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“Did you just show up to her place unannounced?” Frannie asks, and I nod. “Jesus, Will. No wonder it didn't go well. You show up, he shows up - she probably felt cornered, and you added insult to injury.” I scowl back at her as she adds “You’ve gotta consult me on these things.”
“I don’t need your advice for everything woman-related.” I lean my head back, staring at the white tiled ceiling - noting that it probably needs to be cleaned, or replaced, soon, and adding it to the mental checklist I have going from this site visit.
“No,” José adds, but when I look up at him, the smile on his face isn’t reassuring. “But I think I know who you should talk to.”
“This?Thisis your brilliant idea?”
I try to steel my expression over my sunglasses as I stare at the idea Frannie said was “genius.” She and José had looked at each other in the kitchen like they knew exactly what to do, and the idea of the two of them working together on something made me uneasy. This confirmed my suspicions.
Saoirse Bradley is not exactly someone I would consider a paragon of good advice. Hell, she’s not even someone I would consider, period. As one of Frannie’s college friends, and now an employee of WHG, I think I’ve barely spoken thirty sentences to her since we met.
But apparently, she’s my saving grace.
Or, at least, that’s what José says as he gives me a look that pointedly tells me to shut up, and Seer stares down at us from where she stands in front of our table, arms crossed.
“This is what you brought me to work for on my day off?” She gives José and Frannie a look that could kill, her brown eyes narrowed. She tightens her arms over the black, oversized tee shirt she’s wearing, which hits nearly her knees, given how short she is. The cream colored hat she has on her head is nearly half her size.
“Sit down,” Frannie says forcefully, and pulls the chair next to her out. I can’t see Seer’s eyes rolling when she slides her sunglasses back over her face, but I can practically feel it.
“No one is forcing you to be here,” I say coolly.
“I am.” Frannie looks at her friend, meeting a cold stare with a grin as the waitress comes up to take Seer’s drink order. “On us,” Frannie says to Seer, as if she needs reminding that we’re technically her bosses, and she’s at a WHG property - the Monarch, which is next door to our office. The restaurant on the bottom floor has a covered patio, so the three of us found a table outside while we waited for whatever Frannie and José had planned. This is not what I was expecting.
“We thought Seer could help in your current predicament,” José says warmly, gesturing to the girl across the table from me with his coffee cup. He’s driven a while to be here, too - and I’m grateful that he’s looking out for me by orchestrating whatever he has. I’m just doubtful it’ll do anything.
“Which is?” Seer asks, unwrapping her straw and shoving it aggressively in the glass of Diet Coke she ordered.
“You know what, this isn’t a good idea,” I start, and move to back my chair up. Frannie gives me a look that tells me if I move, she’ll cut something off, so I pause. “I’m just not sure-"
“That I’m useful?”
“That’s not what I said, and you know it.” It comes out more clipped than I intend, but Seer smiles.
“There’s the Fitz Westfall we all know.” She turns to Frannie. “And you said he was a lovesick puppy.” Frannie scoffs and smacks her friend on the arm, but Seer doesn’t even flinch.
“The girl he likes is sober, too,” José says to Seer, and my eyebrows furl.
“You’re sober?” I ask, and Frannie looks at me like I’m dumb.
“Almost two years.” Seer takes a long draw through her straw. “Figured Frannie would have mentioned something since she basically had to pick me up from rock bottom.”
“I did,” Frannie mumbles. Almost two years - that would have put me smack dab in the middle of my divorce, and just shortly before Frannie’s. Jesus, and she’d still been there for Seer. Frannie just looks at me, though, and the pity in her eyes tells me we’d both been thinking the same thing. The memories were rough for both of us. I realize, now, that Seer and Frannie must be closer than I thought. And I feel like an ass for not knowing, so wrapped up in my own stuff that I didn’t even notice.
“It’s cool, you’ve had other shit going on.” Seer shrugs, putting her drink down as the waitress comes back with a charcuterie board. Seer greets her by name this time - and I realize that she probably knows more people here than I do, since she works on site. “How long has she been sober?”
“Three years,” I answer confidently - that much I’d managed to extract.
“And how long was she drinking before that?” I falter. “Don’t know?”
“It, uh, hasn’t come up.” Seer nods, her expression appraising, and I can feel her eyes on me from behind the sunglasses that hide a third of her face. “Her husband died, I know it got bad after that.”
“Jesus, Fran,” Seer mutters. “You didn’t say that.”
“Well you know now.” I lean forward, trying to busy myself with picking at some of the local selections in front of us. Finally, after I chew and swallow a piece of Manchego, I add “Look, I’m way out of my depth here. I need help.”
Seer’s smile is feline as she says “Thought you’d never ask.” It’s not particularly reassuring, but I realize I don’t really have a whole lot of options for people to turn to about this. Outside of my brother and sister, Todd, José’s son Mateo, and a few old frat friends from college, I keep to myself.
So, I fill in the blanks I’m sure Frannie didn’t - and they listen. I talk about seeing Piper for the first time, about looking into what had happened since the time we’d last seen each other. About her coming to The Pine (leaving out the vibrator), and the texts since. I even tell them about the stupid pictures of the tape measure, which is still sitting on the dresser in my bedroom, taunting me. I talk about showing up to her house with food, and then the other day.
