LONELY BOY

“Oh dear, I hope you didn’t get your arse kicked at school. But I digress. I’m going to say… Hm, Batholomew, Thaddeus, Immanuel or bust. Because I’m going to be honest, Frank: there was way more stealth napping than actual Bible study for this girl at Sunday service, so I’m fresh out of options, I’m afraid.”

Frank’s mouth moved into a toothy grin. “Ding ding ding. Bartholomew, regrettably.” 

“Now, now, you don’t have to be a prick. You’ve already got me, no need to play hard to get.”

“So you’re a sure thing, yeah?”

“Yes.” Alice spoke without hesitation, though, truthfully, happy wasn’t exactly what she was. “I’m elated. I’ve never—” The reality of it was sinking in now, and with it came a wave of fresh tears and cracking voice. After years of hoping and trying and working tirelessly, Alice and Frank might finally get to have a baby. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before in my life.”

“Frank, we might get a baby.”

“We might get a baby,” Frank repeated rather lamely, not that it was any worry of his. He pressed his lips against Alice’s; Frank was certain she could feel the smile on his lips.

“Well, in that case, hm… Jacob? Judas? Silas? Raphael? Ichabod?”

“Ichabod is rather close in cruelness, I must say.”

“Alice aside, I mean, I’m a catch.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

Merlin’s beard, Alice thought to herself, her mouth gaping dumbly as she tried to remember how to get the thought out through it. She stared at Frank, hands shaking, the only change she could muster being the smile that slowly split her face in two, and the gleam of unshed tears glowing in her eyes.

“You are happy?” Of course she couldn’t be anything but elated, Frank knew this, but he dumbly asked anyway. His brain couldn’t fathom speech beyond drivel. 

“Yes. I’m going to go with a… Francis Alexander? David?”

“You’re being far too kind, and I’m afraid my parents were rather cruel.”

“I’m fairly brilliant like that, it’s about damn time someone noticed. I s’pose I shouldn’t be surprised it was you. You’ve always had a thing for me.”

“Oh, have I?”

“Weirdly papal, I’ll give you that. Equally Catholic middle name?”

“Incredibly Catholic middle name. Would you like to take a guess?”

“Fingerless Frank does sound better, now that you mention it.”

“Congratulations, you discovered alliteration,” Frank jested.

“No?”

“Not Catholic enough,” Frank mused. “It’s Francis.”

Alice still hadn’t understood what Frank was saying by the time she landed back on her feet. Or, perhaps, her mind had understood, but her heart had kept her from registering it entirely—a habitual safeguard that she wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

“What?” she asked dumbly, staring into Frank’s face with wide, baffled eyes. “Accepted? What do you mean it’s been accepted? Accepted for what?”

“Al, the agency wants to place a child with us.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t stick my fingers where they don’t belong. Not mouths, not holes in doors, and definitely not in bottles. I’m not going to be the bloody tosser that gets his finger stuck or bitten off.”

“Look. Look.” Hands still quaking, Alice crossed the envelope and shoved it against Frank’s chest. “It’s from the agency.” She spoke excitedly, tripping over her words as they fell out of her anxious smile. “Open it. I can’t look. What does it say?”

Frank’s fingers curled around the envelope, marveling at the notion that something so light could hold such a heavy impact. He took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of their home, and peeled back the envelope. His eyes scanned the parchment, and Frank could barely contain the smile that erupted on his lips.

“Our application’s been accepted.”

Without, Frank wrapped his arms around Alice’s waist and joyfully lifted her into a kiss.

“Come on, Franklin, where is your Gryffindor courage? It’s not everyday that you run into three-legged skating!”

Frank paused, immediately changing his focus. “Franklin?”

“Oh, good, the masterplan is working. Are you convinced to try it out yet?”

“Not today, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Alice’s lips twisted into a dramatic punctuation mark meant to represent being impressed. “I guess I was wrong.” She turned her back to Frank again as she began rifling through the heap of junk on the table in the entrance hall. A sticky cup from WixBurger with a cracked lid from where Alice had pressed down a little too hard on the plastic button marked rootbeer. A loud invitation to one of their distant cousin’s wedding showers that appeared to be littered with weeds rather than the chic floral they had been going for. A short stack of manageable bills, Alice’s membership card to Fiendfyre Fitness, a handful of mints one of them had swiped from one of the secretary’s desks at work, a soft yellow envelope sealed with pastel purple wax, an advert for—

Alice’s fingers came to a halt. After a moment’s pause, she dropped the advert, her grip no longer quick and nimble, but flustered and bumbling.

A soft yellow envelope sealed with pastel purple wax.

“Frank?” Her voice rang out like a rusty bell, uncharacteristically shrill and hoarse. “How long has this been here?”

Frank raised both brows as his eyes scanned the yellow envelope---such a seemingly inconsequential object that held importance too hefty for explanation. A rather lame and undiplomatic “um” escaped his lips, which he silently cursed himself for; too many harsh words with his mother left Frank Longbottom hard pressed to avoid filler words. Regardless, he had to provide an answer, and so he landed on one that was, truthfully, a glorified filler word (or phrase, for that matter).

“I’m not sure.”