7. Frankie

SEVEN

Frankie

Saturday, May 18

Tupilano Boutique

Mountainbrook Village

3:19 pm

I stand in the middle of the boutique, completely out of my element. The racks of dresses surround me, all draped in silks and sequins, every shade of color imaginable.

Carly is buzzing around, pulling gowns off hangers with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. I, on the other hand, am trying to remember why I let her talk me into this.

"This one, Frankie, you have to try this one!" Carly says, holding up a deep emerald dress that looks like it costs more than my mortgage. She practically shoves it into my arms before I can protest.

"Carly, this is a waste of time," I mutter, but she's already moved on, diving into another rack.

Shopping has never been my thing. Spending hours trying on clothes, especially ones that cost a small fortune, seems dirty to me. There are a million better things I could be doing with my time.

Besides, I'm not excited about this fancy party like Carly is. The only reason I'm even going is to woo potential sponsors for the pacemaker trial. That's it. The thought of spending the evening schmoozing wealthy benefactors is hardly thrilling, but it's necessary.

Carly, of course, has other ideas. She's convinced that she's going to meet her future husband—or at least a decent stand-in. She's boy-crazy, clothes-crazy, and just plain crazy sometimes, but I love her for it. She's good for me in that way.

I catch my reflection in one of the boutique mirrors, holding the emerald dress against myself. It's beautiful, but I can't help but think about how many other things I could do with the money it would cost. Still, I know Carly won't let me leave here without trying on at least a dozen dresses, so I head to the fitting room.

As I step into the dress and pull it up, I have to admit it's a good fit. The color brings out the green in my eyes, and the fabric clings in all the right places. I glance at myself in the mirror, and just as I'm about to shrug it off, Carly's pipes up from outside the fitting room.

"Let me see! I know that one's going to look amazing on you!"

I open the door, and Carly gasps, clapping her hands together. "Frankie, you look stunning! I knew that color would be perfect on you."

The shop attendant, who's been hovering nearby, nods in agreement. "Your skin tone is gorgeous, and your hair—so naturally wavy. You don't need much to look fabulous."

I smile politely, though inwardly, I'm rolling my eyes. Compliments are nice, sure, but I'm not here to be fawned over. I'm just trying to find something that will get Carly off my back.

As I turn in front of the mirror, Carly leans against the doorframe of the fitting room, watching me with a grin. "You know, Hunter Parrish is going to be at the gala," she says, her tone teasing.

I try not to let my expression change. "So?"

"So, you've been meeting with him a lot lately. How's that going, anyway? You never give me the juice I so desperately crave." She is clearly fishing for gossip, but she knows I'm about as exciting as the dress's hanger now lying on the floor.

I sigh, stepping back into the fitting room to try on another dress. "He's all business and a little moody," I tell her from behind the closed door as I shimmy out of the dress. "But he's really into the project. I have to admit, I'm impressed with how passionate he's gotten about it in such a short amount of time."

Carly chuckles. "Grumpy and passionate, huh? Sounds like the perfect combo."

"Don't start," I warn, pulling on a midnight blue dress. "He's just…really focused. And he's a damn good surgeon. You don't see that kind of dedication very often these days."

Carly peeks around the door, a mischievous glint in her eye. "That's not the only admirable thing about him, if you know what I mean."

I roll my eyes, even though she can't see me. "Yes, Carly, he's attractive. But that's not the point. Been there, done that, you know."

She laughs, leaning against the doorframe again. "Just saying. You're probably right to be leery of him. He's got a reputation. Thank goodness you're more sensible than I am."

I look at myself in the mirror again, considering her words. The green dress fits even better than the last one, and it somehow makes me feel more confident. Maybe this won't be such a waste of time after all.

"I know," I say, stepping out of the fitting room to show her the dress. "Hands-off. Strictly business."

"Good," Carly says, giving me an approving nod. "This is the dress. Now, let's find you the perfect shoes to go with it. We've got sponsors to impress and maybe a few hearts to break."

I laugh despite myself, shaking my head as we head to the cash register. I can't believe I'm buying this. She's a good saleswoman, I'll give her that. Maybe she's in the wrong line of work.

Saigon Noodle House

6:20 pm

I sink into the chair at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant, suddenly aware I could fall asleep right here and now. Shopping all day has drained every ounce of energy from me, and I'm grateful to finally sit down and relax.

The warm, spicy aroma of Bún Bò Hu?, my favorite dish, wafts through the air as the waitress places it in front me, bringing a small smile to my face despite my exhaustion. My mouth waters with anticipation.

Carly sits across from me, still buzzing with energy, even after dragging me through quite possibly every boutique in the city. She's scrolling through her phone, probably looking at more dresses or shoes, but I'm too tired to care.

"Thank you for today," I say, my voice coming out more tired than I intended. "Even though I spent way too much money, I appreciate you helping me."

Carly looks up and grins. "Of course! What are best friends for? Besides, you needed a new dress, and now you're going to look amazing so you can woo all of the rich guys to fund your trial. You know everyone falls for the hot scientist."

I smile back, feeling a pang of something deeper as I look around the cozy restaurant. "You know, this is something I wish my mom could have been here for. She would've loved shopping with you and me like this."

Carly's smile softens, and she reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "I know, Frankie. She would've had so much fun with us today."

The memories of my mom tug at my heart, a bittersweet ache that I've grown accustomed to but never fully shake. I glance down at the steaming bowl in front of me, the rich broth swirling with herbs and spices, and take a deep breath.

