13. Frankie

13 /

frankie

My knock on the Drake’s front door is timid. Part of me doesn’t want them to hear me outside. Inviting my brother to join us as we pick out a Christmas tree was Noah’s idea. And it was mature and thoughtful.

But I’m dreading the next two hours. And I don’t think Anthony’s excited about things either.

“It was a dick move for him to ask Dad like that,” my brother grumps.

I smirk, since my back is to him, but utter, “I know.” Really, though? It was smart . Noah asked our dad if he would be willing to encourage my brother to join us tonight. While my dad took over the Santa suit duties, Noah still came to work the food drive. It picked up steam today and we had a lot more donations.

“Sorry I’m late.” Mazy’s voice sounds from behind me.

“Right on time,” Anthony says. I flash my gaze to him, and he raises his brows.

“Hey, the more people, the merrier, right?” He shrugs.

“What am I missing?” Mazy’s attention bounces between me and my brother, and I decide at this point it’s best to put everything out in the open.

“Anthony found out about me and Noah, and he refuses to be alone with him so they can talk like adults because . . . ya know. Boys are stupid.”

I can sense my brother’s glare, so I don’t bother looking in his direction to give him any satisfaction.

“Oh, so it’s all out in the open now. That’s a relief,” Mazy sighs, looping her arm through mine.

“You knew?” Anthony steps between us and up the front stoop, but his incredulity is broken when Noah opens the door.

“You’re all here. And Mazy. Okay, this might get a little crowded, but we can make it work.” Noah steps out of the door, slipping his arms through a puffy jacket.

“Why don’t you let my sister sit on your lap,” Anthony blurts out. He’s being a dick.

“Well, that wouldn’t be a very safe way to drive,” Noah’s mom, Linda, says as she steps through the doorway behind her son. Her lips pucker into a smirk as our eyes meet, and my brother pinches his brow.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Drake. That wasn’t meant for your ears,” he says.

“Oh, I know. But you kids were hellions when you were little, so I’m going to live it up now and torture you as much as I can. Consider that one payback for the time you broke my sconce trying to throw a perfect spiral down the hallway.” She pats my brother in the center of his chest and continues to pass through us, heading toward the Bronco.

“Classy, Anthony. Real classy,” I scold my brother.

“Like you can talk about classy. You’re shacking up with Tiff U’s Mr. November,” he jokes. I get that it’s a slam on how many girls Noah hooks up with. And he’s trying to make me have second thoughts about him. Except, I’ve always known who Noah is. I don’t judge him for anything. And I believe him when he says he hasn’t hooked up with anyone since before summer.

We all trail behind Noah’s mom toward the Bronco, but Noah stays behind a step and stops my brother in his steps. They have a brief stare-down, and I hold my breath as I pass them.

“Actually, it was Mr. April. But you’re just bitter you didn’t make the calendar, so I’ll forgive you,” Noah finally says.

My brother’s head falls to the side, and Noah bites the tip of his tongue, laughing as he backs away. I relax, a little comforted to see them give each other shit like normal.

I help Linda flip up the back seats, and she and I, along with Mazy, climb into the back seat, forcing the two guys to sit in the front together. They don’t say a word the entire trip to the tree farm. My brother storms off the second Noah parks, so I hang back in the Bronco as Mazy and Noah’s mom exit so he and I have a few seconds alone.

“He’ll get over it,” I say, reaching between the seats to squeeze his hand.

His eyelashes flicker against the tops of his cheeks as he drops his gaze and runs his thumb over my knuckles. He lifts a shoulder.

“I don’t really give a shit what he thinks.”

I lean in and touch his chin with my free hand, coaxing him to look up. Our eyes meet.

“Yeah, you do.”

His mouth forms a tight, guilty smile. I slip between the seats a little more and press my lips to his, then exit the truck to give him a few seconds alone.

Mazy, Linda, and I weave through the rows of trees, inspecting the remaining inventory. We’re a bit last-minute in terms of buying a tree, with Christmas only a week away, but there are still a few beauties on the lot. Their prices, however, come with a bit of sticker shock.

“That’s what I get for dragging my feet,” she says, examining the tag for the tree she likes best as she chews at the inside of her cheek. Her gaze flits up to mine, then darts to either side before she waves me in closer. Mazy is wandering the rows behind us.

“Don’t say anything, but Michael—Noah’s dad—he’s coming home!” Her whisper feels loud, so when I cover my mouth to hold in my squeal, I glance around to make sure nobody heard.

“He has forty-eight hours, but he really wants to see Noah before the end of his senior season. Maybe pass the puck around. He’s going to surprise him on Christmas Eve.” She squeezes my hand, and despite how cold it is, her palms are sweaty from nerves. That’s a big surprise to plan and hold in.

“That’s amazing! Let me know if I can help,” I say.

“Well, I’d ask you to keep Noah distracted, but I think you have that handled.” She giggles, and my body flashes with a red-hot blush.

“Noah told me you caught us kissing this summer.” I gnaw at my bottom lip, wondering if she’s caught us any other times. Like, recently.

