#fanny appleton

“Hey, what are you guys up to?” Fanny asked, shrugging out of her jacket and joining them at the kitchen table. “Wedding planning.” “Oh. Sounds fun?” “It is,” Charles asserted as Henry and Sam tried not to meet his gaze. “It’s definitely more involved than I’d expected,” Sam added. “But Charlie likes details, and weddings, and, well, all of this,” Henry said, gesturing at the binders and catalogues sprawling across the table. “It sounds like a lot of work for something that is, after all, pretty pointless.” “Sorry?” Sam frowned. “I mean,” she said, almost apologetically, “don’t get me wrong, weddings are great. They’re beautiful and they can be a lot of fun—I just don’t feel like they’re really necessary.” “What do you mean?” “It’s all ceremony. The actual marriage takes place at someone’s desk when they approve the paperwork, the relationship begins well before the wedding—one would hope. What does a wedding really mark? What does it signify?” “The beginning of your lives together.” “Unless you’ve already moved in together, which is the case more and more often.” “That’s true,” Charles conceded. “But don’t you want the wedding for the public recognition of your love?” “I’m sure lot’s of people do, but I think I’d be happy skipping the ceremony altogether.” “Wait, really?” Henry asked suddenly. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not like we need a ceremony to announce that we’re in love. If our friends don’t know it by now, they never will.” “You would be happy to just go to the county clerk’s office…to just walk in and get married?” Henry had a slightly dazed, but excited look, as he asked this. Fanny only looked bemused as she affirmed again that she would. “Fanny,” Henry asked suddenly, dropping to one knee and taking her by the hand, “will you marry me?” “Right now?” “Right now.” “Sure, I’m game.” Henry got to his feet so quickly Charles barely saw him move. He and Fanny were halfway to the door before either of them thought to turn back and ask Sam and Charles to be their witnesses. “Wait,” Charles protested, “what about—your families?” “They’ll forgive us.” “And the—the cake?” “That’s just part of the ceremony.” “What about the rings?” “We—hmm. I do want a ring, Henry.” Henry looked around the kitchen, spotted a bread tie, and quickly twisted it into a loop. Dropping to his knee again, he looked lovingly up at Fanny, who was already saying “yes” before he could repeat his proposal. Flabbergasted, Charles looked to Sam—who simply shrugged and grabbed his keys as he followed Henry and Fanny to the door.

“I just—I love you both so much—and I almost lost you both. I came so close…I don’t know what I would have done…” he explained between sobs. Charles pulled his chair closer now too. It became an awkward sort of group hug, each of them trying to hold Henry and reassure him that everything was fine. They exchanged looks of deep discomfort and guilt over Henry’s back. It was true. Of course they had both suffered a lot, they had both come uncomfortably close to losing a dear friend, but neither of them could imagine how Henry must have felt through it all. Charles wished more than anything that he could take back that word, or better still that he could undo everything that had hurt any of them in recent months. But all he could do was keep his arm around Henry as he cried and remind him that they were still here.

