Work Text:
Chapter 1
September 14, 2014
“Franny, phone call.” Joanie’s voice brought Fran’s eyes up from the book she was reading, some memoir she’d found in the gift shop the other day when she’d arrived in Washington D.C. She met Joanie’s eyes, the same brown as her own, still sparkling with love for the heavens as they always had. The only difference was there were more lines around them, which only served to make Joanie look more distinguished, though she in no way resembled a woman in her sixties. Fran gave Joanie a questioning look; Joan was smiling, but the way her jaw was set told her everything she needed to know.
The woman who had given birth to her was on the phone.
She steeled herself, gritting her teeth. Barbara, her mother, had called her earlier, but Fran had declined the call, not ready to give the woman who had abandoned her any of her energy. She tried to plead with Joanie with her eyes as if to say Do I have to? Joanie nodded, understanding.
You have to.
With a sigh, she took the cell phone from Joanie’s hand, rolled her eyes pre-emptively and spoke.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Happy Birthday, my angel!” Her mother’s loud, saccharine voice came through the earpiece, making her cringe. Barbara, though she had had enough plastic surgery to make her look like she was years younger, was slightly hard of hearing (though she would never admit it).
“Oh,” Fran replied in her obligatory dutiful daughter tone, “Thanks, Mom.” A moment of awkward silence followed. “How…have you been?”
“Oh just fine,” Barbara replied sunnily, “Gloria, could you be a gem and grab me a glass of lemonade? I am parched.” Fran internally groaned. Her mother always did this. She would have conversations with other people while on the phone with her. As if her life was so incredibly busy she simply could not function without multitasking, even though everyone knew that Barbara spent her days in the kind of leisure only enjoyed by the very rich. A perk she’d earned after becoming a widow…twice.
She’d married Daniel first, a typical self made Texan in the oil industry when Fran had been in elementary school still. He’d had several homes in the United States and then three in Europe, and had never wanted children, a fact which Barbara had blissfully overlooked when choosing him for a partner. To his credit, he was nice enough at first, but it became clear really fast that Fran would be expected to spend most of her time alone while he and Barbara jet set all over the world, attending soirees, vacationing in the tropics, and appearing in just about every high society column that existed. It became starkly obvious that Barbara no longer had any interest in parenting Fran once she realized that having a child would keep them grounded in Texas, where Fran had lived all of her life. Joanie, her mother’s sister, had finally taken guardianship of her when she was nine, picking her up from the boarding school Barbara and Daniel had shipped her off to so they could move to Europe full time.
Joanie had been there every moment of Fran’s life, the mother she deserved. The most important person in her entire universe. The only constant she’d ever known. Her hero. Not just because she had literally saved her from a life of solitude, but also, because Joanie was a bona fide astronaut. She was one of the first women in space (true story!). Joanie and her partner Vanessa (whom she lovingly referred to as V) brought her to live with them and she liked to tell people her actual birthday was the day they all officially moved in together. It was a bit exciting, being the child of an astronaut lesbian. V was a literal hero, having almost died when she went to space, but had received a congressional medal of honor for her role in saving the only other surviving astronaut from that failed mission. It had also cost her her job with NASA, but V told that story with pride. She loved the badassery of being a rebel that got fired from being an astronaut for refusing to follow the orders of Mission Control.
V had taught Fran how to fly a plane, how to change a tire, how to smoke a joint (we won’t talk about that), and also how to make chili. She was the reason Fran went into the Air Force. Joanie was the reason she’d aspired to be hired at NASA. Her time in the Air Force had allowed her to obtain her master’s degree in engineering on the government’s dime. (Whoop.)
She was able to get an unpaid internship with NASA right after she left the Air Force at the turn of the century, thankfully Joanie and V had put her up for a few months while she worked for zero dollars, and had since then found her own footing within NASA, working as an engineer and finally, accepted in to the astronaut program when she was 29, though there had not been very many manned missions anywhere of note since the 80’s.
Everyone wanted to go to Mars.
Fran would have been content with the Moon. Or maybe even a lowly asteroid.
There was talk of sending another shuttle to the Moon. Nobody had set foot there since the 70’s. But you already knew that.
