Page 124 of Summer Breakdown
“Frankie.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not an excuse. None of it is. I have bipolar; I have to learn to control it. I’ve never had someone I wanted as badly as I want you, and I fucked it up, and I’m sorry. I wrote to you every hour. I have so many messages I wanted to send you, and I knew you deserved better than that. It’s in my calendar to come over tomorrow. It has been every single day since I recognised Ezra on my couch. And I kept pushing it back, because what can I say? What justification could I possibly have for hurting you? For not turning up for dinner when I told Lani I would be here?Marcel’s choosing his classes, and I—“ She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“You were sick, Frankie,” Jasmine replies. Her brow is furrowed, but her hand remains like a balm against her chest. “Yeah, you have to control being bipolar but you do. You have the pills and therapy and decades worth of doctor’s appointments. You have that ridiculous calendar that sends shivers down my spine. My girl, you’re doing everything you can. It’s okay to have episodes. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, not even slightly. It’s just the first one we had together, and it was tough but we survived, right? Next time we’ll be better. We just missed you.”
“I love you,” Frankie says. “Whatever way you might want from me, you can have. If you want to be friends and never let me see the kids,” she says, “I could—no, I don’t think I could do that. Not forever. When someone asks me what I want to do after coaching, I think about them. Lani would be a teenager. Marc would almost be in his twenties. That’s, like, a full-grown adult,” Frankie says, and the sound of Jasmine’s laugh illuminates her heart. She might start floating.
“Every single thing I want in my life has you in it. But if you want, I would die just to be your friend.”
Jasmine’s grip on her hand tightens. “You’re not allowed to talk about dying. Please.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“You can have your hilarious suicide jokes in, like, three weeks,” Jasmine says, with a small smile. Frankie loves her so much.
“You have changed every single part of my life,” Frankie whispers. “Parts I thought were fine. Parts I didn’t even know existed. You’ve made me a better person. I never—I used to love things. I know that.”
Frankie takes another deep breath, feeling herself sink into the mattress a little more. Jasmine stays just as close.
“My parents used to say I thought I was hard to love, but I didn’t think there was anything to love, no matter how easy Itried to make it. And now,” Frankie says, her voice firming as she draws courage from the warmth of Jasmine’s presence, “I know that I love you. I don’t just love you—I trust you with the parts of me I never thought I’d let anyone see. You’ve shown me that I can love. That I’m capable of it. And, more than that, you’ve shown me that I deserve it too.”
Jasmine hums, resting her head on her chest. Frankie feels itchy with the unknown. It’s unfair because she did the same to Jasmine for weeks. It was worse. Jasmine hasn’t told her she doesn’t love her. In fact, Jasmine told her multiple times she was in love with her, and Frankie didn’t say it back.
“Can you text Ez?” Jasmine asks. “Let him know that you’re here.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I think my phone is downstairs.”
Jasmine groans as she goes to move, and she pulls her back.
“Mine’s on the bedside table.”
Frankie’s eyes burn with how bright Jasmine’s phone is. “Fuck me.”
“Sorry,” Jasmine mutters, her lips against her chest. “I put the brightness up so I didn’t fall asleep.”
Frankie’s heart breaks, but what else is new? She finds Ezra at the top of her messages. Constant texts back and forth about whether Frankie is alright. She swallows and forces herself not to scroll.
“He already text,” Frankie says. “It says colour?”
Jasmine hums. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, put green, please.”
Ezra replies before Frankie’s even put the phone down.
Ezra: good
Ezra: how are you?
Frankie knew Jasmine and Ezra were friends. She hopes they were this close before Frankie forced them to be.
“Sweetheart, he replied,” Frankie says, turning the brightness down and passing Jasmine the phone. It seems like something she shouldn’t be looking in on.
Jasmine sits up a little, the back of her head resting against Frankie’s chest. Frankie tries not to look, but her eyes are drawn there.
Jasmine: I am ecstatic and far too tired