They were lounging on the couch, Henry and Fanny watching an old rom-com while Charles worked on an essay, when someone knocked at the door. “It’s your turn to get it,” Fanny said, nudging Henry. “I’m pretty sure it’s not.” “Aw, babe, you’re so cute when you’re wrong.” They knocked again, and Henry got up, grumbling. The moment he opened the door, he was practically knocked over by the enthusiasm of the hug that enveloped him. “Longo, it’s so good to see you again!” “Sam—wow, hi—what are you doing here?” “Visiting you, of course. And our dear Don Carlos,” he added, nodding at Charles, who smiled back. “Oh, I’d like you to meet someone else. Sam, this is my girlfriend, Fanny,” Henry beamed, gesturing to where she was still sitting on the sofa. She waved at him as she said hello. None of them noticed his smile hitch or the frozen expression that came into his eyes just then. Before they had the chance to, Henry was talking again and it was gone. “Do you ever, you know, let people know you’re coming beforehand?” “Not if I can help it,” Sam laughed. “The surprise is half the fun.” “I’m afraid it might be the only fun we can offer today. It’s been pretty boring around here lately.” “Then I came at an opportune time—do you have plans tonight?” “Just homework, but that can wait. Why, do you have something in mind?” “Have you ever been to a poetry slam?” Sam’s eyes were glittering more brightly than usual “A poetry what?” Charles asked, frowning slightly. “A poetry slam! Surely you’ve at least heard of them?” “I’ve been to one,” Fanny pitched in. “What did you think of it?” “It was fun. Is there one happening tonight?” “Dozens of them—but only one that I’m interested in. If you’ll all come with me…?” “We’d love to,” Henry affirmed. “Marvelous.”   The bar was crowded. Sam had scouted out a table with a good view of the stage before he disappeared to talk to someone—presumably another friend of his. As they sat and chatted without him, a young woman sidled up to their table. “Are you guys here for the slam?” “Yeah, a friend of ours wanted to come watch.” “Do you know anyone competing tonight?” “No,” Henry asked, mildly confused and turning to Fanny for confirmation, “I don’t think so?” “No, we don’t.” “Are you interested in judging it then?” “Oh,” Fanny exclaimed, “I’d love to!” “Great, thank you so much. I’ll just ask you to fill this out—and we’ll go through the judges’ spiel over there in a few minutes.” “You’re judging?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, it’s easy. And at the other slam I went to it seemed like it might be fun.” Just then, Sam rejoined them, grinning like mad and bearing drinks for everyone. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing, nothing—you’ll find out soon enough.” “Which is it, nothing, or we’ll find out?” “You’ll find out.” Before long, the woman who’d asked Fanny to judge was back and motioning for her to follow her into the corner. Charles noticed Sam’s frown and explained that Fanny would be judging. “Oh.” He did not seem any less disconcerted than before. “Are you alright?” “Of course,” he responded, brightening immediately. “Never better.” Just after Fanny got back, a short man with a salt-and-pepper beard hopped on stage to a wave of applause. He welcomed everyone and began going through rules and whatnot, and with all the positive energy in the room it was impossible for their little group not to get caught up in it all. When the host asked Are y’all ready for a poetry slam? They cheered as loud as anyone else—though not when one portion of the audience started chanting for blood. “No, we’re not ready! Blood has not been spilled upon this stage! We’re going to have a sacrificial poet so the judges can practice judging and the audience can practice swaying their scores. Please give a warm welcome to Andrea!!!” They cheered her as she went to the stage, and listened attentively as she performed. Charles was not very impressed, but he clapped politely when she was done. Sam had been snapping enthusiastically through most of it—which made Henry laugh. He’d thought that was only a myth, but apparently it really was encouraged. Then the host was back on stage, telling a joke to give the judges time to pick their scores. Fanny gave the poem a 7.6 – Charles thought she was being too generous, but the audience booed and hissed at the score. Fanny ignored them. The next poet was even worse, doing an awkward piece about sex. But the one after that did a heavily political piece that made Charles want to go talk to him afterwards. When that poem didn’t score as well as he thought it should, Charles booed as well—though not Fanny’s score. There was a poem about coming out, followed by a poem about depression, and then a poem that was so abstract Charles didn’t know what it was about. Charles found himself snapping once or twice; Sam and Henry were unfailingly supportive of everyone who got on stage. Fanny, who was taking her responsibility very seriously, did her best to stay neutral. And then the host was pulling the next name from the hat. “This next poet is here all the way from New York City, everyone give it up for Sam!” Charles and Henry watched dumbfounded as Sam stood, winked at them, and walked calmly to the stage. The cheering had almost died out before they remembered to join in. He adjusted the mic with confidence—the last poet had been significantly taller than he was—before taking a deep breath, and beginning. Charles was impressed by his demeanor, by the ease with which he rattled off his poem without stumbling, by the grace of his gestures and the passion in his voice. But the content of the poem disturbed him. It was not particularly well written (at last, something he didn’t do flawlessly)—but it wasn’t that. It was the things he was trying to say without saying. My angel never hears my prayers, I don’t think he knows I pray to him… I am not looking for you to save me, angel, I just need someone to hold… The worst kind of hell is the one you let Your angel lock you in without a fight, alone. Charles knew exactly how that felt. He watched—and listened—more carefully. Was it just incidental that Sam kept looking directly at Henry when he delivered his most pleading lines? Now that he really thought about it, he’d seen him look at Henry that way before. Was he… but the poem was over and the cheering interrupted his train of thought. Henry jumped up to hug him before Sam sat down, and Charles watched closely. He spent the rest of the slam focusing more on those two than on anything else. By the time it was over, he was completely convinced. Sam was helplessly in love with Henry—and Henry had no idea. Well, he knew how that felt.

