. “I promise we’ll talk about it later though…” She looks back up at him. “I just don’t think tonight is the right time. Not during your mother’s birthday. Can you accept that…?”

 

Internally sighing, he forces a nod. “Yeah. I can… But we will talk about it.” Walking over, he puts a hand over hers and opens the door, holding it open for her as he gestures for her to go first. She gives him a tiny, grateful nod, and the two of them head back down the hall. They reach the living room, freezing in their places when they find everyone else silent as the dead, staring at them with shocked faces.

 

“I knew it!” Mrs. Moskovitz announces for everyone to hear. 

 

“No, you didn’t, Mitzi,” Doreen Matthews grumbles beside her, rubbing her temples. 

 

Fran and Phillip look at each other in confusion, not sure why everyone is staring or what Mrs. Moskovitz is going on about. They turn to Wendy, who’s standing nearby, for some sort of explanation. 

 

“Wendy…?” Fran croaks, dread filling her body in droves.

 

Her honorary sister winces at the two of them. “I really gotta be better about that baby monitor,” Wendy guiltily says. 

 

Oh God.

 

“Well, it wouldn’t be an Altman party without some drama, right, folks?” Judd—who’s back in town for the week—deadpans. “Gotta say, secret children are a new one for us, though.” Penny smacks his stomach, looking at Fran with concern. 

 

“As I was saying…” Paul angrily continues from beside Annie, a drink gripped too tightly in his fist, “Now that the moment is sufficiently ruined…” He holds up his glass in a farce of a toast while glaring at Phillip. “Annie’s pregnant.”

 

The celebrations—that the married pair had clearly expected—are non-existent, just scattered whispers and gasps, as everyone’s attention is still centered on Fran and Phillip and their newfound secret. Even Phillip stiffens, realizing his brother is going to be all kinds of pissed at him for ruining this moment. 

 

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes catching his mother’s all-knowing ones.

 

Fran’s wide gaze flits around the room in panic, the walls feeling like they’re quickly closing in on her. “I—” she starts before turning like a frightened bunny and darting back down the hall.

 

“Fran!” Phillip calls, determined to chase after her, but he’s stopped by Wendy. 

 

“I got it,” his older sister assures him with a brush of her hand to his chest. And without another word, she follows Fran into the bathroom that the girl has chosen as her sanctuary to hide away from the nosy hoard. 

 

Phillip looks back at his mother, noticing everyone’s eyes still on him. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so he just shakes his head rather helplessly. There’s not really a great way out of this situation. Within the blink of an eye, all because of a damn rogue baby monitor, the whole neighborhood—and surely soon to be the whole town—knows he’s Alex’s father.

 

Coming to the rescue, his mother steps into the middle of the room, placing herself between her eldest and youngest. “Alright, spectacle’s over,” she calls out. “Thank you all for coming, but I think it’s about time everyone went home. For once, we won’t turn our private family affairs into something for the whole neighborhood to watch.”

 

Slowly, people begin to move about the house. Awkward mutterings of “Happy Birthday” to Hilary, half-hearted “Congratulations” to Paul and Annie, and hushed speculations about Phillip echo through the room as guests grab their things and leave. 

 

“I really did think that child was always a spitting image of our Phillip.”

 

“Goodbye, Mitzi,” Hilary very pointedly says, the older lady clearly needing a second reminder in order to drop it. The woman opens her mouth to respond before Doreen Matthews shoves at her back. 

 

As soon as the door closes behind the last person, Paul flips a switch, his frustration bubbling over. “For fuck’s sake, Phillip! Can you, for once, not make every day about you?” he growls, practically slamming his drink onto the mantle.

 

“Paul…” Annie mumbles from his side, but he ignores her, too focused on being angry with his brother.

 

“Hey, you’re the one intentionally stealing Mommy’s spotlight on her fucking birthday,” Phillip heatedly counters because it’s the only reaction he knows with Paul. “How was I supposed to know you had a little announcement to make?”

 

“Little announcement?” his brother roars. “We finally have a viable pregnancy after years of trying, and you’re calling it little?”  

 

Hilary steps in front of her eldest again. “Your niece and nephew are asleep in the other room. I suggest you refrain from shouting unless you want your sister to rain hell down upon you should they wake up.” 

 

Steam practically comes out of Paul’s nose as he’s forced to take a deep breath. “Sorry, Mommy.” 

 

He stands there for a moment, looking like he’s trying to calm down. 

 

It fails. 

 

“I’ll just silently kill him instead,” he hisses before rushing around his mother and bulldozing into Phillip, knocking them both to the ground. 

 

“Paul!” Hilary and Annie yelp in unison. 

 

“You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you?!” Paul accuses, wrestling his younger brother across the floor. “You couldn’t let Annie and me have one goddamn moment.”

 

Phillip tries to fend him off as best as he can without throwing fists back. After all, he’s trying to be a better person. A better person who’s being pummeled by his older brother. “It’s not my fault!” he argues, holding onto Paul’s arms so he doesn’t get clocked in the nose. “It’s not like I planned it! It was that fucking baby monitor. I wasn’t trying to ruin anything.”

 

“Paul, stop it,” Judd steps in. “Just get off him.” He tries to grab his older brother to drag him off Phillip, but he just gets a flying elbow inches from his face. “Horry, a little help here!” Horry grabs onto Paul’s other arm, and the two men lift him off and attempt to drag the flailing man away.

 

“Judd, fucking let me go,” Paul sneers, trying to rip his arms out of their grasp.  

 

“Yeah, no can do there, Pauly. Unfortunately, I can’t let you murder our brother. Especially on our mother’s birthday.”

 

There’s the sound of rushed footsteps dashing down the hall. The two missing women must’ve heard the commotion and come running. Upon return, they’re shocked to find the endings of the brawl where Judd and Horry are restraining Paul in the middle of the living room, Hilary, Linda, and Penny are comforting a crying Annie, and then Phillip is still sitting on the ground looking rather disheveled. 

 

Immediately, Wendy steps in between the boys, always having to play the moderator between these bozos. “Are you two fucking lunatics?” she snaps. “Really? Fist fighting over this?” She looks at her older brother. “If you want to blame someone for ruining your announcement, blame me. I’m the one who left the spare baby monitor on. That’s not on Phillip. That’s on me.” 

 

Paul opens his mouth to fight back, continuously glaring at everyone in the room.

 

“No,” Wendy shuts him down with her own glare. “If you took one fucking moment to just pause, you’d know we’re all happy for you and Annie. Phillip is happy for you, and we will celebrate in accordance with that… But because of my stupidity, he and Fran now have their own shit to deal with without you beating him to death.” She gives him a pointed look. “Think of Alex.”

 

The small reminder of his nephew makes him melt just a little. Across the room, Phillip’s eyes travel away from his sister to Fran, who’s still standing by the hall, looking like she’s been crying. 

 

Wendy walks closer to the constrained man and continues, “I get that you wanted to make this big announcement and have all our family and friends congratulate you, but our baby brother’s private life just got revealed in a very public way without their consent. So maybe give him just a little bit of grace, huh?”

 

Paul stands there, chest heaving as the adrenaline leaves his body, until he finally deflates as her words get to him. He looks at his brother still on the floor, then over to his wife in his mother’s arms. His beautiful, wonderful, pregnant wife. The wife whom he made cry from his actions.

 

In the slight shame that fills him, he tries to shake off Judd and Horry’s grip. “I’m fine… I’m fine! I’m not gonna attack him again.” They finally let go, and he straightens himself out, gathering his composure as everyone watches his moves closely. 

 

No one says anything, just waiting. 

 

He clears his throat and stiffly walks over to where Phillip is still on the floor. Without a word, and only half a glance, he thrusts his hand out towards his little brother. A silent truce. 

 

Phillip looks at the offered hand for a moment, almost as if debating whether to accept the unspoken apology or not. It’s pretty much how it’s always gone with their family. They fight, cool down, and move on as if nothing happened. It’s probably not the healthiest, but it works for them. 

 

The town may think their family is messy, and they are… but there’s a strong sense of loyalty underneath it all. 

 

Something their father worked hard to instill in them. 

 

Sighing in resignation, he clamps onto his brother’s hand and lets Paul haul him back up to his feet. Paul gives him a clap on the back, the two men sharing an understanding nod. 

 

Paul heads over to Annie and takes her into his arms, no doubt whispering all his apologies, whereas Fran finally walks over to Phillip’s side. “Are you okay?” she whispers, reaching and timidly touching the red mark on his chin from where Paul’s fist landed. 

 

He winces a little and looks down at her. “I’m fine.” His eyes scan her red ones. “Are you okay?” he asks, his finger coming up to brush a hair from her cheek. She ran off so fast, and it kills him that he didn’t get to check on her, especially now knowing how scared she was of everyone finding out. 

 

He would’ve understood, had she just explained it to him before. Maybe they could’ve formed a better game plan if he knew. Maybe he wouldn’t have pushed so much. 

 

She silently nods, looking tired. “Can we just… Can we maybe just go home?”

 

Fuck, his heart still breaks when she says the word ‘home’ knowing he's not actually a part of it.

 

“Yeah… Gimme a sec,” he murmurs before touching her arm and walking over to hug his mother. “Happy Birthday, Mommy.” 

 

Hilary squeezes him back. “You two don’t have to leave, you know? Everyone’s gone, and we can just sit and relax.”

 

He shakes his head. “It’s probably best if I take her home… I have a feeling there are a few things we need to talk about.” He pecks her cheek and lets her cup his in return. Then he and Fran make their way around the room, awkwardly saying goodbye to the rest of the Altman gang. He even says bye to Paul, albeit more tensely than others.

 

“I’ll text you later, okay?” Penny says quietly to Fran as the two of them hug. 

 

Fran just nods before Phillip comes back over and holds out her purse. “You ready?” he prompts. 

 

“Yeah.” She then turns to Hilary and gives her one last hug. “Thank you for inviting me… I’m so sorry we kinda ruined your birthday.”

 

Hilary vehemently waves her off, cupping her cheeks. “Oh, hush. You don’t need to apologize for anything. All you need to do is get home safely to my grandson.” 

 

With a tiny attempt at a smile, she pulls away, taking her purse from Phillip’s hand, and the two of them leave. 

 

The car ride back to Fran’s house is silent, both of them too stuck in their own thoughts to even start some light conversation. Eventually, Phillip pulls into the driveway, and Fran gets out, practically dragging herself to the door. He follows without a word, keeping up the not fully agreed-upon notion that they need to have a talk. 

 

Fran unlocks the door, making the teenage girl sitting on her couch jump a little. “Sorry, Claire. Didn’t mean to scare you,” she winces. 

 

The girl hops off the couch, turns the TV off, and collects her bag. “It’s no problem. Just didn’t expect you back quite yet,” Claire happily replies. “Did you have a good time at the party?”

 

“I’m surprised your grandmother didn’t already text you with the gossip,” Phillip grumbles under his breath, pretending to look at a picture of Alex hung up on the wall. 

 

“Phillip…” Fran warns just as quietly with a stern look. “It was fun.” Quickly changing topics, she opens her purse and starts to pull out her wallet. “He was alright for you, right? Not too much trouble?”

 

“No trouble at all,” Claire says, taking the money Fran hands her with a big, bright grin. “He ate, we played some games, and then I put him to bed.”

 

She smiles at the sweet girl. Normally, Penny is more than happy to look after Alex, but with Judd in town, they had to settle for a sitter. Luckily, Doreen Matthew’s daughter Erin has a thirteen-year-old. It also helps that the girl can just walk across the street to her grandmother’s afterwards instead of needing a lift home. “Good. Thank you so much for being free tonight. I really appreciate the help.”

 

“No problem, Fran. Anytime.” Claire walks to the door, where Fran opens it for her. She looks over at the man who’s still half ignoring them. “Phillip,” she acknowledges. 

 

He glances towards her and nods. “Claire.”

 

Fran resists rolling her eyes at his curt response. “Be careful crossing the street, okay?” she prompts. “And thanks again.” 

 

The girl waves goodbye and dashes to the other side of the road and up Doreen’s driveway. Once Fran sees the girl get safely into her respective house, she shuts the door, leans back against it, and closes her eyes, sighing in relief. Instantly, she feels some of the tension melt away from her shoulders. 

 

“So now that the cat’s out of the bag, you think we can finally tell him?” Phillip prods after a moment of silence. 

 

Her eyes shoot back open and whip over to him. “Please, Phillip. This was an extremely trying night… I’m not capable of having this conversation right now,” she says, rubbing at her temples as she drops her purse to the floor and kicks off her kitten heels. Desperately needing something for her oncoming headache, she walks into the kitchen.

 

He follows after her and opens the fridge, grabbing one of the beers she keeps stocked specifically for him. “You know the way news spreads in this town, Fran… He’s bound to hear it from somewhere, and dontcha think it’s a little better to come from us instead of someone like Mitzi ‘Can’t Keep Her Fucking Trap Shut’ Moskovitz?” he argues before smacking the cap off his beer against the edge of her counter and taking a large slug. 

 

“It’s just not the right time,” she dismisses, taking a cup from the cabinet, filling it up with water from the sink, and knocking back two ibuprofen. Then she leans against the counter and tries her hardest to dissociate, wanting nothing more than to just vanish from existence for a little bit. 

 

“And why not?” he challenges. 

 

“Because…” she vaguely replies. “I just want to make sure we all meld first.”

 

He half scoffs, half snorts at her usual response. “And the past four months haven’t shown you that?” She says nothing, so he puts his beer down and grabs her arm, pulling her away from the sink so she’s actually facing him. “What’s the real reason, Fran?” he prompts softly. “Why don’t you wanna tell him?”

 

“It’s just not the right time,” she repeats, subconsciously backing away from him a step or two.

 

“Frannie, I’ve known you since I was six. I know when you’re lying,” he reminds her. “What’s the real reason? Why don’t you wanna tell him?”

 

“Phillip, please,” she begs, her heart beating a mile a minute. The flight response in her body is screaming at her to run from the room. Heck, from the house. Anything to get away from his mini interrogation. “Just drop it.”

 

“I’ll drop it once you tell me.”

 

“Phillip—”

 

“Why?” he demands once again, taking a step towards her. 

 

“Because I’m scared, okay?!” she bursts out like a caged animal, her bottom lip starting to wobble for the second time tonight. “I’m scared this life isn’t enough for you. I’m scared you’re going to get bored and leave again.” The issue is that once the words start flowing, she can’t seem to stop them until all her fears are on the floor between them. “This isn’t the life you know, Phillip. It’s not the excitement of the city.”

