Franco

by Kim Holden

  The entire day was taken at a lazy pace, something we both needed. Slowing down gives you time to recharge, time for reflection, time to evaluate. We walked the town and stopped in several shops, including a hat shop. I finally got to see a fascinator in its natural habitat. Gem bought one and looks straight up regal in it, like some kind of royalty. I bought a wool hat like Cillian Murphy wears in the TV show "Peaky Blinders," not because I look good in it, but because I'm obsessed with the show and feel like a badass wearing it. Score.

  After we shopped, we walked to an old church with a falconry. The falconry was a first for me. They keep and care for about two dozen hawks, falcons, and owls. I was like a little kid when I got to wear a thick, protective leather glove and hold a hawk on my forearm. I felt like a beast master. And Gemma was fucking giddy when they let her do the same with a snowy white owl. I took photos of her posing with it. She squealed that she felt like Harry Potter. The joy on her face and in her big toothy smile was so innocent, so pure. That's one of my favorite things about Gemma, she doesn't hide from her emotions. Good or bad, she lives in them, confronts them, accepts them, and feels them bone deep. It's one of the reasons her charisma is like the polestar. It's subtle, but undeniable in its force. She's a genuinely relatable and likable woman, what you see is what you get, and people dig it. I'm batshit for it.

  After the falconry, we pass a tattoo parlor, and I make the spur of the moment decision to get my nose pierced because I've been contemplating it for years. Gem, despite looking so pale I fear she may pass out at the sight of the needle, got her tragus pierced.

  After we both put an extra hole in our heads, the sun is low in the sky, and we decide it's time for dinner.

  "What are you hungry for?" I ask as we walk hand in hand down the sidewalk.

  "Let's find a pub. After surviving the needle trauma, I could do with a pint or two and a burger and chips."

  I can't stop smiling at her. "Perfect. I'm getting french fries, though, weirdo."

  She elbows me in the side for the jab and then pulls me in through the door under a sign that reads The Pied Bull.

  I smell fried food and ale, consider me home.

  We're well into our first pint when Gem decides to go serious with the conversation. "I've been thinking about you a lot this week, Franco."

  "Hard not to, I've invaded your life and home like a bull in a china shop," I tease.

  She smiles that smile that's driven by happiness. "I quite like that part. Waking up next to you every morning is my favorite part of the day."

  I raise my glass. "Cheers to waking up to your beautiful face."

  She taps her glass to mine. "Cheers to waking up to you and all six foot plus inches of your glory."

  I wink. We haven't had sex since I've been here. I think we both know there needs to be a natural progression to starting over. But I can't deny that her flirting has me twitching down below.

  "You need to be in San Diego. Your work is there. Your family is there. Your friends are there. Your life is there."

  I'm shaking my head to let her know she can stop the list. "Parts of my life are there. The most important part is sitting across the table from me."

  "I don't want you to have to choose between me and everything else."

  "I'll make it work. As Gus reminded me, we live in a world of technological sorcery and air flight that makes distance suck less." She's not going to push me away.

  "I think I have a solution that would be easier."

  "I'm all ears."

  "I've been talking to my contacts from the L.A. project this week, doing a bit of networking. They put me in contact with a few architectural firms in the San Diego area." I can't hold back the smile that's spreading across my face. "I researched them all, and two felt like they would be a good fit, they've amazing reputations and are doing really innovative projects that would challenge me. The first flat-out turned down my interest, they're small and have no openings. But the other was quite keen on the idea of bringing me on. I'd have to start over at the bottom again—"

  I stop her, not to argue against it, but to play devil's advocate because I don't want her doing something for me that goes against her dreams. "You've worked so hard to get where you are. You'll be a partner soon, this move would set you back years."

  "Franco, I've learned something this year. I love my career, and it's something I want to do for the rest of my life, but I can do it anywhere. My mind and creativity comes with me wherever I go." She looks pointedly at me. "My heart, on the other hand, goes wherever you go. I don't fancy being separated from it or you. They've offered me a position starting in three months. I'd start on a year-long work permit while they sort out my green card." She's staring at me like she's just asked me a question.

  I suppose, in essence she has, but all I want to do is stand up on the table and start yelling about how much I love this woman. Instead, I ask, "What did you tell them?" and hold my breath.

  "I told them I needed the weekend to think it over. What do you think?" she asks, suddenly nervous.

  "Is this really what you want?" I have to ask because the selfish side of me wants to shout, Hell yes! Let's go home and start packing. And that would be inconsiderate because she's ready to sacrifice everything in her life for me. That's huge.

  She nods and she's wearing her determined face. "Absolutely, naughty American boy."

  One more attempt at an alternative before I start celebrating. "You know I'd move here for you? If you wanted to stay, I'd make it work."

  "No." The way she says it leaves no doubt in my mind that she's thought this through.

  I unleash my smile full force, throw my hands up over my head, and try to moderate my voice to acceptable levels. It's hard given the ale and my excitement. "Fuck yeah, Gem's going to be a Californian."