He had had the best winter break he could imagine, but still he was immensely glad to be back in his apartment with Henry and Fanny, getting ready for the new semester. Charles, not quite ready to let the holiday season go, had brought a wreath with him to hang in the kitchen. Henry had teased him at first, but then seemed to like it as much as Charles did. He hadn’t seen them—had barely even heard from them—over the break, and they had spent the entire morning catching up. Henry, who had spent almost the entire time in Germany, had the most to tell.  In spite of himself, Charles could not simply listen. He had to ask Henry if he had seen this, or been there, compare Henry’s observations with his own. Eventually, Fanny, who had heard all these stories several times already, suggested they go out and do something more exciting. “What did you have in mind?” “Oh, anything. You have all semester to talk, but once classes start it’ll be so hard to find the time to really do something.” “Do you want to go see a movie?” Henry suggested. She wrinkled her nose; no, she did not want to go see a movie. “What about a museum?” They considered this seriously for a few minutes, before Henry and Fanny overruled him, and Charles was forced to let the idea go, however reluctantly. They tossed around a handful of other ideas before Fanny’s eyes suddenly brightened and she exclaimed, “I know! Let’s go ice skating!” Charles, horrified by the very idea, tried to protest. “Please, let’s just go to a museum instead. Or the aquarium, even—I know you like the aquarium.” “Come on, Charlie,” Fanny grinned, “It’ll be fun.” “Henry, wouldn’t you rather—“ he pleaded, but Henry shook his head and cut him off. “I’d love to go skating.” “You’re outnumbered, Charles, we’re going skating.” “But—but—” “It won’t be that bad, I promise.” “Guys, I really don’t think—”  But they were relentless. He hinted at his concerns—he had never met anyone more ungainly than himself and skating was supposed to be an activity for graceful people—to no avail. After nearly half an hour of prodding and pleading, they finally persuaded him to join them. Bundled up against the bitter Boston winter, they made their way to the Frog Pond, with Charles muttering about broken bones all the while. None of them were good, but Fanny was better by far than either of her companions. The moment they were on the ice, she glided away from them, grinning over her shoulder at Charles’ and Henry’s shaky strides. The two of them stayed together for the first lap or two around the pond, both being nearly knocked over several times by more experienced skater passing them narrowly by. But as Henry got the hang of it and gathered his confidence, Charles fell behind. Now and then, he tried to watch the legs of the real skaters. He watched their graceful, languorous movements as though trying to pick up tips. While watching someone turn and start skating backward, Charles failed to notice the curve before the edge of the pond, and stumbled over it, landing hard enough that he was worried the ice might crack. After that, he kept his eyes on his feet and the patch of ice immediately in front of him. He was almost grateful when he found himself skating just behind a gaggle of young children, no better at it than he was. It was a good excuse for caution, for the slow pace. After all, he couldn’t skate through the group without knocking someone over, and it was too busy on either side to try to skate around them. So he followed them, only wobbling a little. Eventually, he felt comfortable enough to look around again. He saw Fanny and Henry on the other side of the pond, holding hands as they skated slowly along. Henry saw him looking and they waved. Charles tried to wave back, but the shift in balance sent him flailing once more.

