Page 120 of Summer Breakdown
Ezra hums. “You do?”
“Yeah, and I think you’d be great together.”
“Tell her that.”
Frankie laughs properly for the first time in weeks. Oh, she wants to tell Jasmine.
She chews on her lip. Just because she’s out of the episode doesn’t mean Jasmine will want her back. “Do you think I can go see her?”
“Shower first. You’re minging. Then your therapist wants to talk.”
Frankie shoves him with a laugh, and God, does it feel good.
Jasmine can’t get the image of Frankie out of her head. Ezra texted her a few days ago to say it broke. Oh, how she wishes she was there. She thinks about what she’d say, how she’d look at her, how she’d hold her. Jasmine hopes it would help, but every time she thinks about it all that crosses her mind is,You’re here, and you’re alive. You’re here and you love me. You’re here and you’re alive.You love me, right?
Jasmine’s never been more terrified than when Frankie was screaming in the corner of her flat.
The three scariest moments of her life: holding Marcel for the first time, waiting for Lani’s surgery, and Frankie’s breakdown.
It’s only been a few days. But Frankie’s awake, from arguably the worst time of her life, and Jasmine isn’t the first place she goes. It’s not been long enough, she knows this, but God, she wishes she’d text her. It’s a selfish thought, but one she allows herself to have anyway.
Jasmine tries to reason with herself. Ezra got her to take the pills. Jasmine took some supplies over. That’s all shewas supposed to do. But Frankie wanted her. In that version of her life, she still wanted her, and Jasmine has a lifelong weakness for Frankie Adebayo. It doesn’t matter if Frankie doesn’t want her back. She’s alive, and she’ll stay alive, and that’s all Jasmine needs from her. That all she wants to need from her.
Jasmine doesn’t cry. She lies here, waiting for sleep to take her. Her chest aches in a familiar way now. She might miss it when it goes. It’s the only comfort she has—the weight of love with nowhere to go that feels nothing like the presence she wants.
Frankie asked how she was supposed to know that love existed, one night when she was vocal enough to talk. Jasmine remembers the way she looked at a spot on the duvet, as if her looking at Jasmine was a sin. Jasmine ran her forefinger along Frankie’s nose, some semblance of physical touch that she was allowed, and told her she was made up of it. It was true then, and it’s true now.
Jasmine never knew how humiliating a breakup was. She’s read about love hurting like this. It always made her cry. It made her stomach flip and her chest feel funny. Then she met Frankie and thought, well, thank fuck she doesn’t have to go through that.
Now, she waits for the messages from Ezra that have slowed because Frankie is functioning alone, and soon, he’ll stop talking to her too.
Then, there’s a knock on her door, and Jasmine sits up like a jack-in-the-box. She’s stock-still. The kids are asleep, and their village is relatively safe. It’s probably not a murderer.
The door knocks again, more violently this time, and Jasmine finally gets up. The walk to the door isn’t long, but she jogs it anyway. What if it’s Frankie? She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the picture frame. It’s rude that she looks like death warmed up when she left the house earlier. How is it so obvious with just a passing glance that she’s heartbroken?
The entire walk to the door, Jasmine has a hope that there’s a muscled set of arms on the other side. God, she’s so embarrassing. Why do people fall in love if this is what breakups feel like?
She steels herself, because she’s not sure what will happen if she opens the door and it’s not her. Jasmine takes a deep, body shaking breath and pulls the door towards her.
There, under the stars, is the love of her life. The woman who is under her skin and wrapped around her bones. Jasmine finds she can’t move.
“Hi,” Frankie says, her fingers crossed her thighs.
And it’s this. This is why people fall in love.
“Hi.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Thedoorclicksclosedas Jasmine lets her in, and it’s awkward. Jasmine doesn’t look at her, and Frankie is desperate for her to.
“I’m sorry,” Frankie blurts out after she’s taken her shoes off. It’s not enough. Jasmine finally looks at her, and Frankie’s knees buckle.
Jasmine frowns, chewing on her lip. “What for?”
“Everything,” Frankie says quickly. She’s terrified. Not of Jasmine, but of herself. Of being wrong. Of doing this wrong. Of wanting something she doesn’t know how to deserve. “I want to be better for you. I want to be better anyway, but it’s mainly for you.”
They look at each other for a moment. Frankie wants to look at Jasmine for the rest of her life. She can’t believe she fucked this up.
