"Francine?"
Looking up from the stack of staff reports in her hand, the woman in question raised her eyebrow at the man in front of her. Her father was there, shifting nervously on his feet in front of the desk she took over in his office. She thought that it was only fair, since she was doing most of the work anyway.
Francine tucked her pencil between the pages of the packet, glad for the momentary distraction. She would have to lay off some workers due to budget cuts, and it wasn't the best feeling in the world to terminate, no matter how temporary, someone's career. Pushing her newly acquired glasses up her nose as she stared at her father, she noted his slouched posture and the new streaks of grey in his hair.
It was jarring for her to think that, just eight years ago, she was in his same position. But now, instead of standing awkwardly in front of the paper littered desk in her father's study, she was sitting behind it in the rolling chair she had always been jealous of as a child. Even though she was twenty-six, she still loved to spin around on it when no one was watching.
"Yeah, Dad?" she finally responded, feeling her phone vibrate on the desk. It bounced underneath the mountain of paperwork she still had to look over, and almost wanted to groan because tonight was the Superbowl. Like most things in her life, however, it would have to wait.
Her father gave her a smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling in the laugh lines that had now become more defined on his face. Physically, the years had been good to him, mostly due to the constant pestering done by Francine. Yet, she could still see the wistful looks he gave to the chair her mother would sit in, chatting on the phone with her equally as stuck-up friends. Francine wished that she could say that she wanted her mother back into her life as much as her father did, but that would be a lie. The words that her mother had said could never be taken back, and Francine still had to catch herself when she thought something derogatory about her appearance. The malicious voice in her head would always be in the slightly passive-aggressive speech of her mother, and the weight of a disapproving gaze on her back could never quite be ignored.
Despite the fact that she and her mother were now estranged, Francine still had to admit to herself that there were moments when she was brought back to a time when her mother was her hero. She was the caped vigilante off to save the day, but still had enough time to pull off the costume and return home to read Francine a bedtime story. Things were more simple then. A lot more simple. She didn't have to wonder if she should pick up her phone and dial a number that was most likely disconnected just to hear her mother's voice when she was a toddler. Her biggest worries back then were based around her toys and whether or not she would get in trouble for beating up her cousins. But, Francine had to make her peace with the past, because she couldn't go back and change it.
"The mail came, and there's a letter for you. I think that the address for your new place didn't switch over yet," her father said, interrupting her thoughts. Lifting her slightly unfocused gaze, Francine took the letter from him with a sheepish smile, about to sit it on the side of the desk so she could finish her final report. Before she could, her father reached out his hand and stopped her.
"Stinkweed," he began, making sure that he had her attention, "go relax and read the letter. If I knew that training you to take over for me would result in you becoming a recluse, I could have done this before you went to college to keep all those boys from knocking on my door."
He released his grip on her wrist, giving her a slightly stern look.
"Now, go read the letter. I can take care of some paperwork." Gesturing with his hands, he pointed toward the door. "Shoo."
Rolling her eyes, Francine stood, grasping the letter in her hand. She realized that she was working more than usual, but if she didn't do it, how was anything going to get done. The only break she needed was on the rare Sundays she had relatively free, when she would go to the youth group the next town over and partially coach their all girls' football team. As she made her way to the living room, a smile curved her lips, thinking of the excited faces that made all the stress from the week fall away. These hopeful faces were the reason that she drove out there and shared the less than glamorous experiences she had when she played football, because she wanted these girls to know what to avoid and how to continue with their dreams. They didn't need to be snuffed out like her own.
Sitting down on the couch, Francine peeled off the uncomfortable flats she wore to the office today, curling her long legs beneath her. Her fingers eagerly ripped at the envelope, because, like it had for the many months before it, contained a postcard from Earl.
Once they had graduated, the small boy had disappeared across the country to go to college, finally escaping Dempsey. Sometimes, Francine wondered what it would be like if she was to pack up and leave, travelling to places that she knew had to be more accepting than her small-minded small town. Then, guilt would assault her because she would see her father, barely holding on day by day, losing a wife and a daughter in a span of months. That was the main reason that she stayed, though she told her father that she would prefer to go to the community college nearby.
