Mickey - The View From Here PART TWO - Gallavich

Off-Script

Ian and I were getting ready to go home when Lip got Carl and Liam to wrangle all of the Gallaghers to a booth by the door. He waited for us to assemble with his phone clasped tightly in his hands, his features crestfallen, yet stern.

Debbie set her hands on her hips and sighed with fatigue. "Can we make this quick? Heidi has this gay bar she wants to show me.”

Unintentionally, we all turned toward the bar to take a gander at Debbie’s new flame, Heidi, as she tried to tolerate conversation with little Franny.

“Yeah, Deb,” Lip replied, the muscles in his face twitching and stiffening as he searched for the right words. "I, uh,” he started before rubbing his brow in frustration. "I just got off the phone with the hospital—”

“Know what? I really don’t care. I gotta go,” Debbie insisted, already crossing the bar toward Heidi and Franny.

Aggravation flashed across Lip’s face and he lost his composure, finally beyond fed up with his little sister’s attitude. "Frank’s dead!”

While the bar fell silent with this revelation, Debbie thought on it before she smirked. “Just another scam.”

"Not this time,” Lip told her in a somber tone before he scanned the faces of each sibling in attendance. Placing a hand on Liam’s shoulder, he assured all of us, "he’s really gone this time.”

Liam's features twisted with pain before he broke away from Lip and ran outside and into the night.

Pointing the way Liam ran, Carl inquired, "should I…?”

Lip shook his head. “He’s okay. Just probably gonna take it harder than the rest of us.”

Without Fiona around, and especially now that Frank was dead, Lip was the head of the family, the closest any of them had to a parent. That was all well and good for the adults in the family, but one of them still needed a parent for a few more years.

Maybe I had gone soft. At Liam’s age, I was taking care of myself and my siblings. But that was me, and it sucked. If we could do better for him and Franny, maybe they’d end up better off than the rest of us. Maybe they’d even break the cycle of neglect, abuse, and addiction. Maybe.

“Are you sure?” Ian wondered about their father. “What did the hospital say?”

All Lip offered was, “I’m sure.”

Debbie was still standing in the middle of the room, her brain trying to make sense of the situation. "Well, shit.”

“Doesn’t seem real,” commented Carl before he excused himself to go sit with his cop buddy at the bar.

Tami leaned against Lip, gently resting her head on his shoulder. "You okay?”

“Not really,” he confessed before regarding me and Ian. "I’m sorry to ruin the party.”

Both Ian and I shook our heads, indicating that it wasn’t his fault, just a shit situation.

Behind the bar, Kev raised a filled shot glass in the air. "To Frank.”

The rest of our family and friends raised their respective drinks to send off Frank Gallagher. Father, occasional husband, philosopher, parasite. Strangely, we all knew he would be missed, even if he was a pain in the ass most of the time.

For a few seconds, Ian and Lip stood quietly together, ruminating over their memories of Frank. After what must have been a moment of silence, Lip clapped his brother on the back. “Okay. We’re out,” he told Ian as Tami hiked her purse over her shoulder. "I’ll keep you updated on the house. Just make sure you’ve taken everything you need, ‘cause I got the junk guys coming in a couple days.”

Ian  nodded in agreement. "Let me know if you need help.”

"With?”

"The house. Frank. Whatever,” he said before he motioned to me. "We’re here if you need anything.”

Lip tried to offer his brother a smile of reassurance. "Thanks, but no, thanks.” Glancing at me, he instructed his brother to, "go enjoy you’re anniversary.”

We planned to, Frank’s passing wasn’t enough to derail the night of fucking we were looking forward to. It was his own fault. Maybe the situation would have been treated more somberly if 1. he hadn’t faked his death before, and 2. he treated his five children with an ounce of care once in their lives. Frank hadn’t known it, but he had prepared his kids for this day. Most of them had mourned him long before his pulse stopped. How else could they process the enigma that was Frank, either drunk, high, abusive, or neglectful at all times?

We hung out with Kev, V, Kermit, and Tommy for a while, letting the barflies and tenders attempt to reminisce about Frank.

"He was smart,” said Tommy. "He could be a fuckin’ idiot, but fuck if he wasn’t clever. I think that’s why he was so damn annoying.”

"I didn’t think he was annoying,” said Kermit. "Wasn’t very trustworthy, but I thought he was funny.”

"Oh, yeah,” Tommy agreed. "He’d have me laughing so hard I thought my gut would split.”

Most of the party guests and random drunks had shuffled out for the night. When I stood from the barstool to stretch my back, I only found one other Gallagher still in the bar. I nudged my husband so he would notice.

Ian shot out of his seat as he surveyed each person left in the room. When he  couldn’t find what he was looking for, we approached Franny at a booth where she sat alone, her eyes tired but refusing to stay closed as she sipped a Shirley Temple through a long, loopy straw.

Leaning on the table, Ian stooped down to be on her eye level. He did his best to sound at ease when he spoke, but I knew he was fuming with rage. "Where’s mommy?”