Page 45 of Summer Breakdown
Frankie looks at her, her eyes wide. “Oh.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t think I was that obvious. I try to keep it to myself. I don’t want to be annoying.”
“You’re not annoying,” Jasmine responds. “Besides, I’m not sure how obvious you are, but I was looking.”
“You were?”
Jasmine shrugs. She’s not flirting; she’s just being friendly. “Maybe.”
Frankie hums. “I’m not stressed right now, because I’m with you, but I was stressed before.” Jasmine’s heart flutters. Frankie hurt her before, but she makes her happier than that. Jasmine doesn’t think she even means to.
Jasmine wants her to tell her. The drawings aren’t enough. Looking at her when she’s not looking isn’t enough.
“You were with me then too,” Jasmine adds.
Frankie groans, rubbing her hand over her face. “Yeah, but it’s just you now. Besides, I don’t have to resist the urge to whack Andrew every three seconds.”
“He really is a tosser.”
Frankie laughs. “Yeah. He asked something because he’s rude, but can I ask because I want toknow you?”
“Sure.”
“Did you want it to work out with Mike?”
“No,” Jasmine says easily. She could see why people would be confused. She has two children with him. “I didn’t figure out I was a lesbian until my late teens, and by then I had a toddler.”
“Oh.”
Jasmine hums. “We had sex once at fifteen because I was insecure about being the only Black girl in my class—ever, really; at least where I grew up—and no one had ever looked at me before. Then, along came Marcel.”
“I want to say sorry,” Frankie starts, “because it sounds fucking rough, but it feels weird to apologise for something that created Marcel when he’s so sweet.” Jasmine smiles brightly. He is sweet. He gets overlooked often because Lani is so energetic. She demands attention with her cheeks and her loud, cute voice. Marcel is her baby introvert. She likes that Frankie recognises he’s also the best.
“That’s how I look at it,” Jasmine responds. “It was unreasonably hard. The most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.” She feels Frankie looking at her, and she wishes they were close enough for her to feel Frankie’s fingertips on the back of her hand.
“And then it wasn’t scary anymore. Mike and I were never in love; it wasn’t awful. It got worse once Lani was born. I didn’t think she would save us, nor did I want us to be saved, but I didn’t want to be a stereotype. Young, single Black mother, yada yada,” she says, throwing her hands around. “It’s stupid because I know stereotypes are harmful and untrue, but I’d been fed them my whole life. Lani wasn’t going to break that, but she brought me an unanticipated amount of joy. She does every single day. They both do. I don’t regret a single moment of it.”
She looks at Frankie, who doesn’t immediately turn away. “I’m glad.”
Jasmine smiles, and Frankie looks down, shoving her hands in her pockets. Jasmine wants to know if she’s got the urge to draw again.
“Were you touching me at the quiz because I was stressed?” Frankie asks.
“Yeah,” Jasmine replies. And no, but Frankie doesn’t need to know that. “It’s meant to help—or at least, the books say it helps.”
“On being bipolar?” she asks, her brow furrowed. Like it wasn’t a simple task. “Are you reading them because of me?”
Jasmine chews on her lip. “Yeah… not because I wanted to figure you out. I just… wondered if there was something I could do so you’d want to talk to me.”
Frankie’s face might drop slightly, but they’re walking down her road, and there’s no streetlamp here, so Jasmine can’t be sure.
“I always want to talk to you,” she says quietly. She doesn’t look back up at her.
“What were you stressed about?” Jasmine asks.
Frankie rolls her shoulders back, and Jasmine prepares herself to be disappointed.