“Checkmate.” “Where? How?” “Right there.” “But not if I move him here.” “Did you forget about my Bishop?” “Oh…” “It was well played though,” Charles tried to sound sincere, but Fanny laughed. “Better than the last one maybe, but I’ll never be good at this game.” “Would you rather play something else? We’ve got—hey there, how was class?” Henry dropped his bag and shook his head in answer as he closed the door behind himself. He was soaked with rain and looked exhausted. Fanny jumped up and offered to make hot chocolate. “I love you.” “I know you do,” she smiled. “We were just about to choose a board game, any opinions?” “Well,” Henry replied thoughtfully as he peeled the wet sleeves of his jacket off, “there’s always Monopoly?” “No,” Fanny said flatly from the stove, “never again.” “It wasn’t that bad—“ “I love you, babe, but our relationship will not live through another game of Monopoly.” “What about Scrabble?” Charles offered. Fanny nodded but Henry demurred, “My head is swimming from that three hour lecture, I don’t have the mental energy for Scrabble right now.” “Oh, I know,” Fanny exclaimed, “what about that nerdy game you guys promised to teach me?” “What nerdy game?” “I think she means Settlers of Catan.” “Yeah, that one.” “Well,” Charles shrugged, looking to Henry, “I’m up for it if you are.” “Alright, let’s play.” An hour later, Fanny built another city, laid down the library development card, and announced she had ten points. Henry and Charles had been so intent on battling over the longest road card they hadn’t even noticed her growing dominion. “Charlie, I think we’ve been hustled.” “She had good teachers, that’s all.” “Excuse me,” she frowned, “I won fair and square. The game wasn’t even that complicated.” “Beginners’ luck,” Henry teased as they began putting the game away. She shoved him playfully. Henry grabbed her by the waist and buried his face in her hair, startling a laugh from her. “Do you guys want to watch a movie?” Charles interrupted, mostly to remind them that he was still there. “Can we do something about dinner first,” Henry asked, “I’m starving.” “We should order Thai, I’ve been craving it all week,” Fanny added eagerly. Later, as their take-out dishes stood empty on the counter and the three of them were curled on the couch, all leaning on each other contentedly, Charles closed his eyes to savor the moment. In spite of his vague longing for Sam, he didn’t feel lonely—but he did want to feel closer to somebody. He reached for the nearest hand. He wasn’t really sure if it was Henry’s or Fanny’s fingers that wrapped around his, only that it was a comfortable pressure, a pleasant warmth. Feeling wholly at peace, he drifted quietly off to sleep.

He woke to the smell of pancakes and coffee. He began to roll over and was surprised to find there was someone beside him—he had grown so used to being alone and he had momentarily forgotten Sam was there. In spite of their protests, he forced his eyes open. “Good morning.” Sam sounded much more chipper than he usually did at this time of day. He was also already dressed and sitting up, reading. Charles sat up a little and reached for his hand. Sam set the book aside and nuzzled down in bed close to him. “You’re here. You’re really here.” Charles knew it sounded stupid, but he could not help his disbelief. “Yes, I am.” “I thought I’d dreamed it.” “Do you dream about me often?” “Night and day, mon cher chevalier.” Sam laughed, kissed him, and then suggested they join Henry and Fanny for breakfast. As they came into the kitchen, Charles felt again that overwhelming, disbelieving joy—he was here, in Boston, with the people he loved most in the world. He was home. Fanny saw him first and came to hug him again as Henry quickly removed his batter-stained Kiss the Cook apron and followed her across the kitchen. Even before they had relinquished him, they all burst into a flood of conversation. As they talked, as Henry finished making pancakes and Fanny poured everyone coffee, even as they ate, Charles could not let go of Sam’s hand. It was a simple morning, they had started their days this way dozens of times before, but at the moment it was all so surreally delightful that Charles needed Sam’s firm grip to keep him anchored in reality. Not until their third hour in the kitchen when Charles started yawning did the tide of conversation ebb. “You should go back to bed.” “It’s barely noon.” “You had a late night—and jet lag. You need more sleep.” “I’m fine.” Sam turned to Henry for help. “We should be going soon anyway; Fanny’s parents are in town and we promised to have lunch with them.” “We’ll see you tonight though,” Fanny added as she rose from her seat. Unable to protest, Charles bid them goodbye. The moment the door closed behind them, he yawned again. “Go to bed.” “I can sleep later.” “Charlie—“ “You’re only here until tomorrow, do you really expect me to waste half that time sleeping?” Sam’s set expression wavered for a moment. Perhaps he had not considered this in his eagerness to take care of Charles. He decided to bring forth his best argument, one he had been thinking about since Sam had kissed him that morning. “I’ll go to bed,” he said, and added, winking, “if you come with me.” Sam still seemed ready to argue and Charles realized he had not caught his meaning. To make it plain, he pulled Sam close and pressed their lips together as he slid his fingers under Sam’s shirt. Breaking the kiss for just a moment, he whispered, “We still have so much to catch up on.”

