Chapter 30: Good Night, Sweet Divorcé
In the end, she didn’t get between him and the cake.
And his wish for the right thing to happen, which he kept to himself at the time, so no harm done.
He was used to the styling process by now. Assessing his hairstyle; he needed to ditch the shaggy locks. Assessing his clothing, he was always flawless, but a new, comfortable shirt didn’t hurt. And comfy was something that he needed plenty of in fatherhood.
Too bad he missed the birth of his child not too long afterwards, all thanks to work. As her pregnancy progressed, Pansy stopped caring as much about what Franco did. She was too busy nesting and cleaning the bedding in the crib. Buying new toys and blankets and clothing suited for a girl. Checking in at the office to make sure that Mark kept up with her workload. Labor was the ultimate distraction, the absolute apex of it. Julian in his boxers helped too.
As for Hannah, she just wanted grapes.
In the amount of time it took for Hannah to finish her bunch of grapes, Pansy’s labor was over and she spun around in sparkles, holding a perfect little nooboo swaddled in a blanket almost as pink as her skin.
“My little flower,” she whispered, “How about Lily?”
Lily entered into a strange household, but thankfully one with a lot of hands. Julian, awkward little Julian, proved to be an immense help. He stopped sculpting in
clay a while ago and didn’t have any dust left in clothes, so as not to injure little Lily’s lungs, something he ensured the family that he did.
“Please, she’ll probably be a sculptor when she grows up,” said Annette, before walking to the kitchen to zap some hotdogs and honey mustard.
Meanwhile, Franco had a decision to make. Hannah’s adult birthday was fast-approaching, and even considering how narrowly he escaped getting a gift from her with his wedding ring still squeezing his finger, she basically gave him a promotion, and that had to be thanked.
He shopped for the most inoffensive gift imaginable. He strolled through the aisles at the bookstore, avoiding romantic advice books and instead coming across a beginner’s guide to Chess.
That would do. He had it wrapped in white with a red ribbon, much like Hannah did, and plainly presented it to her, initially without explanation.
“Chess?” she asked, “I mean, I know that you’re supposed to capture the king. Are you trying to get at something here?”
“I thought that maybe you could use a new hobby,” said Franco.
Hannah shrugged. “I’ll give it a try.”
Pansy watched while passing by, with a split-second death glare before coming to her senses and shrugging. If Franco didn’t notice that, then maybe their story would have ended differently.
Later that afternoon, Franco posed for sculptures, but he didn’t forget about Pansy. His mind boiled over thinking about her that afternoon, all while having to try out another pose and another for Shark. And yet, he briefly thought that way about Hannah too. Someone in the triangle made his whole life go rotten.
“Anything wrong?” asked Shark, “I can’t sculpt you if you’re tense.”
“I need my life back,” said Franco, sighing.
So then he waited for Pansy. She came into the sculpting studio with innocuous intentions: making sure that they arranged proper childcare for when they were out at Hannah’s party at the Grey Chiffon Lounge. Her words sounded like white noise to Franco.
“I can’t go on with this,” he said quietly.
“Look, I was just overreacting about a divorce,” Pansy cautiously said.
“And I think that it was actually a darn good idea.”
“Don’t start this with me-”
“I need my life back!” He was livid, stiff with rage, and running off nothing but pent-up adrenaline, “And I will start this with you if that’s what it takes.”
“Behave yourself,” she snarled, “Or yes, I’ll act on that idea.”
“Why don’t you just get the papers, then?”
After five minutes of heavy, angered breathing, Franco muttered “I’ll just get in the car.”
He missed the best part, though.
It wasn’t like Hannah’s birthday party was otherwise lonely without the family, but he still got the story second-hand. However, it was a pretty mundane event. She just blew out her candles and cheered until she felt her first wrinkles settle in.
It wasn’t even much different from other Waverly parties. Tay Bayless took Annette’s place as the inappropriate laughter quite well.
By the time Franco and the family arrived, Hannah was already halfway to the dresser and the cake was half-devoured.
“I can’t believe that she made me late for this,” he grumbled, “The one thing I wanted to see tonight.”
“Calm yourself and get a drink. I could use three,” said Annette, “Come on Julian. Lemme show you how it’s done.” Annette quickly led Julian away to get truly juiced, leaving Franco to sulk in the corner before taking his mum’s advice. He really could use something strong, but in a secluded place.
