The bottom line was, there was nothing she could do. It was beyond her control. And if there was one thing Grace Hanson was not used to was not being in control. It frightened her, it made her chest hurt and her stomach clench and it made her feel like the last two years had meant nothing. Everything she had gone through - the getting over the fact her husband had been in a gay love affair with his work partner for 20 years, the divorce, rebuilding her life, the new business - seemed empty now. Because Frankie was leaving.
Part of her wanted to snort at the thought. She didn't need Frankie, the same way she never needed Robert, or anyone else, for that matter. But another part of her, a much bigger part of her, one that only pretended to hate it when her gray-haired roommate climbed into bed with her and sang Jefferson Airplane songs in her sleep, that part of her knew that without Frankie, nothing really made that much sense. After all, the two of them had been stuck together from the very beginning. Even when she still hated Frankie - because she had to admit it, at one point, not that long ago, she really did -, she couldn't deny that she was the only one that could understand the unique predicament they had found themselves in after their husbands decided to come out. Frankie had been there for everything. For every single change, big or small, she had been the witness, the cheerleader, sometimes even the voice of reason. She would have drowned herself in vodka by now if it wasn't for Frankie. Vybrant wouldn't exist if it wasn't Frankie. Hell, sometimes she thought she wouldn't exist if it wasn't for Frankie.
She couldn't say anything, really. She was, in a way, happy for her friend. She had found love again after heartbreak - Frankie had actually, Grace needed to remind herself constantly, been in love with her former husband, after all. Jacob made Frankie happy and in the end, it was all that mattered, wasn't it? He was who Frankie was supposed to be with. Not in a beach house packing vibrators. Not watching Ray Donovan with someone who hasn't quite figured out yet where they stand with Liev Schreiber. Not with someone who was a bitch to her kids, who undermined her, who hurt her even when she didn't want to, even when it was the last thing she wanted. Not with Grace. In Santa Fe, with her farmer. That's where Frankie belonged.
Grace knew that. Everyone knew that. But as she downed her sixth martini of the evening, she realized that there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to drown out the little voice in the back of her mind that kept repeating but what about me?
If Frankie left, what would become of her? What would become of them? Their whole dynamic, the one they had spent the past two years building, would be completely off. What about Christmas? Would she be here for it? Who would remind Grace to buy something for Sol, or be there to tell her that she'd given that exact same tie to Robert on his birthday? Who would let her know when she was overdressed, or when she wasn't making enough food for dinner because "Shark Tank is on tonight and you know I'm always hungry after that much excitement"? Who would listen to her vent after she ran into one of her insufferable country club "friends"? Who would she complain about buying Del Taco for? Without Frankie, would there even be a reason to buy Del Taco?
She couldn't go through it again. Leaving Robert, the house they lived in, adjusting to being by herself, finding herself again after that marriage, that was a piece of cake compared to what she would have to go through after Frankie left. A house without Robert she had been used to, her whole relationship with him had been about dealing with his absence. But a house without Frankie, a life without Frankie? She didn't think she could do that. For the life of her, she couldn't even remember how it was like before her.
Well, you better get used to it now, she said bitterly. It was almost 11 pm and Frankie certainly wasn't planning on coming home. She was, of course, with Jacob, probably making a pinterest board of all the stupid-looking lamps and pillows they would buy for their new house. There would be a lot of phallic shaped items in the living room, of that Grace was sure. There would certainly be more dream catchers than anyone should be comfortable with. It would be fucking hippie paradise.
And it would make Frankie happy. Which was something that Grace, apparently, couldn't do. No matter that she had done evertyhing she could to accomodate Frankie's little idiosyncrasies - she even let the woman sleep in her bed, for Christ's sake! -, it just wasn't enough. She wasn't enough. Simply because she wasn't Jacob, and she couldn't give Frankie what Jacob could, and did.
Not for lack of wanting. If she had a penny for each time she had gotten lost in Frankie's eyes or failed to understand what she was saying because she was a bit too interested in her lips and they could do... She didn't know exactly how or when it happened, but suddenly, the things she hated the most in Frankie became the things that endeared the woman to her (honestly, was there anything cuter than putting gummy worms in salad?). Sometimes Frankie did or said something, something of no real significance, but something that was so inherently Frankie that Grace was hit with a wave of love and affection that was so strong she didn't know if it made her want to laugh, cry, or hug the woman in question.
The irony of falling in love with her ex-husband's husband's ex-wife wasn't lost on her. The irony of turning gay in her 70s after she gave Robert such hell about it wasn't, either. Unfortunately, she would be the only one to appreciate it, since there would be no telling anyone about her new-found feelings for Frankie. Not only because she was afraid (of so many things, of hurting Frankie, of making Frankie happy, of rejection, of her family, of the world, of everything), but because who was she to ruin Frankie's happiness?
She was her friend, her roommate, her business partner. But a month from now, when Frankie was settled in Santa Fe with her boyfriend, Grace doubted she would be any of those things.
How dare she?, Grace thought, suddenly angry. How dare she take down, brick by brick, the life they had so painstakingly built together? How dare she run over everything they had, so carelessly, without a thought spared to the one who would be left in the ruins to pick up the pieces? How dare she be so selfish?
I thought I had a monopoly on that, she laughed sardonically. A little voice in her mind told her she should stop drinking and go to bed. She mixed her seventh martini, extra strong, just to shut that voice up. It worked, but it also made her reach for her phone and dial a very familiar number. Frankie's ridiculous greeting message was barely over when she started screaming her irrational thoughts into the phone.