Stitching The Night Away

You've never ridden in a helicopter before. 

It's much louder than you anticipated and it smells of oil and old coffee. Frankie says if it was his own helicopter it would be spotless. But as this is a work one he borrowed for the day, beggars can't be choosers. 

You can't stop sneaking looks at him as he flies. There's so much that goes into flying - one hand rests on the controls while the other makes precise adjustments. And as he always was in his youth, he does everything with a calm focus.  He isn't showing off for you, he just knows exactly what he he's doing. Every motion is like second nature, and you muse that some people are just meant for certain things. 

Frankie was meant for flying. 

Your stomach is still a little jumpy from the start of the flight, your heart still pattering a bit quicker than normal, even though you trust Frankie with your life. It was still strange to see the world grow smaller and smaller beneath you, to hear the swop wop wop of the blades cutting through the sky. 

Your headset sits comfortably over your ears and you hear a crackle and then Frankie's raspy voice coming through. 

"You doing okay, Pip?" 

You look his way, nodding. You're doing okay; you just wish that Hilary was with you today. 

The entire idea of flying out here was Frankie's idea, a suggestion brought to you and Hilary the day before the official funeral. 

The three of you sat around the kitchen table sharing the brownies Frankie brought. They sat on plates, untouched in front of all of you. 

“I can’t wait until all of this is over,” Hilary sighed, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Tell me about it,” you mumbled, your eyes red from crying all night.

Frankie’s shoulder touched yours, a silent reminder that he was there for you if you should need him.

“Well, we can take your mom's ashes to Blue Heron like she wanted when you’re ready,” Frankie told you both quietly, fingers absently playing with his fork. “No rush.”

“No we can’t,” Hilary frowned. “It’s condemned plus all that road deterioration means we’d never manage to get up there.”

Your heart sank as you thought of failing in the one thing your mother requested. You found yourself surprised that Frankie didn’t seem deterred.

"I know, Pip told me. But we can get there by helicopter. I talked to my boss and I can rent one for the day. You just tell me when.”

You burst into grateful tears as Hilary just sat there at the table, eyes wide in disbelief. 

It wasn’t until later that night when you and Hilary were alone that she gave you a solemn look.

"Will you do it? I just ... Can't. I don't like heights.”

Hillary had never had issues with heights. But did have issues with drawn out farewells. You knew it was too emotional for her. Too hard to do that final step and say goodbye and for once, you came to her aid. 

"Of course." 

So it's just Frankie and you touching down into Blue Heron with your mother's ashes in a metal urn held securely in your lap. 

Frankie sneaks a glance your way, can see the nerves in you and you knowi this was the truck he'd be reaching over to squeeze your knee, to quickly press a kiss to your cheek at a stop sign. However, behind this beast of a helicopter, his focus needs to remain on the task at hand. 

But that doesn't stop him from shooting you a soft smile before turning his attention back to the console. 

"There it is, baby." 

Through the curved windshield the abandoned camp appears below as a dark patch of collapsed docks and overgrown trails swallowed by green. Isolated and forgotten, many areas patchy from lack of growth. But there is a large section big enough for his chopper.

You glance Frankie's way, eyes meeting briefly before he's focused back on guiding you both down. As the helicopter descends, the lake's surface ripples outward beneath the downdraft. Tall grass begins to bend flat, leaves and pine needles spiraling into the air like mini tornados. 

Even as the winds nudge the helicopter on your descent, Frankie remains completely composed, dark eyes scanning the instruments and horizon with steady focus. The helicopter finally touches down with a soft bump on the earth below you hold your breath. The rotors gradually slow and the blades thundering chops stutter to a stop.  

You remove your headphones and all that's left is the quiet sound of the birdsong and a gentle lapping of the lake against a weathered and collapsed dock. 

You don't move right away, the weight of the urn heavy on your lap. You just stare out the windshield, looking at the still campground. You’re scared of this next step.

“No rush, Pip. We can go when you’re ready.”

You look over to see your boyfriend gazing at you with concern. Of course Frankie knows without you saying a word. 

"I'm ready." 

You climb out, Frankie's hands at your waist, boots sinking briefly into damp moss. It's hard to imagine this place once overrun by happy tourists. He takes the urn from you, carrying it in one arm, the other snaking around your middle.

