They really thought Kenna would bully them more than she did, but her quiet and smug I-knew-it smile was almost worst.
After that first kiss (and the many following in that sun drenched morning), neither shied away, and it didn't take them very long at all to tell everyone they were dating (never mind they hadn't gone on a single date, yet). The tittles of boyfriend and girlfriend didn't seem to fit them, since after so much history they both feel like something...more. But it was what they had, so they used it.
It became the norm them, to see them hanging around even closer than before, his arm casually thrown around her at the school cafeteria; their hands clasped, or her head resting on his shoulder, when they all hung out at Bash's apartment.
Catherine didn't like her coming to his house as much as she used to, but she'd always hated his girlfriends. Marie didn't give two shits about what her daughter did with her life.
.
Aylee got the letter of acceptance on a Friday, and they all spent the weekend over-crowding Bash's apartment with the knowledge that she was moving far away. Too far.
"Academy of Young Scholars.That…sounds fancy, like, really fancy," Kenna said, passing the by now crumpled and dirty letter to Lola.
"Well, it is in Washington," Lola said, eyeing the letter up and down.
"Fancy," Kenna repeated.
"It is," Aylee affirmed, "when my parents made me send an application I never thought I'd get in."
"We're happy for you," Mary said, sitting on the floor between Francis' legs, their fingers intertwined on her shoulder. "Really happy, and proud." Her eyes watered.
"Oh, Mary!" Aylee threw her arms around her, and Francis stood up with the excuse of getting another beer to let the girls be.
"I'll write all the time," Aylee said, holding her even tighter, "I promise."
Mary nodded, but even if they were older now, she knew how promises of keeping in touch could fade away.
"And we'll write to you," Greer said, coming closer to them and squeezing Aylee's shoulder.
"You won't even have time to study with the other brainiacs because you'll be checking all of your e-mails," Lola added, and she Kenna came over across the carpet too, squeezing tiny Aylee into a death grip.
"I don't know about you," Kenna said after a few minutes, pulling away from the hug and wiping her eyes, "but I'm done crying about this, so I think we should-"
"Party?" they all asked at the same time, Aylee a little cautious, Lola excited, and Greer and Mary like it was exactly what they expected her to say.
"Am I really that predictable?" Kenna asked and they laughed, but then she nodded. "I had the best idea…"
.
"Brother," Francis nodded as he walked into the tiny kitchen, searching the fridge for a drink, but Bash's eyes were trained in the groups of girls currently weeping and hugging in his living room.
"How did I let my bachelor pad become this?" Bash asked Francis as he took another swig of his beer, his eyes never straying from the scene unfolding in front of them.
"Perhaps when you stopped being a bachelor, brother?" Francis chuckled, eyeing Bash's stance. He seemed to be keeping himself there, not interrupting the girls and joining in the group hug by sheer force of will. "Wait, are you getting emotional too? Is that a tear I see?" he teased.
"Shut up, or I'll tell Mary you cried when we saw Monsters Inc. last year with the kids," Bash threatened, pointing his bear at Francis.
"She knows," he shrugged. They'd watched it again a couple of weeks ago, to the same result.
"Oh no," Bash said, jokingly schooling his features into looking thoroughly horrified. "We're both whipped," he whispered, clasping his half-brother's shoulder.
"Bash! We can use your truck for a road trip to the beach, right?!" Kenna yelled from the living room, and next to Francis, Bash audibly swallowed.
"I need another beer."
.
They (excluding Bash) blew off school to go on the road trip, a week before Aylee was supposed to catch the plane. Bash drove Henry's truck and Francis drove Bash's, and they made countless stops along the way- to have supposedly the best burgers in the south, to see the tomb of some important general, to pick flowers because it'd be poetic- and got there in much more time than they should have, sleeping in the car as whoever lost rock-paper-scissors had to take the night shift and drive.
The afternoon sky bled into pink after they'd been there a few hours, the sun setting in the distance and reflecting off the waves. Francis tightened his arms around Mary, a sweet protection against the chilly, salt-smelling breeze. They sat on a stone wall a little ways off the beach, watching Bash chase Kenna with something in his hands; Greer, Kenna and Aylee chatting underneath an umbrella.