 

Her words shock him into silence, and all he can do is stand there frozen, staring. He just blinks at her for a few moments, rendered completely speechless. Once he can somehow form words, his only reply is, “Okay… And?”

 

“And?” she repeats in disbelief, his response throwing her for a huge loop. “A-And it’s mundane, and the reason you left in the first place was to get away from that.”

 

“What if I want the mundane?” he muses, throwing her even more. 

 

“You don’t want it,” she scoffs, subconsciously shaking her head.

 

He takes another step forward and challenges, “And why not?”

 

“Because…” she starts, trying to come up with a reason, until she settles on an even bigger fear. “Because it’s not hot women and fast cars.”

 

Phillip stands there silently, almost as if he’s really processing her words. “Okay… Then what is it?” he softly but bluntly asks.

 

“I—”

 

“Tell me what it is,” he interrupts, “If you think I don't want it that badly.”

 

“It—It’s…” she stutters, her mouth barely working as her body is overcome with a thousand emotions. “It’s… Okay, it’s homework and PTA meetings.”

 

“Okay, awesome,” he cuts in. 

 

Thrown by his amenable response, she spits out more arguments, “It’s making lunches and wiping snotty noses.”

 

“Amazing. Give it to me.” He takes yet another step closer to her until they’re only a foot or so apart. 

 

“It’s putting up with tantrums and picking up every damn Lego he owns every damn day.”

 

“It’s a good thing I love Legos, then,” he states. 

 

She stares up at him, dumbfounded at how he can still be so ready to go along with everything. Her heart is ready to beat from her chest, tears threatening to stream down her cheeks. 

 

“What do I have to do to convince you that I’m in this for good? That I’m sticking around?” he asks vehemently, looking down at her with a fire in his eyes she doesn’t know if she’s ever seen. 

 

“Phillip—”

 

“What do I have to do?” he hastily repeats. “Do I have to marry you…?” Throwing his arms to the side, he continues with his tirade, “‘Cause if so, marry me, Frannie.”

 

She sputters at the mere suggestion. “W-W-What? P-Phillip, no,” she shuts down, ducking under his arm and moving to the middle of the kitchen so she’s no longer caged against the wall. So she can actually breathe. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. We’re not even together.”

 

“So?” he counters, turning around to face her. “You’re my best friend, Frannie. I’d marry you tomorrow if it would make you trust me when I say I’m here for the long haul.”

 

Her fingers fretfully pick at nonexistent lint in her dress. “Phillip, we’re not getting married. That’s absurd.”

 

“Then what? I'll do anything,” he pleads because that’s all he has left at this point. “What do I need to do so that we can finally tell Alex I’m his father?”

 

“What?”

 

Fran whips around when they hear the new voice. “Alex!” she gasps in immediate panic, finding her now awake little boy in the entryway of the kitchen in his pajamas. 

 

Alex’s gaze briefly stops on her before moving past to look at Phillip, who just stands there staring back, looking like he just shoved his entire shoe down his throat. “You’re my dad?” he breathes shakily. 

Notes:

Yeah, that's right. You gotta wait for Alex's reaction 😈

Hopefully it's as angsty as you're all hoping

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

kylosroboarm on Tumblr
@hissterically on Twitter and BlueSky

Chapter 28: Surprise, I'm Your Dad

Summary:

Alex has some questions after learning about Fran and Phillip's secret.

Notes:

How the heck did the last chapter take me like weeks to write, but this one was so quick?
Writing is dumb haha

“Fuck.”

 

Fran’s head whips back to find Phillip’s equally as panicked eyes, and strangely, a wave of calm falls over her despite her own intense fear. It’s almost like her body knows one of them needs to step up and take the lead. Usually, that’s Phillip’s job, but if the look on his face is anything to go by, then it’s now her turn to fill the position.

 

Turning back to Alex, she prepares herself for all the anger, hurt, and hate she’s bound to receive from her little boy. She’s tried to put off this conversation for as long as she could, but it seems like fate had other plans. Whether she likes it or not, the day is here, and she owes him an explanation. No matter the fallout.

 

With a deep breath, she lovingly holds out her hand to her scared and confused son. “Come here, monkey. We need to have a little talk,” she softly says. When he grabs onto it, she sits down at the table and pulls him onto her lap. He immediately curls up in her arms, his eyes still remaining on the frozen man across the room.

 

“I promise we’ll answer any questions that you have, okay? Whatever you need,” she nervously starts, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

 

“Are you really my dad?” Alex quietly asks, ignoring her and staying focused on Phillip. 

 

The direct question from the trembling boy in Fran’s arms finally snaps him out of his stupor. With a quick glance at Fran for permission, he wills his feet to move, steps closer, and sinks down to kneel in front of Alex. He can’t help but reach up and caress a thumb across his son’s cheek, Alex’s eyes boring deep into his own.

 

Well, there’s no getting out of it now.

 

He hesitates, his mouth moving silently, before replying with a soft, “Yes… I am,” his hand dropping from the boy’s face. He wants to give Alex all the time in the world to process it without intervening.

 

Alex’s eyes go even wider, his breath coming out ragged and hard. Suddenly, tears appear and start falling down his face. 

 

Phillip’s heart breaks at the sight of his son crying, and the compulsion to fix it overwhelms him. “Hey… Don’t cry, kid,” he whispers, gently wiping the tears from Alex’s face. “There’s no need to cry.” 

 

Before he can say or do anything else, the little boy flings himself off of Fran’s lap and into his chest, arms wrapping like a vice around his neck. Phillip hugs him just as tightly back, lifting him into his arms as he stands up. He sits down next to Fran and gently rocks the sobbing child on his lap. Tears fall against his skin, soaking his neck and collar, but he doesn’t care. 

 

Looking up, he catches Fran’s gaze, and he can tell her heart is just as splintered by the kid’s reaction. Her eyes glaze over, and he knows she’s fighting back the tears as well. 

 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against the top of Alex’s head. “I’m here now, bud. I’m here.”

 

Then he just sits there whispering comforting words as his son continues to cry in his arms. He wasn’t sure how this talk would go, but he didn’t quite prepare himself for this reaction. He figured anger would’ve been the prominent emotion. He would’ve been angry to get this kind of news. But he supposes this is more of the sensitivity that the kid inherited from Fran, rather than his own impulsiveness. 

 

It just makes him love his son all the more. 

 

He hates his temper. And fuck, is he thrilled that it looks like that didn’t get passed down. 

 

Phillip pulls away a little and cups Alex’s cheeks, wiping the tears away. “Slow it down for me, ‘kay?” he gently instructs. “Try to take a nice deep breath.”

 

Alex struggles with the task, the air shaking in his lungs as he gasps through sobs. It takes a few more minutes, but eventually he calms down enough to ask a question. “W-Where were you? W-Why w-weren’t you h-here?” he chokes out. 

 

Fran’s face drops more than is humanly possible, and her hand comes out to rest on Alex’s knee. “Actually, monkey, that’s—”

 

“I couldn’t be,” Phillip says, cutting her off. Her eyes whip up to his, and he tells her to back down with a simple look. In his opinion, the details are too complex, too raw, for a seven-year-old to understand. He also finds he doesn’t want to put all the blame on Fran. He doesn’t want to put that strain on their relationship, knowing it would destroy Fran if Alex hated her for her secret. 

 

One day, he’ll be old enough for the whole true story. To know all the nuances behind Fran’s reasoning for her secret.

 

But that day’s not today. 

 

Phillip brings his attention back to the child perched on his lap. “Trust me, I wanted to. I wanted to so badly, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t,” he emphasizes. “But my job didn’t allow me to live in Elmsbrook.”

 

It’s not the best lie, but it’s good enough for now. 

 

“But you could’ve visited,” Alex argues with a sniffle. 

 

A dagger to the heart. Once again. 

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I could’ve… I just thought that might be too hard on you and your mom. That it would be too sad that I couldn’t stay… I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away,” he fumbles his way through an answer, though strangely, there is some truth to it. It was too sad coming back and not seeing Fran, and then leaving again. It was easier to stay in the city. Easier to move on and forget her. 

 

Alex’s bottom lip wobbles slightly, reminding him of the woman he left behind eight years ago. “So it’s not just ‘cause you didn’t want me…?”

 

Phillip’s heart drops right into his stomach at the mere insinuation. 

 

“Alexander Phillip Larsen, you listen to me.” He tilts the boy’s chin up so he can look him deep in the eyes. Then he leans forward and touches his forehead to Alex’s just the way his own father used to during poignant moments. “I have always wanted you. Since the moment I found out about you, I wanted you.” Just seven years after the fact. But that’s besides the point. “You are my son and I love you. So don’t think for even one second that that’s the reason I wasn’t here. I would’ve been here in a heartbeat if I could’ve.”

 

Fran sits there beside them, having to turn her head to the side to brush away the silent tears that have begun to leak down her face. A thousand emotions run through her. Relief, guilt… shock that Phillip took the fall for everything and is the reason why her little boy isn’t cursing her name up and down. 

 

He didn’t have to do that. She had accepted the consequences and was prepared for the slew of vitriol, but instead, her son is curled up in his father’s lap, their foreheads pressed together, with cheeks stained with tear tracks. 

 

“Do you have any other questions, monkey?” she gently prompts, desperate to keep her voice steady.

 

“Yeah,” Phillip adds on, pulling away and wiping the wet strands of hair from the boy’s face. “We’ll answer anything.”

 

Alex sniffles loudly in an attempt to slow the tears. “Wh-Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. “You were here all summer.”

 

“That’s my fault, baby,” Fran cuts in, feeling inclined to return the favor since Phillip so willingly took the fall despite everything being her fault. “I asked Phillip to keep it a secret for a while.”

 

“But why? I kept wishing he would be my dad, that it’s all I wanted, and it’s true, he is my dad so that means you lied to me and you told me lying is bad.”

 

That’s yet another dagger to the heart.

 

“I know I lied. And I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispers, her voice trembling, and cups his flushed cheek. “You’re still a little too young to understand, but I was trying to protect you.”

 

“Protect me from what? I love Flip.”

 

“I know you do, monkey… I just wanted to make sure you were completely comfortable with him first,” she tries to explain, feeling even guiltier with each word. Her son doesn’t need to know how terrified she was—still is—about Phillip leaving.

 

“But I am. We play all the time and he comes over for dinner and we go for rides in his Porsche and he comes to all my games.” His gaze whips from his mother to the man holding him. “Right, Flip? We have fun.”

 

“Yeah, kid, we have fun,” Phillip agrees softly. “But I think what your mom was trying to protect you from was if we stopped having fun.”

 

“Why would we stop having fun?” Alex stares at him, looking thoroughly confused. Like it’s incomprehensible that that’s possible. 

 

“Sometimes it just happens in life,” he replies vaguely. “Like I used to have this friend Charlie, and then one day we just stopped being friends.” Because you threatened to cut his dick off for looking at Fran. “And I think that’s what your mom was worried about. That one day, you and I would stop being friends. Does that make sense?”

 

“A little…” Alex gets quiet, seemingly stuck in his thoughts, his lips pursing to the side exactly the way Fran’s do when she’s deep in her own head. His eyes drift back up and meet Phillip’s. “So if you’re my dad… Do I call you dad now?”

 

It takes everything in him not to suck in a huge breath at the question. To stay reasonably cool and collected. “I think that’s up to you, little dude,” he answers as calmly as he possibly can, despite his heart trying to explode from his chest. “You can continue to call me Flip, if you want… Or you can call me Dad. Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

 

Fuck, please call me Dad.

 

“D-a-d,” Alex says slowly, as if trying the word out. Almost as if the word is completely foreign to him. “Daaaaddd.” A small smile pops onto his face. “You’re my dad.”

 

“Yeah, bud. I’m your dad,” Phillip breathily repeats, suddenly feeling more hopeful about the whole thing now that there are no more tears running down the kid’s face. He has to sniffle back the wave of emotions that hit him from that single, tiny phrase. 

 

“I have a dad,” Alex repeats, sounding proud about the fact. “Mommy, I have a dad!” He hops off of Phillip’s lap and into his mother’s. 

 

Shock smacks across Fran’s face from the whiplash of emotions her little boy just gave her. “I know,” she tries to enthuse. “Umm, how—how do you feel about that?”

 

“Well, I've always wanted one of those, and now I have one just like all the other kids.”

 

“So…? That’s good? ” she asks, sharing a nervous look with Phillip, whose eyes are filled with trepidation. 

 

“Of course it’s good!” he replies like it’s obvious, jumping off of Fran’s lap to stand beside the older pair. The sadness is leaving and making way for the excitement of the news. “I always have fun with Flip. But now he’s my dad, so we can have even more fun ‘cause we’ll be together all the time! It won’t just be dinners anymore!”

 

Phillip watches as Fran’s eyes widen even more at the insinuation. “Oh, ummm. I’m not moving in, kiddo,” he corrects as gently as he can.

 

Alex’s brow furrows in deep confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

Fran bites her lip and brushes her hand against his arm. “It means Phillip is gonna continue to live at his place… and we’ll still live here,” she explains.

 

“But families live together…” he argues, shaking his head like he doesn’t understand what they’re saying. 

 

Reaching out, Phillip grabs onto Alex’s hands and pulls him closer. “I might not live here, but I promise we’ll still hang out all the time. Even more than before,” he assures. “And hey, maybe you can come stay with me sometimes. We can set you up your own room and everything, and then you’d have two bedrooms. Imagine how many cars and Legos you can fit into two rooms.”

 

Alex stands there, face scrunched, slowly taking in everything, yet not seeming too enthusiastic about the whole thing. “So you’re not getting married?” he quietly asks, sounding confused and almost sad. 

 

They both look at each other in panic, choking at the question. Phillip breaks the silent stare down first and brings his attention back to the curious child standing in front of him. “Remember, bud? We had this conversation,” he kindly reminds him, despite the spike in his heart rate at the mere notion of marrying Fran. His little impromptu proposal earlier might have more layers to it than he’s willing to admit right now. “Your mom and I are just friends.” 

 

“But that was before you were my dad,” Alex urges. “All my friends’ parents are married. And I heard you. You asked her.”

 

Fuck.

 

“That’s not true,” Fran gently cuts in, very intentionally ignoring the last bit of his argument. “Connor’s parents are divorced and live in separate houses.”

 

“Yeah, but Connor says they fight all the time, so it’s better that way,” the little boy rather bluntly replies. “That they’re too loud when they’re in the same house. But you guys don’t fight, so we could all live together and be a happy family.”

 

She looks back at Phillip, not sure how to answer. Her son’s logic isn’t exactly wrong. Neither is his heart. After not having Phillip in his life, she fully understands why he would want them all to live in the same place. She understands his need and wish for some semblance of a normal family, since he’s never experienced that before. 