"You got this, Pip," he tells you. His lips brush yours. "I'm here every step of the way." 

The two of you move through the trails, the green canopies of shivering treetops. The sun is warm on your shoulders but the breeze fragrant from the flowers that grow in wild directions. 

When you come to the lake you suddenly understand your mother's love for it. The sun makes the surface of the water glitter and you can imagine her here, her youthful face tipped to the sun, her shoulders bare.

The dock is rotted away, unable to be tred on. But the shoreline is pristine, welcoming as you move towards it. You wonder if your mother ever jumped off the deck in a cannon ball formation or a sleek dive. 

"I'm gonna give you some space," Frankie murmurs as you take the urn from him. "Unless you need me."

The afternoon light streams through the trees, catching the strong lines of his face and brim of his cap. You fall a little bit more in love with him in that moment.

Yes, you do need Frankie. You need him in your life, in your bed, in your thoughts. But for now, you want time with your mom. 

"I've got it." 

Turning from him you make your way to the water, eyes stuck on the beautiful serenity.  The lake is so beautiful, the day so perfect. The wind is soft it's a caress against your cheek. 

You stare down at the urn you hold and find it strange to think of how a person with all their huge experiences and big feelings can somehow fit into such a small totem. 

You remember the way your mother smiled when you got into college, how her hugs felt when you were sick. You remember the way she rubbed your back and told you she loved you. 

You unscrew the lid of the urn as you think of her. How she too was doing life for the first time. 

Thank you for bringing me into the world.

Thank you for always having open arms. 

Thank you for trying your best. 

"Goodbye, mom," you whisper, gingerly tipping the urn over. You watch as the ashes pour slowly from the lip, carried on the wind and out onto the lake. 

Thank you for being my mom. 

The ashes scatter into the water and wind, a swirl of memory and life and body committed to the earth and water. And there's something so poetic in that, to be returned to the world in this form. 

"I'll take care of Hilary," you promise her. "And she'll take care of me." 

You take a few minutes of quiet, head bowed, hands holding the empty urn at your waist. 

Finally, with tears dried you raise your head. You look over at the trees to where Frankie balances his shoulder against a tree, thick arms crossed, just watching you.  When he sees you look his way, his brows twitch up. You motion for him to join you and he does so quickly, arms outstretched to gather you against him when he approaches. 

"Thank you," you say, breathing in the warmth of the sun on his clothes. "For the flight and for being here and just.... Thank you, Frankie." 

The two of you walk hand in hand back to the helicopter, a strange feeling of bliss found in the quiet of this moment, a comedown. It's a good sensation, you observe.

 Like the end of one book and the start of another. 

“Are you insane?”

You sit with Hilary at the kitchen table with bleary eyes swollen from the tears you two can't seem to stop. Fragrant coffee steam wafts from chipped mugs, but both remain untouched.  

The dividing of your mother's assets was quick and adroit. She didn't have much, a few pieces of jewelry from her own grandparents (A necklace of which was given to Rosalita, despite her initial refusal), your mother's meager savings and a few odds and ends. 

The house however, is mortgage free. A true asset having been bought long before the increasing surge in real estate prices. The manila folder holding the deed to the house, and your ownership stake signed over to your sister. 

"Seriously, have you lost it? I can't accept an entire fucking house," Hilary says with a shake of her head, pushing the folder towards you across the kitchen table. 

"Why not?"

"Because it's not fair to you."

Your folded hands remain unchanged, your temperament serene. You knew the second the deed was in your hand that it would be passed to your sister. 

"It's not fair that you stayed home and took care of Mom for most of your life," you correct. 

Your voices are hushed in the early morning, faces painted amber from the gaps between windows curtains. A stripe of it cuts your sister's concerned expression in half. 

"I didn't do it for that. She was our mom."

"Of course you didn't," you say. "Hilary, for all you did, please take this with my gratitude and my love. No strings." 

She balks, mouth opening, brows pointing before something stops her. It makes her body relax back into the chair. "You don't want me to buy you out or something?" 

