Page 12 of Summer Breakdown
“Will I meet them?”
Jasmine’s eyebrows rise. “What?”
“Okay, wait, that sounded bizarre. I mean, will they be at home tonight? Do I need to sneak through the house?”
Jasmine snorts. “Do you think I’ve abandoned them togo out on the pull?”
Frankie screws her nose up. “Well, I assumed you had a childminder. How old are they?”
“Four and fourteen.”
Her jaw drops slightly. “You have a teenager?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Frankie looks her all over, and Jasmine feels hot with it. She doesn’t look like she’s judging her. More like she wants to know what she looks like naked and perhaps is curious as to how old she is.
“I’m twenty-nine,” Jasmine says, “just in case you thought I had a banging skincare routine.”
Frankie smiles brightly, swinging their hands between them. “Fourteen is old enough to be at home alone or not?” she asks.
“I’m not introducing you,” she replies, and Frankie pulls her hand away, but she’s not good at the joke because she reaches for her hand again moments later.
“You’re nervous he’ll think I’m cool as fuck and you’ll have to have me round for tea.”
Jasmine rolls her eyes. Marcelwouldthink she was cool as fuck.
“Tell me something specifically about being a mother,” Frankie says, as Jasmine gets her keys out. “Wait, do you live here?”
“No,” Jasmine replies, unlocking the gate. “I’m breaking and entering.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious. You’re obsessed with me.”
Frankie smiles. “God, I am.”
“Do you want kids?” Jasmine asks. “In general—not mine.”
“Ha-ha,” Frankie replies, her eyes wide as Jasmine pulls Frankie across her front garden. It’s kind of a courtyard. She has a big house; it is what it is. Accounting is boring, but it pays well, and she could get accredited without going to university. Getting through school and college almost killed her. So, working up from being an intern was all she coulddo. She didn’t grow up poor, but money wasn’t something they had, and it certainly wasn’t something they had in abundance when Marcel was young. She’s secure now, and knowing that her children will be fine whatever happens is something she worked hard for.
“Nah,” Frankie says, when they stand under her porch. The light flicks on moments later as Frankie adds, “I’m bipolar.”
Then, before Jasmine can react, Frankie’s entire body tenses, her eyes wide. She pulls her hand from Jasmine’s, and Jasmine doesn’t like it. As if she’s ashamed about it—as if she’d have any control over it. Jasmine doesn’t know much about being bipolar, but she has been researching anxiety and depression for Marcel, because he’s down. More down than she thinks he should be for an everyday teenager.
“Okay,” Jasmine replies, opening the door. “I don’t know much about that. Tell me?”
Frankie swallows, and Jasmine thinks she might run, but she follows her in, slipping her shoes off when Jasmine does. No holes in the socks. Jasmine sighs with relief.
“Um, I just—I do like kids, but I don’t want to pass it down. That’s what I meant.”
“Okay,” Jasmine replies. She grabs them some water, running the tap until it’s cold as she looks at Frankie, observing. The hunch of her shoulders, the way she looks at her feet. Frankie can’t take it back, but Jasmine can put herself in the same space.
“I love my kids,” Jasmine says. She does; it’s true. The next part is true too, but she’s never told anyone. “But I want to be more than a mother. I want things that are for me, even if I want to share it with them. They’re the most interesting thing to me, but I worry that I’m not interesting enough on my own, without them.”
Frankie frowns, and Jasmine says, “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that. In case you wanted to feel better about sharing things.”
Frankie hums a laugh, but she looks at her palms, a shell of the person she was moments ago. Jasmine likes her either way. She wonders if she could tell her that and she’d believe it, or if she should say something else.