 

“You know… I didn’t live with my dad either,” she mentions. “When I was six, I moved in with my gran.”

 

“But that’s because Grandpa Simon died,” Alex reminds her with the lack of tact only a child can have. “Flip isn’t dead.”

 

She holds in the sigh that wants to escape her lips at the innocently crass reminder that she was an orphan. “I know… But the point I’m trying to make is sometimes families look a little different.” She brushes her thumb across his cheek. “Sometimes it’s not a mom and a dad and kids under the same roof. But that doesn’t make them any less of a family… Phillip living somewhere else doesn’t change the fact that he’s still your dad.”

 

Alex’s lip purses from side to side, his face scrunched as he takes in her words.

 

“We’re still gonna be a family, bud,” Phillip adds on. “But our own special kind of family. Like I said before… You’re gonna be stuck with me for a very long time. Even if I live in a different house.”

 

His son slowly nods, seeming to understand their point. “But you’ll still come over all the time?” he timidly asks. 

 

“You couldn’t stop me from coming over and hanging out with you,” Phillip vows. “Okay, well maybe your mom could,” he adds with a quirk of his eyebrow. She just gives him a look, and he knows instantly she would never do that. His lip raises slightly back at her with a wink that makes her duck her head. If he stares closely enough, he can almost see a red tint bloom along her cheeks. That fact oddly makes him sit up straighter, feeling rather proud of himself.

 

After all these years, he can still make Frannie Larsen blush. Even with the littlest of actions. 

 

“I’d like that,” Alex replies, reminding him of the conversation at hand. “I don’t want you to stop hanging out with me.” Then he bites his lip, curiosity shining in his eyes. “So if you’re my dad and your last name is Altman… Does that mean I’m an Altman? Everyone else in my class has the same name as both their mom and dad. But you guys have different names.”

 

Phillip’s heart beats loudly in his chest, and he looks up at Fran, a hundred questions passing between them. It meant more than he could ever verbalize that she amended Alex’s birth certificate so that his name would be listed, that he’d legally be his dad… but they never had a deep conversation about what comes after that. They never decided on if they would ever change Alex’s name or not once everything came to light.

 

But staring into her eyes now, and seeing them soften as she gives the tiniest of nods of acceptance, almost sends him into cardiac arrest. It’s so simple—not the long talk he expected it to be—but maybe that’s why it hits him like a battering ram to the chest. He didn’t have to plead his case. They didn’t have to argue. It was just a silent yes. 

 

He tilts his head at her, gratitude screaming from his expression, before turning back to Alex. “Do you… wanna be an Altman?” he asks, his nerves practically through the roof. “Because you don’t have to. You can just stay Alex Larsen forever, if that’s what you want.”

 

Alex’s brow furrows again, this time deep in thought. Then he starts to slowly nod. “I think maybe I would like to. ‘Cause then I’d be matching with you and Mrs. Hilary and Coach Paul and Mrs. Annie.”

 

“You know you don’t have to call her Mrs. Hilary, right?” Phillip says, a tiny smile blooming on his face at his answer. “Technically, she’s your grandmother.”

 

“So do I call her Grandma now?” Alex asks curiously.

 

Phillip can’t help but chuckle a little. “I think she’d be over the moon if you did. Same with Paul and Annie and Wendy, hell, even Judd. They’re your aunts and uncles. And then Cole and Serena are your cousins.”

 

Alex’s eyes go wide again, but there are no tears this time. “I have aunts and uncles and cousins?!” he repeats in shock, like it’s just now hitting him. “Shut the front door.”

 

“Alex!” Fran chokes out a half-shocked giggle, half gasp, meanwhile Phillip bursts out laughing at the phrase, leading her to smack his arm. “You’re not helping.” Turning back to her little boy, she asks, “Who taught you to say that?”

 

He pinches his lips together, looking like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “No one,” he rushes. 

 

“Did Connor say it? Or maybe Mark?” she says as she goes into mom mode.

 

“Mommm, no one said it,” he groans. “I just heard it around. And it’s not like I swore or anything.”

 

“You’re too young to be talking like that,” she says, getting up to grab her abandoned glass of water. 

 

Alex rolls his eyes. “I’m seven and a half. I’m not a baby anymore,” he argues.

 

“Frannie… The kid’s got a point,” Phillip cuts in. “Hell, I was saying worse at his age.”

 

She looks over and stares him down. Putting her glass down, she folds her arms across her chest. “You do realize how wrong that was, right? You never should’ve had the vocabulary you did at seven.”

 

“I had three older siblings,” he reminds her with a chuckle. “Paul and Wendy certainly taught me enough about the art of cursing.”

 

“Coach Paul curses?” Alex asks in disbelief.

 

“Coach Paul? Definitely not. But your Uncle Paul certainly does. Like all the time. Mostly at me.”

 

Fran comes over and swats Phillip’s arm again. “Don’t tell him that!” she chastises while Alex giggles. 

 

“Well, I’m not gonna lie to my son, Francake,” Phillip replies with a brief smirk. It just makes Alex’s smile grow, to which he gives the kid a wink. 

 

“He just found out they’re his aunts and uncles. I don’t need you tarnishing them already,” she counters, rolling her eyes. 

 

Phillip can’t help but scoff quietly. “I’m not tarnishing them. It’s called teasing, and it’s something we Altmans take very seriously. After all, are they really your family if you can’t make fun of them a little bit?” He gives her a cheeky grin. “And, aside from Judd, he already knows them. It’s not like he’s never met Paul and Wendy before.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. Please don’t teach our son to make jokes about his relatives. Especially when they’re not here to defend themselves. It’s poor manners.” She shakes her head at him before turning to her thoroughly amused little boy. “Besides, it’s time for you to get back to bed anyway.”

 

“But—”

 

She puts her hands on her hips. “Alex… No buts,” she warns. “I'm sorry our talking woke you and led to this whole thing, but it’s late. We can continue this conversation tomorrow, I promise.”

 

His eyes flit between hers and Phillip’s. “Can I at least get a story?”

 

“It is ten thirty. And I can bet my left foot Claire already read you one,” she dismisses. “You can get another story tomorrow. So come on. Say goodnight to Phillip.”

 

Alex pouts, almost to the point of stomping a foot. He just found out he has a dad for Pete’s sake! He’s too wired to go to sleep now! But one glance at his mother tells him he’d lose the fight, no matter how hard he tries. 

 

Bottom lip still pushed firmly out, he turns to the man who has quickly become everything to him. “Night, Flip—I mean… Dad?” he says with some uncertainty. 

 

Phillip ruffles his hair, trying to keep the huge grin that’s threatening to burst free off his face. That one little word seized his heart in a vice, and he doesn’t think it’ll ever let go. Oddly, he doesn’t want it to. It’s worth the near constant turmoil of being a parent to hear that name come from his son’s mouth. 

 

“Night, buddy,” he softly replies. “I’ll come over tomorrow, okay? We can hang out and have fun. Sound like a deal?”

 

Alex nods and flings his arms around his neck again, this time pulling a smile from Phillip as he hugs the kid back. “I love you, Fl—Dad.”

 

That might take a bit to get used to. For both of them. But that’s okay. He’ll take whatever he can get. 

 

“I love you, too, kid. Now back to bed. The faster you fall asleep, the faster tomorrow comes.”

 

“Fine,” Alex says with a sigh and heads over to the hall where Fran is already waiting. 

 

“I’ll be right back,” she says to Phillip, before leading Alex back to his room. He climbs into bed again, and she sits down beside him, tucking him in. His puppy dog eyes, the ones she’s weak for, the ones he inherited from the man in the other room, stare back at her, nearly breaking her heart. 

 

“Are you really okay with all of this?” she asks, brushing his hair away from his face. “I’m so sorry we never told you. I just didn't want you to get hurt.”

 

“I know… I get it. Kinda… But I love Flip. He’s the one I wanted to be my dad, and now he is.” His face scrunches in confusion. “But I don’t understand something…”

 

“What?” she gently prompts.

 

“Why aren’t you guys already married? I thought only married people have kids.”

 

Heart into her stomach. 

 

Intro to the birds and the bees is not exactly how she pictured ending her night. 

 

“Umm… Well, you know how I told you that there are different kinds of parents?” she fumbles. 

 

He nods. “Mhm hm. That there are mommies and daddies, but there’s also mommies and mommies and daddies and daddies.”

 

“That’s right,” she praises, still trying to find an explanation behind their situation. “And how sometimes parents don’t stay together?”

 

“Like Connor’s mom and dad.”

 

“Exactly… Well, there is another kind of parent that I forgot to tell you about. So, just like how some parents don’t stay married, there are other parents who aren’t married at all,” she roughly explains. “And that’s what Phillip and I are.” Putting a hand on his chest, she rubs it gently. “The main thing that matters is there is love between the two parents, not so much the being married part.”

 

It’s not always the case, but she’s not going into one-night stands with strangers with her seven-year-old. 

 

“But Flip said you guys were just friends…”

 

Okay, ouch. What a nice reminder that he never felt the same way.

 

“And we are,” she replies. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. It’s just more of a platonic love.” Well, in his case. “But there was so much love between us that we had you. Even though we’re not married. Does that make sense?”

 

Alex sits there with furrowed brows, mentally processing what she said. “I guess…” Then his lips purse as more questions pop into his mind. “So I was an accident?” he blurts, making Fran choke on her own spit. 

 

“Why would you say that?” she croaks.

 

“Connor said that his parents said he was an accident.”

 

She frowns at the answer and rubs her temple. “I really gotta start talking to your friends’ mothers more,” she mumbles to herself before reaching up and cupping his cheek. “No, you weren’t an accident… You might’ve been unplanned and a surprise, but never an accident.” Her thumb caresses his skin. “I loved you the second I learned you were in my tummy. And I know your dad loves you just as much. So you were very much wanted. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” he replies, a large yawn cutting through the end of the word. 

 

“Alright, monkey. Bed time,” she says, standing up. She leans down and presses a kiss against his forehead. Then she walks towards the door and puts her finger on the light switch. “Night, baby.”

 

“Night, mommy,” he says, sleep already slowing his speech. “I’m really happy I have a dad now.”

 

“I know… Sleep tight.” 

 

With a soft smile, she turns the light off and closes the door almost all of the way before walking back down the hallway to find Phillip seemingly deep in thought, back to nursing a beer. She silently goes to the sink, refills her glass, comes over to the table, and plops down in the chair beside him, letting out a large sigh. 

 

“So that went a little better than expected,” he muses after a few moments of silence. She just nods without saying a word, blinking through the exhaustion in her bones. They both take sips of their respective drinks. “Is this the part where we have a conversation about where we go from here?”

 

“Do you think we could do that tomorrow or something?” she mumbles, glancing over at him, looking more tired than he’s ever seen her. “My brain is completely fried after tonight.”

 

“Yeah… We can wait.” He takes a good look at her, seeing the weariness in her eyes. “You okay, Larsen?”

 

“Mhmm. I will be,” she answers with an attempt at a smile. “I suppose it’s a good thing that it’s out now… No more secrets. We don’t have to hide anymore.” Swirling her water around in her glass, she turns more to face him. “And you really didn’t have to do that, you know.”

 

He sits back in his chair, his brows scrunching together. “Do what?” he asks, taking another swig of beer.

 

“Take all the blame,” she responds, chewing on her bottom lip. “Especially when it’s really all my fault.”

 

He subconsciously shakes his head at her. Always the martyr. “Yeah, I did. There’s no point in turning the kid against you for something he can’t fully understand. And besides, it wasn’t just you, Frannie,” he explains. “I chose to leave. I chose to never visit. To not make our friendship a priority. I'm just as much to blame… If I had tried harder, you wouldn’t have been able to keep him a secret. I should’ve been knocking on your door every time I came home.”

 

She just sits there silently, staring back at him. They’ve certainly come a long way from him yelling at her in her driveway. He’s somehow taken some of the responsibility for her lie, and it truthfully makes her feel worse. Guiltier. 

 

He’s such a good man, and she doesn’t deserve the forgiveness he’s given her. The Phillip sitting before her is not the same Phillip who left Elmsbrook eight years ago. Hell, he’s not even the same Phillip who sat through his father’s wake and smoked weed in temple back in April. He’s matured so much in the past handful of months, and she knows it has everything to do with the little boy sleeping in the other room.

 

He’s trying. Trying to be a better person. A good father. 

 

And she only loves him more for it.

 

Crap.

 

He’s becoming entwined in their lives, and while she knows that’s a great thing for Alex, it’s not a great thing for her heart. Not again.

 

“So you really gonna let him become an Altman?” he asks, pulling her from her thoughts.

 

She takes a sip of water, trying to calm her pounding heart. “He already is one,” she answers with a small shrug. “It’s just a matter of paperwork. I’m not gonna gatekeep the rights to his name. I already stole too much from you. It’s quite literally the least I could do. And if that’s what he wants, then I’m not gonna say no.”

 

“Alexander Phillip Altman… Gotta say… It’s got quite a nice ring to it,” he quips, pulling a soft laugh from her. 

 

“It does,” she agrees before getting quiet again. She absentmindedly taps her fingers against the side of her glass, her bottom lip firmly between her teeth. “Things are gonna change, aren’t they?”

 

“Yeah… But a good change.” His face softens and he looks her deep in the eyes. “And just in case I haven’t said it yet, Frannie… Thank you… for giving me my son,” he murmurs, lifting his bottle up towards her. 

 

Heat fills her face, her heart beating faster once again, and she clinks her water glass against his drink. “You’re welcome…” she breathes.

Notes:

Hopefully, Alex's reaction was somewhat realistic. Writing a 7-year-old is difficult when I don't know any children haha.

And like I HAD to include an Altman father/son forehead touch 🥺

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

kylosroboarm on Tumblr
@hissterically on Twitter and BlueSky

Chapter 29: Parenting, Proms, and Problems

Summary:

Phillip works on actually being a dad, and then he and Fran have a rather heated conversation.

Notes:

I took Alex's bedtime story from a twitter prompt I wrote like last year. Just in case it looks familiar haha

The next day passes like normal. Phillip came over around lunch, and it’s almost been like nothing changed at all. Like their entire worlds didn’t get flipped on their heads yesterday. He and Alex played while Fran spent the afternoon catching up on laundry. The only difference was the addition of timid, practice mutterings of ‘Dad’. But other than that, it was just a regular day.

 

Phillip stayed over for dinner, and they spent the day holed up in her house, pretty much hiding from the inevitable masses with their thousand and one questions. Preferably, they would be able to hide forever, but that’s just not realistic. They’re gonna have to face everyone eventually. 