You both know she has no money to do that. But having lived here these months you realize the emotional and physical Burtons you placed upon your older sister, assuming she could hold the weight of it all. A house still doesn't seem enough for all she did. 

"No. I just want you to have it."

Her eyes sweep up along the corners of the kitchen, to the faded linoleum and the sink that never quite stopped dripping. It's nowhere near a perfect home, but there's safety in the familiarity for her. 

You can see it in Hilary's face, the sudden realization she will no longer be un-moored. The freedom in this ownership. 

"This whole house just for me?" She says, and when she looks at you for a moment, you see a flicker of the headstrong teenage girl she was. You're taken back to the times when that bravado would fall, like a mask slipping down. 

She gives you a raw, naked look of concern. A girl worried she's going to do the wrong thing because she has always done the wrong thing. 

"Yeah," you nod before reaching across the table. You squeeze her limp palm tightly before retracting. "And Justin, if that's what you want."

Justin is still sleeping in Hilary's old room, and at the mention of him your sister lets a smile twist one side of her mouth. 

"Yeah. I want that if he does." 

Ever since Justin flew in, the two of you have become fast friends. You love the way he looks at your sister, with this constant adoration that Hilary pretends to hate. Maybe she did hate it at one time, considering that kindness was a weakness. You think she sees this differently now.

You hope she does. 

Because in the quiet moments when they think they're being unobserved, you watch as your sister rests her head upon his shoulder, the way he brushes the hair from her eyes and kisses her slowly. 

And you know then that Justin will love your sister with all he has, that he will continue to doggedly pursue her until she understands that love can come quietly, that it can be constant. 

That it's never too late. 

At home the following evening you sit on Frankie's porch swing, the night dark and the stars twinkling. You feel a chill to your upper arm as Frankie presses a chilled glass of lemonade to it. 

You take it with thanks, shifting to get closer to him when he joins you on the porch swing. He puts an arm around you, pulling you close. Every day it seems the two of you want to melt more and more into one another. 

You feel that Frankie's eyes are trained on you and you look up to see he's got those big, brown, puppy dog eyes; the ones that give away every emotion he possesses the second he feels them. 

And right now they look anxious. 

"So, guess you'll be heading back to Seattle soon." 

It's a topic the two of you have been dancing around recently. Between the late nights talking, meeting Justin, the reminiscing of good times, your mom's passing, any thoughts of the future seem to have been put on hold. 

But now as you think of your mother's ashes dancing in the wind, you're affronted with one singular realization. 

Home is wherever Frankie is. 

"I dunno about that," you shrug, snuggling up closer to him. "I can work remote so I don't necessarily have to go back." 

His body is tensed and, you feel his heavy arm band tighter against your middle. 

"But you love Seattle," Frankie says, his chest rumbling as he speaks. "You keep reminding me how crappy our coffee is here. How gators outnumber the humans." 

You giggle softly, cheeks swollen, eyes squinting. "Well, it's true." 

He pulls you closer as he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He's contemplative, you can feel it in how he holds you a little tighter. 

"But, it's not so bad here," you offer, reveling in the light night breeze against your skin. 

"Pip, you hate Florida," Frankie says as he pulls back, eyes casting your way. You stare up at him, eyes limpid. 

"But a lot of people I love are here," you say softly. "One in particular I have no intention of saying goodbye to."

This pleases him, cheeks pink and mouth hitching into a grin. Despite the shield of his hat, you don't miss the dimple in his cheek as he nods. 

"Then you shouldn't have to say goodbye." 

You nod at him before snuggling closer. You inhale the scent of his cologne and fresh sweat, of old spice and the wind. Of Frankie. 

No, you shouldn't have to say goodbye. 

And you won't. 

"About time!" Santi calls over the heads of the bar patrons. Some look your way as you, Hilary and Justin enter. 

Santi is already at the table with Benny and Will, a jug of beer and several glasses waiting for the three of you. Justin and Hilary slide into the booth, Santi giving a good-natured shake of his head. 

"What the hell took you so long? And where's Fish?"

You can't tell him the real reason. That it was because Frankie had his mouth between your legs all afternoon, coaxing pleasure from you for so long that the two of you lost track of time. 

"Had to run some errands and Frankie said he was giving Tom a ride," you shrug. "I'm just gonna grab a drink.”

