Frankie
I spythe stream of dog drool and move out of the way before it lands on me.
“No, Miggy! Go away!” I shoo him with a wave of my arm, but the meathead just sits down and stares at me, long strings of drool hanging from his droopy jowls. I just got home, and barely had time to collapse onto the couch before he trotted right over to spatter me with his slime.
“Francesca, don’t yell at him! He’s a helpless dog.”
My mother’s voice streams from the kitchen. It smells like she’s making mac and cheese, the one thing we can both whip up without burning.
“I just want to lie down for a few minutes without this furball bothering me,” I shout back through the doorway. “It’s not too much to ask.”
“He’s adog. He’s happy to see you. It’s his nature.”
I flop an arm over my eyes and kick my feet up onto the cushions. “Well, I’m not happy to see him.”
My entire body aches. My guts are still on fire from multiple rounds of tossing my cookies, and I’ve had a tension headache pulsing behind my eyes since noon. I’m pretty sure I paid out more than I made today covering all the free milkshakes I’d had to give to customers to make up for getting their orders wrong. I had one happy patron, but for some reason he didn’t tip me.
A hot wave of dog breath washes over my face, and I open my eyes and glare at the dog.
“Miggy, go see Mommy in the kitchen, okay? Go get some mac and cheese.” He doesn’t budge. Naturally. “C’mon, Miggy. Go! Get!”
My mother appears around the corner, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon. “Oh, Francesca, just pet him a little and he’ll leave you alone.”
Oh, hell no. That’sit.
“Don’t CALL ME THAT!” I shout, loud enough to be heard over the dog’s incessant panting.
My mom freezes, looking almost shocked at my outburst. Since my arrival, she’s appeared unflappable. Now, her eyes narrow and her mouth turns down as if I’ve offended her.
“It’s your name,” she replies softly. “I gave it to you. I didn’t give you much in this world, I know that, but I did name all of my girls. And I named them well, Francesca Carina Abriana Abbott.”
Sitting up on the couch, I bury my face in my hands. My eyes burn and I can’t hold back tears. Everything is rushing at me all at once, and at the center of it all is Dante.
There’s a metallic clunk as my mother sets the pot on the coffee table. Her gentle weight sinks into the couch cushion next to me, her hand warm where she presses it against my back. I want to fight her attempt at motherly interest, but I don’t have it in me.
“Frankie. What’s wrong?”
“Hecalled me Francesca,” I choke out between sniffles. “And I’m so tired of thinking about him.”
There’s a beat of silence and then my mom starts rubbing small circles over my back.
“Dante?” she says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper.
“I don’t want to talk about him. I—I can’t.” My voice cracks on the last word.
“You don’t have to,” she says. “I’m not trying to pry. But I want you to know…well…you certainly wouldn’t be the first woman in history to choose the wrong man. Myself included, God knows. But that doesn’t mean you have to suffer for it. There’s absolutely no shame in leaving him, darling. Do what’s best for you. I support you, no matter what you choose.”
As if it’s that easy.
I swipe tears from my eyes and shake my head. “That’s just it, Mom. I didn’tchoosehim. Dad arranged the marriage, to repay a debt. I had no choice but to go through with it.”
Just like that, the whole tumultuous story is spilling out. My mom doesn’t say anything as I ramble on about my disastrous marriage, the ups and downs, how I went from despising Dante to loving him without even realizing it. And how easily he can tear me down. There’s a soft weight on my leg. Miggy is resting his head on my knee. I didn’t even realize he’d come closer.
I pat his head absently as I finish with, “Even if I can get through divorcing him, I’ll still be stuck with him forever.”
My mom’s brows draw together. “Why do you say that?”
No point in holding back. “I’m pregnant.”
