“She’s sharp and funny as hell. Says the most unhinged shit with a completely straight face, and it never stops catching me off guard.” My mouth quirks. “And she’s got that backbone you talked about, doesn’t back down. Not from me, not from anyone.”
I pause. Swallow slowly.
“She makes me want to stop pretending I don’t wanna belong to someone again. That maybe I’m not as broken as I think...”
My eyes suddenly burn with a sting that blurs.
“I really fucking like her, and you’d like her, too. I know you would.”
I blink hard, clearing my throat. “Her name’s Francesca, but everyone calls her Frankie…” I take a deep breath. “I just wanna call her mine.”
With a huff of a laugh, I pluck at the frozen grass. “You’d tell me not to fuck it up, and… well, I didn’t get off to a great start, but I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”
My jaw works, lips tight over my teeth as I stare at the stone.
“Miss you, Dad. Wish you were here.”
I stay a while longer, head bowed. Then I rise, boots crunching on the frozen grass.
I’m halfway back to the path when another headstone catches my eye. A double grave.
Monroe.
Tom and Catherine. Frankie’s parents. I remember Leah mentioning their names yesterday, during sweet ‘n sour. I hesitate for a moment, then walk toward it.
Their plot is simple, a few wilted flowers in the holder, a dusting of snow at the base.
I crouch down, brushing the snow away with a bare hand. Cold bites my skin, but I don’t care.
I sit there for a beat, just looking and trying to picture what they might’ve been like.
Then I rise again and make my way back over to Dad.
“Sorry, old man,” I murmur, bending to pluck a few stems from the bunch I left. “But I need to make a good impression.”
The words come out easier than I expect. A little terrifying, but still true. Then I make my way back over to the Monroe’s grave, and crouch low in front of it.
“She’s brilliant,” I say softly, pulling the wilted flowers free. “Strong, and smart as hell. Sarcastic. Funny in that way that sneaks up on you.”
I stare at the stone, then exhale.
“She’s got a softness she protects, but she lets a handful of people she trusts see it. And, by some miracle, I think I’m one of the lucky bastards who gets to.”
I pause and replace the old flowers with the fresh stems, adjusting them gently so they sit right.
“You raised someone incredible. The kind of woman who makes people around her brighter just because she exists.”
My voice drops.
“The kind of person that makes me imagine things I haven’t let myself want in a long time. Plans, mornings. A life with laughter in it…” I exhale slow. “I really wanna make plans with her. Sit with her in the sad memories, and give her every happy one she deserves.”
My finger reaches out, tracing a petal slowly.
“I don’t know what comes next, but I want to be better—so if she ever lets me belong to her, I’m worthy of standing beside her.”
I glance down, jaw tight.
“She’s fucking spectacular, your girl. And if it happens… I’ll love her the way you’d want someone to love your daughter.”