You weave through the bodies of people until you get to the bar. The man working is distracted by several other patrons so you wait, glancing over at the table. 

Justin is fitting in already. His arm around Hilary as he clicks bottles with the group. He says something and the group laughs uproariously. You smile when you see the way Hilary gazes up at him, a pleased smile on her face. She's so gone for this guy, the sight warms you. 

"No way! Hey babe!"

Fuck. 

Christy is there at your side, drink in hand. She moves with a shuffle, her long legs slightly wobbly. You force a polite smile. 

"Hi Christy." 

She smiles widely when she comes to stand opposite of you. She smells like cigarettes covered by perfume. She's still gorgeous, but her makeup is smudged, hair dishevelled

"You've been back all this time and we still haven't had a catch up!"

“Yeah, been busy.”

She starts to talk about the drinks here, how they’re overpriced and how she misses going to the beach with a six-pack and having a great time.

How are you going to avoid this interaction in the future? You forgot that when you move back here you're moving back into a world of characters you don't particularly enjoy. Into a history you tried to forget.

"There you are." 

Your eyes go over your shoulder to see Frankie approaching with Tom who gives a wave your way before going to join the rest of the table. 

"Hey," you smile, feeling yourself melt when Frankie comes to stand next to you. 

He's wearing that cologne that you love his dark grey t-shirt straining over his shoulders and biceps. His hair curls under his hat and when he smiles that dimple on one side deepens. Basically sex on legs. 

"Hi Frankie," Christy offers with a slur, eyes raking over his body. "S'good to see you." 

"Hey Christy," Frankie says politely, but his gaze never leaves yours. 

Christy watches over her glass as his hand slips around your waist to draw you closer. 

"Sorry I'm late." 

"No problem." 

He gets a heated look on his face before his warm breath on your ear, raspy voice dipped so only you can hear. 

"You look so good right now," he says, hand sliding along the hips of your jeans. "Forget hanging out with the guys. I wanna take you back to bed and ma-" 

You smirk, mouth meeting his in a short peck to stop his dirty thoughts from finishing before you whisper back. 

"Waiting is half the fun, Morales." 

"Not for me it isn't," he growls gently, his beard rasping against your cheek. 

You give him a playful shove before he can start saying more things that turn your insides to jelly.

"I'll be patient," he promises.  

He gives you a wink, patting your ass gently before moving towards the booth where everyone is chatting and drinking. He's halfway there before he turns around, brows raised.

"Coke with a lime," you say before he can speak. "I know." 

He grins from under his cap, teeth a slab of white against the bronze of his skin. 

"Thanks, baby." 

You watch him move to join the group, smiling when they cheer his arrival. You remember that Christy is there when you hear her sharp little gasp. 

"Holy shit! No way! When did that happen?" 

Now you feel your cheeks warming. "The first time?" 

Christy's eyes are blown wide, a grin slicing her face in half. "First time?! Girl, tell me everything!" 

With any other topic you'd skillfully avoid answering. But Frankie is a topic you never tire of. 

"We were pretty quiet about it," you admit with a shy look at the floor. "Back before I left for college."

Christy gives a squeak of delight, fingers finding yours on the bar top. She squeezes gently, her hands warm. "No fucking way!" 

She surprises you, going from looking elated to sobering, her already flushed cheeks pinking further. The man behind the bar takes your order and when he leaves, Christy is looking at you with an anguished expression. 

“What’s wrong?”

"I just remembered how I used to throw myself at him." She surprises you by crooking her slender arms around your neck, pulling you tightly against her for a hug.  "I'm so sorry. You must've thought I was such a bitch!" 

For a minute you stay still, confused at the action before slowly banding your arms around her narrow middle. 

"We were teenagers, Christy," you say with a sincere shrug as she pulls back, eyes wet. 

She places an order for another beer, her empty glass slid onto the bar top. 

"I swear if I'd known I never would have been so... Aggressive. I just thought he was just shy you know?"

"He was," you say, taking your drink from the bartender with a nod. Christy is still staring at you when you turn back. 

"Francisco was one of the few guys that was nice to me," she admits. "And like, not just so he could get in my pants."

Your heart clenches at her vulnerability. 