Mary's legs were hanging from the edge, Francis' arms around her waist the only thing keeping her safe, tethered; her own hands drawing shapes over his. He nuzzled that space behind her ear, pressing a kiss on her pulse point.
"I love you," he whispered against her skin, quiet like a secret.
Her breath caught in her throat in the best of ways, warmth spreading through her chest. She didn't break the atmosphere with words, not yet. She only brought his hands a little closer, breathed him in a little deeper, and smiled against his lips as she turned and caught the words with her mouth.
.
A month after they started dating Bash gave Francis a serious talk about "not hurting her" that he recounted to her word by word. They did nothing but laugh, she rolling on the floor of their cabin.
"He really said that?" she gasped out, dabbing at the moisture gathering on her lashes from laughing so hard.
"Yes," Francis told her, his eyes following her wistfully –as if she wasn't already his- and with a smile that stretched his lips and pushed his eyebrows up. "He considers you another one of his sisters, I'm sure."
"And what about you?" she asked him, nonsensically, just to rile him up a bit.
"I'm your boyfriend," he told her, angling his head as if figuring out what she was about this afternoon. "That's gross."
"No, you're gross," she answered back like a child, because she was drunk in this feeling, this…peace and happiness she hadn't known in years. The knowledge that she was loved and she could tease him all she wanted and pull on his ridiculously wonderful hair and kiss him senseless.
"See, you're just asking for it," he shrugged, standing up from his place on the mattress and walking toward her, his hands open, long fingers wriggling.
"No," she scrambled back on her butt and feet, hands propelling her away from him and his mischievous eyes. "Francis," she said cautiously, "no. No!"
He ignored her, catching up with his stupidly long legs. He pinned her down with his lithe body and tickled her unmercifully, his fingers relentless at her sides.
"Stop!" she gasped, trying to bat his hands away, "Francis!"
"Stop, what?" he asked teasingly, and she swore once he was off her she'd wipe the smirk off his face.
"Stop! Pleasestop!" He finally stopped torturing her, and she caught her breath in big gulps of air, "I hate you," she said. Her stomach hurt from laughing so much, but his eyes looked so blue in the moment, almost as if they god damned sparkled that she couldn't do anything but pull his head down and capture his lips with her own.
"I thought you hated me," he told her smugly from above her, once he pulled away. Damn him.
She would've answered him appropriately if she hadn't seen the monster on the wall behind him.
"Oh my God!" she yelped, pushing him away from her, and pointing behind him. He stood up, startled, and found himself staring at the mother of all cockroaches walking along the wall.
"Kill it!" she exclaimed, her back against the other wall. She hates bugs. Francis used to catch crickets when they were little and chase her around with them, and she always hated the things. Cockroaches are even worse
"I'm on it," he chuckled as he jumped on one foot, taking off his shoe, "calm down." He chased the thing, finally squashing it in a corner.
He looked back at her, smiling with mirth at her stance.
"Mary?" he asked.
"Yeah?"
"We need to upgrade our living arrangements."
He said it jokingly, offhandedly, but when she looked at him, she knew he meant it. It didn't matter they were barely sixteen years old or that the odds were stacked against them, the future was alive with possibility they both wanted to take.
.
She stayed over at his house the night Aylee's parents drove her to the airport (they were still packing and would catch up to her in a few weeks). Her mom out with some friends, the house was so terribly quiet that for the first time she couldn't bear to be alone-and now, like the old days, she didn't have to. Unlike the old days however, now she was not allowed sleepovers at this house. With Henry and Charles -who were in the living room, watching cartoons in their pj's- sworn to secrecy, Mary slipped into Francis' bedroom, climbed into his bed, and settled down.
She could hear the shower running from the adjoined bathroom he shared with Elizabeth and Claude, so she just laid there, staring at the wall. The sheets smelled like him, and she could just imagine him waking up here, messy hair and sleepy eyes, it did something to her chest, knowing that he was here and he loved her and he wanted to be with her. She felt the gaping hole of Aylee's absence simmer down as she inhaled his scent, feeling just a tiny bit like a creep. She smiled to herself, curling her arms underneath his pillow and setting her eyes on the bathroom door, willing it to open faster.
