Boston Blood

Forty seven

Frankie nursed her mug of coffee that was now ice cold as she sat by the window in the empty café. She checked her watch every few seconds, hoping that he hadn't changed his mind. It was just after 5 a.m. and Michael had agreed to meet her here to talk. He didn't say much on the phone and spoke in hushed tones but he gave Frankie the address of this place and told her he was on the way.
She glanced at the people walking by and wondered if they were coming or going to work and felt the familiar burn of envy watching them go about their ordinary, mundane lives, wishing desperately that her life could be like that. The café was much bigger than her usual spot and was ideal for the conversation she and her brother were about to have. There was only one other person at the other side of the room, sloppily shovelling a hamburger down her throat, evidentially trying to sober herself up. 
The breakfast rush was a couple of hours away so Frankie knew they wouldn't be in danger of being overheard. She stared at her watch willing the hands to move faster when the faint noise of a tiny bell made her freeze. She didn't look up right away. She took a few deep breaths and felt her head spin.
She had imagined this moment for years. The longing for this moment had made her keep going through the years with the nuns, the numerous drug induced comas and shameful behaviour. It was all for this moment. The will and desire to keep going, no matter how shit it was. The need to find her baby brother, hold him and hug him and tell him how sorry she was had kept her alive. She never dreamed that it would ever actually happen and never in a million years thought that it if it did, it would be under these horrendous, terrifying circumstances. But the moment was here and after all the years of dreaming and imagining what it would be like, what she would say and how she would react, she still wasn't ready. 
She raised her head slowly and shakily, it felt like it weighed a tonne and her heart stopped beating when she saw him walk in slow motion to her small, irrelevant, ridiculous table. It shouldn't be like this. This moment, if it ever was to truly arrive, should be filled with love and utter joy, rainbows and fireworks and long emotional hugs but as she sat there, the only thing she felt course through her tired body was fear.
"Frankie?" 
His voice sounded different and the same. It was low and husky and out of place but it was him. It was Michael.
Frankie raised her head and felt the tears sting her cold cheeks. She stood up and just stared at him, blinking the moisture away. She reached her hand out to touch him, to make sure he was real but she thought she saw his eyes flash a warning and felt her hand drop immediately to her thigh. 
"I-," She couldn't continue. Michael had flung his muscular arms around his big sister and pulled her to his chest so tightly that she couldn't breathe. She smiled and cried and wrapped her arms around his waist and just held him for as long as he would let her. She didn't dare open her eyes, terrified that she would find herself in bed, alone and realise that none of this was real. 
"Hey, it's okay. It's okay. Jesus, you're trembling, here, sit down." Michael was trying to pry her small arms away from his body but she clung to him harder and felt him laugh, ever so slightly. She didn't want to let go or even look at him. All she wanted to do was disappear into this moment, forever. 
He eventually peeled her off him and placed her into the booth where he slid in opposite her. 
"Ahem." The waitress's raspy, unamused voice caused Michael to drag his eyes away from Frankie. "What'll it be?" 
"Just a black coffee, please. Decaf." Michael mumbled. 
"Anything else for you?" She asked Frankie but just turned on her heel when she didn't get a response after an excruciating ten seconds. 
They stared at each other for a long time. Frankie wasn't sure if it was a comfortable silence or not but she she couldn't bring herself to compose a sentence. She stared at the man in front of her and felt an overwhelming wave of sadness drown her. He was a man. A big, muscular, grown up man. His hair was longer and he had stubble on his face. He was 23, somehow, and she had missed it. 
The tears were perpetual and she knew Michael must be starting to feel uncomfortable. After all these years, after everything she had put him through, they were finally re-united, fucked up circumstances or not, and here she was, unbale to speak. 
The server placed the cup in front of Michael and didn't bother asking Frankie if she wanted anything, again. Before she could stop herself, Frankie had reached over and took a swig of the thankfully, tepid liquid, hoping it would help her dry throat form an actual word. Much to her expectation, Michael frowned and reached over to grab her hand, forcefully. He was angry and she didn't blame him one bit. She was expecting this, ready to hear all the awful things he undoubtedly wanted to say to her. She had psyched herself up for years, not ever knowing if his harsh but very fair words would ever fall on her ears. I deserve what ever it is he's going to say, She reminded herself although stupidly and selfishly wished he would just tell her he forgives her.