“I knew it was just a matter of time. I mean, this is your mother’s and my greatest wish,” she says.

My mouth hangs open.

“Oh, yeah. We played Cupid. Constantly!” She nods, a rosy pink coloring her cheeks as she smiles. I think she’s proud.

“Stop it!” I say in a hushed tone, glancing to my right in search of Noah’s head. I saw him leave the Bronco and head in Anthony’s direction.

“Every dinner we all had together? Those seating arrangements were strategic. And when your favorite birthday gifts always seemed to be from Noah? We made sure of that. Just, you know . . . nurturing it along.”

I chuckle and shake my head.

“I don’t know that I’m the one who needed help. I was pretty head over heels from the start.”

She waggles her head.

“Maybe, but it never hurts to have your mom helping you shine a little extra. And that dress your mom let you buy for homecoming sophomore year? The one with the?—”

“The slit up to my thigh!” I cup my mouth, remembering how shocked I was she spent the money on it and that she let me out of the house in it. Linda’s smug grin as she nods fills in so many of the gaps.

“Yep. She sent me a pic from the mall and asked me what I thought, and I knew Noah would die when he saw you in that. And man, you were all he could talk about the morning after the dance.”

My wide eyes may never close again. Noah was the homecoming king, and his date was the most popular girl in school. I knew I caught his eye that night, and he even commented on how I needed to watch it because of all the attention I was getting. But I didn’t know I made that much of an impression.

“I think you should buy the big one,” I say, feeling like everyone deserves a little splurge.

Linda’s smile spreads.

“I do, too. Go find the muscle.” She pulls the tag and marches to the stand while I hunt down Noah and my brother. I find them arguing in the back corner of the lot, but they zip their lips when they spot me. I wave them toward me, and Noah jogs over while my brother sulks, his hands buried in the front of his hoodie.

“Your mom found one she likes. We’ll need to get it on the roof,” I explain.

“On it,” Noah says, jogging toward the cashier and his mom.

I throw my arm out to clothesline my brother as he starts to pass me, and he huffs but stops his feet.

“What is it?”

He won’t look me in the eyes. His best friend looks like a raccoon thanks to the bruises on his face, and Anthony is seriously the one feeling self-righteous tonight?

“You are going to get your ass over there and be polite, not for Noah, but for Linda. That woman babysat us. She fed us, and she took us to the fair when we were kids and let us ride the teacups until we threw up. This tree is important to her, and you and your pissy attitude are not going to fuck that up. Now, off you go.”

I give him a little push, and though he doesn’t move at first, he eventually grumbles his way over to the Drakes to help them wrap and load the tree.

The ride back to our neighborhood feels lighter. At least, it does for me. Noah’s mom takes the passenger seat on the trip back, and I sit in the middle in the back between my best friend and my brother. Anthony continues to pout, but I catch him joining a few of our conversations during the ride. He even shares a story about the awesome save Noah made during their last game before the break.

“So, what are your thoughts on the draft, then, Noah? Are the rumors true that Canada may get you out of the gate?” Mazy is simply trying to keep the conversation rolling, but for Anthony, it’s one compliment too many. I can feel his temperament shift next to me—his body growing stiff as he clears his throat throughout Noah’s response to my friend. Finally, he adjusts in his seat, his eyes on me but his attention on the rearview mirror.

“How’s your friend from Thanksgiving, Frankie?” He glances forward, I think trying to gauge Noah’s reaction. It’s a weird question, and I can’t feel the angle out.

“Gus? He’s . . . fine.” I swivel my head a bit, looking at Anthony sideways.

“Right. Gus. That’s his name,” he says, emphasizing the pronoun. And now everything is clear. Only, my brother is a dimwit, and he has no clue what he’s really talking about.

“Yes, Gus. I should probably send him a card. Thanks for reminding me.” My gaze flits up to the mirror, and I meet Noah’s eyes briefly. He doesn’t seem fazed. And in a moment, he’s going to have a really hard time not feeling smug.

“I’m sure he misses you. I bet he can’t wait for you to get back to Harbor. How did you two meet again?” My brother knows basically nothing. This is fun for me now.

“He was my partner for French conversation. He spent some time in France, so I really lucked out with him.” I turn my head to hold my brother’s stare, and his eyes dim with suspicion.

Yeah, buddy. This is backfiring.

“So, he’s . . . French?” Anthony is holding his breath, hoping so hard for this to pan out so he can rub my French friend in Noah’s face.

“No, he’s American. But he spent time in France. During the war. His wife is an artist from Belgium. They met when he was stationed over there. I think they just celebrated fifty years. When they invited me to stay with them for Thanksgiving, I simply couldn’t say no.”

I snap my lips closed and let my tight smile rest like a case closed.

“Gus is?—”

“A married senior citizen? Yeah. He is.”

Noah snorts in the front seat, and my brother smashes his fist against the headrest.

“Shut up,” he growls.

Mazy is the next to break. And soon, every single one of us is laughing. Everyone but Anthony, that is. He only shrinks deeper into his seat, and even through unloading the tree and helping to carry it inside, he doesn’t say another word.