"Unlike Travis," she adds with a grimace before wincing. "I'm sorry, I know he was your friend-"

"Barely," you say with a disgusted curl of your lip. "Do you ever talk to him?" 

Christy gives a humorless chuckle 

"I saw him on Tindr last week. He's bald and his entire bio is just Taylor Swift lyrics." 

"I thought he was married?"

"Divorce was finalized a while ago," she says before thanking the bartender for her beer. She turns her attention back to you. "According to my Facebook stalking." 

You give a sharp, unexpected laugh at this, flashing a look at Frankie and the rest of the group. You can't wait to tell him this piece of gossip later.   

"I think he cheated on his wife," Christy continues in a stage whisper. "I mean, I'm not shocked...Anyway, I should let you get back to your group," Christy says, observing your attention on the table. "It was nice seeing you."

You look at Christy with her smudged lipstick and glassy eyes. At the outfit far too tight and her hair disheveled.  It would be so easy to hate her. To blame her for everything that happened, but how can you? She was a teenage girl desperate for connection. And it seems she's a grown woman looking for the same. 

You smile warmly, motioning over to the table of your laughing friends. 

"Hey Christy, why don't you join us?" 

You look around at your childhood bedroom, a cardboard box in your arms. There isn't much you're taking with you. A box of mementos, pictures, movie stubs...a keychain with a shell attached to it. 

"Hey, Pip."

Santi strides into your bedroom, his smile muted. He misses your mom, even if it's harder for him to admit out loud. He was the son she never had. 

"How you holding up?" 

You shrug, exhausted and sad and emotional. You lower the box to your dresser, walking over to give your cousin a tight hug. 

"Thank you for everything you did for her," you say into his shoulder. "And for me."

The two of you remain like this for a moment, transported into your childhood bodies. The way he would comfort you when your mom was too drunk. The way you would welcome him into your room after his dad started to beat him regularly. 

"Sometimes I wish we could go back to when it was simple," Santi whispers in a thick voice. "Before we knew our parents weren't perfect. Back when summers were forever and the world was just waiting to be discovered." 

"I know." 

"But I'm happy now too," he amends. "I love my job and my friends and ... Plus now you and Frankie are finally together. Finally." 

You smile against the collar of his jacket, so wide your cheeks hurt. 

"Yeah." 

You squeeze one another before stepping back. For a change, your cousin doesn't look like the confident man you normally see. He looks big-eyed and anxious. 

"Frankie says you're staying in Florida?" 

"Yeah." 

He gives you a hard look, one you've seen before. A look that challenges your answer. It makes you feel nervous, exposed and unsure. The room seems warmer, smaller, tighter. 

"Well, Hilary is here," you say when he remains silent. 

"So?" 

"She's my sister, Santi, and we're getting along." 

He crosses his arms over his chest, a move of bravado. He's getting irritated. 

"She never wanted you to end up here, Pip. You know that."

"Things change," you say as your mind drifts to Frankie. "People change." 

But you think about that conversation with Hilary that night. 

I knew your future wasn't here in the same town we grew up in.

But then as if by magic, the image of your boyfriend's face comes to mind. And with it, a flood of adoration then nearly takes your breath away. 

"And Frankie is here, his house is here," you say, eyes bright. "And that's enough for me. More than enough, actually." 

"Yeah?" 

You nod, eyes limpid. "Yeah." 

He's quiet for a lingering moment, eyes tracing your face as if trying to read your mind before he finally gives a tight smile. 

"I better go. My flight's coming in early tomorrow." 

He kisses your forehead, murmuring that he wants to keep in touch better. Knowing Santi you don't think it'll happen, but it sounds very nice in theory. 

You enter the kitchen, passing Hilary and Justin chatting quietly over the table. They glance up, smiling your way. 

"Boxes are all packed," you announce, giving a dramatic wipe of your brow. “Just need to do the suitcase.”

You move to pour a glass of water, Hilary tracking your moves. 

"You didn't have to rush through that," Hilary insists, mouth thinned. "I hope you didn't feel pressured."

"What? Not at all. I'm just excited to be moving into Frankie's place." 

Hilary doesn't reply, but you think you see a bit of concern there before she turns back to Justin. 