  She's beaming at me. "I'm so relieved, Franco. I feel like you just lifted the weight of the world off my shoulders. And I feel rather pushy, but like I said, I love waking up next to you every morning. And your bed is quite comfy—"

  I stop her, because she's trying to ask if she can move in with me. "Mi casa es tu casa, Gem. I like my house better when you're in it."

  She smiles. "Thank you."

  Eating is smattered with questions about her dad, family, and friends. I want to make sure she's okay being away from them. I know she lived in the states for a year already and knows what she's in for, but I need to ask. We also discuss her belongings and her car. She'll sell her car and bring very little with her, mainly just clothes and a few personal items like family photos.

  The burger and fries are probably the best I've ever eaten. I don't know if it's my current mood and all the ale in my system influencing the opinion, but my belly is currently blissed out.

  Gemma finishes her second pint as I start my fourth. The ale's strong, her eyelids are beginning to droop adorably. My senses, are likewise, getting fuzzy.

  We settle into easy conversation, all talk of the move set aside for now, we're just two friends talking. And laughing, because that's our specialty. Damn, I've missed this so much. Watching Gemma swipe mascara streaked happy tears from under her eyes, paired with her big smile and giggles, is oddly one of the most satisfying things I've ever seen or heard. Every time this happens between us I feel like it draws us closer. Laughter is bonding and healing like nothing else.

  The walk back to the hotel is long. I give her a piggy back ride for several blocks until she whispers in my ear, "Franco, can you stop please and put me down? There's something I need to do."

  I squat and release her legs so she can slide down and I turn around when her feet hit the ground.

  She wastes no time in taking my face between her hands and pulling my mouth down to hers.

  Despite the grip she has on my cheeks, the kiss that lands on my lips is soft. So soft.

  Followed by another.

  And another.

  It takes a few seconds for me to remember that, though I really like the things her mouth
is doing to me, there's more of her to be touched. More of her that needs to be touched. My arms wrap around her, and my hands find her back. One slides up under her hair until it meets the skin at the nape of her neck. The other goes south. Way south.

  The kisses deepen. In pressure at first, but it's not long before we're invading each other's mouths. Desperate to connect.

  She pulls back and smiles at me and everything inside me lights up. It's one of those moments in life that you realize exactly, without a doubt, what happiness feels like.

  Slowly our smiles fade as they're traded out for desire. Which still makes me incredibly happy, but it's hard to grin when flat out need is permeating every cell of my body. Fuck, this woman can push my buttons. One hand still at her neck, the other is, quite aggressively, clutching her ass. A fact I'm fully aware of on a physical level, and choosing to ignore on an I'm-in-public-and-people-are-watching level.

  Her words stop me mid-grope. "I'll race you back to the hotel room. Whoever's naked first wins."

  I'm running, her hand in mine, praying that I'm going the right direction.

  The lobby is empty when we enter, and we cross it doing a weird speed walking thing because we're both trying to act adult and avoid the all-out horny sprint to the elevator. But after I push the call button, I realize we're wasting precious seconds that my mouth could be on hers and I rectify the lapse in judgment.

  She whispers, "I've missed this," in between soft kisses.

  The ding of the doors opening signals the end of round one, and we dart inside for round two.

  When the elevator dumps us out on three, we manage to navigate our way down the hall. It's a team effort, like a three-legged race, except we're two bodies joined as one from our mouths down to our toes. We don't break, and it's slow going what with all the crashing into walls and shuffling. Periodically, I open an eye to check room numbers and when the correct one pops into view, I back Gem up against the door to open it. Together we stumble in but the abrupt entrance, and the jostling that results, separates us.

  She's pulling in air, encouraging her lungs to keep up with the demand being put on them. And me? I'm stripping my t-shirt over my head and toeing my Vans off. When I unbutton my jeans, the lack of movement in front of me pulls my focus to her. She's still fully clothed. Her eyes are on me, loving and lusty.

  "I thought this was a race. Pick up the pace, slacker. I'm winning."

  She kicks off her leopard print flats—they sail across the room in flight. It's reckless and sexy. She watches as I unzip my jeans and drop them and my underwear at the same time and step out of them both. The smile on her face is wicked, her eyes glued to my manhood prepared and ready to rock the hell out of us. "Bloody hell, I win either way." Her eyes rise slowly to meet mine as she shimmies out of her jeans and panties.

  I help her with the buttons on her shirt.

  Then I help her with the clasp on her bra.

  And then I help myself...to her.

  The race is over.

  We come together in slow motion. Two lovers getting reacquainted with the curiosity and attention of strangers meeting for the first time.

  And the second time.

  And the third time.

  I tell her I love her.

  And then I tell her again.

  And again.

  Until I lose count.

  She tells me she loves me.

  Over and over.

  Until I lose count.

  Love in all its incantations, promises made with flesh and bone and word and intent.

  That was our night.

  That is our future.

  I fucking love this woman.