"It was a heart attack, right?" Carly asks gently, her tone cautious but caring.

I nod, picking up my chopsticks and stirring the noodles in my bowl. I pause for a second. "It was more complicated than that. But yeah, essentially, her heart failed, and it killed her. We were stuck with what was available back in twenty-twelve, and it wasn't enough. She was thirty-four, only six years older than I am now. As I approach that age, I realize more now than I did then, how young she was."

Tears well at the trough of my eyes as I think about how frustrating it was for me to know they couldn't do anything to save my mom, an otherwise vibrant and young woman with her life ahead of her. It still gets me everything I think about it.

Carly's brow furrows. "I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to explain if it's too much."

I shake my head. "No, it's okay. Awareness is key. Talking about it is how we advance research, how we save others. My mom had restrictive cardiomyopathy. Her heart muscle became too stiff, so it couldn't fill properly with blood. It led to heart failure."

Carly blinks. "I've heard of cardiomyopathy, but restrictive?"

"Yeah," I say, the weight settling in my chest as I talk about it. "It's rare. Her heart couldn't pump well enough, and by the time they figured out what was wrong, there wasn't much they could do. Back then it was so unknown and caught so late because of little research, the treatment options were almost nonexistent. It's why my passion now in research is on the heart. I want to make sure people don't go through what she did."

"Wow, I've known you all these years and I had no idea how this all unfolded for you. As a nurse, it is so frustrating when we have sick patients that we can do nothing for and we know it. It must be ten times worse when it's your mom."

I swallow the lump in my throat and take a sip of the broth, letting the warmth soothe me. "It is. It's hard not to think about what could have been. Knowing what I know now, there are procedures that might have saved her, or at least given her more time. But back then we didn't know."

Carly puts her hand on mine. "You're an amazing scientist and daughter. I know your mom is so proud of you."

I nod, as the familiar surge of determination rises in me. "I can't bring her back, but if my work saves even one person, it'll be worth it."

Carly doesn't say anything for a moment, just lets me sit with my thoughts as I take another bite of the noodles.

The flavors filling the place are rich and comforting, like home cooking, reminding me of the way the aromas of my mother's cooking filled the house. This gives new meaning to the phrase "comfort food."

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying the food and the warmth of the restaurant. Moments like these remind me how important it is to have someone like Carly in my life—someone who understands, who doesn't push too hard but knows when to be there. She's a good friend, and I'm lucky to have her.

I start to tell her about the letter I got from my father last week, but I don't have the energy to go into all of that with her right now. I'm still not sure what I am going to do about it. My instinct is to do nothing, but with only one surviving parent and no siblings, there is a tiny part of me that wants to see if there is even a tiny connection there before he is gone, too.

Maybe we can choose our families. Carly is my family—I don't need to reach out to a man who abandoned me for over fifteen years, who only reaches out because he knows his time is limited and he some guilt he wants to assuage.

As we finish our meal, a sense of peace settles over me. The day might have been exhausting, but this moment, this connection with Carly, makes it all worth it. I'm grateful to have a friend that lets me bring my mom up and have a piece of her here with us.

We pay the bill and head out into the evening, the cool air a refreshing change from the warmth of the restaurant. As we walk back to the car, we lock arms. Finishing up a successful, full day together, even if we spent it shopping, brings me a deep sense of satisfaction.

7:42 pm

The water is still warm after a long bath. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus fill the bathroom as I sink deeper into the tub. It's been a full day. Shopping with Carly, trying on dress after dress, and then dinner that left me both physically full and emotionally spent… I've had enough extrovert activities to fill an entire month for me.

Now, in the quiet of my house, I can finally let the tension melt away.The Epsom salts soothe my tired muscles, and I close my eyes, letting the soft flicker of the candle and the calming fragrance of essential oils wash over me. This is my sanctuary, the one place where I can shut out the world and just be.

I stay there for a while, soaking in the silence until the water starts to cool. Reluctantly, I sit up, reaching for the towel I've draped over the side of the tub. The air is cooler than the water, and a slight shiver runs through me as I step out and wrap the towel around myself.

Just as I'm about to blow out the candles, there's a knock on the door.

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. It's Saturday night, and I'm not expecting anyone. Who would be stopping by at this hour? For a moment, I consider ignoring it, but the knock comes again, a little more insistent this time.

Quickly, I slip into my robe, tying it tightly around my waist as I head toward the door. My wet hair drips onto the floor, leaving a trail behind me, but I barely notice. My mind is racing, trying to figure out who it could be.

I press my eye to the peephole, squinting to get a better look at the figure standing on the other side. When I see who it is, my breath catches in my throat.

It's him.

I only recognize him because of the commercials for his used car business—the same ones that play during late-night TV, with his face plastered all over them. The man standing at my door, the one I haven't seen in person since I was barely a teenager, is my father.

My hands shake as I back away from the door, my mind reeling. What is he doing here? At this hour? I'll give him one thing, he sure has gotten persistent. That would have been helpful when I was a kid.

Another knock, this one softer, almost hesitant.

I swallow hard, the knot in my stomach tightening as I try to make sense of what's happening. My father—this stranger—standing at my door on a Saturday night.

I don't know what to do, what to say. A thousand thoughts race through my mind, but I can't seem to focus on any of them. All I know is that everything I thought I'd buried, everything I thought I'd moved on from, is suddenly right in front of me, waiting on the other side of that door.

But I need to know why he's here before I call the cops.