Flipping the card over between her fingers, Francine smiled when she saw a little image attached to the back. There was Earl, smiling with his arms splayed behind him as he looked out onto the Grand Canyon. On the corner, however, was the slightly blurry imprint of a thumb, which Francine assumed belonged to his partner in crime, Mae. The two had decided to travel to a few locations after they graduated before immediately hopping into another job search, and now had the successful career of writing a "tour guide" through the United States.
She almost couldn't believe how different he looked, with his newly cropped hair and more open smiles, but then again, sometimes she couldn't recognize the person that looked back at her in her mirror. Sometimes, she saw the large girl with the tiny confidence that felt completely worthless, a girl that tried to cover up her discomfort with her blunt nature and closed-off personality. But, when she looked closer, underneath all of the layers of self-doubt she was still peeling back, she saw the woman she was working on becoming, that had thicker skin and a higher tilt of her chin. It was a woman that realized that people may not always take her for how she was, so she had to learn how to accept herself enough to fill that void.
With a sigh, Francine sat the postcard on the coffee table, telling herself not to forget it like she did everything else. Her eyes closed as she leaned against the back of the couch, and she allowed herself a moment to wonder how Jonathon was. She almost wanted to laugh at how right the women were in the romance novels she would love to hate-- a person's first love never did truly leave them. It hurt her to think about the last few things they said to each other, words that she analyzed in her head over and over to see how they could become an end to whatever they had.
"Cee, wake up," Jonathon said, and Francine groaned at the sound. It was too comfortable, being here, sleeping away the time. If she was laying in his arms, she didn't need to think about how, in a few short weeks, he was going to be gone. They never really talked about it in depth, like the issue would no longer exist if they treated it like a far away illusion that could never be real.
"What?" she mumbled, not needing to open her eyes to know he was rolling his. Pinching the skin of his arm that was wrapped around her waist, she turned to face him. His brow was scrunched as if he was thinking too hard about something, and she reached a hand out in an attempt to smooth it back.
"What's wrong?" she repeated in a whisper, not sure if her father knew that Jonathon was in her room right now, in her bed and not in the most innocent of positions. She traced the surface of the beard he was trying the grow, the stubble brushing against the pad of her index finger as she waited for him to say something. Before he spoke, he grabbed her hand, tangling their fingers together similar to how their legs were beneath the blanket.
"We need to talk about what's going to happen in two weeks, Francine."
Francine swallowed, shifting her eyes from his serious expression to their hands.
"Yeah," she began, clearing her throat, "fourteen days are going to pass."
Jonathon sighed at this, tucking their intertwined hands under his chin and meeting her eyes.
"On any other day, I would take that and then we would bicker about obvious and literal answers, but this is serious, Francine."
"I know," she said, not liking the defeated look in his eyes.
"You're lucky I love you," he muttered, releasing her hand so he could wrap his around her waist.
"I know," she repeated, and pressed her lips quickly to his before leaning away.
He shot her a glare.
"You're really trying to distract me, aren't you?" he questioned, the grip on her hips tighter.
"Yes," she said with a nod, "I am. But, we might as well get it over with, right Johnny?"
He nodded as well, pulling his gaze from hers as if he had just now forgotten all the words he wanted to say, and was searching for them in her darkened bedroom.
"I'm leaving for Michigan soon," he finally managed to get out, and Francine closed her eyes. They would be separated by thousands of miles, millions of people, and for a too long period of time.
"I think that we should--"
"--break up?" Francine interrupted, watching as his eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened and closed as if he didn't have the words to say to that, and he wasn't prepared.
"No," he said, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her. "I was going to say we should try something long distance. Do you-- do you want to break up?"
Francine shook her head, but didn't meet his eyes. Eyes that held a accusatory gaze that burned through her skin.
"No, of course not," she said, placing her hands on his chest while still refusing to meet his eyes. This was hard for her, letting go of someone that had been in her life for so long.
"But," she paused and took a shaky breath, "I can't be your charity case, Johnny. You need to go out and enjoy your college years, and the only thing I'll be is another stressful thing to add onto a stressful situation. I don't want to hold you back."
"Cee-"
"Johnny, you know I'm right about this. You need to finally put some focus on you, and what you want to do for your future. Not me."
It was silent in the room for a moment, the quiet only being broken by the distant honk of a horn. Jonathon sat up, disconnecting himself from her as he moved to the edge of the bed. His back was facing her when he responded.
"What if," he started, "What if I want a future with you in it? I care about you, Cee. I'm in love with you."