 

Stupid.

 

“Okay, monkey. Shower time, then bed,” Fran says as she puts her Sudoku book down on her lap. Truthfully, Phillip coming over and playing with Alex over the past few months has opened her time up to really get back into the little brain games, and she’s been enjoying it. She’s started to feel more like herself again after having been an overtired single mother all those years. 

 

Alex glances over to the cable box to check the time. “But it’s only eight o’clock,” he argues, looking up at her from his place on the living room floor where he and Phillip are building a Lego garage for his cars. 

 

“And school starts in a few weeks,” she counters, “and we need to get you back into that routine. Which means earlier bedtimes.”

 

He turns to Phillip as if looking for backup. The thing is, Phillip has learned by now when he can bend Fran’s rules and when he can’t. And while the whole ‘dad’ thing might be out in the open now, and they’ll eventually need to talk about a new disciplinary dynamic, he wouldn’t dare step on her toes in her own home. 

 

Responsible Dad more than likely means the inevitable death of cool, fun Flip. 

 

“Your mom’s right, bud,” he says, patting the boy on the thigh. “We can finish this another day, ‘kay?”

 

Starting to pout, Alex looks down at the Legos, then to his mom, then back to Phillip, and sighs. “Okay…”

 

Phillip gives him an encouraging wink. “Good… Now come on, go grab your pajamas.” His son lets out the tiniest huff before getting up and running down the hall. The corner of his lip ticks upward at the attitude—something the boy didn’t inherit from Fran at all. No, that is all Altman. Then he heaves himself up from the floor as well. 

 

Not a minute later, Alex comes trodding back to the living room, holding a clean pair of racecar pajamas. 

 

Fran puts her book on the table next to her chair and starts to stand up, but Phillip stops her. “No, you stay. I got this.” She goes to open her mouth, but he just cuts her off, “You just sit and relax with your little puzzles. I’ll do bedtime tonight.”

 

“You sure?” she asks, her eyes darting between Phillip and Alex in hesitation. 

 

“Fran, I’ve been over enough times to know how the routine goes. We’re fine.” After she slowly relaxes back into her seat, he walks over to Alex and scoops him up, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. The boy immediately falls into a fit of giggles. “Come on, little dude. Shower time.”

 

Then the two of them head down the hall and into the bathroom, where he gently deposits Alex on the floor. “Teeth before or after?” he asks, grabbing the pajamas from the boy and laying them on the counter. 

 

“After.”

 

He gives an affirmative nod. “Aye aye, Captain. Let me know once you’re in.” 

 

Alex nods back, and Phillip leaves the bathroom, well-versed in the boy’s shower protocol. Alex gets in, Fran enters and sets the timers, and voilà, fifteen minutes later, out comes a clean kid. 

 

The shower starts, and a second later, a voice follows, “Ready!”

 

Phillip steps back into the bathroom for a second to set the timers that Fran has decreed their son needs. “Okay, timers are ticking. Don’t dilly dally,” he calls over the sound of the shower. Then he leaves, shutting the door behind him, and walks back down the hall to the living room, where Fran seems to be quite engaged in her puzzle.

 

“Hey, Francake,” he warmly says, coming to stand behind her chair. 

 

She jumps slightly at his sudden presence. “Jeez, Phil. You can’t do that,” she wheezes. It only makes him chuckle as he puts his elbows on the back of her chair and leans over her. Her heart rate calms down enough to ask, “Everything okay?”

 

“We’re all good. It’s just bathtime. First timer is set for five minutes, second timer is set for ten minutes after that,” he replies rather nonchalantly. “I can do this, ya know?”

 

“I’m sorry,” she winces, looking down at her lap. “I know you can… It’s not you. I know you’re more than capable… It’s just that I’m so used to being the only one for the parental duties.” Biting her lip, she gives an attempt at a shrug. “Though I suppose I’m going to have to learn how to share those if we’re ever going to form some sort of custody arrangement.”

 

He can hear the hesitation and fear in her voice at the very thought. 

 

“We can save that for another time…” he murmurs. 

 

As much as he would love to immediately jump into a fifty/fifty split, he knows it’s going to be more gradual than that. They all need more time to adjust to whatever this means. He’s not going to force Alex into a situation that the kid isn’t ready for. His only prayer is that they can keep it out of the courts. Fighting with Fran over this would absolutely destroy him.

 

“That one’s seven,” he says, pointing over her shoulder at one of the empty boxes in her book.

 

“How did y—?” she mumbles. Her head whips up to look at him, but his face is way closer than she realized, so she gasps a little and leans back.

 

He just raises an eyebrow, but if he noticed the little hitch in her breath, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he stays on topic. “Frannie, I watched you do Sudoku puzzles for ten years… You really think I didn’t learn at least some of the basics?”

 

She just blinks at him. “Well…” she mumbles, “It’s a little surprising.”

 

“Wow, Larsen. I’m wounded,” he deadpans.

 

“I didn’t realize you ever paid attention,” she replies with a small shrug. 

 

I always paid attention to you, he thinks, but doesn’t dare to say. Instead, he settles for more teasing. Like he’s back to being a twelve-year-old with a crush. “Yeah, well, when you weren’t reading, you were doing Sudoku. Not that hard to keep up with your hobbies, Larsen.”

 

They both hear a timer beeping and then the shower turning off. Part of him breathes a sigh of relief because it means he’ll stop putting his foot further in his mouth.

 

“Well, back to it, Dad…” she awkwardly concedes, making his heart skip a beat. 

 

He stares at her, the new name still being quite the adjustment to get used to. It’s also just strange to hear it from her lips in particular. But yet oddly right. 

 

In a different life, he would’ve had eight years of her calling him Dad. Of a young Fran handing him a dark-haired, crying infant, saying, “It’s Daddy’s turn now,” and then him joking back, “What have I told you about terrorizing your mom, kid?”

 

Almost like an actual happy family…

 

Shaking his head, he forces himself out of his little daydream. If he thinks about how different their lives could’ve been for too long, he’ll get lost in all the regrets. And he can’t afford to do that. 

 

“Aye aye, Mama Bear,” he mumbles, gently caressing her shoulder. 

 

Phillip leaves her to her puzzles and walks back to the bathroom before giving a knock on the door. “You better be brushing your teeth in there,” he calls out, knowing how easily his son can space out when he’s alone. All he receives is muffled gibberish—the clear attempts to talk around a toothbrush. 

 

A minute later, the door opens to reveal a clean, fresh-breathed boy in racecar pajamas. “Happy?” he sulks, holding his arms out at his sides.

 

“Very,” Phillip replies without taking the bait. He reaches out, clamps his hand on Alex’s head, and steers him out of the bathroom. “Now go say goodnight to your mom, then get in bed, or no story tonight.” 

 

The light threat puts a pep in his step, the little boy racing into the living room to give Fran a kiss and a hug. Meanwhile, Phillip heads to the kitchen to grab the glass of water Alex keeps beside his bed every night. 

 

“Night, monkey. I love you,” Fran gently says, pressing a kiss against his forehead. 

 

“Night, mommy.” Then Alex all but rips himself from her embrace and darts to his room, nearly diving on the bed. Phillip follows at a slower pace, watching as Alex crawls under the covers and gets all situated. 

 

“So whatcha thinking?” he asks, placing the cup on the bedside table. “Story or book?”

 

Alex’s face scrunches up in thought, and he debates his options before settling on, “Story, please.”

 

“Excellent choice.” Phillip plops down on the bed, scooting over so his back is propped up against the wall, his legs dangling over the edge. “Hmmm, let's see,” he muses. “What haven’t I told you yet…? You know about the time I accidentally drove over Paul’s foot with a golf cart… And how Wendy used to make me play dress-up because she wanted a little sister but didn’t have one…”

 

“Will you tell me a story about you and Mom?” Alex sweetly asks. 

 

He smiles and tussles the boy’s damp locks. “Yeah, little dude. I can do that.” Chewing on the inside of his lip, he racks his brain of all his memories with Fran. Honestly, there are too many, and it’s hard to begin to narrow it down. After a few seconds, he finds one. “Ah, here we go. Has your mom ever told you about her prom night?”

 

Alex shakes his head. “Did you guys go together? Was she your date?” he throws out eagerly.

 

“Not exactly,” he replies, beginning to smile at the memory. “In fact, she didn’t even go to the dance.”

 

---

 

Fran really wasn’t all that bummed about catching a bad cold two days before prom. It’s not like she had a date anyway. Plus, Phillip is going with his girlfriend, Chelsea, and she wasn’t very keen on being subjected to that all night. Not when every minute of watching them together feels like a hatchet to her heart. So it’s honestly for the best. She is perfectly fine staying home by herself, watching TV, and doing Sudoku. 

 

She’s currently curled up in her bed, working on a particularly hard puzzle, when she hears a faint tink. Her hands pause, and she looks around the room. 

 

Another tink. Coming from what she realizes is the window. 

 

Slowly getting up, she looks out, shocked to see Phillip standing on her front lawn. His tux jacket and bow tie are nowhere to be found, and his button-down is half undone, revealing the white undershirt beneath. His hand is raised to throw another tiny rock. 

 

She opens the window and pops her head out. “What are you doing here?” she rasps through her sore throat. “Shouldn’t you still be at the dance? It’s only ten.”

 

The pebble falls from his hand, and he calls up at her with a smirk, “How was I supposed to have a good time when I knew you were stuck being miserable at home? Now open the door, or I’m climbing through the window.”

 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it either. 

 

With a large sigh, she shuts the window and shuffles through her house in her fuzzy slippers. When she opens the front door, he’s already there waiting with a big grin on his face. 

 

“Nice pajamas, Larsen,” he teases, gesturing towards her math-themed shorts. He walks into the house, and she shuts the door behind him. “Where’s your Gran? I haven’t been yelled at yet, so I’m assuming she’s not here.”

 

“She wouldn’t yell at you,” she weakly argues, but drops it after he raises an eyebrow. He’s here after ten at night… Of course, Gran would throw a small fit. “She’s off playing cards with her friends.”

 

His face pinches in slight annoyance. “She left you home alone while you’re sick?” he scoffs. She just shrugs in reply. “Well, that just won’t do. No fear. Dr. Flip is here now.” And before she can say anything, he grabs her hand and drags her to the couch, pushing her down on it.

 

She watches as he frets over her, wrapping a blanket around her before ditching her for the kitchen. It’s a few minutes before he returns, holding a cup of tea. “Phillip, really, this isn’t necessary,” she insists. “I was just going to watch a movie and then go to bed.”

 

“Yeah, well, now you can have company,” he replies, handing her the mug.

 

Knowing she should probably just accept defeat, she breathes in the steam and takes a sip. Mmm. Earl Grey with a hint of lemon and honey. He knows just the way she likes it. 

 

Of course he does. 

 

“But what about Chelsea?” she nervously argues. 

 

He sits down beside her, lounging back, and shrugs. “I simply told her I had somewhere more important to be tonight.”

 

Guilt immediately starts to gnaw at her entire body. She doesn’t want to be the reason he breaks up with his girlfriend. Especially not over a little cold. 

 

Almost as if he can sense her inner turmoil, he turns his head to her and pats her knee. “Hey, it’s fine,” he emphasizes. “It was bound to happen eventually. We’re going to different schools, and it’s not like we were in love or anything. Just a fling. Plus, I’d much rather be next to your stuffy ass tonight anyway.”

 

Quickly flipping the mood—a Phillip talent—he pops up and walks over to her video shelf. “So what are we watching?”

 

“Beauty and the Beast…” she shyly answers, bottom lip sinking firmly between her teeth.

 

He groans dramatically and looks back at her. “Really, Francake?” he deadpans. “Again?”

 

She just gives him a look that says if he doesn’t like it, he can leave. 

 

“Ugh, fine,” he concedes with an over-exaggerated attitude. “But only ‘cause you’re sick… Next time I’m picking.”

 

He finds the correct video and pops it into the VCR before pressing play. He hops back on the couch next to her, grabbing half the blanket and laying it over his lap so they’re sharing it. 

 

The movie starts, and Fran, like always, gets sucked in. She’s not a fan of most films, but Beauty and the Beast is different. It’s a story about an odd girl who likes to read, who eventually falls in love with a prince. 

 

It’s embarrassing to say that, at eighteen years old, a cartoon reminds her a lot of herself, but it does. 

 

Except instead of owning a castle and being turned into a beast by a witch, her prince is sitting next to her on the couch as she sneezes every three minutes, having ditched his current—now ex?—girlfriend. 

 

Phillip, on the other hand, half zones out. He has watched the movie with Fran so many times at this point that he sees it in his sleep. It’s the only film she ever watches, but he’ll never tell her no. It makes her too happy, and he loves when his Fran is happy.

 

They watch as Belle trades her life for her father and gets locked up in return. And the further along they get into the movie, the more tissues Fran goes through. Not from crying, but from her runny nose.

 

Phillip ends up getting another box at some point and then gets her more tea, all the while she stays focused on the movie. 

 

Eventually, the ballroom scene comes up—Fran’s favorite part—and he gets an idea. He jumps up from the couch and runs his hand through his hair before holding it out to her. She simply looks at it, confused.

 

“It is technically prom night,” he says. “And I left before I got to dance with my date. So Fran Margaret Larsen… will you do me the honor?”

 

She stares at him, then looks around her at the various piles of tissues. She’s sure she looks like trash right now. Nowhere near as pretty as Chelsea probably did. Not by miles. “I don’t wanna get you sick…”

 

He just rolls his eyes at her. “Frannie, I’ve been sitting next to you for an hour. I probably already caught it.” He waves his hand in front of her face. “Now come on, Belle,” he entices, wiggling his eyebrows. “Dance with the Beast.”

 

Thump thump, goes her heart.

 

She hesitantly lifts the blanket off her before placing her trembling hand in his. He just grins with all his teeth, those familiar dimples she loves popping out, and lifts her from the couch.

 

He pulls her close—close enough to feel her heart pounding in her ribcage—and leads her slowly around her living room. It’s not much of a dance, as she’s still weak from her cold, but it’s something. “I have to admit. Really thought I’d be dancing to more Nelly and Eminem than singing teapots tonight,” he jokes. 

 

She blushes and looks down at their feet, terrified she’s going to step on his. She’s never really been the best dancer. And by really, she means at all.  

 

“I wouldn’t trade it though,” he softly adds. 

 

Her gaze whips up to him, ready to refute, but she sees the truth written across his face. 

 

“Happy prom night, Frannie,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against her feverish forehead. 

 

She bites her lip and lays her head against his chest as they sway. She feels the vibrations as he hums in contentment, and he rests his chin atop her head. 

 

“Happy prom night, Phillip.”