"What're you guys up to?"

"Justin got his managerial job back at the bar," Hilary says proudly nudging him. "The place was falling apart without him."

Justin gives a shy laugh, face pink. He's impossibly humble, and he'd never admit that the place is a dump ever since he left.

"How do your parents feel about you moving back to the US?" 

"They don't love the political situation," Justin admits. 

"That's fair," Hilary says exchanging a knowing look with you. You clink glasses before Justin continues. 

"But they love Hilary and they know I love her so they're happy for us. We might go visit them next summer."  

"That's fantastic," you say, grinning. You take a seat at the table with them, looking at the notes and sketches they've been scribbling. 

"What's all this?"

"We're talking about some renovations we might be able to do this year," Hilary says carefully scanning your face. "Maybe starting in here. What do you think about that?" 

"I think that's awesome," you say before taking a sip of your water.

"Really?" 

"Yeah," you nod, motioning to the far wall. "If that isn't load-bearing, you could knock it out and have a totally open concept main space." 

Hilary still looks troubled. "You're sure about that?"

You turn her way, brows rising. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Because we both grew up here," she reasons, blinking quickly. "And because I don't want you to think that this isn't your home anymore-"

"Hilary," you say softly placing a hand over hers. "I don't want it to be my home anymore." 

She looks confused, as does Justin. You feel your heart clenching as you gaze around the kitchen and remember some of the past. The good times, the bad. 

"It hasn’t been my home for a long time," you finally explain to them. "It’s just a house I used to live in. You have memories here I never will. Good ones. You lived here so long; it's a part of you. That's why I want you to have it and that's why I want you to do anything you want to it." 

Her eyes are watery. "But-"

"I mean it, Hil. All I ask is that you make good memories in this place from now on." You stand and extend a hand. "Deal?" 

You see the way she rubs at her eye before she stands as well, shaking your hand briefly as she grins. 

"Deal."

You're packing your suitcase later that day when the bedroom door creaks open behind you. You don't even hear Frankie approach; you just smile when he embraces you from behind, gentle kiss planted behind your ear. 

"Hey baby." 

"You're early," you say as he releases you and takes a seat on the edge of your old bed. "I just have a few more things to pop into my suitcase and then we can go."

"Yeah, it's about that. I wanted to talk you before we head to mine." 

"Why?" You smirk. "Changed your mind about me moving in, Morales?" 

You stop folding a pair of jeans halfway when he doesn't reply. You look up and your stomach plummets when you see the strange look he's wearing. 

"Wait…Are you?"

"It's just, my place isn't very big," he says. 

"I don't need a lot of space." 

"Well, you'll need an office and everything for work."

No no no. 

Didn't you already talk about this? Wasn't Frankie the one so eager for you to move in as soon as you felt ready? What made him change his mind? 

He gives a soft exhale before patting the space on the mattress next to him. You move slowly, lowering yourself without looking away from him. 

"I remember you telling me your apartment in Seattle is pretty nice. Two bedrooms and an office, right?" 

You nod dumbly. "Yeah."

"You haven't put it on the market yet, have you?" 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice to remain even as the truth makes itself apparent. 

He wants you to move back to Seattle. He wants you gone.  

"I don't understand... We agreed on me moving in today." 

"I just don't think it's a good idea moving all your stuff into my place."

Your stomach bottoms out, limbs trembling. He's leaving you. Dumping you. Forgetting you. It's like being thrown back through time into the body of that hurt and confused girl at the party. 

"What made you change your mind?" You force your voice to stay steady.

Frankie looks at his hands. You feel your temper rising when he won't make eye contact. 

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," he says quietly, eyes narrowed on the ground. "Realized it wasn't the best plan." 

You feel your insides quivering as you take in the nervous smoothing of his hair under his baseball cap.

"I thought about it," Frankie says, breath shaky as his eyes finally sail to your face. "And I talked to Tom last week and he thinks he can get me a good price for my place." 

A beat. 

"Huh?"

"Apparently it's a seller's market, whatever that means," Frankie shrugs. "But I need to get it stage ready by next week. So we might have to leave your big stuff here for a bit so I can get the place looking presentable. You think Hilary would mind?" 