  Wednesday, September 12

  (Franco)

  The past two weeks have been dizzying. The trip home to San Diego was fruitful—my house is still standing. And I had a long update with Gus. He fucking loved it and only told me, "I told you so," three or ten times. I also talked to my mom and dad and told them about Gem moving in with me. Mom was over the moon. She nearly picked me up off the ground when she hugged me.

  I've been back in England for over a week now, and I feel Gem winding up a little tighter every day. Her nerves are spiking up as the hours dwindle, and the operation grows closer. She's been incredibly strong and talks about it when she needs to so she doesn't keep it penned up inside and explode. Last night she cried. It broke my heart because there was nothing I could do except hold her.

  Surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning. We visited her doctor's office this morning, all the necessary blood work, tests, and exams were done to prepare for it. The countdown is underway. I feel sick. And helpless.

  She turned off her phone when we walked out the door of the clinic. She's shutting everything and everyone out so she can deal with this.

  We had dinner with her dad. He's a pilot, so he's not home much, but he arranged a few days off to be here for her surgery. He's a quiet man, private and stoic. A man of few words and little emotion, but he loves his daughter more than anything, you can see it in the way he looks at her. It's the same way my parents look at my siblings and me. It's real and reliable and never-ending. I'm thankful she's always had him in her life.

  I made her take a hot bath with me when we got back to her house to help her relax. She sat between my legs, her back resting against my chest. We didn't say a word. And she fell asleep, mental exhaustion finally getting the better of her. When the water cooled, I gently woke her, dried her off, and helped her into bed.

  And as she drifted off to sleep next to me, I prayed. I haven't prayed in years, but I prayed with everything in me tonight. To know that devastation is coming for the person I love most in the world and knowing there's nothing I can do to stop it, is humbling. I want to stand in front of Gem and shield her from all the bad in the world. But I can't. Not with this. So I prayed.

  Thursday, September 13

  (Franco)

  This morning has been eerily quiet. We dressed, grabbed the bag she packed yesterday, and drove to the hospital.

  The smell of a hospital always makes me nauseous, and given that my stomach was already queasy, I'm in quite a state by the time they take Gem back for prep. I kiss her and tell her I'll see her in a few minutes, because they've promised I can see her before they sedate her.

  There are magazines on the table next to me. My phone is in my pocket. But neither offers the kind of distraction I need, so I stand and take a walk down the hall. Not far enough that I'll miss them when they come out for me, but far enough to stretch my legs. And then I return, and the pacing begins because it's how I deal with nerves. Down to the end of the hall and back.

  Repeat.

  Repeat.

  When I'm at the end of the hall, I see the door that Gem walked through open. My feet instinctively start walking faster. And when I see strawberry blond hair, I pick up the pace. She's clothed, holding her bag, and she looks stunned.

  When I'm a few steps away, she smiles at me, and it stops me dead in my tracks. The smile is off, fear or shock is mixed in amongst excitement or happiness. I can't put my finger on it, but it's quickly making me uneasy.

  "Gem?" I prompt.

  One exaggerated breath in and out and her smile grows. It's forced, like she's trying not to cry. And then she shakes her hands and arms at her sides—warding off nerves or bracing herself, I'm not sure which.

  "What's going on?" I whisper. Sifting through all the contradictions in this scene is not something my brain is capable of at the moment. I need answers to make sense of it.

  Her smile is trembling now, but the joy in it is significantly outweighing the shock and apprehension, and it's building at an alarming rate.

  The two steps to get to her, despite my urgency, are in slow motion. Her eyes never leave mine, and in the time it takes to enter her personal space, she's placated me without saying a word. I'm reassured. Comforted. Guaranteed. At peace. Loved. Needed. Wanted. And I know, without a doubt, that she's mine. And I'm hers. Whatever she's a
bout to tell me, it will only make us stronger.

  "We're pregnant." It's the sweetest and softest declaration of a dream come true I've ever heard.

  I've been surprised in my life.

  I've been happy.

  I've been grateful.

  I've been in awe.

  I've been in love.

  But not like this.

  Not overwhelmingly all at once like this.

  "You're pregnant?" I question.

  She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks into her wide smile, and she repeats louder this time, "We're pregnant."

  Shock's loosened its stranglehold on me, and I pick her up off the ground in a hug and yell, "Holy shit, we're having a baby!"

  Gemma is laughing in my arms, and she doesn't even shush me.

  The nurse walking by does, though.

  Gem calls her dad and tells him briefly what's going on, so he doesn't make a trip to the hospital. He asks a few questions, but she reassures him that everything is fine. After that we head home. The ride home is quiet; we're both lost in our thoughts. Forever I've been a planner, tried to do everything in the right order, at the right time. I prided myself on being responsible and methodical. But from the very moment I met Gemma, the script got thrown out the window. I've taken chances on her, with her, that I wouldn't have considered in a million years with anyone else. I guess when you find the right person, there are no rules. You make them up as you go along.