A few minutes later he came out, holding a towel at his waist, his hair dark with water and dripping droplets onto the planes of his chest. She felt her face redden.
"Mary," he said softly, perhaps noticing her swollen eyes, they'd all cried themselves out at the airport.
"Hey," she greeted sheepishly.
"Let me get some clothes on," he told her, picking out some items randomly and slipping into the bedroom again.
He sat on the bed when he came out, his hand a familiar and comforting weight on her waist.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his thumb rubbing circles in her skin, and she nodded, swallowing.
"Yeah," she affirmed, "I just didn't want to be alone tonight."
He nodded, as if he knew she would come walking down their street in her pajamas and slip into his house unannounced instead of being logical and texting him to come over, but at the moment it seemed like the best idea. His house feels more like a home than hers does, the sound of the TV downstairs, the children laughing, the smell of dinner still hanging in the air. It felt alive, like a home should. Hers was just an old building who'd seen one too many cigarette butts making marks on its walls.
He slipped inside the covers after her, molding his body to hers.
"I'm right here," he whispered into her hair, and there, in that small bed, her knees pressed against the wall, the warmth of his body all around her, she swore it was the best she ever went to sleep.
.
Morning found them still curled around one another, his arms a cocoon around her, her hair fanned on his pillow.
"Francis," Elizabeth whispered as she shook his brother's shoulder. "Hey, dumbass."
He muttered something unintelligible.
"Francis!" she pinched his shoulder, and his eyes sprung open.
"Liz!" he exclaimed, but she signaled him to quiet.
"Mom's still asleep, you should get her out of here before she wakes up," she said, nodding to Mary, still fast asleep next to him. He knew how it looked.
"Lizzie, it's not…"
"I don't want to hear it," she smiled, raising both of her arms as she walked into the bathroom and back into her own room.
"Thanks for the heads up," he said, before she closed the door.
"I care about Mary," Elizabeth said simply, and then "and about you too, wouldn't want mom to ban her from this house and then have you be all mopey."
"Love you too, Liz," he told her warmly.
"You're still a dumbass," she said, the door closing after her. Claude's voice came through as she, too, woke up. His sister had good timing.
A sudden giggle from the covers next to him called his attention, and he pulled them back to discover a sleepy yet laughing Mary.
"Were you awake this whole time?" he asked her, leaning over her supported by his elbow.
"No…" she said innocently, looking at anything but his eyes. "dumbass," she whispered, and then he was tickling her and peppering her face with kisses. After a moment, he pulled away, more somber.
"Are you feeling better? About Aylee, I mean."
"A little," she said. "I'll miss her, but I know she's better off there." She was, in a place with a lot more possibilities and options to choose from than a tiny backwater town where nothing ever happened. Maybe she always knew the girl who'd been like a sister to her would leave. She thought about it while Francis picked out his clothes and threw them in a bag, saying he'd shower at her place and that they had to leave before his mom woke up.
Still, he was uncharacteristically quiet, letting her live in her own head without asking what she was thinking. She looked at him, and noticed every so often he would look back at her like she'd be the one to disappear from his life.
"Francis?" No better time than now.
"Hmmm?"
"I want you to know," she said, her heart beating fast, "whatever happens, that I love you."
He looked up at her words, his eyes shining brighter than the morning sun streaming through the window.
.
They made love for the first time on that old mattress, in the middle of that dilapidated house, between a sea of leaves the wind had scattered across the floor.
What there was: the flickering candles he lit up and the breeze blew out, the flash of nervousness she felt at the sound of plastic crinkling, the tremble of hands at discovering new skin, the heated kisses, but overall the feeling that this was new and old at the same time, and so rightit took her breath away, but not nearly as much as he did.
What there was not: embarrassment, shame, guilt. She knew he'd done it before but she didn't think about it or felt self-conscious, not when he worshipped her body like she was not just the only woman he desired but the only woman in the world. She didn't think of pain or stains blooming like red flowers in the fabric, or that it could ever be a mistake.
They fell asleep in a tangle of sweaty limbs and sheets in the old mattress they'd given a new story.