 

---

 

“So Mommy was kinda like a princess?” Alex asks, looking thoroughly enraptured with the story. 

 

The corner of Phillip’s mouth crooks upward, and he leans forward, speaking quietly, “Just a secret between us… Your mom’s always a princess.”

 

Alex smiles as well. “Does that make you the prince?” he adds innocently.

 

How does he answer that? How does he break it to his son that this beast doesn’t turn into the prince? That he chose his path a long time ago, and now he’s stuck with it. 

 

There’s no happily ever after. 

 

“Well, what do you think?” he counters instead of answering. “Am I the prince?”

 

Alex’s grin softens and he nods. “In the playground story with the bullies, you came to the princess’s rescue, and in this one, you danced with her. Sounds like stuff a prince does to me.”

 

It’s so simple when he says it. But unfortunately, life is so much more complicated than that. 

 

“Then maybe I am,” he concedes, despite not believing it for a second. Because really, he would give anything to be that for her. The prince who sweeps her up and is perfect in every way. But that’s not him. And sadly, that’s not how their story goes. “Come on… Bedtime.”

 

“Okay…” Alex bemoans. “Thank you for the story.”

 

Phillip crawls off the bed and tucks the boy in. “No problem, kiddo.” After making sure everything is where it’s supposed to be, he ruffles Alex’s hair. A large part of him—okay, all of him—wants to press a kiss to the top of his head, but that might be an inch too far at the moment, and he doesn’t want to rush anything. “Night, bud.”

 

Alex stares up at him with those big brown eyes—his eyes—and looks a little hesitant before quietly replying, “Night… Dad…”

 

One little word and his heart tries to beat its way clear out of his chest. It’s obvious it’s new and weird for Alex, but damn if the attempts at integrating the word aren’t already doing him in. 

 

He chokes back the emotions threatening to swallow him whole and taps his finger underneath Alex’s chin with a small smirk. “Sleep tight, ‘kay?” he says, winking. 

 

It works as intended, releasing the awkward tension from the boy and pulling out a smile. Alex nods back at him and settles further into the covers. Then Phillip walks to the door, turns off the lights, and leaves, making sure not to shut the door the entire way. Fran always leaves an inch crack, and that’s what he’ll do as well. 

 

His heart is still pounding as he makes his way back down the hall, freezing when Fran comes back into view. If his pulse wasn’t already racing, he’d be more concerned about the sudden spike upon seeing her. 

 

She looks so peaceful, just sitting there working on her puzzle. It’s how she’s always been when she does Sudoku. He’s ashamed to admit that he could probably watch her for hours—and that he used to. It’s just so modestly endearing. The end of her pencil braced gently between her teeth, the little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she thinks. The way her eyes widen slightly when she writes down an answer. The tiny, proud smile when she gets it right.

 

He could live in this view forever.

 

Fuck. 

 

This isn’t good. 

 

He might’ve told Alex about their prom, but he purposefully neglected to mention that he chickened out that night. She looked so pretty, even with her red nose, puffy eyes, and math-themed pajamas. Prettier than Chelsea ever was to him. And the urge to kiss her had never been so great before that moment. But he was a coward, settling for her forehead instead. 

 

He could kick himself in the ass for that one.

 

If he was going to spend the next week being a snotty mess anyway, he should’ve at least made it worth it. 

 

But he never got over that deep fear from when he was twelve that doing something, taking that chance, could ruin everything. 

 

A fear that still courses through his veins to this day. 

 

Except now there’s so much more to lose. 

 

Shoving down the urge to just walk over, throw her book to the ground, and finally claim her lips again after all these years, he strolls into the room as casually as he can. She looks up as he approaches and puts her book on the side table. 

 

“What story did you tell him?” she asks, innately knowing he didn’t read a book. Ninety percent of the time, Alex will choose one of Phillip’s stories over a book he’s read before. 

 

“Prom night,” he replies as he crashes down on the couch. 

 

“When you came to my house because I was sick?” He just nods. “I didn’t think you remembered that.”

 

He gives her a sarcastic look. “Frannie, it was prom. Of course, I remember it.” 

 

Her cheeks warm a bit, and she turns sheepish. “In case I never said it… I’m sorry I got you sick,” she mumbles.

 

Phillip chuckles. “It’s been twelve years. Even if I was annoyed, which I wasn’t… I think I’m over it.”

 

“To be fair, I did warn you,” she adds, a small, timid smile gracing her face. 

 

He grins back at her and winks. “We all know by now that I only half-listen to what you say,” he jokes, making her puff out a laugh. 

 

Fran shakes her head, admittedly amused, and gets up to walk into the kitchen. She hears him stand and follow behind her, but pays him no mind. Instead, she focuses on placing the previously abandoned dishes into the dishwasher. 

 

“So how do we tackle this?” he starts, leaning up against her counter with his arms folded across his chest. “By now, the whole town knows. And as nice as today was, we can’t just hide here in our little bubble forever, Fran. We’re gonna have to face the horde eventually. So what’s our game plan? Our cover story?”

 

She freezes but doesn’t turn to look up at him. “What do you mean ‘cover story’?” she nonchalantly—stiffly—replies. “They already know what happened. I had a one-night stand and got pregnant. End of story.”

 

“Yeah, but that was before they knew it was me,” he counters with fervor. “Everyone here knows we have a long history. I’m not gonna just let people think that I drunkenly knocked my best friend up one night and then abandoned you.”

 

“I mean… It’s not that far off the mark…” she mumbles, chewing on her lip.

 

“Wow. Just wow,” he deadpans, fully offended.

 

Shutting the dishwasher, she stands back up, turns the faucet on hot, and lets the sink fill up. “Well, what do you want to say, Phillip?” she asks, finally looking at him. “It’s not like we were dating or anything. It was our grad party, we got drunk,” Not that drunk. Basically, at all, “and… things that normally wouldn’t have happened, happened.”

 

His eyes narrow as he stares at her, and doubt fills his body. “You really think people are gonna believe that? That we just got drunk,” Barely tipsy, “and slept together?” Part of him wants to laugh at her clearly intentional naivety, but he refrains. “I don't know what kinds of books you’ve been reading, but guys don’t just casually get their friends pregnant, Francake.”

 

“But that’s what happened,” she insists, practically slamming her hand on the faucet as she turns it off. “We got caught up in the moment, and the condom failed. There’s nothing more to it.”

 

An almost bitter smirk crosses his face. “You know that’s not gonna fly with the Aunts,” he not so kindly reminds her. “They all think we’ve been in love with each other for years and just keeping it a secret from everyone.”

 

Panic fills her. “Well, th-they’re ridiculous,” she stutters, distracting herself by washing the dishes. “We’re just friends.”

 

“We know that,” he grunts, ignoring the pang in his heart at her confirmation. Moving a step closer, he lowers his voice and adds, “But it’s kinda hard to convince the old crones when there’s physical proof my dick’s been inside you.”

 

“Phillip!” she gasps at his crass description, nearly dropping a wet bowl as she turns to face him. “That’s obscene!” 

 

He reaches past her and clutches his fist around the towel lying on the counter. But being himself—and being overwhelmed by their proximity—he can’t refrain from leaning down, his lips brushing by her ear, and kindly reminding her, “Wasn’t so obscene that night…” 

 

It’s obvious she blushes because he can feel the heat radiating off her cheeks. It makes him smirk internally. Feeling vindicated, he leans away, grabs the bowl from her, and starts drying it off. 

 

She takes a step back, moving her gaze to the floor. “We were drunk… It was my first time… We lost our senses, and that’s all it was.” Gaining some courage, she glances back up at him. “Besides, I thought you were the one who said we don’t owe an explanation to anyone?”

 

“We don’t,” he agrees and puts the dish away in her cabinet. “But you know the gossip around this town. I’m just trying to look out for Alex… and you.”

 

Fran closes her eyes briefly, his words hitting deep inside her. “You don’t need to look out for me, Phil,” she murmurs, shaking her head. Part of her even wants to maybe laugh at the insanity of it all. “I’m not the poor pregnant twenty-two-year-old orphan you left behind eight years ago… I’ve heard all the comments before. These people gossiping about me isn’t new.”

 

That was before they knew you were forever tied to the town screwup, he thinks. 

 

“They talk about me and I deal with it,” she continues, sounding more defeated than she probably thinks she is. 

 

“You shouldn’t have to,” he roughly counters.

 

She just shrugs it off. “If it eases your mind, the fact that it was you probably helps things… Because now I’m not some naive girl who got taken advantage of at a party.” A rather un-Fran-like smirk falls upon her lips. “No… I landed an Altman as the father of my child. Elmsbrook’s golden boy,” she dryly quips, taking the towel from him and wiping her hands before heading into the living room to pick up Alex’s leftover Legos strewn about the floor.

 

“Golden boy?” he repeats in disbelief, following her. 

 

Does she have him confused with Paul?  

 

“The other moms at school will surely be jealous, though,” she rambles while distractedly picking up the toys and throwing them in a bucket. “They’re not very shy about their infatuations. In fact, I know that Laura would cheat on her husband in a heartbeat if you offered.”

 

Her murmurings make him freeze. “Wait, what? Hold on. What are you talking about?” he asks, feeling completely blindsided at the change of topic. 

 

She stands up straight and stares at him. “Oh, come off it,” she lightly scoffs. “There’s no way you haven’t noticed them checking you out at Alex’s games.”

 

“Maybe a little,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “but I was kinda a little preoccupied paying attention to my son… And what does that have to do with them being jealous? Jealous of what?”

 

“I know you’re not this thick, Phillip.” He just stares at her with the same stupid expression, so she rolls her eyes and goes back to picking up Legos. “I wasn’t the only one you left behind in Elmsbrook,” she announces. “Turns out you left behind a whole wake of heartbroken girls… Girls who, after realizing they would never have you, had to settle for other husbands.”

 

Phillip simply blinks, because that’s all he can do. “What?” he utters.

 

Seeing his disbelief, she quickly amends her previous statement, “I’m not saying they don’t love their husbands, but… You were like the ultimate prize.” A small, uncharacteristic laugh bubbles from her throat. “Did you know they used to make bets about who would end up with you…? Or at least get knocked up? I highly doubt I was in the top ranking, so they’re probably raging that I’m the one who got to have Phillip Altman’s child.”

 

He finally breaks from his stupor and steps towards her, grabbing her arm and forcing her to look at him. “Why are you talking like this?” he demands, desperate to know how this conversation derailed so drastically. This is not the Fran Larsen that he knows, and it's honestly disturbing him.

 

She gives a halfhearted shrug. “Because it’s true… I’m the last person those girls ever expected you to have a child with. You’re Phillip Altman, and I’m just Fran.”

 

“But you’re not just Fran… You’re my Fra—friend,” he quickly corrects. She stares up at him, her eyes wide and standing way too close, and it suddenly all becomes too much, so he lets go of her arm and steps back. After a second to collect his bearings, he continues with his rant, this time from a safe distance. “And why do their opinions matter anyway? I didn’t end up with any of them, I’m not gonna date them, and I’m sure as hell not gonna fuck Laura Moskovitz. Behind her husband’s back or otherwise.”

 

Fran stares at the Lego-cluttered floor. “You don’t get it, Phil. I’ve dealt with these girls my whole life. They were jealous of our friendship, they were jealous it was my son you started coming to games for… and now they’ll be jealous that I was the one you knocked up.”

 

“Can you please stop saying knocked up?” he snaps. It’s too vulgar, too shame-inducing, to describe what he and Fran did. That night wasn’t a random fuck that resulted in a child. It was more than that. 

 

She flinches a little at his sudden outburst, and he hates himself all the more for it. 

 

Taking a deep breath, he runs his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. “I don’t care about any of those girls, Fran,” he starts, trying to sound calmer than before. “Yeah, I might’ve dated one or two of them back in school, but they mean nothing to me now.” Hell, they meant nothing then. “All that matters is you and Alex and this… convoluted little family we accidentally made, okay?”

 

She just stares at him and nods timidly. 

 

“But if you think those girls will cause issues with you, then I’m gonna put them in their fucking places,” he vows, his face darkening in a way she’s never seen. 

 

Choking on her own spit, she shakes her head. “No, Phillip, that's not what I meant,” she quickly walks back. “Just—forget I even mentioned anything. It was stupid. Just childhood girl drama.” It’s really not a big deal. She was just projecting her insecurities. She doesn’t need him going around picking fights for her. 

 

He steps toward her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Fran, I’m not gonna allow them or anyone in this godforsaken town to talk shit about you just because you gave birth to my son. And if they have a problem with you being the mother of my child, then fuck them.” Staring deep down into her eyes, he continues on his tirade, “Because there is no one else on this fucking planet that I would want to mother my kid.”

 

Fran’s eyes widen more than is physically possible at the confession. 

 

Whoa, Altman. Pull back. 

 

Way too profess-y. 

 

Dropping his hands from her shoulders, he takes a step back. Physically and emotionally. “I just mean—If Alex hadn’t happened… I probably never would have had any kids,” he fumbles in an effort to distract from his previous, way too intense statement. “That’s not the direction my life was going.” And because he’s really good at shoving his shoe in his mouth, he continues to ramble, “It’s just you’re smart and caring and anyone would be lucky to have a child with you, Frannie…”

 

Shut the fuck up, Altman! For God’s sake, just stop. 

 

“And I know we’re just friends, and it’s a little, okay, a lot, fucked up that we slept together, and he wasn’t planned, but… I guess what I’m saying is,” he takes a deep breath, “I wouldn’t have picked a different partner to do this with. As screwed up as that sounds.”

 

Fran stands there silent as a statue for a few moments, just staring at the floor and struggling to comprehend the last minute of his rant. 

 

“You done?” she finally asks, looking up at him, her voice calmer than either of them expected. He just nods, the tips of his ears warming in embarrassment. Taking a step toward him, she bravely reaches out. Phillip exhales loudly and grabs her hand, his palm dwarfing hers. She squeezes gently and gives him a shy smile before quietly adding, “I’m glad you’re my partner, too.”

 

His chest expands with a shaky breath. Then, yanking on her hand, he pulls her in for a hug, wrapping his arms entirely around her as if encasing her in a cocoon. He feels her nuzzle his sternum, and suddenly, the tension leaves his body. All thoughts of other people’s judgment and opinions fade away until they mean nothing. Until the only thing left in his mind is her. 

 

“So I think for now, the game plan is what you said before,” she murmurs into his chest. “Things happened… We had Alex… We’re in this together now… And that’s all anyone else needs to know.”

 

“What about his classmates?” Phillip grunts, still holding her tight. “Kids can be little pricks.”