When Charles got back to his dorm after class, he was surprised to see Henry there. “I thought you and Fanny were going out somewhere?” “We planned to, but something came up.” Charles heard the tremor in his voice, noticed his hands folding, unfolding, and refolding a sheet of paper. “What happened?” “Fanny got her first call from the fire department.” He glanced at his hands and crumpled the paper again. “She’s out saving someone’s life,” he added, pride overwhelming the nervousness in his voice. Charles offered his congratulations. They talked for a few minutes about how brave she was, how happy they were to have her in their lives, before doubt flitted across Henry’s face. “Charlie, what if…what if something happens?” “She’ll be fine,” he asserted confidently. But as the conversation moved on, Henry fidgeted more and more. He was clearly still worried. Thinking a distraction might help, Charles asked if he wanted to go get dinner. Henry shook his head, “I promised I would be waiting here when she got back.” “Do you want to play Scrabble?” Henry smiled and agreed to the suggestion. He got the game out of his closet while Charles dug out his best dictionary—in case of disputes—and a notepad for keeping score. As they began, Henry still seemed fidgety, but the further into the game they got, the more intent he became on finding the perfect words. They were surprisingly evenly matched. Henry always expected to have the advantage, given his major and his expected career path, but Charlie’s extensive reading was forever giving him ancient, obscure words that bailed him out of tight situations. They were in the middle of an argument about whether or not ‘ingenuitive’ should count as an acceptable word when someone knocked at the door. Henry practically fell out of his seat as he leapt up to answer it. “Hi,” Fanny beamed as she walked into the room. She had changed back into her normal clothes, but her face was streaked with soot and an acrid smell of burning plastic followed her inside. Henry wrapped her tightly in his arms and kissed her. She pulled away laughing. “How did it go,” Charles asked as he got up to greet her. “I’ll tell you all about it later; right now I need a shower. I just didn’t want Henry to worry longer than he had to.” Henry smiled. “You could have texted.” “You know you wouldn’t have believed I was alright until you saw me. Here I am, all in one piece.” She leaned in to kiss him again, then excused herself to her room down the hall. By the time she got back from her shower, they had only added two words to the board. She drew a chair up to the table and surveyed the board. “Ingenuitive isn’t a word.” “SEE!” Henry exclaimed, “I told you!” “It is! It’s just an old form that’s fallen out of common usage.” Before Henry could respond, Charles turned to Fanny and asked again how her first effort at fighting fires had gone. By the time she had finished her story, they had finished their game. Charles won, but it didn’t really matter; both were beaming at Fanny’s success. When Charles called her a hero she laughed and insisted she was no such thing.