A beat passes as you try to make sense of what Frankie is saying. 

“But…Frankie why?”

"Because when I sell it I’ll have the money to start over somewhere else..." Frankie's cheeks flush as he gives you a crooked grin. "Like, with my girlfriend in Seattle." 

Confusion floods your body as he talks.

"... Seattle?"

"Yeah, they have a lot of opportunities for a pilot out there," he says as if he hasn't just dropped a huge bomb on you. "The helicopter academy, places like that. I already talked to them and they want me for an interview in two weeks."  

"You want to move to Seattle with me?" You say, needing it spelled out for you. "Like, to live. Permanently?"

"Unless we decide we want to move somewhere else," he shrugs. "Who knows where we'll be staying in five years. Maybe we'll pick up and fuck off to Italy." 

He chuckles warmly at this, his hand finding your knee and squeezing. 

You can only stare at him.

"Is Hilary making you do this?" 

"Huh?"

"She never wanted me to stay here in Florida," you say, voice rising. “Did she make you do this?”

Frankie almost looks amused. "Pip, you know I think your sister is great, but there's no chance I'd let her tell me what to do."

"So you just came up with this yourself? Uprooting your life to Seattle?" 

"Yeah." 

His eyes are gentle and soft at the edges and you realize you've read this entire situation wrong. 

And suddenly there's this great big adventure in front of you, this world that you never thought possible. A city you love a man you love. 

You think of walking hand in hand with him through Pike Place Market, stopping to look at produce, Frankie buying you flowers when you're not looking.  You think of fresh coffee sipped on your apartment balcony with Frankie behind you, one arm around your waist, chin propped over your shoulder, murmuring about how happy he is. You imagine the light patter of rain on the rooftop as you and Frankie make slow and tender love under the sheets, blanketed in the serene gray blue of an overcast sky. 

Bliss. 

But then this excitement gives way to guilt, something that you can't shake off when you look at him. Because for a minute there's that shy boy with oversized T-shirts, who lost his parents that you remember so well. 

You think of that house he grew up in, how the echoes of his past are in every nook and cranny. The bedroom where he took your virginity, the kitchen where he gave you your first kiss. 

It's asking too much of him. 

He draws closer to you on the mattress, urging you under his arm so you can burrow tightly against his side, but your mind is going everywhere. 

"If that's what you want," he rasps. "I don't want to pressure you." 

You jerk your chin up, eyes wide. 

"Of course I want you and that life, Frankie. But y-you can't give your house up for me," you stammer, guilt and excitement all building within your belly. "You can't- You grew up there. It's the only constant home you've ever known. You're saying you want to give that up? Plus the job you just got back?" 

His dimple deepens, a serene look crossing his face

"You're acting like I'll get nothing in return by doing it," Frankie murmurs. "Baby, I get a future with you. Who gives a shit about an old house?" 

Sometimes Frankie says the most amazing things, things that take your breath away, and this is no exception.

"And I can work anywhere with an airport," he assures you. "Might be nice to go work somewhere that doesn't have staff gossiping about my suspension." 

You're stunned into silence, any response, any refusal completely wiped from your mind. Frankie seems to know this, his dark eyes scanning yours.

"It's time, Pip," he says gently, warm hand squeezing yours. He lifts it to his mouth and you feel the soft plush of his lips kissing the center of your palm sweetly. "I'm done living in the past. I want a future with you full of the good memories we'll make together. A new start." 

"A new start," you echo. 

He shoots you a crooked grin, a bundle of nervous excitement. "So? What do you say?"  

Your heart squeezes with love for him. Love for the boy he was and love for the man he is now. Love for the future he's offering and the sacrifices he makes without question. 

Your glossy gaze is caught in Frankie's, smile mirroring his as you lean in for a kiss. And just as his lips are about to press against yours, your answer is given. 

"Yes." 

I am gonna miss these two HARD.

Please comment.

tag list

dividers by @saradika-graphics

taglist

@ashleyfilm

@beezusvreeland

@doblasftcisco

@harriedandharassed

@joeldjarin

@maried01

@menshipsandthesea

@peppermintfury

@severelysentientnova

@speaktothehandpeasants

@vickie5446