 

She shakes her head, but doesn’t pull away. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we can prevent that… All we can do is help him if things arise.”

 

“I mean it, Fran…” he starts, leaning his mouth closer to her ear. “If anyone gives you or Alex a hard time…”

 

Her heart pounds extra hard at his words. “And I mean it, Phillip,” she says, leaning away to look up at him. “Alex is one thing, but you don’t have to protect me.”

 

Phillip gently grabs her chin, forcing her gaze to remain on him. “I’m always gonna protect you, Frannie… It’s been my responsibility since I was six.” His eyes scan her face, glancing at every freckle and mark he’s had memorized since grade school. “And I’ve done a pretty shit job of it for the last eight years. But I swear, I’m gonna make up for it now… And that includes protecting you from Laura Moskovitz and her high school mentality minions. Got it?”

 

“Got it,” she breathes, barely nodding. She can’t seem to pull away, knowing his hand is still holding onto her face, while her bottom lip sinks between her teeth to keep it from trembling. 

 

“Good,” he replies. “Now do you want help cleaning up these Legos?” 

 

Blinking up at him, she comes back to reality. “Umm yeah… T-That’d be nice, actually.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

But oddly, he doesn’t move right away. Almost as if he were frozen, his hand glued to her face. In fact, the only thing that happens is his fingers lightly trailing down from her chin to the side of her neck, vaguely reminding her of that night when he touched her. 

 

They’re still standing so close. Too close. And all it’s doing is unleashing memories and feelings that she’s tried so hard to bury. Memories of his lips against hers as his hand gently bracketed her throat. In any other circumstance, she would’ve been terrified by fingers that very easily could’ve cut off her air supply before she could even blink, but weirdly, she felt safe. Like she instinctually knew his fist would never close. 

 

He doesn’t move. Yet she can’t seem to move either. Her own thoughts betray her, sending her phantom sensations of his lips, and her eyes fall to them, still somehow looking just as pillowy soft after all these years. 

 

Abort! Abort! Bad thoughts!

 

Terrified of the moment, Fran just drops to the ground in front of him. Anything to get away from his caressing fingers and warm, entrancing eyes. 

 

“What are you doing?” Phillip chokes. The visual of Fran on her knees in front of him is too much, though regrettably not unwelcome. He takes a step back, needing to distance her face from his steadily hardening cock. 

 

She awkwardly holds up a hand, presenting a tiny, blue block. “Lego…” she mumbles as she avoids his eyes, her cheeks blaring red.

 

“Oh,” he exhales shakily. “Legos… Right…” He looks up at the popcorn ceiling and prays his body stops betraying him. Prays she doesn’t notice. 

 

God, he’s so fucking stupid. 

 

Why did he do that? 

 

Why did he let himself linger for so long?

 

If she didn’t pull away when she did, he was surely two seconds away from kissing her. He knows it in his bones. Especially that bone. 

 

He shouldn’t have even touched her. Not when his emotions were already going haywire. 

 

But she was so soft. And sweet. And it felt so familiar yet so foreign. Like his hands have been craving her skin for the last four months. Hell, for the last eight years.  

 

Stupid fucking hands. 

 

Threatening to ruin everything. 

 

Thoroughly ashamed of himself, he sinks to the ground as well, helping her throw the unused Legos back into the box. Silently, they work together to clean up the floor, neither of them even looking up to meet the other’s gaze. 

 

It takes them a few minutes—Alex being very good at spreading them out as far as possible—but eventually they get to the last few. 

 

“You’re right… This is mundane as shit,” Phillip mumbles, not fully expecting her to hear him. 

 

Fran’s eyes whip up to his at the comment. He probably didn’t mean for it to, but it breaks the weird tense ice surrounding them, and she can’t help but find it strangely amusing. She pinches her lips together, trying to stop the laugh that’s bubbling in her throat. 

 

Unfortunately, she’s unsuccessful. 

 

She breaks out into a fit of giggles, throwing Phillip for a complete loop. He stares at her, confused, for a moment before her sudden joy starts to get to him as well. It starts with the corner of his lip, then rolls into a small chuckle, until he, too, is laughing uncontrollably. 

 

The two of them plop down onto the carpet from their knees, bracing up against the front of the couch so they don’t fall over. Their shoulders brush up against each other, but neither seems to notice—or at least care enough to push away. 

 

Minutes must go by before either of them can utter a word, both of them fighting to catch a breath, only to break into more laughter. 

 

“What was so funny?” he wheezes. 

 

“I don’t know,” she snickers, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Gosh, I don’t think I’ve laughed like that in like ten years.”

 

His smile grows, his torso subconsciously leaning further into her. “Junior year,” he states, his eyes sparkling with memories. “We were strolling around the quad. I was walking backward and not paying attention to where I was going, and ended up falling into the fountain.” Running a hand through his hair, he shakes his head in amusement. “You laughed so hard you snorted and kept saying you were gonna piss your pants.”

 

“Oh yeah…” she replies and giggles at the memory. “I forgot about that… You were completely soaked and left wet footprints all the way back to the boys’ dorms.”

 

“They made me mop the halls after,” he adds with a snort. Then he sombers a bit, his grin softening as he looks at her. “We had fun… Didn’t we, Frannie?” he prompts, bumping her shoulder with his.

 

Her smile doesn’t fade as she sighs and bumps his shoulder right back. “Yeah, Phil… We had fun.”

Notes:

I love playing with the dichotomy of who Phillip is. Especially with how the town sees him, how he sees himself, and how Fran sees him. He’s an Altman, and they’re clearly loved by everyone in Elmsbrook, but people also know him as the troublemaker. His family has said multiple times he’s the screwup, so that’s what he thinks he truly is. He’s never going to see himself as good as Paul or Wendy, or even Judd. Whereas Fran sees *all* sides of him. The beloved Altman son and the deviant. She can see how much he means to the people in town despite his reputation. It's just fun to write haha.

We also love to see a jealous Frannie peeping through the cracks. All the feelings are reemerging. For both parties.

Anyway, ignore my musings.

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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@hissterically on Twitter and BlueSky

Chapter 30: Dinner and Brotherly Talks

Summary:

Fran invites Paul and Annie over for dinner to make up for their hijacked announcement. The two brothers finally clear the air.

Returning to work after your whole world implodes on itself isn’t the most natural thing to do. But Phillip is right, they can’t just hide from everyone. No matter how badly Fran may want to. 

 

Fortunately for her, he never said exactly when she has to face them. 

 

And that’s why she slunk her way into the store this morning, strategically avoiding anyone and everyone until she plopped down into her desk chair. At least at work, Paul and Horry already know all of the embarrassing details. In here, she won’t get hounded with a bunch of questions. Which is exactly why it’s where she’s chosen to hide all day until she has to go home. 

 

If she’s lucky, she won’t run into anyone on her way back to her car either. 

 

The morning actually passes fairly quickly, with her trying to distract her racing mind by burying herself in work. Since she joined the team, she somehow managed to make her way through all of Mort’s ‘books’ and put them all in order. It took three straight months of reading and re-documenting, but she got there eventually. Now, it’s mostly just about staying consistent and orderly from here on out.

 

That, and helping finalize the financial side of Phillip’s proposal. Sticking to her promise, she talked to Paul about Phillip’s idea to revamp the store, and magically, the man agreed to think about it, but only if she and Phillip created a proposal listing out everything. Even down to the tiniest detail. 

 

So in their spare time, that’s what they’ve been doing. Phillip’s been planning the logistics side while she’s been running and re-running numbers to make sure that they have enough funds without the store going bankrupt. 

 

Fran’s been so head deep in the books for the last few hours that she doesn’t even notice Phillip walk in until he drops a bag of food down on her desk, making her jump.

 

Setting her pencil down, she rubs her eyes and looks at the clock on the wall. 1:00. He’s normally here by 12:30 when he’s looking after Alex for the morning. “Where have you been?” she asks before turning concerned. “Is everything okay?”

 

He sighs and plops down into the chair next to her. “Alex is fine,” he reassures her before she can panic. “Penny’s class just ran long this morning. So I was stuck waiting for her to get home.”

 

It’s a good thing school starts again in a few weeks. Even though she knows she’s incredibly lucky for all the help, it’s been a little stressful bouncing Alex around between her house, Penny’s, and the Altmans’ all summer long. 

 

Aside from the two days a week Paul has allowed her to work from home, the general routine has been that Alex spends time with either Phillip or Wendy for the first half of the day while Penny has classes. Then she looks after him in the afternoons until Fran gets off work. 

 

Paul has been more than generous, allowing both her and Phillip’s schedules to be so flexible, and she’ll never be able to thank him enough.

 

Having all this help has almost made her forget how stressful summers used to be when she was doing it alone. 

 

“What’s in the bag?” she prompts, nosily opening it and peeking inside. 

 

“Thought you might be hungry,” he replies. “And I know with everything that happened this weekend, you didn’t get a chance to go to the store yesterday, so I picked up some sandwiches.”

 

She just shakes her head, feeling slightly overwhelmed that he thought of her. “You didn’t have to do that… I would’ve been fine.”

 

“Nonsense,” he counters, rolling over to her and plucking the food from the bag. “Can’t have the mother of my child, and our only accountant, go hungry.” He holds hers out for her. “Here. No pickle.”

 

Blushing furiously at his words, she takes the sandwich from his hands and unwraps it. Of course, he got her a turkey club—her favorite. “Thank you,” she shyly murmurs before tucking in. 

 

“No problem, Francake.”

 

She reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out a handful of napkins, handing a couple to him as well. “Did anyone see you…?” she asks after swallowing her first bite. 

 

Aka, did anyone interrogate you yet?

 

“Unless you count the teenager working at the counter? Then no,” he answers, munching away at his own sandwich. “So how’s the money going?”

 

“It’s good. I think it’s almost ready.” She puts her food down and gestures to the binder beside her. “Just gotta account for a few more items and incidental expenses. I’d rather overestimate than underestimate.”

 

“Makes sense…” he murmurs as he leans further on her desk. His eyes scan across her face, almost like he’s searching for a hint of hesitation. “But overall, you think it’s doable?”

 

“Well, it’s not gonna put us in the hole,” she rather bluntly responds. “And it’s not like you guys are going to lose your customer base. This is pretty much the only sports store in town. It’s a staple, and people are loyal to Paul and you. Plus, with youth hockey starting up soon, it seems like the perfect time.”

 

He leans back in his chair, takes a bite, and muses, “You put a lot of thought into this.”

 

“You had a good idea. I just wanted to help,” she says with a timid shrug.

 

“Fran, is that idiot here yet?” Paul’s voice comes booming down the hall. “He’s forty-five minutes late and I swear to God—” He comes into view and freezes in the doorway. “Phillip,” Paul curtly acknowledges, dropping his impending rant.

 

“Paul,” Phillip replies, just as succinctly. 

 

The relationship is still slightly strained from the debacle on Saturday night, making for an awkward day at the office. 

 

Nothing more is said for maybe thirty whole seconds, and to Fran, it’s torturous. Unable to bear the tension in the room, the question flies from her mouth before she even realizes it, “Do you and Annie want to come over for dinner tonight?”

 

Phillip’s head whips towards her, his eyes widening. “What are you doing?” he whispers in a very rushed manner. 

 

“We kind of ruined their announcement… It’s the least I can do,” she mumbles back before returning her attention to Paul. “You obviously don’t have to, but I thought it might be nice. Sort of a mini celebration to make up for Saturday.”

 

Paul’s eyes flit between his brother and Fran for a moment, sussing out the situation, especially Phillips’ reaction. Then, mostly to get under his brother’s skin, he says, “Sure. I’ll throw the idea out to her and see what she thinks.”

 

“Okay… Just let me know,” Fran replies with a half smile. She can feel Phillip’s eyes glaring into the side of her face, but she pointedly ignores him. 

 

“Will do.” Paul nods, smacks the door frame, smirks at Phillip, and leaves. 

 

Groaning loudly, Phillip drops his face to the desk and pounds his forehead against the wood a few times. Then he lifts back up and continues to glare at her, though this time it’s not nearly as harsh. “Why did you do that?” he demands. “All I wanted was for us to go back to your house and have a nice, relaxing dinner with Alex. And now you invited the man who now hates me.”

 

Fran doesn’t even bother hiding her eye roll. “He doesn’t hate you. You’re being dramatic.” She begins to clean up her lunch, bunching up the empty foil wrapper. “Paul knows it was an accident. But you know they’ve been waiting for this moment for years… We owe it to them for ruining it with our own crap.”

 

“Our crap? You mean the world finding out about our deepest, darkest secret?” he counters, deadpanned. 

 

“Exactly.”

 

He stares at her for another minute before loudly sighing. “Fine… But if he starts a fight, he’s getting kicked out.”

 

“It’s my house,” she reminds him.

 

He just quirks an eyebrow and gets up to throw their lunch in the trash can. “So…? He’s my brother.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Much to Phillip’s displeasure, Annie was more than happy to take Fran up on her offer. Meaning he spent the rest of the day acting like he was about to be walked to the gallows. 

 

It got to a point that Fran ended up writing out a list of groceries she needs for dinner and sent him to the store with the added task of picking up Alex on his way back. Paul was so amused at her response to his brother’s dramatics that he wasn’t even mad that Phillip barely worked at all today. 

 

He even joked that she should kick him out of the store more often. 

 

Without Phillip moping around, the rest of the day went fairly smoothly. She actually managed to get the rest of the financials done for their proposal. Now all that’s left is to make it nice and pretty for Paul. However, that’s more a task for her than for Phillip.

 

The clock finally strikes five, and Fran gathers all of her things, heading out to the front of the store. 

 

“So dinner’s at 6:30?” Paul asks from behind the counter. 

 

“Oh,” she startles, “Umm, yes. It’s okay if you’re not exactly on the dot. Lord knows being on time is difficult with Alex.”

 

“And Phillip,” he jokes, pulling a small laugh from her. Then he sombers a bit, looking rather awkward as he stares at her. “I just wanted to say that neither Annie nor I hold anything against you… for Saturday… Once I cooled off, I understood that it really wasn’t either of your faults. So I’m sorry for how I reacted… And that your secret came out that way.”

 

Fran stands there blinking. She didn’t expect to get an apology, but she appreciates it nonetheless. But also, she wasn’t the one he tackled to the floor. “You should tell Phillip that,” she softly advises. 

 

He has enough wherewithal to look guilty for it. “You’re right… I probably should…” He taps the counter and quirks his head towards the door. “Six-thirty.”

 

“Six-thirty,” she repeats, giving him a tiny smile and leaving. 

