Page 115 of Summer Breakdown
“A little,” Frankie replies. She hates to be touched when she’s like this, but she’s not sure how bad it will be with Jasmine. Frankie owes her something for coming all this way, at least. She closes her eyes as Jasmine’s hand lightly touches her wrist. Frankie’s chest aches for her to move closer, to grip her arm, to pull her against her, but she doesn’t. She just runs her thumb back and forth over her wrist.
Frankie turns her head to look at her. Jasmine is looking right at her with a small smile. She is all Frankie wants to look at for the rest of her life. She looks at her for real. Hergaze slowly moves over Jasmine’s face. She looks the same. Her eyes are a little puffy perhaps. She’s perfect.
Frankie knows why she cries this time. Jasmine moves closer, manoeuvring until Frankie’s head is against her chest, and she rubs circles against her back. Frankie never thought she’d have someone that would sit in the dark with her.
“Are you hungry?” Jasmine asks, as she gets them a blanket. Frankie shakes her head, and when Jasmine turns to look at her, Frankie sees the puffiness of her eyes for real. She’s been crying. A while ago. She’s not crying now. She was crying earlier.
Frankie feels her face drop, and a sob racks her body.
“Oh,” Jasmine whispers, pulling her into a hug. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” She kisses her on the temple, and Frankie wraps her arms around her. Jasmine lies back against the floor, her legs intertwined with her own.
“Let’s sleep,” she says. She’s being kind because she’s always kind, but there’s something off too, like she has to work a little harder at it.
“I can’t,” Frankie whispers. She’s not being particularly quiet, though she tries to be. Ezra will be trying to sleep on the couch.
“What’s your favourite book?” Jasmine asks, her hands running down her side.
“I don’t—I was reading the book from yours and Ez’s club.”
“‘Kay,” Jasmine replies, and she moves for a second, but Frankie doesn’t panic. She’ll be right back. “Settle in.”
“Was it a classic?”
“It’s not my fault you’re uncultured.”
Frankie laughs lightly. God, she misses her, and she’s right here. It’s not the same. She’s not here because she wants to be; she’s here because she knows Frankie needs her. That’s not the same. Still, she lets Frankie lie her head against her chest, and she doesn’t call her childish. She runs her fingersacross her shoulder and over her head. She makes her feel safe.
Jasmine quietly tells her the story, and Frankie falls asleep to the sound of her own crying and the soft lullaby of Jasmine’s voice.
Jasmine isn’t sure what day it is. She feels like Bella probably did inNew Moon. Maybe a man is spinning around her with a camera as she replays the worst moment of her life in her head. Maybe, when she can get off the sofa, she’ll see that seasons have changed, all while she still can’t sleep through the night.
It’s been nine days. Frankie’s not getting any better. As if Lani isn’t hoping she comes to her for her first day of physiotherapy next week. Like Marcel hasn’t slyly asked Jasmine where she is so he can ask for her advice on asking Tabitha out. Jasmine knows it doesn’t work like that, but she is desperately trying to cling to something.
The evidence that the time has passed is clear, if she thinks about it. The other day, she took Lani to the park. They played on the swings, and Lani smiled, taking so many photos, and Jasmine has looked at them and still can’t remember a single part of it.
Ezra said Frankie’s first major depressive episode lasted four days, and now he’s treading water, like she is. Jasmine should have been asking Frankie what she needed her to do if this happened, but she’d been selfish, and she’d thought they’d have more time.
Ezra and Jasmine trade off being at Frankie’s house. Sometimes, they’re together, and they sleep sitting uprighton Frankie’s couch. Sometimes, she’s alone, and she hopes Frankie wakes up and remembers who she is.
Often, Frankie will let her stroke her back, and she will let her wash her with a flannel. When she was catastrophically sick, she let Jasmine get in the shower with her. Jasmine held her as she cried, and the water ran clear, and then Frankie told her she never wanted to see her again. Jasmine slept on the couch anyway, but she cried silently. As hard as it is for her, she knows it’s worse for Frankie. She hopes she doesn’t remember a single bit of it. Jasmine would never mention it; she’d take whatever she said to her grave with her.
“She went to sleep easier this time,” Ezra says, as he throws himself on the couch. He looks as tired as Jasmine feels. She misses Frankie. She misses her kids. Mali and Zach send her photos whenever they have them, and Ezra spends the nights she can’t be there at her house. Lani and Marcel won’t miss her yet, but she can’t do this forever.
There’s also the fact Frankie broke up with her. Jasmine would help her anyway, but there is the thought at the back of her mind that she’ll go through this and she won’t get her back at the end.
“That’s good,” Jasmine says quietly.
“She’s going to come out of it,” Ezra says, his voice low.
Jasmine nods, but the tears fall either way.
“Talk to me,” Ezra says, resting his head on the back of the sofa. Jasmine has learnt so much about Ezra this week. She wishes she knew if he would have told her if they weren’t locked in here together, or if he’s only telling her so she doesn’t feel bad about whining.
“I’m heartbroken,” she whispers, then, “and I can’t think about it. I don’t have time to think about it until she’s asleep, and what if she wakes up and still doesn’t want me back?”
“Jas,” Ezra says softly. “She’s so in love with you.”
“She has more important things to do right now than deal with me, but, oh,” she groans, resting her forehead against her knees. “I love her. I love her.”