“Charles?” He was surprised to hear his father rapping at his door; usually his father didn’t bother coming upstairs to talk to him. “Charles!” He went to the door, but by the time he opened it, his father was already walking away. Over his shoulder, he said, “There’s someone downstairs for you.” More bewildered than ever, Charles headed cautiously for the stairs. Barely had he begun to go down when he heard a familiar voice call his name. He couldn’t believe it—taking the stairs three at a time, he called back, “Henry? Is that you?” When he burst into the living room, he saw that Henry wasn’t alone. “Fanny! What are you two doing here?”  He swept them both into a firm hug and couldn’t let go for several minutes. He had missed them so much and seeing them here now, still weeks before the semester started, this was the happiest he had been in a month. When the group hug finally broke apart, Charles asked again what brought them back to Boston. “You,” Henry said. “You haven’t answered any of our texts, calls, anything.” Charles shrank back a little and began to apologize, but Fanny cut him off. “We were worried. And we thought you might need help packing.” She grinned mischievously as she said that last part. “Well, thank you,” Charlie said awkwardly, “but the semester doesn’t start for—“ “No, not packing for college,” Henry explained. “For the road trip.” “For—what?” “The road trip!” Fanny repeated perkily. “I—I don’t understand.” “Fanny and I have been planning a road trip all summer. We decided the other day that you’re coming with us.” “But I have…” Charles began. He trailed off, unsure what excuse he could make. Henry arched an eyebrow, waiting. “Okay. Where are we going?”   The first day of their road trip turned out to involve very little road—in spite of attending college in the city, neither Fanny nor Henry had visited many of the tourist attractions.  They visited the Paul Revere House briefly before spending most of the afternoon at the aquarium. Charles told them there were other, more interesting places to visit, but Henry said Charles would have to take them on a tour during the semester. After they left, they had dinner at one of Charlie’s favorite spots and started catching up on the events of the summer. Charlie made vague references to his self-imposed studies but didn’t volunteer any further information. Henry and Fanny seemed happy to make up for his lack of conversation, and he was happy to listen to them. They didn’t ask about Sam or Julia and Charles was grateful. Later, as they were making the short trip to their first stop—Concord—Henry began to ask him about what he’d been reading. By the time they got to their hotel, the sun was low in the sky. They checked in and Fanny, who’d been driving all day, sank into bed immediately. Charles wanted to go for a walk but Henry elected to stay with his girlfriend, so Charles set out alone. The thrill of their surprise had filled Charles with energy and excitement, but that was beginning to wear off now. He was still delighted about the whole thing, but he was also a little worried he was inconveniencing them. They had been planning it all summer, Henry had said, and his moping had made them change their plans. Not that they had seemed upset, not that they would let on at all if they were, but the thought of it nagged at him. Still, he was happier than he had been in a long time—all summer maybe—and even though he was alone now, he didn’t feel lonely. It was comforting to know that his friends were there, waiting for him, and would be happy to see him when he got back.   Over the next two weeks they made their way to several of Charlie’s favorite places in Massachusetts and Pennsylvania. He couldn’t believe neither of his friends had been to Gettysburg before and took great pleasure in giving them an extensive tour of the battlefield. They didn’t manage to get to everything the first day, but they had planned a three day visit in the city anyway. After Gettysburg they went down to visit Washington D.C., which even Charles had not done before. They talked about going further south, Charleston perhaps, but they decided there were better places to be than South Carolina and turned north instead. One night, sitting in a small motel room halfway between destinations, Henry suggested they head to New York City—there was no end of things to see there. Charles couldn’t suppress the panic welling inside him at the mere mention of it. Of course it was ridiculous to think he would see Julia, the city was so big it would be amazing if they ran into her by accident, and even more absurd to think Sam would be with her, but what if they did. He couldn’t take it. It was too soon. Fanny must have seen the look on his face, because she suggested they just head back to Boston; the semester was starting in just a few days anyway. He shot her a grateful look, but she lowered her eyes as Henry cleared his throat. When he spoke, it was in a gentle but firm voice. “Sam is still going to be at Harvard. He might even bring Julia down to visit. You can’t avoid them forever.” He hated that these two knew him so well. He loved them both dearly, but this was not a conversation he wanted to have.  As he stared stubbornly down at the floor, not answering, Henry sighed. “We won’t go to New York. I just want…I just want you to know we’re here for you. If you need anything—whatever happens—we’re here for you.” He could feel tears of gratitude stinging his eyes. He wanted to tell them how much he appreciated everything they had already done for him, but he had no words. Instead, he got up and hugged them each again, hoping they would simply understand, as they seemed to understand everything else.