Frankie and I sit shoulder to shoulder, across from my brother and his wife. I glance to my left, in my peripheral vision so she doesn’t see me watching her. The mother of my child watches as Walker breaks the paper off of Hannah’s straw and sticks it in her iced tea, then lifts it to her lips. The two of them exchange a sweet smile, and it doesn’t get past me that Frankie is watching them with heart eyes.
“You guys really are perfect.” She sighs in a much more romantic and wistful tone than I’ve ever heard her use before.
Hannah snorts. “If only you saw us elbow deep on bath night, when one of the girls cries they have to poop while slick in soap and water. We’re a total mess then.”
Walker starts to laugh. “Perfection does not exist, believe me. Coming from the family we grew up in, it’s all a farce.”
Frankie’s cheeks being to pink. “Gosh, I used to think the Callahans were this, this royal family. Any kid growing up and loving baseball must have. You were like my Kennedys.”
“Yet you had no idea who I was.” I snort, only half-joking when I say it.
“You know, I think about that sometimes. How did you not know?” Walker seems curious.
“I guess I just never knew anyone other than you, Daniel, Jimmy, and Colleen. I mean, I know there are a ton of Callahans or the extended families working for the organization. But I guess I never really kept tabs on them.”
“What you’re saying is that Sinclair just wasn’t all that important?” Walker smirks, and I throw my wadded-up straw paper at him like we’re seven years old.
He dodges it, the agile motherfucker. But I have to agree with him. “No, what she’s saying is that I was lazy as fuck and never held down a job with the organization.”
“Until now.” Frankie doesn’t even miss a beat and all eyes at the table swing to her. “You’re doing a great job, Sin. Everyone can see it. You’re working damn hard. Don’t downplay that, it pisses me off. Your past doesn’t define you, none of ours do. You didn’t have to try harder, but you did. And that’s worth something. It’s worth a lot.”
My heart swells with pride. Out of anyone in the world, it means the most that she’s proud of me. I’ve never amounted to much of anything, but I’m trying so hard to be a good man for her and our son. The fact that she recognizes it, even though she’s said nothing thus far, is a shock to my system. A really fucking good shock.
“You really do love him.” Walker cocks his head to the side.
Hannah pats his arm admonishingly. “Of course she does. But let’s not meddle too much.”
My sister-in-law gives me a snarky wink, so out of character for her. I feel like I’m in another dimension.
I turn to look at Frankie, who has dipped her to head to study the lemonade in front of her. The thing is, she isn’t freaking out or denying what my brother and his wife just said.
Could it be? Does she love me like I love her?
After an awkward silence, we move on to another topic of conversation. But I sit at that table through lunch and then alone in my house later that night, with only thing echoing in my head.
Francesca might love me. Hope springs desperately eternal, and I know I’m done being a coward. It’s time to lay it all out on the line, to show her how I really feel.
Like she said, trying harder is worth a lot. In this instance, it’s worth everything.
31
Sinclair
When Frankie agreed to come to dinner at my parent’s house, I have to admit I was shocked.
I told them about her a day after the carnival when my father approached me about who I was talking to. He’d seen us, and so had Mom. It had been inevitable; them finding out about the baby, so I just blurted it all out.
They were shocked, to say the least. Neither of them had any idea that Frankie and I were carrying on when I was down in Florida, nor did they know about her promotion. My parents were too far up the food chain to hear about the hiring of a new assistant strength coach, so it was news to them that Frankie was even on the payroll.
And the baby? Shit, they were blindsided. Dad got that tight look on his face, like he was severely constipated or something. Mom teared up, blinking up at the ceiling of their kitchen. She whispered something about not knowing it would happen this way, took a breath, and then looked back at me. She was already over the upset, I could tell, when she came at me with a hug and talk of all things baby registry.
Then she insisted on having Frankie over for dinner. I think Dad just about choked up a canary when she said it. But she is his handler, as much as everyone thinks Daniel Callahan is the big, bad wolf. No, his wife is the one who has him on a leash, though she doesn’t need to advertise it. What she says goes, and Dad knew he had no say in it.
So here we are, Frankie and I in my car, pulling up to my parent’s house. No, house is too small of a word. If I live in a mansion, as most would call it, my parents live in a palace. An estate. A grandiose display of wealth.
“This place is …” The mother of my child can’t even finish that sentence.
“Outrageous.” I snort. “It looks like it should be on the Mariah Carey episode of Cribs.”
The front is a mass of white-washed brick, with masses of white oaks lining the driveway.
“It looks like that pretentious house in the movie Bridesmaids. The one where she rides the donkey to the backyard,” Frankie quips.
I bark out a laugh. “You’re right.”
Once my car is parked and stopped in the circular driveway, I make my way around the hood to help Frankie out of the passenger seat. Her belly is growing by the day, and I have to support her as she gets out of the car.
“You okay?” I help her find her balance and notice her breathing is heavy.
“Fine.” She flashes me a quick smile.
But I watch her as we walk into the house, and she doesn’t seem fine. Her steps are bow-legged, and she’s bracing her back as if it’s killing her. Her breathing is labored, and her whole body seems to grimace when she walks. Maybe that’s just the end of pregnancy; what do I know?
I let us in without knocking, and we’re greeted by my parent’s live-in maid. Yes, they have a live-in maid. It’s obscene and unneeded, but such is the life of rich people. I used to be of that same mindset before I got sober. Throwing money at everything so I wouldn’t have to do a thing myself.
“I mean …” Frankie’s hands gesture around the entryway of my parent’s house, and I nod my head in understanding.
“It’s over the top. Extremely.” I sigh, knowing what Frankie’s impression of my parents must already be.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house this big. Ever. My Florida apartment would fit in their coat closet.” She peers into the massive room off the foyer, where my parents’ newest maid is hanging up our jackets.
She marvels at the inside of my parent’s home, decorated in marbles and gold finishes. Ornate pieces of art dot the walls and floors, and the whole place smells like expensive musk that I know my mother personally flies in from London to spray the house with. My parents aren’t bad people, they’ve just been very wealthy for a very long time. We’re all used to a certain lifestyle, one I never questioned until … well, until I met her. Just wait until she sees the gold-tiled swimming pool in the backyard.