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The tears come; as they so often do. And the apologies, the conversations, the promises. They aren’t enough to smooth the surface of their lives; a mountain-scape of hurt and regret, but they help. The annulment proves to be easier than expected, but what isn’t with enough money thrown at it? Grace doesn’t stay at their house the first few nights and Frankie doesn’t protest. She chooses instead; not feeling worthy of the luxury at Fairmont Grand Del Mar, to lay her head on the uncomfortable bed at the Best Western six blocks away from the beach house. She returns, however, like a beacon every morning and drinks her coffee on the deck chair until Frankie joins her. A daily ritual of silence and comfort; a healing.
When Frankie rises one morning to discover both chairs empty she feels the ocean waves claw at the floodgates within her. She collapses into Grace’s chair and for the first time since Grace went to the Maldives she lets herself sob openly. Rarely one for self repression, she defeatedly welcomes the emotions she’s chased off for weeks. Wonders if she will ever be able to see an empty chair and not be filled with fear. Half an hour later when the tears have dried, Grace appears, says something about having been at the laundromat early enough to beat the crowd, but stops when Frankie stands abruptly. They look at each other and Frankie rushes to her, takes her by surprise when she wraps her arms around her. When Grace pulls her in closer, she whispers, ‘Its time to come home.’
The sky is splashed with soft orange hues when Frankie helps her check out of the hotel and they make their way back together. They eat Chinese food and watch tv like the old days, and neither of them talk about the past month. As the credits roll on the latest Ray Donovan, Grace is suddenly unsure what this invitation back entails. Still feeling like a guest in her own home, she waits for Frankie to speak first. Frankie chooses to fill the silence with her theory on Mickey’s latest scheme and Grace listens, tries to push the anxiety down below the relief of Frankie wanting her here again. Her bones are tired from restless nights on that stiff hotel mattress, but as much as she craves sleep, she would willingly sit and listen to Frankie talk about Liev Schreiber until the sun peeked out over the horizon. When Frankie finishes she notices Grace staring at her, the look in her eye indistinguishable. “I just really missed you.” She confesses when Frankie quirks her eyebrow. Grace closes her eyes when Frankie takes her face into her hands and places a soft kiss on her forehead; a promise bigger than words. “Goodnight.” She whispers and heads towards the studio, stopping hesitantly, hand brushing the doorknob. “I missed you so much.” She says it so softly it takes Grace’s breath away; and then she’s gone.
Normality is something Grace isn’t sure she’s ever truly felt. She’d chased it for years; certain that it consisted of the house, the husband, children, a successful business, but as she washes her face she can’t help but yearn for her life pre Walden Villas. Pre Nick. Possibly even pre Jacob. She’s been living back at the house- their house - for a week and despite Frankie’s best attempts at nonchalance it still felt like something was missing. The previous night, as she laid awake in bed she had a fleeting thought that maybe she was missing Nick, but she soon realized more or less that she just missed the security of someone beside her while she slept. Grace wraps her housecoat tightly around herself and steps out into the hall. The sound of movement downstairs makes her heart beat faster but she continues down towards the other woman. “Frankie? Do you want to... um, do you want to sleep upstairs?” She has meant to say tonight, but is grateful for the ambiguity of the proposition.
After eighty years of refined impulse control, Grace finds herself startled by how deeply she wants to say it, and she wonders if that means she’s never needed something so strongly. It bubbles up into her throat at the most inopportune times and she has to fight to resist. Frankie is sitting on the edge of her- their - bed typing rapidly on her phone and Grace can’t help but wonder who she could possibly be texting at this hour. “Twitter is aflutter.” She says, as if reading Grace’s mind. “Prince William cheated on Kate. I’m aghast.” Frankie’s brow furrows and Grace can’t stop herself. “I love you.” The words hadn’t been spoken since she’d been back; as if they both knew that what used to be a naturally flowing phrase had morphed into something more substantial. Frankie’s head whips up and her expression changes from one kind of shock to another. She looks at Grace, really looks at her before the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. “I love you too.” The words almost superfluous given the love in her eyes.
The first time Grace awakens with Frankie’s arms around her, their bodies pressed closely together under the big duvet, Grace feels herself breathe in enough air to fill her lungs for the first time in months. She watches Frankie sleep, feels an urge to trace the deep lines beside her eyes with her thumb. She chooses instead to let her hand trail gently through the other woman’s soft hair, wonders if all those times she’d inadvertently smelled it in moments of closeness were her body’s way of telling her that this is what home smells like. It emboldens her when Frankie unconsciously pulls her closer, and she allows herself to caress the other woman’s jaw; a work of art Grace vows to admire forever. Grace closes her eyes, for once lets herself be grateful for this moment without overthinking. When she opens them Frankie is looking back at her. She knows she moves first, but the moment is so overwhelming for the next few seconds she couldn’t be sure what was even happening. Frankie smiles into the kiss and Grace’s heart flutters.
Grace is bemused by how easily they fall into the honeymoon phase, and for the first time she finally understands the phrase. The women, torn apart one too many times, latch onto one another like rafts, a silent hesitation taking over the room whenever one has to leave. It’s a Saturday night and Grace’s head rests on Frankie’s lap. Frankie absentmindedly strokes her hair and Grace is nearly lulled to sleep by the comfort of it all. It’s hard to find the desire to exist in the rest of the world sometimes, when they just want to curl up inside one another and preserve whatever time they have left. Frankie wants to tell the children, and Grace does too, but she wants to tell them and then fly somewhere else for a while. Give them some time to be worried and surprised on their own, allow herself the distance to accept that their feelings are their problems and not hers. “What about Venice? Too cliche?” Frankie asks. Grace smiles at Frankie’s words, as of two elderly late blooming lesbians dropping a bomb on their children only to embark on a trip neither of them are entirely well enough to go on could ever be described as cliche. Grace moves from Frankie’s lap and kisses her softly. Frankie keeps her arms around her and nuzzles her nose in Grace’s neck. “Venice is perfect.” Grace coos. “Shall I go get my laptop to start looking or should I keep doing this?” She asks, her hand shifting slowly up Frankie’s rib cage. “Oh hell, Italy isn’t going anywhere.”
“It’s not a proposal.” Frankie says when she slides the small box across the small white table. They both know there’s been too many of those. Too many marriages behind them. They both know this is different, a marriage could never represent what this is. Grace opens the box. It’s a commitment of its own variety and the ring represents that; a large purple stone encompassed with silver. She slides it onto her right middle finger, and she finds herself at a loss for words. Frankie fidgets nervously and Grace is overcome with the desire to envelop her in her arms. To tell her that she’s never received a gift so monumental; both the ring and the offer that comes along with it. “Frankie.” Is all she gets out before her vision clouds with tears. Frankie moves her chair closer and wraps her arms around her, doesn’t pay any attention to the people around them. She whispers sweet words into her hair while Grace lets the tears fall. “I wish we could stay here forever.” Grace says, motioning to the canal beside them on the terrace. “We will still have this when we get back, my love. We will still be us, like this.” She says as she takes Grace’s hand, brings it to her mouth and kisses right next to the purple stone. “I love you.” Grace says, because even though those words don’t even come close to how she feels about Frankie, she never wants to stop herself from saying them when she wants to. “I love you too, cuore mio. Now, what do you think? Should we turn our phones back on?” She asks with a devilish grin and Grace laughs; nods, and reaches for her bag.