“I can’t believe I have a forty-year-old daughter,” Barbara sighed into the phone, naturally making Fran’s birthday about her, as she usually did. She had done all the work, Barbara loved to note whenever they spoke. She had earned the accolades, never Fran. It didn’t matter that Fran had served six years in the Air Force, simultaneously getting her Bachelor’s degree in engineering, immediately followed by another two years for her Master’s degree. She had not opted for a PhD. She was a pilot.
Like V.
“I don’t feel a day over sixty,” Fran quipped, meeting Joanie’s tired eyes and rolling hers. Joan managed a wry smile, returning her eyes to her laptop as she buried herself in work to distract herself from the smell of the hospice facility.
“Oh, Frances,” she heard her mother scowl, which made her grin internally, loving making her mother uncomfortable any chance she got. “That’s so crude. You’re as young as you allow yourself to be. Look at me! I’m still active, I do yoga every day. I host events, and Kyle and I travel.”
Kyle was Barbara’s new paramour. A beefy, mercifully stupid ex-frat boy who carried her purse and trotted around like a pretty little puppy…he was two years younger than Fran, but had the intelligence of a golden retriever.
Actually, that’s not fair. Golden retrievers are very smart animals.
Not once had Barbara ever invited Fran to come on a trip or to visit her in Europe. She probably would not have gone anyway, but you’d think at least once you’d want to share your home with the person you had birthed four decades before.
“I’m not saying I’m in bad physical health, Mom,” Fran replied, rubbing her temple. “You know NASA keeps us busy with physical training as astronauts.”
“It’s still so interesting to me,” Barb began. Here we go, thought Fran, rolling her eyes. “How you can be considered an astronaut without ever having been to space.”
“I told you before, I am certified as an astronaut, which means I am eligible to go into space.” Her voice was sharp now. She didn’t care. “Maybe you could throw a fundraiser for NASA, and you could learn more about the ASCAN program.”
Barbara scoffed. “Oh, please. NASA has enough money from the government. They don’t need anything from me.”
Fran wanted to argue that science was grossly underfunded and underappreciated, but it would be like screaming into a black hole. Information in. Lost for eternity.
“Anyway…,” Fran could hear her mother losing interest in this conversation by the second, “I just wanted to call to say Happy Birthday.” A dramatic sigh followed. “Kyle and I have to run. We have to pack for our Mediterranean cruise.”
“Tell Kyle I said hi,” Fran retorted dryly, making sure there was zero enthusiasm in her voice.
“I will!” Her mother replied, sounding cheerful again. “I’ll send you a souvenir.”
Goody.
“That’s…so kind,” Frances managed, nearly gagging on the word. Joan again looked up at her questioningly. She shook her head, but made a face to indicate she’d fill her in momentarily. “Thanks for the call…,” she faltered before continuing. “...Mom.”
“Okay…yes Gloria, no not the floral, I want the cashmere…,” Barbara said on the other end of the phone, distracted again, before returning, “Okay Frances, I really have to go. Bye Bye.”
There was a beep to indicate Barbara had hung up. Fran took a second, looking at the home screen of Joanie’s cell, a photo of the three of them from years ago at Joshua Tree on one of their many family trips. Seeing them all together and smiling, set her frazzled nerves at ease again, before she handed the phone back to Joan.
“Everything okay, babe?”
“Oh, just Mom being Mom,” Frances managed a rueful smile. “She and Kindergarten Kyle are going on a,” she attempted to mimic her mother’s tone, “Mediterranean cruise where they will do yoga and drink champagne and probably get botox shoved into every orifice of their bodies.” She saw Joanie struggle not to snicker, but to her credit, she kept her composure.
“Stop that,” she replied, but her voice quavered on the edge of laughter. It filled Fran with glee; it’d been so long since Joanie had smiled. Her eyes drifted to the bed at the center of the hospice room, the gunmetal silver curls splayed wildly all over the pillow, the skin pale and translucent, slack mouth hanging slightly open. Her heart broke every time she saw V in this way, but there were times when her eyes would open and the flames would be back, reviving her in a lucid moment, so rare these days.
Joan, on the other hand, looked fantastic for a woman of almost seventy years old. Her hair was still mostly brown, save for some distinguished streaks of white dispersed neatly in her shiny bobbed cut. She now wore glasses full time, but they only managed to make her look more preciously dorky. She was still average height, though Fran swore she’d shrunk a bit, but Joanie would never admit that. She also had arthritis in her hands. Fran knew this because she could tell it hurt Joan to play the piano now. Like everything else in her life, Joan took it in stride. Fran did not understand how Joanie could take any obstacle thrown at her and just…breathe deep and get through it, and still see beauty.