 

It doesn’t take her long to get home, but oddly, she doesn’t find Phillip's car in the driveway. Walking into her home, she glances around to see any evidence of his or their son’s return. She’s about five seconds away from calling Phillip when she finds a note on the counter. 

 

Francake,

Store was riddled with Aunts. Ran through it like a fucking ninja and was done within fifteen minutes, so I chilled on your couch for a bit afterwards. Picking up Alex now. Groceries are put away.

Phillip :)

 

Moving to the fridge, she opens it to find everything in its proper place, and for a moment, she’s thrown by the domesticity of it. But of course, he knows where everything goes. He’s been having dinners with her and Alex for months and has been thoroughly incorporated into their lives. He probably knows every inch of her kitchen as well as she does at this point. 

 

With a small shake of her head to clear her thoughts, she washes her hands, pulls out the chicken she asked Phillip to buy, and gets working. 

 

Before she knows it, everything is chopped, the oven is preheated, and a pan is warming up. Then she hears the sound of the door opening, her son’s excited chatter filtering through the living room, getting louder as the two boys head towards her. 

 

“Go put your backpack away,” Phillip orders, sounding more and more like an actual father with every passing second. The little boy mumbles an “okay” and scampers off to his room. There’s a single moment of silence before his voice rings out again. “You need any help?” he asks, coming up behind her and placing a hand on the small of her back. 

 

She all but gasps, jumping slightly at the sensation of his fingers, her heart rate spiking. “N-No. I think I got it.” Slinking sideways, she escapes his touch. “Thanks for grabbing everything, though.”

 

If he’s aware of her sudden panicking, he doesn’t show it. “No problem."

 

Fran fiddles with the spatula in her hand, her eyes flitting between the pan and Phillip—mostly staying on the pan. “You can just hang with him while I get all this ready,” she quietly supplies. “Just don’t go outside, please? I don’t need Doreen Matthews seeing you guys and barging over here asking questions.”

 

“Agreed,” he replies, rolling his eyes in disdain at the mere idea of being confronted by that woman today. “You sure you don’t need any help?”

 

She smiles a little and shakes her head. “No, really, I’m good. Go play with Alex.”

 

“Okay,” he hesitates. “Just yell if you need anything.” She nods, so he leans down, pecks her on the cheek, and shuffles off down the hall after their son. 

 

While she focuses on getting everything ready, her ears catch bits and pieces of the conversation in the other room. It warms her heart that Alex has taken so well to Phillip. That the two thoroughly enjoy spending time with one another. In fact, they’re quite the little duo—two peas in a pod, as her Gran would say.

 

Father and son.

 

And now they both finally know it. 

 

Luckily, that big revelation hasn’t seemed to damage the relationship they’ve spent the last four months building. If anything, it’s become even stronger in just the last two days, causing her to feel even more guilt about hiding it all these years. 

 

Her son deserved a father since day one. 

 

And she’ll forever hate herself for being the reason he missed out. 

 

Shaking her head, she wills all her regretful thoughts away, forcing all of her attention on her cooking. Overall, it’s a fairly good distraction from the turmoil inside her. So good that eventually she gazes over to the clock on the microwave and reads 6:14. 

 

Shoot.

 

She makes sure the burners are on low to keep the food warm before peeking down the hall. “Phillip?” she calls towards Alex’s bedroom. It’s not even ten seconds before his head pops out the door. “Could you maybe come help for a second while I freshen up?”

 

“Sure,” he replies, patting the doorframe and walking over to her. 

 

“Everything is done and staying warm, but I have a pan of brownies in the oven that should be ready in about ten. Can you just make sure they don’t burn?”

 

“Aye aye, Francake. Can do.”

 

“Thanks,” she touches his arms and heads down the hall. She hears a faint “Alex, come work out here,” but pays it no mind, focusing on getting changed into something a little nicer. After switching into a simple dress, she walks into her bathroom and refreshes the very little makeup she put on before work this morning, as well as quickly runs a curling iron through a few sections of her hair. 

 

Once she declares herself presentable enough, she makes her way back into the kitchen to see Alex sitting at the dining table, Phillip leaning over him, with paper and markers spread out everywhere.

 

“What are you two doing?” she demands, her voice sounding distressed at the sight before her. “Paul and Annie are going to be here in a few minutes. Now’s not the time for arts and crafts. I need that table clean, Phil.” She shuffles over to the oven, grabs some mitts, and pulls out the pan of brownies, setting them on the counter to cool.

 

Phillip just nudges Alex with his elbow, tilting his head towards her. 

 

“We made you something,” Alex timidly says as he walks over and hands her the large piece of construction paper.

 

She takes it from him. “What’s this?” Her eyes scan the various, familiar names written across the paper in Phillip’s handwriting.

 

“We decided to redo Alex’s family tree project,” Phillip supplies with a shrug as he leans against the counter, though his eyes are locked dead onto hers. “Thought it needed some amendments.”

 

Tears immediately well up in her eyes as they flit from her son to Phillip. “You did this?” she whispers. Surrounded by the child-drawn version of a tree are not only hers, her parents’, and Gran’s names, but the other side contains Phillip’s entire family. She glances over Phillip’s branch, leading towards Paul and Annie, Wendy, Cole, and Serena, Judd… ending with Hilary and Mort. Phillip even included both sets of his grandparents.

 

She doesn't realize the tears started falling until she feels a finger wipe them away. 

 

Gasping, her gaze shoots up from the paper to Phillip’s face. He looks vaguely concerned, but she barely notices due to her overwhelming wave of emotion. She takes a step closer and throws her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his skin. Instantly, he returns the favor, his arms locking behind her lower back, pulling her in tight. 

 

“Thank you,” she chokes quietly enough that only he can hear.

 

His hand subconsciously strokes her back, a tiny smile growing on his face as he savors the feeling of her nose nuzzling his neck. “Didn’t feel right leaving it that blank,” he whispers back in her ear. She jerkily nods, and he squeezes her tighter.

 

“Are you okay, Mommy? Do you like it?” Alex’s concerned voice pops up beside them.

 

She extracts herself from Phillip’s embrace, brushes the sadness off her face, and sniffs back the leftover tears. “Of course I like it, monkey. In fact, I love it. You guys did a really good job,” she enthuses, bending down and kissing his cheek. “So much so that it deserves a special place.” Taking the paper over, she pops it onto the fridge with a magnet before stepping back with a smile. “There. Perfect.”

 

Not a second later, there’s a knock at the door.

 

“Crap,” she blurts, glancing around her kitchen. With a look at Phillip, she starts barking orders, “Phillip, can you go get the door? I gotta get all this ready.” He nods and heads to the door. Her gaze turns to her son, whose nose is sniffing curiously around the pan of brownies. “Don’t you even think about it.” His expression falls at the slight reprimand. “I need you to clean up all your markers, please. Quickly. And put them back in the closet.”

 

While her son throws all his arts supplies back into the bucket they dragged them from, Fran gets busy turning the stove and all the burners off. She collects some serving dishes from the cabinet and works diligently to transfer all the food before Phillip returns with Paul and Annie. 

 

Unfortunately, with the tension between brothers still, that moment comes fairly quickly. 

 

“Paul! Annie! Umm, hi,” she exclaims as she finishes spooning the green beans into a bowl. Then she hastily wipes her hands on a towel and comes over, giving them rather awkward hugs. “I’m glad you could make it.”

 

“Thank you for inviting us,” Annie replies. “I was honestly excited when Paul mentioned it.”

 

“It’s really no problem. And since I didn’t say it the other day… Congratulations. I’m really happy for you,” Fran says as sincerely as can be. She knows how long the couple has wanted this and couldn’t be happier for the pair that it’s finally happening. 

 

Annie nervously smiles back at her, her hand subconsciously drifting down to her stomach. “Thanks. It almost doesn’t feel real.” She leans further into Paul’s side, who lovingly rubs her hip.

 

Fran nods in understanding. “I think everyone feels that way for a bit… I certainly did.” Her eyes flit to Phillip for just a moment from where he stands by Paul. “Then again, my situation wasn’t really normal,” she mumbles awkwardly. 

 

Luckily, her little boy saves things from getting even weirder by running into the room after putting his things away. She busies her anxious hands by raking them through his thick locks. “Monkey, say hi.”

 

He looks up at their guests and smiles. “Hi Coach Paul and Mrs. Annie,” he pauses and corrects himself like he’s been practicing, “Oh wait… I mean Uncle Paul and Aunt Annie.”

 

A large smile cracks across Annie’s face at the new title. Even Paul can’t help but grin. 

 

“How ya doing, slugger?” Paul asks, bending down to be at the boy’s height. 

 

“I’m doing good!” Alex exclaims before turning to Annie. “Dad and I worked on a family tree like the one we did in school and you’re on it!” He grabs onto their hands and leads them towards the fridge. “See?” 

 

“Well, would you look at that, An,” he muses to his wife. “We have a whole branch to ourselves and everything.” 

 

“Do you like it?” Alex poses, looking up at Annie as if looking for some sort of validation. 

 

She gently boops his nose. “It’s a wonderful family tree. A+.” Alex breaks into a grin at her answer. 

 

Unfortunately, Fran has to break the nice moment between her son and his newfound relatives. “Well, we don’t want dinner getting cold. Phillip, can you get the drinks while I take all this over?” He gives her a nod and pulls out some glasses from her cupboard, whereas she grabs a stack of plates and silverware. “Monkey, could you put these on the table, please?” 

 

Her little boy tears his attention from the fridge and takes the stack from her, wandering over to the dining table. 

 

Annie steps up and grabs a bowl before Fran can even stop her. “Here, I got this.”

 

“Annie, whatcha drinking?” Phillip asks as she walks from the kitchen. 

 

“Just a water, thank you.”

 

“No problem.” He turns to his brother. “Beer?” He receives a nod in reply. After filling a glass of ice water for Annie, he pours Alex a cup of juice, Fran a glass of wine, and grabs two beers from the fridge. Paul even steps in and helps carry everything to the table. 

 

He gets Alex all situated in the seat beside him as Fran removes the lids from the dishes, revealing the lemon herb chicken, baked potatoes, and green beans.

 

“I figured I’d go on the blander side, considering I wasn't fully confident on your morning sickness and all,” she mumbles—mostly towards Annie. “I know mine was definitely rough compared to most, and this was one of the safer meals that I found.”

 

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” Annie replies, just touched that Fran would think about that at all. 

 

Phillip looks over and winks at her. “Smells delicious, Frannie.”

 

She gives a small smile and sits down. “Alright then… Dig in, I guess.”

 

It’s silent for a minute or so as everyone passes around the dishes, filling their plates—well, Alex getting help from Phillip—and starting to feast on Fran’s hard work. 

 

The beginning of dinner consists mostly of eating, along with small talk about how everyone’s summer has been going and if Annie is ready to go back to school in a few weeks. Nothing too heavy or personal. Safe topics.

 

Nothing that’ll set off another fight between the two brothers. 

 

Alex, on the other hand, is too focused on drowning his chicken and potato in ketchup. 

 

“Alex, green beans too,” Phillip orders offhandedly, washing down his chicken with a slug of beer. 

 

The boy pouts and grumbles, “Okay…” before begrudgingly eating his beans. 

 

Paul and Annie stare at Phillip, almost as if surprised by his parenting abilities. Until now, they’ve only really seen him as the uncle figure everyone’s been led to believe he was. Really seeing the innate way he interacts with Alex in a secluded setting is something else. 

 

He truly is the boy’s father. 

 

Fran takes a sip of her wine and looks over at Annie. “So when are you due?” she hesitantly asks before quickly adding, “If th-that’s not too invasive?” 

 

The other woman shakes her head and puts her silverware down. “No, no, it’s fine,” Annie assures, looking happier than Fran’s seen her since the couple’s wedding day. “They put me around January 1st.”

 

“Oh, New Year's. That’s exciting,” she replies with a more relaxed smile. “Or who knows, you could get an extra Hanukkah present this year.” She pauses, still awkward to talk about her own pregnancy in front of Phillip, even after all these months. The pregnancy he missed. Because of her. “I know I was almost two weeks early with Alex.” 

 

“What are you guys talking about?” Alex pipes up at the sound of his name. He shoves his last green bean in his mouth before gulping down his juice to get rid of the taste. 

 

Everyone’s eyes whip down to the little boy. He just stares back in curiosity. 

 

Fran glances over at Paul and Annie as if to get permission before returning her attention to her son. “You see, monkey… Umm… Annie’s gonna have a baby,” she gently tells him. 

 

His brows furrow, and his eyes rake over Annie’s form. “But she doesn’t have a big belly,” he counters with the tact only a seven-year-old can have. 

 

Paul and Phillip can’t help but snort under their breaths at the rather blunt response, and Annie smiles at his innocence. Whereas Fran just prays for her sanity and calmly explains, “That’s because the baby is still really small. It still has a long time to grow and get big and healthy.”

 

He nods along with her, though she’s not sure how much he’s actually understanding. Their discussions about the life cycle have been fairly limited till now. His only encounter with a pregnant person was when Wendy visited before Serena was born. 

 

Alex’s eyes flicker between Annie and his mother, his little brain trying to put pieces together. “So if she’s gonna have a baby, and she’s my aunt, does that mean I’m gonna have another cousin?” he asks. “Like Cole and Serena?” The family tree he and Phillip just spent an hour working on is fresh in his mind. 

 

“Technically, you’re getting two,” Phillip corrects, turning sideways to look at him. “Your Uncle Judd’s having a baby as well.”

 

“With Penny? Are they gonna get married?”

 

Phillip snorts. “Maybe one day?” he jokes, only to receive a small glare of disapproval from Fran. “But no. See…” he pauses, questioning how to explain this to a seven-year-old, “Judd’s… divorced.”

 

“Like Connor’s parents?”

 

“Yeah, like Connor’s parents,” he responds. “So Judd’s old wife is pregnant as well. So that baby will also be your cousin.” He pauses, then adds, “Though, they live in the city, so you probably won’t see them that often.”

 

Also ‘cause Quinn sucks ass.

 

Not that he’s gonna say that to Alex. Ever.

 

Fran would kill him.

 

Alex’s face scrunches up, his pursed lips switching side to side as his eyes drift down to his empty plate.

 

Phillip reaches over and tilts his chin up in concern. “Hey. What is it, bud?” he gently prompts. “Why the long face?”

 

His son looks at him with unexpectedly sad eyes. “It’s just… none of them are my age,” he laments, softly enough that Phillip can barely hear him. “They’re all gonna be too young to play with. Even Cole is too young. All we can really do is color at the same time… He can’t even play Candy Land.”

 

Well shit. 

