“You’re George’s father,” I said. “I’m Frankie. I’m his best friend.”
“The girl next door.” His grin was as uneven as his son’s. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful violet eyes?”
“Yes.”
He laughed, but I wasn’t smiling.
“Listen,” I said, “I basically think you’re an irredeemable piece of human garbage; however, George has decided to give you another chance. But you’re walking back and forth like you’re thinking of splitting. So if you’re going to go, then go.”
His smile never left his face. “And if I stay?”
“Then I will pretend not to hate you, and you will pretend to be a decent person for the next hour. But if you upset him, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“I bet you would.” He tipped his head, assessing me. “All right, lead the way, Frankie.”
The coffee turned into dinner, which turned into Beau staying for three nights. I guarded George like a mother grizzly, but even I had to admit that George’s dad seemed reformed. It was hard to picture him as the man who lost his home to gambling debts. He was respectful toward me and deeply apologetic toGeorge for his years of absence. He seemed genuinely interested in both of us.
I made the tofu kimchi rice that George loved on the third evening, and the three of us sat around our tiny table, laughing, when his dad asked when we had started dating. George and I had been sharing a bed so his dad could sleep in George’s room, and it seemed funny that he’d gotten the wrong idea. That night, George and I lay awake in bed, whispering.
“I think he has an easier time being around me now that I’m an adult,” George said. “He doesn’t have to feel guilty for not taking care of me. Maybe he’ll see me differently now that he can relate to me as a man. Don’t you think?”
There was so much hope in his voice. I wasn’t lying when I said “I do. I think this might be the start of something.”
When we woke up the next morning, Beau was gone. Only the nip of his aftershave lingered. We stood in the empty bedroom, speechless. Then George opened his desk drawer and riffled through the notebooks and loose papers inside, and my heart shattered. He’d kept the birthday money Mimi gave him for his twentieth in an envelope, and it was missing.
I watched as George crumpled to the floor, put his head in his hands, and cried. I sank down beside him and put my arms around him, fighting my own tears. We must have been there for hours.
George could barely look at me. I think he might have been embarrassed. Maybe he didn’t know how to share his pain, but he didn’t have to carry it on his own. I took his duffel bag out of the closet and started packing.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you home.” We loved the city, but we both felt more relaxed up north. George needed a long walk down Old Stone Road. He needed my mom’s baking and a hug from Mimi.
“You have work tonight,” he said.
“I’ll find someone to cover. We’re going. No arguments.”
“I don’t know how to say thank you,” he said, his voice thick.
“You just did, but you don’t need to. I’ve got you.”
“I know you do.”
Frankie,
I’m writing this letter in an attempt to convey how much you mean to me, and to let you know that I will always be there for you.
I meant what I said yesterday—I really don’t know how to thank you. Not only for bringing me home but for everything. I don’t know how I would have survived the last twelve years without you in my life. There’s an alternate reality where we didn’t live next door to each other and never became friends. I imagine a version of myself falling apart on the floor of my bedroom alone, and I feel sorry for that George. That guy is so fucking lost without you.
Thank you for knowing that I needed to come back home and spend some time with my true family.
Thank you for cooking dinner with your mom and for having Mimi and me over last night. It meant a lot to sit around that table and see everyone’s faces. My grandma, your parents, your brothers. And you. I don’t know how you got Moby to come for a visit on such short notice, but catching shit from him and Darwin all night was weirdly soothing.
Thank you for being in my life. There’s no other reality I’d want to exist in, except this one, with you.
Love,
George