"And I love you too, Johnny, but loving you involves wanting what's best for you."
His back tensed, and she could imagine him gritting his teeth as he thought of what to say.
"You can't keep protecting me, Francine. I can make my own decisions and deal with the consequences."
Francine already knew this. She knew that if things went wrong, he would still talk to her for nostalgia's sake, but she didn't want to be the cause of his strained smiles in the future. She didn't want to be the source of awkward laughs.
She moved to his side, her skin hesitantly pressing against his because. now she realized what she had to do. Jonathon wouldn't let this go-- let her go. Even though that thought made her feel glad for a fleeting moment, it was replaced by fear. Long distance relationships didn't work; she had been a witness to a failing one for the entirety of her life. Her father's constant trips and busy work hours could be replaced with Jonathon, her Jonathon, far away and with piles of work and her, still at home bitterly watching as communication was cut. Francine had watched her mother go from accepting to aloof over the course of the years, and didn't want to see her first and only relationship be like that.
She didn't want to be like her mother.
"I'm sorry, Johnny," Francine said in a whisper, her voice fading along with all of her confidence that this could somehow be resolved. Leaning her head onto his shoulder, she glanced up at him to see his jaw clenched in restrained anger, all internalized to himself. She let his arm wrap around her waist as he placed his chin on top of her head, holding her as if it was going to be the last time that he would be able to.
And he was right.
After that moment, they tried to revert back to how they were when they were friends, but it never quite worked. She knew how it felt to be held by him, kissed by him, loved by him, and had no clue as to how to go back when she knew what she was missing. Francine shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts, not wanting to think of the boy that got away and never came back.
"Francine, your phone is ringing!" her father called from the study, and Francine stood with the intention to grab it when she heard a knock at the door.
"Okay! I have to go get the door!" she yelled back, slipping on her shoes before walking toward it. The knocking continued, and it seemed as though the person was trying to play a song on the wood.
Rolling her eyes, Francine yanked the door knob, opening the door to reveal the person with their hand still poised to knock. They dropped their arm, letting a smile break onto their face when they took in who opened the door.
"Hey, beautiful," Jonathon said, placing a hand on the wall next to the door. He was taller, taking another inch over her height, and a little less hulking as if he had become accustomed to occasionally skipping meals. There were bags under his eyes, and the beard she last saw him try to grow was gone.
She let a small smile curve her lips as she leaned against the doorjamb, now having to slightly tilt her chin to look him in the eye.
"Save the flattery, Johnny. What are you doing here?"
He pressed his free hand to his chest in mock hurt, raising his eyebrows teasingly in her direction.
"I was trying to call you," he said, and Francine suddenly remembered her abandoned phone, "so I had to come here in a Frozen-like manner and knock on your door so you could let me in, Elsa."
"Are you here to thaw my cold heart?" she said, a sarcastic tinge to her words despite the fact there was some truth to it.
"Actually, Cee, Anna had the frozen heart," he corrected, to which she rose a questioning eyebrow. "But, you're pretty close. I'm actually here to steal," he paused for dramatic effect, " your heart."
Francine looked up at him, hearing the joking manner in his words but seeing the promise in his eyes. He was serious, and she didn't really know how to react.
Clearing her throat, she glanced away from the dark eyes that she had last seen eight years ago, tucking a short strand of her hair behind her ear.
"How can you steal what you already have in your possession?" she asked, finally shifting her eyes back to his now relieved ones.
"Can you let me in so we can find out?"
She pretended to contemplate for a moment, hiding her smile under a smirk and nodded.
"Of course."
* * *
And now, after six months of blood, sweat, tears, and WiFi, Francine and Earl is complete.
Thank you all for reading and sticking with this story for all of its ups and downs, and I really appreciate every comment, vote and read this story has gotten!
This story started as a little project to do while I tried to get over the writer's block I have for my other ones, which I have thankfully gotten mostly over, and it is now the second story I have finished on this site. I am so proud of how it turned out, even though like most things, there is room for improvement. I'm going to take a break from this story for a moment before I edit, and then there will hopefully be a better (and longer) version when I'm done.
Again, thank you all for following on Francine and Earl's journey to discover who they are, and if you have any feedback, good or bad, I would love to hear it. What were your favorite things about the story, and what did you think could be improved on?
Below are the two songs that really inspired/pushed me to write this story if you want to give them a listen, and, finally,