Fran was not as optimistic. Never had been. Though being left alone for a lot of the formative years in your childhood will do that to you. She’d also always had issues making friends…until recently. Pulling out her own iPhone, she looked at her cover photo. Six adults standing in front of a river giving a thumbs up. She ached to be back in Houston with them and crack open a bottle of wine and forget everything she’d seen. But she was on an extended leave of absence from NASA for the moment, staying in D.C. until, well…until it was time to go home.
She didn’t want to think about that.
Her phone pinged with a text. She quickly unlocked her phone, scanning hopefully and saw a text from Ron.
Happy Birthday, Kiddo. Call me when you can! Give the gals my love.
She smiled, shooting a quick thanks to him. “Ron says to give you guys his love,” she told Joan, who glanced up again in surprise.
“Oh!” She said, perking up, “It’s so nice of him to touch base with you.”
“He’s trying,” Frances shrugged. “We’ll see. It’s new.”
“Give him a chance, hon,” Joan gave her a reassuring look, knowing all of her old insecurities were still fluttering in her (apparently) forty year old belly.
“I will,” Frances promised. A groan came from V, who stirred, her eyes opening groggily.
“Joan…are we late for flight hours?” She rasped, trying to wipe her eyes. Joanie met Fran’s eyes, looking away quickly, but not fast enough for Fran to notice they were sparkling with tears.
“No, honey…” She swallowed. “It’s Saturday. No flight hours today.”
“‘Kay,” V replied, looking around. Joan discreetly called the nurse, who quickly administered another round of sedative. Frances watched as V gently drifted back to sleep, shattering her hopes. She’d been waiting diligently for a lucid moment to get some advice from V, but it was starting to seem like that was a far-off goal.
Beyond the Kuiper belt.
Maybe it was all just not worth it. Maybe, no matter how long you wait, how hard you fight, it will never be enough for anyone.
“You should go get some lunch, babe,” Joanie’s voice cut into Fran’s intrusive thoughts. “You didn’t eat breakfast.”
“I did so,” Fran answered promptly, without considering. Joan raised her eyebrows and gave her a sardonic look.
“Black coffee and two pieces of licorice are not breakfast, Frances.”
Fran wanted to argue, but Joanie had her there. And her stomach, the despicable traitor that it was, chose that explicit moment to loudly rumble and further Joanie’s point.
“Fair enough,” Fran conceded, standing. “Can I get you anything? You also need to eat.”
To her surprise, Joan rose, setting down her book and stroking V’s messy curls off of her forehead. “I think I’ll join you,” she said. “I need a change of scenery for a bit.” Feeling hopeful, Fran’s mood immediately lightened. They both said a quick see you soon to V and left the room together, walking side by side in amicable silence into the hall and then the plush common area of the hospice. They said a quick goodbye to Kathleen at the desk and left the building. The air was still quite warm for September, though the D.C. air was practically chilly compared to the steamy constant cloud Houston lived in. So hot you could feel steam coming up from the ground. Everything felt damp at all times in Houston. It was nice to be warm without boob sweat.
“You need to talk to her,” Joan finally said when they were outside and walking. Fran immediately cringed, giving her a look that said Really? Now? “Trust me.”
“I don’t really think that’s an option at the moment,” Fran muttered. “She’s not exactly taking my calls.”
“All I am saying is life is real short when you look at it. And an apology goes a long way.”
“Joanie, all due respect, I think we are beyond apologies at this point. I might as well try to travel to the Underworld to talk to her,” she told her aunt, who gave her a thoughtful look, again, her eyes were smiling mischievously.
“Well what did we learn from the Underworld?” Joan asked. When Fran didn’t respond, she went on, “There’s no use looking back. We have to look forward.” She stopped walking and took Frances’s hands, looking up into Fran’s eyes. “Yeah?” Fran nodded, swallowing the painful lump in her throat.
On cue, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw a text pop up.
Happy Birthday. (You’re still an asshole)
She looked up at Joan, who looked down at Fran’s phone and met her eyes again with a grin.
Vita.