.
She held his hand when he found out about his father.
Elizabeth gaped at her mother, her eyes watering; Claude and Charlie started crying; but he just squeezed her hand harder and stood up suddenly, the slamming of his bedroom door heard throughout the house a second later.
"What does a tumor mean, mommy?" little Henry asked Catherine, looking around at his siblings bewildered. She just burst out crying. Mary felt overwhelmed herself, the house stifling all of a sudden, concern for Francis and pity for his mother, grief and worry over his siblings crowding inside her. She knew she couldn't go to him now, so she did the next best thing.
"Hey, Henry, do you want to...eh…go to my house, for some ice-cream?" she asked him, and then looked up at Catherine.
"Yes, baby, why don't you go with Mary?" she suggested right away, not even looking at him as she sank down to Claude's level and took the girl's hand between her own.
"Come," she said, offering her hand to Henry, and the little boy took it. She couldn't quite process what she'd just heard, but all she knew was that it made more good to get Henry out of that house than to go after Francis.
He wouldn't talk to her while he was like this. And even if he opened that door, she didn't know what she could say to him. Her father had died when she was a newborn, she didn't feel his loss. She had no idea what he was going to go through.
She walked down the long dusty sidewalk, Henry's fingers warm between her own, and for the first time pointedly ignored the questions of the little boy. She finally opened the door to her house, Henry in tow. She put her fingers to her lips so he would be quiet, as her mother was passed out on the couch, still in the previous night's dress. He nodded, eyeing her mother carefully.
She helped Henry up into the kitchen isle, and then pulled a carton of Ben&Jerry's Francis had bought for her out of the fridge, offering it to the boy with a spoon, which he accepted with wide eyes. She didn't think with so many sibling he ever got something all to himself.
She leant back against the wall, running her hands over her forehead, finally realizing what was happening. She found a sob building up in her throat, and she wasn't sure if it was for Francis or for his father. Even if she'd never been close to Henry, father, she knew him, and he was going to die.
She was watching his youngest son happily and messily eating ice cream in her kitchen counter, and the man was going to die.
She remembered how much time Francis' dad spent with Bash but how little with Francis. How he taught Bash how to drive and change tires, and how Bash was the one to teach Francis those things, and not his dad. And yet she knew Francis loved his father, no matter how much he said he didn't care; this would break his heart. It was so much harder to resent someone when they weren't there.
"Mary?" she heard a raspy voice say, coming from the darkened living room.
"We're in the kitchen," she answered him, her voice stronger than she would have guessed it to be, like she felt she had to be for him. When he appeared before her, all that resolution went to shit.
His eyes were rimmed with red, and his hair was a mess from seemingly pulling at it. He'd obviously been crying and that undid her, her very joints felt weak. He was always the strong, logical one. She was the one who burst out crying when they couldn't catch any fireflies, but now he was the one looking sad and lost in the middle of her kitchen. She felt like she was trudging through muddy water when she found her voice again.
"Francis-"
"My mom told me you came here," he said, stopping her. "She asked me to bring Henry back home, Diane's brought my dad back from the hospital."
"Daddy is home?" Henry asked right away, dropping his spoon on the counter.
"Yeah," he nodded to his brother, "come on." He helped Henry jump down and then picked him up in his arms, immediately backing out from the doorway and out into the living room.
"Francis, wait-"
"Not right now Mary," he looked at her, cradling his oblivious litter brother, his eyes begging her to leave him alone. Her chest hurt. "I just," he gulped down air, "I- I'll call you, okay?"
"Yeah," she answered him helplessly. "Yeah, okay," she said again, walking them out. She watched the two blond heads disappear down the street, feeling as if her heart was sinking through her body, making a mess of things as it went down, to finally get lost between the dirty tiles of the floor. He was in pain and she couldn't fix it.
"See?" a groggy voice said behind her, "you need to stop chasing that boy around like a little-"
"Shut the fuck up," she told her mother, for once with enough venom behind it to leave her staring, and raced up the stairs to her room.
He didn't show up again that afternoon, and she didn't go to the cabin solely because he would probably be there. She didn't see him the rest of the weekend, either.
He didn't call.