Franco made his way towards the bar in the basement. Where the dresser was. Where Hannah was preening.
Even without Franco’s helping hand, she came out with peak awesomeness.
She even got a flirty little gift from an anonymous giver. The new cocktail dress stopped just below her rear, and in the front, it plunged deep. Tight stockings further shaped her lean legs. And not even that could get Franco’s attention as he made the calculations to get the winning combination of “strong” and “ridiculously expensive” from a drink that night.
No one gave Hannah the news, but the empty, downward stare in Franco’s eyes told the story pretty well anyways.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, taking a seat by him at the bar, “And I know you probably hate me for a lot of things now.”
“I can never hate you,” he said, “Don’t put the blame on yourself. It’s your special day, anyways.”
“Yeah, but not at your expense. Still trying to find a drink?” He nodded. He was charged with interior design when renovating the place. The drinks menu was entirely Hannah’s creation, mostly just confirming what was already there, but with a few new cocktails.
“Falling Forever,” she said to Tabitha, the mixologist on duty, “Most expensive, and the juice makes you feel out of this world. And it’s coming out of my allowance.”
“You know me well.”
Tabitha knew him well too. She made the spectacle flashy.
And capped it off nicely.
“Last call in 20 minutes, though,” said Tabitha while she wiped down the counter, “You might need a second drink for a divorce. I needed five for mine.”
Franco stared down his drink, an opaque rosy-red mixture, with a swizzle stick; plastic heart on top, and a cherry skewered right under it. “Because a romantic drink is what I need.” He got the last drop right before Tabitha rang the bell for last call.
“I’ll take another,” he said.
The juice started to take effect, relaxing Franco a bit as he climbed up the stairs and called a taxi (Annette and friends took the Motive Mobile home). Hannah followed, on the verge of concerned tears. The two waited by the main entrance, under the light, when Hannah drew him in for a hug.
“Really, don’t kill yourself over this,” she said, “I know that you two have a daughter and such, but you’re the strongest guy I know. You’ll pull through and I’m always here.”
“That you are.” He held on for a good two minutes, unable to cry, but still at his emotional nadir. “I’m going to need my time, though. I guess we’re still stuck at friends.”
“I’ll deal,” she said, as the taxi screeched up to the curb.
But poor Hannah had to think of a plan B.
The sky was still dark when Franco checked on an awake and fussy Lily. He changed her diaper and was halfway through a bottle when Julian offered to do the rest, and offered his apologies.
Annette waited for her son in the living room.
“We’re not talking about divorce tonight,” she said, “I’m almost ashamed with you, but I’m not. But really, that’s not my news.”
“I guess it’s all past me now. What else could you have to tell me?” asked Franco.
“Your daughter will grow up one day, and hopefully have a better marriage. And the horrifying reality is that she will marry the red-haired guy who rocks her to sleep.” Franco almost threw up in his mouth at the thought of it, or that his mum could insinuate such a thing.
“Why? Is Twinbrook really that dead?”
“No, and I’m not even saying definitely, but you gotta know your tropes. Lots of people before me have tried this same mission, and the kid born in the house marries one of the heirs. We just messed up with timing. And Julian is prime material. He’s single, quiet, pretty handsome, if I say so myself.”
“It’s an easy thing to see,” she continued, with Julian obliviously rocking with Lily, The chair creaked as he rocked, but Lily calmed down, likely asleep in his arms.
“I think she’ll forge her own path,” said Franco, “It sounds like something we do.”
“Wanna bet?” asked Annette, “I’m getting restless and need a bet.”
“You’re on!”
“Fine! If you win, I fund a second wedding for you. With the right one. If I win, you’re getting a course in foot massages and giving your old lady a nice treat.”
Franco looked down at his mother’s feet in disgust. She wore sandals, revealing the dirty, calloused soles, her discolored toenails, her complete disregard for regular use of foot lotion.
“Then I hope I win,” he said.
“Looks like we have a deal. Good night, sweet divorcé.”
Word Count for this chapter:
1,642Word Count so far:
38,729Lily entered life as Excitable and Athletic (didn't choose the last one). She likes French Music, Tofu Dogs (which can't be made at the perfect level; she eats a lot of Lobster Thermidor in my current game just to get a better moodlet), and Orange.