 

Being the youngest Altman with the oldest grandchild is certainly a predicament he never thought he’d find himself in. Especially not a kid who’s a good five years older than the next one. He never thought to think about how that would affect Alex’s perception of his cousins. 

 

With a knowing look at Fran and a sigh, he pulls Alex from his own chair and lifts him onto his lap. “Come here, bud.” The little boy immediately burrows into the crook of his neck, breaking his heart further. He rubs his hand on Alex’s arm, presses their foreheads together, and tries to comfort him, “You might be older, and might have to wait a few years for them to be able to play the kind of games you like… but did you know that as the oldest, you have the most important job?”

 

Alex leans back and looks up at him, and Phillip can see the curiosity sparking. “A job?”

 

Phillip nods his head. “Yeah.” He points to Alex’s chest. “You’re the one who gets to teach them everything… You’re the one who they’re all gonna look up to.”

 

“Kinda like a big brother?” mumbles Alex, his eyes starting to light up at the idea. 

 

“Yeah…” he replies, glancing over to Paul, momentarily losing himself in thirty years of memories. 

 

It’s so easy to forget all of the years they had before they grew up and became more contentious, hot-headed, and easily provokable. They’re a little too alike in that regard. Makes for easy arguments. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember the good moments. Playing ball on the street. Trying to keep up with Paul and Judd on their bikes. Learning how to wrestle… and win. 

 

Paul taught him a lot of things—both good and bad.

 

“Exactly like a big brother,” he emphasizes. “They’re gonna need someone to lead them and to take care of them.”

 

“I guess that doesn’t sound so bad,” Alex murmurs after a moment. “Even if it’s kinda boring right now.” 

 

Paul sits there watching his brother console Alex, and it hits something deep inside. “You know, Alex…” he interrupts. “I’m eight years older than your dad, just like how you’ll be eight years older than your cousins.”

 

Alex’s focus switches to Paul across the table. “Really?” he asks. 

 

“Mhm hm. I even remember when he was born,” he whispers back like it’s some big secret between the two.

 

His nephew’s eyes go wide, fully enraptured. “You do?”

 

Paul nods and smirks. “Yup. He was the loudest baby in the world… And the largest.” 

 

“You say, as if you’re not also a giant,” Phillip halfheartedly glares while Alex giggles. 

 

“He does have you there,” Annie pipes up, poking her husband in the side, thoroughly entertained by the easy jabs between the two brothers. 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Paul returns his attention to the boy in his brother’s lap. “It’s just, I get how weird it is to feel like you’re gonna have nothing in common with your cousins… But getting to teach them everything you know is actually kind of fun.”

 

“Really?” Alex replies. 

 

His gaze flips to Phillip for a moment. “I taught your dad everything he knows.”

 

“Not everything,” Phillip drawls. “We did have a father. And you weren’t my only sibling.”

 

“A good chunk of it,” Paul counters. “I taught you how to shoot hoops, how to play video games, how to throw and land a punch. Dad didn’t teach you that, and Judd definitely didn’t.” He holds his brother’s gaze for a moment before looking back down at Alex. “All those fights your dad got into in school? I’m the reason he was able to hold his own. I was the one who taught him to stand up against those bullies.”

 

“Yeah, and what a load of good it did for me,” Phillip can’t help but quietly retorts, sending the tension once again rolling through the room. 

 

Fran’s eyes dart around the room in panic. “Umm, who wants some dessert? I made brownies,” she stands and blurts out. The need to change the subject before it gets worse is overwhelming. She desperately doesn’t need the two men to start fighting with Alex sitting on Phillip’s lap. 

 

Luckily, her son is easily persuaded by sweets. 

 

“I do!” Alex cheers. 

 

Nodding, she turns to Annie. “Brownie?” 

 

The other woman seems to understand the topic change. “Sure. That sounds delicious. Doesn’t it, Paul?” She nudges her husband with her elbow. 

 

He tears his gaze away from Phillip, blinking back to the present moment. “Umm, yeah. Sounds good. Thank you, Fran,” he mumbles. 

 

“Okay then. J-Just give me a second.” Fran pushes her chair back and stumbles to the kitchen.

 

“I’ll help you,” Phillip grunts, getting up, plopping Alex back in his own chair, and following her. Behind him, Annie starts talking in hushed tones to Paul, but he tunes it out, determined to create some distance between himself and his brother. 

 

He finds her on her tiptoes, trying to grab plates from the upper shelf of her cabinet. Walking over, he grabs them, his chest brushing up against her back. Fran quickly spins around with a gasp, and he simply hands them to her.

 

“Thank you,” she breathes. 

 

“Welcome,” he replies tersely. 

 

She slides past him, puts the plates on the counter next to the pan of brownies, and then looks at him in concern. “Are you okay?” 

 

He clenches his teeth and runs a hand through his hair before grabbing a knife from the drawer and handing it to her. “I’m fine… Just… a lot of memories,” he grumbles as he leans against the counter and watches her cut the brownies and put them on individual plates. 

 

“Ones you’re not so proud of,” she says softly, finishing his thought for him. He just nods. “You weren’t just the fighter, you know…? That wasn’t your only quality.”

 

“Just the only one people remember,” he gruffly laments. 

 

She puts the knife down and takes a step towards him, intent on trying to comfort him, when Paul, Annie, and Alex step into the room. The little boy climbs onto the barstool, his mouth watering at the prospect of brownies, while Annie gives her husband a pointed nudge to the ribs. 

 

Paul rolls his eyes. “Come with me,” he gently commands to his brother, quirking his head in the direction of Fran’s backyard. 

 

Glancing down at Fran, who gives him an encouraging look, Phillip sighs deeply, already weary of how this is going to go. “I need another drink,” he mutters under his breath. He opens the fridge and grabs two beers. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

 

He walks past Paul towards the door. 

 

“Can I come?” Alex pipes up, clearly interested in where the older men are going.

 

Fran hands him a plate to distract him. “You’re gonna stay here and enjoy dessert with us, okay? They won’t be long.” 

 

The chocolate treat in front of his face seems to do the trick, allowing Phillip and Paul to sneak away onto Fran’s back porch. Once the door is shut, Phillip all but shoves the second beer out to Paul and smacks the cap off of his own on the small patio table. Taking a large swig, he stares up at the stars and waits for Paul to start. 

 

Paul hesitates before taking a step forward. “I’m sorry… About, ya know… Bringing that shit up… And for what happened Saturday,” he begins awkwardly. 

 

Why did Annie make him do this?

 

Phillip continues to seemingly ignore him, so he sighs. “I know you regret being the ‘fighter’ growing up. Your reputation. I get that,” he continues, “It’s just… I know I didn’t—don't, always show it, but I love you. And it was my job as your older brother to protect you.” He rolls his eyes and snorts. “It’s not like I could go walking into the school and beat up some fucking twelve-year-old prick at age twenty. I wasn’t there with you. So I did the only thing I could… And that was teach you to defend yourself.”

 

“You made me a troublemaker,” Phillip accuses, still keeping his focus away from Paul. “Teachers hated me. I had countless detentions for fighting with skills that you taught me.”

 

“You were always a troublemaker, Phillip,” Paul muses with a ghost of a smirk, opening his beer and taking a sip. “From the time you were born… I just made you a tough one. It was either fight back or get pummeled into the ground.” With a shake of his head, he walks over and leans on the porch railing. “But the fights that weren’t from bullies? That came unprovoked? That’s on you, little brother. I didn’t do that.”

 

He finally looks over at the older man, his eyes rolling to the high heavens. “They weren’t all unprovoked,” he argues. 

 

“No… You're right…”

 

He doesn’t continue, but Phillip can hear the rest of the accusation anyway. That once the older boys stopped bullying him—once he became ‘cool’ enough to escape the taunts—the only fights he ever got in were because of Fran. With the majority of them having been started by him. Because they dared to talk about his Fran. Dared to make fun of her.

 

Dared to want her. 

 

So he used his skills to his advantage. 

 

“I was wrong, you know…” Paul suddenly pipes up, pulling him from his thoughts. 

 

His brows furrow. “Wrong?” he repeats, perplexed by the announcement. “About teaching me how to knock a guy out? It’s a little too late for apologies.”

 

“No. Not that.” 

 

Paul confuses him more by looking rather ashamed. 

 

“When the whole ‘Alex is yours’ thing came to light, I mentioned to Fran that you weren’t really father material,” he admits with a guilty sigh. But then he stares Phillip dead in the eyes and adds, “But you’ve surprised me, little brother. And you’ve done nothing but prove me wrong ever since. You’ve grown a lot because of that boy… Dad would be proud.”

 

The words are shocking, and he’s not fully sure how to respond. Taking a step forward, he stands beside Paul and leans on the railing as well. “I thought I was just the fuckup?” he hoarsely grunts. 

 

“Not when it comes to that kid,” Paul declares, bumping his shoulder lightly. “He’s the one thing you got right.”

 

His eyes swell with emotion, hearing a genuine compliment from his brother, someone whose approval he’s been craving for decades, but he sniffs it back, instead taking another gulp of his beer. “How the fuck did I become the first parent out of the four of us?” he sarcastically replies instead. 

 

“You got drunk and fucked your best friend at a college party,” Paul counters with a smirk. 

 

It shouldn’t be funny, but he laughs anyway. Slowly, the tension melts away between them. 

 

“Not my best move.”

 

“Probably not,” Paul agrees. “But I think it was one that was a long time coming.”

 

He freezes, suddenly panicked by Paul’s insinuation, and he keeps his gaze on the bottle of beer in his hands.

 

Paul doesn’t move, doesn’t force any eye contact. He simply speaks. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life… I’m your brother, not your parent,” he starts. “But as your older brother, all I can suggest is that you look deep inside yourself, figure out what you truly want, and don’t fuck it up again.” Then, without another word on the matter, he pats Phillip on the shoulder and moves to head back inside. 

 

Phillip’s heart is pounding, his emotions going haywire, yet something compels him to respond. “Paul?” he calls after him, making his brother turn back around. After a moment of awkward hesitation, he blurts, “You’re gonna make a good dad.”

 

The corner of his brother’s lip crooks upward. “Thanks, little brother…” Then he shrugs, says “Hell, maybe I’ll even be as good as you,” and walks into the house.

 

Eyes widening, he continues to stare at the sliding door, watching Paul rejoin Annie in the kitchen. 

 

His brother called him a good father…

 

Him. 

 

Like he’s something to strive for. 

 

Turning back around with an amazed sigh, he leans on the railing again, shakes his head, and takes another sip. 

 

Paul’s words roll around and around in his brain. Don’t fuck it up again. If only it were that easy. If he dared admit what he really, truly wants… he’d lose it. 

 

He’d lose them.

 

Her. 

 

Because that’s not their story. He’s not lucky enough for that. 

 

Not good enough for that. 

 

He’s destined to parent Alex with the woman he can’t stop thinking about for the rest of his life, fully knowing it was a one-time thing, and that’s all it’ll ever be. He got one taste—one wonderful, mind-blowing taste—and it’s going to have to suffice until he dies. 

 

He’ll never again feel so deeply and internally connected with Fran Larsen as he did that night, almost as if she somehow cemented herself in his very bones. Will never again know the feeling of her. And he’s going to have to be okay with that. 

 

At least she’s back in his life. 

 

“Are you okay?” Fran’s voice sweetly pipes up. 

 

He whips around to see her standing there like an angel with the porch light creating a halo over her head, and he can’t stop his heart from beating a little faster. 

 

Fuck. 

 

His brother knows him too well. 

 

“I’m fine,” he chokes. 

 

She walks over, a plate in her hand. “Brownie?” she offers.

 

He coughs out a laugh and accepts the plate. “Thanks,” he mumbles, taking a bite. The small groan leaves his mouth before he can stop it. “Fuck that’s delicious… As always.”

 

A small, proud smile grows on her face. “Thank you…” Leaning on the rail next to him, she scans him up and down. “Good talk?” she timidly asks.

 

“Well, neither of us has a black eye, so take that how you will,” he nonchalantly jokes, finishing the brownie and licking his fingers. 

 

But she sees right through it.

 

Because of course she does.

 

She knows him. More than anyone. 

 

He sighs, putting the plate and bottle on the patio table before running his fingers through his hair. “He said he’s sorry,” he informs. “And that he’s proud of how far I’ve come.”

 

“He should be,” she interjects softly. “Because you have… You’ve come so far. Anyone can see that.” Chewing on her lip, her gaze falls to the ground. “I should’ve trusted you eight years ago,” she confesses. “I should’ve let you make your own choice instead of making it for you.”

 

Phillip blinks in bewilderment. How many times have they had this conversation? How many times has Fran aired her guilty conscience? 

 

Too many, yet somehow not enough to make up for seven lost years. 

 

“Seeing you with him… How good you are… It was wrong of me to assume twenty-two-year-old you would’ve been any different.”

 

He wants to reach out and grab her and pull her into his arms until the agonizing expression on her face fades away. But he refrains, too focused on his own agony. “Unfortunately, I think you and Paul might’ve been right,” he regretfully admits, making her eyes shoot back up to his. “Twenty-two-year-old me was a fucking putz.”

 

“That’s not true,” she softly argues.

 

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t have tried… I would’ve,” he hastily explains. “I would’ve tried and I would’ve loved the shit out of him, just like I do now.” His jaw grinds side to side, toiling through his inner thoughts. “But that doesn’t mean I would’ve been a good dad. Not in the way he needed.” Shaking his head, he huffs, runs a hand through his hair, and rolls his eyes. “Maybe my mother was right… Maybe I did need to grow up a bit first. To be a fucking idiot for a while to get it out of my system.”

 

He moves closer, reaches out, and gently cups her face with his palm, his thumb subconsciously grazing across the freckles adorning her cheekbone. Part of him wrongly relishes the way her eyes widen at the touch, her skin warming under his hand. 

 

But back to the point of the conversation. 

 

“You gave me my twenties, Frannie…So that I could be unburdened and carefree… But now I’m giving the two of you the rest of my life,” he vows. “And I’m gonna make up for everything.” The intensity in his voice grows, his whiskey brown eyes darkening with his growing resolve. “I’m gonna prove them all wrong, and I’m gonna be the best fucking dad.”

 

“I know,” she rasps, unknowingly leaning forward until their foreheads brush together. “I know… I believe you.”

Notes:

Phillip has A LOT of thoughts about his brother. And A LOT about Frannie.

But hopefully yall like Phillip and Paul seeing a little more eye to eye. They needed it.

Also, if you caught the dates... I had to make baby monitor incident #1 Paul and Annie's conception date haha. Phillip was 100% correct when saying he's pretty sure they heard them conceiving.

Also, poor Connor catching strays again 😂

Please leave comments and kudos! <3

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